Ex-Magnet writer Phil Freeman picked a prescient title for his recent book. More so than ever (if possible): New York is Now. Subtitled The New Wave of Free Jazz, Freeman's book sketches the Big Apple's current scene from the enthusiastic perspective of a former metalhead. The sprawling landscapes of cacophony, both that of the scene and the chaos at the former World Trade Center concourse, aren't so much analogies for each other as much as they are reflections of the increasingly complex geometry of the City. Too bad Freeman wasn't more influenced by these flexible avenues; he might have written something more encompassing, and less two-dimensional. His gossipy account of attending a recording session for the new David S. Ware Quartet album is amusing in its fanboy chatter, of course, but the bubble of epic mystery in that final chapter is burst when you hear the mixed results of the final product.
Corridors & Parallels does appear to have all the hallmarks of an artistic tectonic shift. It's tenor saxophonist David Ware's first album in years on a smaller label. Plus, Matthew Shipp controversially abandons his usual role as the group's pianist to play a Korg synthesizer filled with preset sound effects while bassist William Parker and drummer Guillermo E. Brown make for a tight backbone. Thematically, the album begins and ends with (and is divided down the middle by) untitled interludes. And then there's the marquee song titles, like "Straight Track" and "Jazz Fi-Sci."
"Straight Track" features Shipp's choppy, flute-like synth, Parker's washboard plucking, and Brown's rainstick-mimicking, cymbal-showering drums, clearly conscious of the presence of former band member (and recent Yo La Tengo touring percussionist) Susie Ibarra. A minute passes, then two, three-- the pun is almost audible: where's Ware? After four minutes, the hornet buzz of his tenor finally appears. This would have been the perfect place to test the cool of the Korg with the frantic sax, but for some mind-boggling reason, Shipp sits on his hands for another few minutes. Eight, and the convergence comes too late-- synth and sax meet for just a moment at the apex of this bloated ten-minute track, and everything grinds to a halt seconds later.
"Jazz Fi-Sci" moves along a similar axis. Ware and Brown hammer away at incredible speeds. Then, they pause completely, as Shipp keys a sequence of madcap electronic arpeggios and gritty noise. Same parallels-- electronic and organic lines never cross. It's fun, and Ware's desperate bleating sounds wild, but the track title and the artificial partitions scream "gimmick!" from a thousand miles away. The frustrating part is that Isotope 217 have done this type of fusion in an infinitely more relevant, yet irreverent manner.
Another good/not-so-good parallel: the two songs on this album with preprogrammed rhythms tracks. "Superimposed" employs the kind of pseudo-African-influenced drum lines heard in 80s radio pap or "zoom-zoom-zoom" car commercials. The wailing hip-hop whistle doesn't exactly do much to freshen things up, and all of Ware's tight-lipped squeals and extended wails don't make up for this dank retro. The title track fares slightly better, if only because Parker's ultra-low-end, cello-like playing and Ware's slower, more deliberate style dominate the drum loops they stole from 808 State's closet.
The best cuts are the least predictable. Despite their brevity, the three untitled interludes are full of intrigue. Parker's bass takes eerie prominence (especially important because he's often drowned out elsewhere), and the last track is mixed so effectively that Brown's sticks sound unnervingly like they're tapping on the inner rim of your headphones. "Sound-a-Bye" develops like an elaboration on these pieces. Here, Ware plays about as slowly as possible, the sustained drone of his sax complemented nicely by Shipp whose keys now plink with clipped accents. The intensity matches the voluminous soundscapes of Spring Heel Jack's Masses project, which all but Ware contributed to. And the alien harmony of "Somewhere" strains comprehension, each musician struggling to make their instrument sound like anything but itself.
"Mother May You Rest in Bliss" ends the album proper with an emotional tempest that was sorely lacking up to this point. Dedicated to his mom, Lucille, the elegy is led by Ware's incredibly lyrical delivery, a soulful solo complemented by Shipp's synths which seem to channel Moby's "God Moving Over the Face of the Waters." I'll leave it to the listener to decide whether the good half of an album makes it worth the purchase. Unfortunately, the other half weakens all its supports with some tacky choices regarding sound palettes and dynamics-- deconstruction in the least clever sense, far from Phil Freeman's comparison of Corridors & Parallels to the Orb. Maybe he was thinking William Orbit?
