Gavin Bryars is the link that ties together the innovations introduced by the New York School in the 1950s, the great British improv/jazz scene of the '60s and '70s (the guy played bass in a duo with Derek Bailey from 1963-1966) and the minimalists from that same period. But he exists in a space of his own design, being both a prolific composer and virtuoso double bassist. For most of the last 25 years Bryars has slowly created an intimidating body of work that he, like Thelonious Monk before him, redesigns and refigures for various ensembles and recordings sessions. The trademark in his music is its distinct lack of dynamic. Everything Bryars writes is slow and meant to be played softly. Two of the three pieces here have been performed and recorded before ("North Shore" and "Allegrasco"); they have been revised by the composer specifically for this recording. "Intermezzo" was written for the Harmonia Ensemble and comprised for piano, cello, and clarinet. "Allegrasco" was originally performed by the Gavin Bryars Ensemble, which included bass, electric guitar, drums, violin, and piano. It is understandable, given the sheer sonic textures of the original, that instruments had to be revised for this reading. The pace is languid and the mood is slightly romantic, so that one is reminded of Schubert's piano sonatas and trios. But Bryars isn't as interested in complex harmonics or modal inventions as he is in getting the mood or presence of a work across. Intention is his framework and lyricism his means. The lilting clarinet that opens its round heart onto the score is buoyed by the repetition in the piano's eights and ninths. "Intermezzo" is a work of such longing and desperation it reminds one of those long afternoons where an affair takes place at a lonely hotel and the two lovers come together feverishly because they know their time is short. Their "interlude" is filled with a melancholy anguish. Bryars paints the strengths of the trio so well, with Damiano Puliti's cello playing counterpoint to both Orio Odori's clarinet and Alessandra Garosi's piano in varying sections. The harmonic architecture is simple and open, allowing for the sonorous melodic invention to dominate the piece. And then there is "The North Shore," with its unremitting sorrow, barren of ornament or relief. Its mournful cello calls along a shoreline strewn with detritus, remaining unanswered even by the sea. The piano enters, finally, after three minutes, not so much as an aid to the forlorn grace of the cello, but as the echo of the ever-changing sea itself, a force the shore (cello) must reckon with daily. The storm begins slowly at first, about five minutes in and the two engage each other in a modality of changing rhythm and timbre that deepens the unencumbered hues of gray and midnight blue as the storm carries its worst to the enduring though weary line of the north shore. In sum, this is among Bryars' most beautiful collections. It ranks with his Three Viennese Dancers and Sinking of the Titanic for emotional and lyrical depth and dimension.
© Thom Jurek /TiVo