At the risk of sullying my reputation, I must confess that I'm not quite sold on Anthony Braxton's work. Despite his near-deity status and numerous contributions to music in the last 40 years, many of his compositions and improvisations leave me feeling disoriented and confused, wondering whether I missed something. However, judging from the number of times Braxton has switched musical gears over the course of his life, his career is one founded upon unrest and a continual search for his ever-changing voice.
This double disc features a pair of compositions from Braxton's famed stint at the Oakland-based club Yoshi's, both examples of a "next level" of his work that he refers to as "Ghost Trance Music". Braxton explains this technique as "development of composed and improvised themes over figures that repeat with relatively minor variation, after the manner of ritual and spiritual music worldwide", summing it up with the words "more galactic".
"Composition N. 211" (disc one) begins in a soggy aggression; Professor Braxton and his cunning team lay into a throbbing flutter accentuated with a recurring ostinato, allowing the "wrong" instruments to take charge (read: double-reed instruments manning a beat equals a sloppy pulse) while percussionist Kevin Norton ticks his hi-hat and floats, barely audible, on a wash of toms that could be the melody. As this perpetual motion continues through most of the work, Braxton takes time to nod to legends Charlie Parker and Monk (another aspect of "Ghost Trance"), incorporate pointillistic elements (though he realizes it with microtonal glee), and form an alliance of Eastern and Western techniques from the last 100 years. Although the sutures might be light-years away, Kevin O'Neil's fingers flying over the frets in a near metal (sans distortion) manner, the ostinato returns regularly throughout the piece to provide a surprisingly cohesive form.
The second disc picks up where "Composition N. 212" leaves off. The band harps on the same groove, slowly expounding and cultivating this universe through an increase in tempo, speed of gestures and density of textures. Somewhere around the fifteen minute mark of "212" (both works are over 55 minutes in length), something clicks and you're hooked, a type of catch where everything fades away and the previous hour of music suddenly makes sense. It's very difficult to explain without providing actual examples from the disc, but perhaps this is the spiritual experience of which Braxton speaks. Logically, it follows a Lamonte Young aesthetic and John Cage's idea that something obtuse and unappealing, repeated a sufficient number of times, will turn from blasé to boring to intriguing.
Braxton's prolific work (I stopped counting after 35 releases) has alienated his professors, label execs, fans and peers, but he'll go down in history as one of the giants of music -- after all, what truly great progressive and chameleon-like artist is recognized and understood in his lifetime? As mentioned, I still doesn't quite get what he does, but I respect him and know that either his level of performance and composition is beyond my understanding, or he's the greatest imposter in the world. Either way, his message and craft are impressive. Ninetet is an inimitable slice of Braxton history in the making; as always, he seems to be a few paces ahead of everyone else.
