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Revenge Of The Solo Trumpets : Wadada Leo Smith + Raphé Malik
by Derek Taylor
January 2002
 Rising out of the fallout from the New Thing that blanketed jazz in
the Seventies, solo saxophone music has become a staple in the repertoires
of the leading luminaries of the instrument. Not so when it comes
to recitals of the trumpet. The reasons behind the disparity are of
course subject to interpretation but one rationale centers on the
inherent limitations of the brass family when compared to those of
their reed brethren. In theory four valves offer fewer possibilities,
but another feasible reason could be that the circle of players who
feel they possess the chops to carry a program of solo music to conclusion
is simply quite constricted in circumference. This latter explanation
rings true in the examination of the relatively small number that
has taken to the task.
Still
there are those brave souls that seem to welcome the rigors of such
means of creative expression, Bill Dixon being the primary exponent
with a six disc set of solo works set for upcoming release. Wadada
Leo Smith and Raphé Malik are two others. Stylistically the
two are quite divergent both in terms of technique and the manner
in which each man approaches unaccompanied improvisation/composition.
Smith is no stranger to solo recording, having released several such
documents early in his career. A long hiatus from the form is broken
with Red Sulphur Sky, his recent release on John Zorn's Tzadik
label. Many of Smith's myriad influences enter the musical milieu
of his solitary musings from Native American and Asian cultural, philosophical
and religious referents to modern Classical and minimalist processes.
On the opening title piece, strident note salvos are tempered by connecting
metallic lines of lengthier duration. Silence also comes heavily into
play punctuating Smith's iridescent runs and creating a sense of weightlessness
in the sometimes-cavernous cracks between his statements. "Evening
Glow…", scripted with Zorn in mind, stitches a ghostly patchwork
of austere tones and fluttering notes prefacing the oncoming intricacy
of the first of the suites, where Smith's skill as composer comes
brilliantly into play.
Combining compass points, virtues, mammals and hues, each wedge of
"The Medicine Wheel" traces the interrelationships of Nature's
manifestations. Smith employs mutes throughout the piece's early
sections, sliding from shrill staccato to varied rubato and back and
painting the walls of his soundstage with a tempera wash of chromatic
smears. The second suite "Purity and Poverty" involves an
even wider reliance on dynamics and spatial relationships between
phrases, but follows a similar tendency of juxtaposing held notes
with fleeting ones within the space of arcing linear progressions.
Mutes again come into substantial use creating the range of inflections
and in the process the illusion of multiple voices. The thematic logic
of the pieces is sometimes difficult to chart given that only a single
instrument is employed at any one time to communicate them. But Smith's
measured litany of precisely situated notes serves as a scintillating
trail of sonic breadcrumbs left upon the circuitous path for the astute
listener to retrace and gain insight into the structural whole.
By comparison, Malik largely avoids accoutrements for his horn, opting
to adhere to smooth buttery phrases on the opening pieces and jockeying
confidently through cleanly enunciated themes. His incorporation of
the invisible fields of space and silence surrounding the vibrating
bell of his instrument is remarkable. By adding emphasis to strings
of beaded notes with muzzled moments of repose he breathes a sense
of tension into tracks that might otherwise be lacking. "Odds
Out" stunningly demonstrates his deft command of tonal shifts
as he switches from open bell to mute within the stretch of a single
line as legato figures segue into staccato invectives. "Good
Graces" is saturated in soaring ascents and exhilarating drops,
while "Cruise Control" gallops along on the back of well-chosen
note clusters dipped in a fresh coating of brassy bravado. With "Abstract"
Malik experiments with pitch and register shifts, mixing rich flugelhorn-like
statements with nasal-capped enunciations. The brevity of "Float
School" is directly at odds with the amount of musical punch
packed into its miniature duration. An untitled track, sutured on
to the disc's terminus, acts as farewell for the set with Malik
hoisting his horn once more to moistened lips for one final say. Fortunately
a repeat tour through the funhouse of Malik's speakeasy is as
easy as cueing up the album for another go round.
There are points were microphone crackle enters the audio picture,
probably the result of Malik's enthusiasm getting the better
of his positioning in the studio. But these minor blemishes blend
right into the aural portrait and lend to an ambience of an improviser
caught up in the passion of a highly personal and heatedly extemporaneous
recital. Malik's received some much needed opportunities to record
in recent years and this date denotes that the resuscitated interest
in his music is well deserved.
Two trumpeters, two intimately realized visions of what the instrument
can yield when used as a means of solitary rumination. Wisecracking
about musicians who seem to reap the benefits of critical laudation
only to rest on said laurels may not be couth, but listening to the
soul stirring work of Smith and Malik I couldn't help but wonder,
could Wynton muster the same in similar surroundings?
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