The idea of taking a group of live musicians, recording them,
and then splicing, looping, and otherwise manipulating the
recording is certainly not new. Karlheinz Stockhausen was
doing similar experiments in the late 1950s, and the idea
has formed the basis for such recent encounters between electronica
and jazz as Spring Heel Jack’s Amassed
and DJ Spooky’s Optometry. But British electronic
auteur Matthew Herbert has imposed some new ideas about ways
to accomplish such a union, and his latest CD, Goodbye
Swingtime, is a decidedly different take on jazztronica.
In the first place, the very notion of working with a traditionally
scored big band (4 trumpets, 4 trombones, 4 saxophones, piano,
bass, and drums) is a radical departure from the smaller,
often amplified ensemble that such projects have generally
used. Big band music has become identified with the swing
era (hence the album’s title), and with opulence and
elegance. The genre mostly died out in the 1950s, but there
was a resurgence of big band activity in the 1970s, spearheaded
by jazz’s fusion movement. Nonetheless, the idea of
the big band as an ensemble for the exploration of thoroughly
modern ideas in music has been relegated to a very few groups
led by composers such as Toshiko Ashiyoki, Maria Schneider,
and Carla Bley.
Herbert is dedicated to starting without preconceived notions
of what the big band should do or sound like, and to this
end he utilizes his own set of compositional rules, known
as PCCOM, or “Personal Contract for the Composition
of Music.” PCCOM contains such caveats as “The
use of sounds that exist already is not allowed.” This
precludes the use of drum machines or of factory programmed
electronic keyboard sounds without editing of some kind. There
is no sampling of other people’s music, and no replication
of acoustic instruments using electronic means (synthesizers).
These rules alone set Herbert well apart from his electronic
brethren who are working with jazz/electronica combinations.
The sounds that Herbert samples and uses are either those
that were generated during or specifically for the recording
sessions, including people banging things they could find
within the studio, and people from around the world dropping
their local telephone directories from various heights. In
addition, Herbert introduces a political component to the
music by utilizing sounds generated by people reading various
political texts (a list of which is provided), the sound of
his printer printing information from a political website,
and clippings sent from around the world regarding the then-imminent
U.S. invasion of Iraq being crumpled up.
All of this is meant to embed the music with a political
component, but it is difficult to imagine how this message
will be delivered to anyone without a press release in hand
or a lengthy visit to Herbert’s website, www.magicandaccident.com.
So, the question that really needs to be asked is, what does
the music sound like, and is it any good on its own? The answer
is that this is mostly good music that stands up well on its
own and provides the adventurous listener with a solid musical
experience. However, that experience is extremely varied and
eclectic, and might not necessarily appeal to the normal big
band, jazz, or electronic music listener. For example, “Chromoshop”
featuring choppy, off-kilter horns that punctuate the vocals
of Shingai Shoniwa and Dani Siciliano, sounds like a number
from a contemporary Broadway production. “The Battle”
is a very modern big band track, but is punctuated by electronic
manipulations and blips, courtesy of Herbert and Mouse on
Mars, that momentarily give it an Esquival-type surrealism.
The main building block for this recording was a live performance
by the big band at the Montreux Jazz Festival, which is the
chief source material that Herbert and his colleagues are
manipulating. What is missing from the final product, and
one can only assume from the initial performance as well,
is any real improvisation. The big band arrangements, while
very well done and interesting to listen to, are very tightly
controlled and there is a great deal of ensemble playing,
but rarely does a solo voice rise above the fray, and this
is made even more apparent by the manipulation of the big
band recording, which adds a second layer of tight control
over the sound. The final sound is so overwhelmingly controlled,
so polite, that it tends to undercut the music’s political
subtext as well as the ironic title of the album. Ultimately,
then, you have a piece of well-made music consisting of a
manipulated big band recording and manipulated acoustic sounds
that have political meaning. It’s good and provocative,
neither fish nor fowl. In some ways, it sounds like nothing
so much as a digitally processed and manipulated Carla Bley
recording. But Bley’s work conveys gobs of humor and
a real sense of passion, and she allows the musicians with
whom she works to convey their individuality. Goodbye
Swingtime is both interesting and innovative, but somehow
it just doesn’t allow the listener to connect emotionally
with either the big band side or the electronic side of the
project.
