Solo improvisation has come to represent the highest expression of the improvisor. Perhaps for good reason as it takes a special imagination or careful tactician to keep it interesting for sustained periods. As a practice, it has grown progressively since Eric Dolphy’s great deconstructions of God Bless The Child in the early 60s. While not all of these three saxophonists provide great examples, they all approach the problems of solo improvisation in interesting and varied ways.
Saxophonist Lazro’s work owes much to the Dolphy model, particularly in the way that figures are repeated, elaborated and transformed. This of course has become a standard methodology for the solo improvisor, Evan Parker being the most extreme example. If Lazro’s approach provides no real surprises, it is the rigor and consistency of its application that is out of the ordinary. This attention to craft gives many of the pieces a strong inner logic and satisfying unanimity. Ironically, perhaps, it is when Lazro attempts his own deconstruction of existing material - in this case an Albert Ayler tune - that the music is at its structurally most incoherent. This nod to history is also reflected in his use of the instrument as a sound-making device. While he uses the usual range of extended techniques, Lazro also relishes the standard sounds of his instruments and there are times when for a few minutes the ghosts of earlier eras are audible.
Lacy is an example of a particularly special imagination. His ability to create in the kind of unfettered way that many assume to be the Holy Grail of free improvisation is remarkable but untypical of improvisors as a whole; there are few other improvisors that can deliver this consistent level of surprise and delightful ingenuity. Steeped in the jazz tradition, Lacy makes use of compositional structures to kick-start and then shape his imaginings but one still feels that his improvisations could go anywhere and indeed one expects it of him. Although he makes use of a range of extended techniques, like Coxhill who comes closest to him in approach, his improvisation is deeply tonal and deals with the creation of rhythmically varied melody. The variety of Lacy’s approaches to the solo makes this recording the closest thing you’ll find to a masterclass on the subject.
Hétu’s approach is not dissimilar to that of Lazro but her improvisations stand as haikus to Lazro’s sonnets. Lacy and Lazro constantly remind you that they are playing an instrument with a wealth of tradition and associations while Hétu appears to want to strip away this heritage and leave the listener with a fresh understanding; in some ways the fact that it is a saxophone she is playing is irrelevant. This is further heightened by her use of voice. This is deceptively simple music. While she has an obvious technical sophistication, she uses it to explore tiny fragments of music or sound. The music is almost never developmental and this gives it a static abstract quality. Her transparent minimal approach allows the listener greater intimacy with the musician than the grander statements of the other two. One is held in rapt attention as she coaxes and cajoles sound from her instrument.
Ce n’est pas vraiment Sade, mais les textes sont bien osés, délicieusement érotiques et ils auraient bien entendu convenus à Justine. Joane Hétu a préféré se les garder pour elle et son groupe.Gémissements et râles mais aussi d’autres délires vocaux sont ainsi au rendez-vous d’une musique fortement structurée et puissante, qui mêle l’humour et la tendresse mélodique à des effets bruitistes issus d’une pratique d’improvisation sonore qui caractérise de plus en plus le collectif québecois.
Joane Hétu se montre beaucoup plus pertinente dans les chansons qu’elle élabore pour Castor et Compagnie, quatuor au sein duquel travaillent egalement Derome, la «sampleuse» Diane Labrosse et le batteur Pierre Tanguay. Mets ta langue (au propre et au figuré), c’est onze chansons d’amour et de cul qui caressent et griffent, pleurent et suent, crient et susurrent. L’esprit du disque est admirablement résumé dans la superbe trilogie Beauté, où l’on peut entendre Jean et Joane chanter «La Beauté, c’est pas c’qu’y’a de plus beau. C’est un mélange d’imperfections (…) de gestes, de hasards.
Nicolas Tittley in Voir
In 1995 singer/saxophonist Joane Hétu released a CD titled Castor et Compagnie, which premiered her new avant-rock formation, the first after the dissolution of Justine. The title was promoted to the status of band name and the follow-up Mets ta langue (Put Your Tongue) was thus billed to both Hétu and Castor et Compagnie. This second offering persists in erotic themes, but this time incorporates more free improvisation and overall a more acoustic, warmer sound. The album’s magnum opus, the three-part Beauté, a reflection on the fact that beauty doesn’t always have to be beautiful, may very well be Hétu’s finest moment as a composer. The piece draws from sensual rhythms, avant-rock riffs and vocal parts from all four musicians to form one of the best tracks released on an Ambiances Magnétiques record in the late 1990s. Dans la joie l’amour has a strange vocal leitmotiv uttered by percussionist Pierre TanguayTa manière, another very strong piece, sensual but also angular in the JustineHétu’s voice is still a case of love-it-or-hate-it and, paradoxically, she is more convincing when using extended techniques then when she plainly sings, but the album also showcases the voices of Tanguay, saxophonist Jean Derome and keyboardist Diane Labrosse (who regularly graced some Justine and Wondeur Brass songs). Mets ta langue is impressively mature work and a delight for the aficionado of avant-gardist song writing. Strongly recommended. throughout, over which ephemeral melodies are layered. The album ends on tradition, an eight minute epic. Of course,
Depuis six ans, Joane Hétu dirige l’ensemble Castor et compagnie qui se consacre exclusivement à la chanson. Mets ta langue est le deuxième album de l’ensemble.
Le disque contient 11 chansons non traditionnelles où se mêlent jazz progressif (Beauté), musique médiévale (L’eau du puits), airs de comptine (Mets ta langue), effets de voix (Mes odeurs préférées) et musique très contemporaine.
Onze chansons qui réflètent la recherche musicale, la poésie des mots et des sons, qui rendent hommage au plaisir et à la beauté et qui dénoncent la bêtise.
Le communiqué parle de: "chansons cochonnes, chansons d’amour, chansons françaises, chansons intelligentes, chansons touchantes, chansons tumultueuses, chansons vivifiantes, chansons improvisées, chansons ’pas cool’, chansons à chanter… Un répertoire qui témoigne de son roc, de son miel, de sa morsure, de sa langue, de sa sueur, de son bruit, de son cri, de sa poésie. Un tutti de voix qui célèbre l’amour, l’érotisme et la vie".
C’est vrai! C’est tout cela et c’est aussi de l’humour avec la chanson Un bout de papier.
Un album différent qui m’a plu et qui ne tournera pas beaucoup à la radio, malheureusement. Pourtant les auditeurs auraient l’occasion ainsi d’écouter autre chose que les sempiternelles chansonnettes insipides, sans saveur et sans couleur. Mets ta langue vous en donne pour votre argent: effets de voix fort intéressants, magnifiques solos et accompagnements de saxophone, bruitage et une langue (entendre ici écriture) poétique très belle.
Peut-être qu’on aime ou on n’aime pas ce CD. Moi, j’ai aimé, j’ai souri et j’ai joui.
Michel Paul Beaudry in Club-culture
