Tempted To Smile doesn't really surprise us when whe know the implication of these three wise-wizards, wonderfull surveyors of the incredible and the shared moment. The music spings up, there, alive, vibrating, ready to accept its most beautiful (and risky) transports.
It’s not necessary for Fred Frith to be cryptic. Everything in this man’s music – from the demos of 1983’s Cheap At Half The Price to the complex interaction of improvisation and orchestral capacities (courtesy of Ensemble Modern) of the never enough praised Traffic Continues, released by Winter & Winter in 2000 – reveals the artist’s origins, undernourished-but-resistant elements of true incorruptibility merged with the unambiguous signs of an everlasting pursuit of instrumental knowledge which, to this day, reveals no trace of oxidation or, even worse, lassitude. In his work, advanced development and road bumpiness weigh in as opposite heavyweight poles of a vision that decades of activity and hundreds of recordings have characterized as divergent yet still familiar, to the point that the cognoscenti salute the new releases as something that’s more or less due to them, somehow considering them as “predictably meaningful” whenever they materialize. Not many musicians can brag about an analogous achievement.
However, despite this not being the first “recent” solo guitar album by FF - 2001’s Clearing, also on Tzadik, possibly my favourite outing in that sense - To Sail, To Sail is a little different in concept, completely different as far as the sonic source is concerned. The sixteen solos were in fact conjured up on the steel of a Taylor 810 acoustic, superbly recorded by Myles Boisen down to the smallest graze and rub of the fingers on the strings (and bridge, and tuning keys, and). Each track was dedicated by the guitarist to his “teachers”, which include brothers, influences and past/present collaborators: John Cage, Davey Graham, Terry Riley, Robbie Basho, Janet Feder and Chris Frith belong in the same ship. Sliding notes, open tunings, commonly acknowledged harmonic progressions and smoothly resonant, shimmering chords are as a part of Frith’s vocabulary as the on-the-table methods, and this is probably the first time in which we’re in the condition of appreciating the full extent of his adroitness on the instrument so comprehensively. Although not actually derivative of the referenced names’ styles, there’s no question in regard to Frith’s playing consciously alluding at the main inspirations, a sizeable portion of his personality added to every selection, that ineradicable explicitness which lets the expert listener recognize him after a couple of pitches, or scrapes for that matter. In those hands, the Taylor sounds like a berimbau, a double bass, a handful of dried rice dropped in a pan, a set of bouncy springs. Ear-piercing frictional movements, knocks on the guitar’s body and luminescent percussive cascades à la Laraaji are accepted as the most natural occurrence, because it’s all Frith in any case.
Sometimes the infringement of rules is attainable without excruciating pain, and acting as renegades to assert class in situations that aren’t exactly mainstream from the beginning is often fruitless. To Sail, To Sail’s democratic extremism, its unassuming bloomers, prove us the humanity - the vulnerability in a way - of a performer that doesn’t panic when trodden paths are abandoned, even if this means taking a few steps back to better envisage a future that - bet your house on it - will still incorporate him as a pivotal figure, regardless of any trend.
Un alboume d’improvisation, dosé, méticuleux et terriblement attachant, car il nous lie au monde et aux sons des humains.
Les instruments de cordes boisés (guitare, violon, vielle,…) s’attachent à de l’électronique, sans que jamais cette fusion ne ressemble à un mélange précaire.
Et ainsi, ces 3 musiciens, dont 2 femmes, parcourent le monde entier. Mais est-ce étrange, que de voyager ainsi ? Il reste encore heureusement des défricheurs.
(lien là où vous savez)
De l’émerveillement.
De la surprise.
Depuis quand, déjà, avez-vous été secoué par une aventure culturelle, sensorielle, esthétique et populaire ?
Si vous traînez vos bottes par ici, vous pouvez noter que parfois, je me laisse aller.
C’est humain.
Je ne suis pas une vigie seule dans sa tour (un peu quand même), je n’ai pas la prétention de désigner et donc d’éliminer (sauf que j’adorerais éliminer parfois ce qui justement relève de la distraction, de cette manière de nous faire détourner nos sens de l’essentiel pour mieux nous envahir avec ce qui nous asservi, nous transforme en animal docile et terriblement prévisible). Je n’ai que parfois des intuitions, des frissons épidermiques et des visions d’astres épinglés au firmament, les nuits d’insomnies.
Prétentieux, tout cela, hein ? Oui, terriblement prétentieux, et je ne suis pas enclin à en rabattre.
Car là, il est question d’un astre. Celui de « Death Ambient ».
« Drunken Forest » est le 3° alboume de ces défricheurs sonores. Oui, il reste encore tellement de territoires encore inexplorés, que lorsque des étoiles sonores viennent ainsi transpercer nos chairs, nous ne pouvons que leur reconnaître au moins une qualité élémentaire, tellurique et vitale, celle d’être des vigies potentiellement dangereuses pour « l’ordre des choses » : cet ordre que les marchands de distraction tentent de maintenir coûte que coûte, au service d’intérêts avilissants. La dernière tentative de cadenasser internet n’en est que plus flagrante.
Foncez acheter cet alboume et les autres. Dites à vos proches que vous partez. Invitez les à partager ce voyage.
Fermez tout. Pour mieux vous laisser envahir par ces nappes, ces sons, ces boucles, ces mélanges, ces paysages, …
