The far side
Beyond-jazz-and-rock improvisers Rova Saxophone Quartet.
PHOTO BY SHARON BEALS
In 1995 "new jazz" may have gotten the headlines, but the Bay Area improv scene stole the show.
By Derk Richardson
THE CUTTING edge does not move in a straight line. Nowhere is that more evident than in the often tortuous paths and uncertain fortunes of the Bay Area's improvised-music scene. San Francisco has attracted risk-takers and nurtured avant-garde sensibilities since the Gold Rush. In music that has not only given local rock its ragged fringe but also has fed the experimental impulse behind such phenomena as the Tape Music Center of the 1960s; the "new," electronic, and computer music programs at Mills College, Stanford, and Cal; the dogged persistence of such record labels as New Albion, Artifact, Music and Arts, and AsianImprov; and the restless creativity of a motley cast of beyond-jazz-and-rock improvisers and composers including Rova Saxophone Quartet, Henry Kaiser, Chris Brown, Beth Custer, the Hub, Greg Goodman, Ben Goldberg, Henry Kuntz, Francis Wong, the Manufacturing of Humidifiers, and many others.Most people couldn't care less about the sounds being made in these enigmatic margins; even those who don't draw the line at what "rocks the house" rarely defy the listening prejudices instilled by mainstream media. That fact doesn't trouble most improvisers; they don't expect their unconventional forays into the unknown to attract a mass following -- but they do need to put bread on the table. If not sustained by academic appointments or grants, their livelihood depends on the existence and viability of an alternative or underground marketplace. Unfortunately, even in periods when the creative juices seem to be flowing generously, improvising musicians don't automatically have access to the "cult" audience that relishes strange textures, unpredictable rhythms, and challenging "noise."
In 1995 a fair amount of energy and print were spent on San Francisco's "new jazz" scene, which dominated the bistros and catapulted the Charlie Hunter Trio and T.J. Kirk to major-label status. But A&R scouts from Blue Note and Warner Bros. did not show up at the Hotel Utah or New Langton Arts in San Francisco, the Stork Club in Oakland, or Beanbender's in Berkeley to check out musicians whose roots are closer to Sun Ra, Anthony Braxton, or Sonny Sharrock than to Jimmy Smith, James Brown, Thelonious Monk, Roland Kirk, or even John Coltrane.
Granted, it can be a thin line between the new-jazz and the improv scenes -- a line across which many Bay Area players venture back and forth. But those who have crossed over to the far side know exactly where they stand, which is to say in a position of creating their own scene -- establishing their own venues and putting out their own records.
The past year was a mixed bag for the improv scene. The do-it-yourself ethic kept the Dark Circle Lounge series thriving at the Hotel Utah on Tuesday nights and manifested itself anew in the Beanbender's Wednesday night series at the Berkeley Store Gallery. These grassroots projects not only provided venues for such local radicals as Glenn Spearman, Lisle Ellis, Ben Goldberg, Doug Carroll, Graham Connah, and others, but helped make it possible to import such artists as the Evan Parker-Barry Guy-Paul Lytton Trio and guitarist Fred Frith from England, saxophonist Jack Wright from Colorado, saxophonist Ellery Eskelin from New York, and violinist LaDonna Smith from Alabama.
The kind of organizational energy that kept those showcases alive also facilitated a few extraordinary collaborations, such as the ad hoc creative music orchestra of local players that pianist Cecil Taylor rehearsed for several afternoons at Yoshi's in Oakland last January (he returned in the fall to premiere a similar giant big band at the San Francisco Jazz Festival) or the evening of Anthony Braxton music performed at Yoshi's, masterminded by percussionist Gino Robair of the Splatter Trio.
Indeed, like Dan Plonsey and friends at Beanbender's, Robair generated a whirlwind of activity this year, booking the Dark Circle Lounge and overseeing the operations of his Rastascan label, which issued, among other recordings, Myles Boisen's anthology of solo and collaborative experiments, Guitarspeak, and the superb Sun Ra tribute Wavelength Infinity, a double CD featuring improvisers from the Bay Area and beyond.
Other significant recordings surfaced from the depths of the experimental/improv scene as well, including Pipe Dreams by Figure 8 (Rova X 4); Henry Kaiser and Derek Bailey's Wire Forks; Jump or Die: Splatter Trio and Debris Play Anthony Braxton; the Glenn Spearman Double Trio's Smokehouse; the New Klezmer Trio's Melt Zonk Rewire; the Bifurcators' Gang of 2; The Hub's Wrecking Ball; Francis Wong's Ming and Chicago Time Code; Vijay Iyer's Memorophilia; Beth Custer's The Shirt I Slept In; After the End of the World Coretet's 13; Siamese Step Brothers by Henry Kaiser, Tom Constanten, Bruce Anderson, Lukas Ligeti, and Dale Sopheia; and Another Curiosity Piece by Dan Plonsey, John Hinds, Peter Hinds, and Mantra Ben-Ya'akova.
In many ways, 1995 was a banner year for Bay Area improv. For the musicians it was more like business as usual, a business in which the slightest dip in the cycle -- such as the demise of Berkeley's la Carte and its guitar-oriented music evenings -- makes the difference between keeping your head above water and going under. Indeed, compared to five or six years ago, when Rick Reis was booking "improvcore" concerts at Olive Oil's and there was enough interest to warrant weekend-long improvised-music festivals and a visible association of improvising musicians, 1995 was less than paradise.
For example, as a solo avant-garde percussionist, Gino Robair finds it much easier to get gigs in Birmingham, Tallahassee, Chattanooga, or New Orleans than in San Francisco. As a mover and shaker, Robair expresses the conflicting emotions probably felt by others in the scene. "I get pissed off because there are several of us who have really helped the scene come together, and other people take advantage of that and don't give back," he says. "But unlike New York, there's not a whole lot of competition here, people don't give each other grief about playing or not playing a certain space, and everyone's very friendly with each other."
When you live on the cutting edge, it cuts both ways.
SF BAY GUARDIAN: ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT : THE FAR SIDE