Jaimie
Branch’s untimely and tragic death last year robbed jazz of one of its most
singular – and promising – talents. It’s therefore difficult not to approach
this posthumous album – recorded four months before her passing and completed
by her long-standing Fly or Die band and her sister Kate – with a sense of
sadness and trepidation, and also regret for what more might have come.
But that's
not quite the case here, because this album is a superb addition to a small but
brilliant legacy: as a final statement, they don't come much better than this.
It's a glorious listen, rather than the melancholy one I expected. Branch was
fond of saying that playing the trumpet was akin to "singing your
soul" and that is certainly the case here, as ((world war)) contains some
of her best-ever playing: fierce, free, expressive and uniquely Branchian. The
writing is her best-ever too.
((world
war)) is as electrifying as the group’s first three [two studio, one live] LPs,
but comes with a wider sonic palette and heightened ambition. The Taylor-St
Louis-Ajemian FoD core unit is there, locked in tighter than ever, but synths,
exotic percussion, guest horn players and extra vocalists add real richness to
the mix. There's also a much heavier feel than on previous outings and Branch's
singing – at times weirdly reminiscent of Patty Waters' – takes the spotlight
almost as much as her trumpet.
The
nine-minute centerpiece ‘baba louie’ starts out as an eclectic stew of
Caribbean carnival rhythm and South African-inflected horns, introduces marimba
and flute, morphs into an anthemic trumpet solo section, and finally jumps into
a dubby groove. Another nine-minute epic, ‘burning grey’, is an impassioned
call for vigilance atop a frantic, steamhammering rhythm; and on ‘the
mountain’, Branch and Ajemian create a wonderful two-voices-and-bass take on
the Meat Puppets’ country-punk classic ‘Comin’ Down’.
On the
closer, ‘world war ((reprise))’, she jangles a 1970s Fisher-Price musical toy
(the Happy Apple mentioned in the credits) and entreats in an even, intimate
tone: "Publicise, televise, capitalise on revolution’s eyes/What the world
could be/If only you could see/Their wings are false flags/On our wings, they
all rise". It's a message of hope as much as a warning from an artist (and
a band) at the top of her game. A remarkable testament.
Pubblicato su www.jazzwise.com
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When an artist dies young, it often feels as though their passing is especially hard to bear. “So full of life,” is a phrase we reach for. However rote, that sentiment is pretty much unavoidable when you hear the surging, posthumous album by trumpetist, band leader and arch-collaborator Jaimie Branch, who died this time last year aged 39. Branch had very nearly finished this third outing under her own name with her Fly Or Die quartet: percussionist Chad Taylor, acoustic bassist Jason Ajemian and cellist-flautist-keyboard player Lester St Louis. Two groundbreaking, energetic studio albums precede it: 2017’s Fly Or Die and 2019’s Fly Or Die II – Bird Dogs of Paradise.
As the band name suggests, there was a breakneck, YOLO verve to everything Branch did that goes double here. Wolf-like howls punctuate these tracks, vying for primacy with scything, bowed strings. Rhythms drive, tumble and sashay. In the liner notes, her band speak of “longer forms, more modulations and more noise”.
Branch had
a deep belief that music changes the world on a cellular level and her vivid
protest rave-jazz invites you in Branch was first and foremost a jazz
trumpeter, trained at the New England Conservatory and boasting the nickname
“Breezy”. On this record, she is often in league with trombone, flute and
clarinet. But her Bandcamp bio memorably identifies her as “a psychedelic
warrior for peace, making music into the void”.
A punk
disposition suffuses many of these nine tracks, immolating assumptions around
the j-word. Fly Or Die III (for brevity) rocks, rolls and generally throws
itself around. Branch plays her trumpet as though leading her band into battle
– or, Pied Piper-like, to the afterparty in New Orleans. Often taking the
instrument from her lips, she shouts and exhorts, whoops and sings.
A DIY
operator at heart, she did all her own artwork. So it’s not really that much of
a surprise to find that, in the middle of an ensemble album where marimbas
trade off with mbiras (a Zimbabwean thumb piano), there’s an unexpected cover of
a Meat Puppets song, The Mountain. The country-punk original (Comin’ Down,
released 1994) is transmuted into rootsy Americana by Ajemian’s voice and bowed
bass; Branch is on trumpet and backing vocals. Elsewhere, the menu is global:
snaking, Ethiopian horn tones trade off with tracks that hint at Branch’s
Colombian roots on her mother’s side. Branch is also credited as playing a
Happy Apple, a Fisher-Price toy from the 1970s.
Regrettably,
Branch was no household name. She was born in Long Island, raised in Chicago
and was based in Brooklyn; in later life, she booked venues, worked in record
shops, organised jams and cross-pollinated with all sorts of artists, from our
own Alabaster DePlume, to TV on the Radio, Talib Kweli and Madlib. Operating in
a niche space – where jazz meets everything – and recording for a small label
(forward-thinking Chicago imprint International Anthem) she never attained the
widescreen recognition of star players such as LA’s Kamasi Washington or
London’s Shabaka Hutchings. But Branch shared a front-facing sound and a
committed, progressive worldview with the two soloists.
You can
hear this engagement on tracks such as Take Over the World, a workout full of
urgent vigour, ululations and manipulated sound. Just as compelling is the
nine-minute-plus tour de force Burning Grey: there are more yips and yowls,
with Branch’s trumpet tearing at the air in a kind of jubilant defiance.
“Everything feels broken, crippling or token, you wonder why the world slips
away, burning grey,” Branch sings, “Believe me, the future lives inside us,
don’t forget to fight, don’t forget the fight, don’t forget, don’t forget!”
It’s a
terrible waste that Branch’s death is the prism through which we now view her
vivid protest rave-jazz, played with a brio that sweeps you along and invites
you in. Branch had, according to her old Bandcamp biography, “a deep belief
that music changes the world on a cellular level”. That bio was self-penned.
“Despite her shortcomings,” it goes on, “this puts Branch on the side of
beauty.” No arguments there.
Pubblicato su www.theguardian.com
, Kitty Empire, 19 Aug 2023
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