Oren Ambarchi - Shebang

 

The most difficult music sometimes makes it look easy, almost as if nothing’s happening at all. Glenn Branca’s electric guitar symphonies aren’t that hard to play. Chopin’s Nocturnes might seem deceptively simple, given their fragile beauty. Terry Riley’s In C is literally one note. Peeking beneath the hood of any of the above reveals each to require titanic powers of concentration, focus, and an almost psychic connection with the instrument.

If you’re not paying attention, you might be tempted to think there’s not much happening with Shebang, the newest from Australian avant guitarist/composer/experimenter par excellence Oren Ambarchi. It’s the third in a triptych of albums focusing on rhythm, following 2014’s Quixotism and 2016’s Hubris. Shebang picks up where Hubris‘ rhythmic pulse left off, with stuttering pointillist percussive guitar from Ambarchi creating a scaffolding over which an all-star cast of international improvisers weave an impressively random array of sounds and exquisite improvisation.

Like Hubris, Shebang is structured as four “movements,” or maybe sections would be more apt, as there’s not a whole lot moving here. Or, rather, everything’s moving, constantly, as crystalline guitar harmonics are joined by odd underpinnings of bass, triggered by Ambarchi’s guitar, and what sounds like a synth, giving the proceedings the air of an arthouse ’80s psychological drama, To Live and Die in L.A. by way of Steve Reich. Before long, the atonal stringed instruments are joined by the driving, propulsive groove of Joe Talia’s high hat, at which point the band seem to seamlessly shift into an excellent fusion band, as if Teo Macero were remixing Goblin for Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew. The scene shifts, yet again, with the introduction of a pedal steel slide guitar, courtesy of BJ Cole of “Tiny Dancer” fame, of all things. The atmospheric pedal steel, entirely out of the blue and seemingly out of thin air, perhaps inevitably brings to mind Brian Eno’s Apollo: Atmospheres and Soundtracks, at which point the whole affair takes on an “out of this world” quality for a moment.

What is most impressive of all of this is the fact that this all-star group of stellar improvisers were never in the same physical space while making Shebang. This level of detailed, concentrated, focused playing is always deserving of accolades, even if it’s not the flashiest thing in the world. The fact that this level of precision can be achieved across continents is vaguely mind-blowing.

Listening to Shebang, it’s clear there’s some sort of guiding principle at play but it’s not immediately obvious what it is. Slinky guitar arpeggios, sounding more like something from a gamelan orchestra or African marimba ensemble, seem to set off corresponding bass runs – exactly how is anybody’s guess. It gives the feeling of some larger pattern at work, of staring at a time-lapse video of spreading chemical reactions, unthinkably complex and impossible to comprehend. Yet there is a method to the madness; there is a pattern to the chaos. That idea brings a bit of peace.

Anyone looking for big, grand gestures in Shebang is likely to be slightly frustrated, though. This is music for prolonged concentration, demanding focus and attention to truly appreciate its craftsmanship. For those willing to brave the 40-minute runtime of experimental instrumental improv, though, it’s a hypnotic, meditative journey that’s well worth taking.

Pubblicato su spectrumculture.com 2022/10/11 By J Simpson

Il flusso è un concetto importante nello stile di Oren Ambarchi, un elemento che ha trovato un primo pieno compimento nell’ottimo Saggittarian Domain (2012) per riemergere di tanto in tanto in alcuni lavori lunghi. Tra questi, il nuovo Sheband, terzo capitolo di una trilogia dedicata allo studio ritmico che comprende anche gli album Quixotism (2014) e Hubris (2016). Se in quest’ultimo il Nostro cavalcava in solitaria linee techno dal sapore krauto, nel precedente chiamava a raccolta una schiera di amici e collaboratori (Thomas Brinkmann, Matt Chamberlain, Crys Cole, Eyvind Kang, Jim O’ Rourke, John Tilbury, U-zhaanper, Ilan Volkov & the Icelandic Symphony Orchestra) viaggiando con millimetrica precisione all’interno di teorie contemporanee.

Un folto gruppo di compagni d’avventura torna ad animare anche la nuova fatica, opera in quattro atti dall’incedere avant jazz distesa su un unico tempo che ne mantiene salda la pervicace consequenzialità: un movimento costante e intelligentemente sostenuto da cambiamenti di intensità e variazioni grandangolari a oliarne lo scorrimento. A dare l’avvio, la sei corde di Ambarchi, che stratifica una fitta ragnatela di note cristalline e armonici componendo un denso quadro di armonie nevrotiche. Una sommatoria che si sviluppa con tutto il tempo necessario fino all’ingresso del batterista australiano Joe Talia a disegnarne lo scheletro ritmico con sincopi jazzate.

La seconda parte regola morbide implosioni funk fusion esaltate dalla steel guitar di B.J. Cole e con Sam Dunscombe a incresparle di dissonanze di clarinetto basso, mentre leggeri impulsi elettronici dirigono il suono dentro teorie circolari à la Necks. Più di un’evocazione, visto che nella terza parte è proprio Chris Abrahams dell’avant trio australiano a incentivare l’ipnosi con i suoi austeri ed eleganti fraseggi di pianoforte; Johan Berthling (già con il Nostro nel recente Ghosted) sostiene con bassi dub, e i tagli di synth di O’Rourke si ergono sotto la linea dell’orizzonte. L’ultima parte accoglie la 12 corde di Julia Reidy a scarnificare il suono con puntellature squillanti, l’umore essiccato gradatamente riprende il passo spingendo la stasi al suo apice. La tensione declina rapidamente in dispersioni sintetiche, ciò che doveva esser detto è stato detto e con classe.

Pubblicato su sentireascoltare.com di Massimo Onza,  23/10/22