Ascend - Ample Fire Within
July 8 2008 at 10:24:29 AM
Ascend. Into. The. Next. Tax. Bracket. It’s a chore. Seriously. I don’t want to stop listening to Sabbath’s
Sabotage, or the new Harvey Milk, or some old Morbid Angel record that Earache is auctioning off the masters to on eGay. I don’t. But here’s this “collaborative project” involving Greg Ander$on and Gentry Densely, which means it’s actually a recording rife with other has-been musicians because as much as Ander$on fucking lurves to invoke the big jay Jazz, he could never in a nillion years pull off something like Brotzmann/Bennink; Mingus/Dolphy, Coleman/Blackwell, Ayler/Murray, Ulmer/Coleman, et cetera, regardless of whose sweaty musical palm he was feeding from.
But let’s consider—just for a minute—that I don’t abhor the guy. That I’m not repulsed by his Art Installation Approach to “Metal;” that I’m way OK with him saying that what he’s “doing” is no different from LaMonte Young, or Pandit Pran Nath or Ali Akbar Khan; that I’m not opposed to his label releasing the same record 10 different Xs in 10 different colors of vinyl with all sorts of ephemeral “deal sweetners” like cheap paper posters and shoddy screened shirts and stickers that could never ever share the nook of cool that Wacky Packages will occupy ad infinitum. And let’s—for the sake of argument—get past all the “music writers” mucking around in that unimaginative void loosely known as the “one-sheet.” Let’s get past their drooling equation of Ander$on’s Duh-Rhone as, um, “La Brea Tar Pits” of sound, or akin to the disgorgings of an “Abrahamic God;” Puh-leeeeze…. Let’s forget about careless mentions of Miles, or Corea, or McLaughlin. Let’s dispose of their willingness to file AFW away with Earth’s soporific latest, the new-fangled “Hopeful” white-boy bluez. Let’s try—no matter how difficult it might be—to convince ourselves that Ozzy’s nasal whine of “The Thrill of It All” is simply no fucking fun and that we can focus a gob of the gray matter on this.
Man, what’s so bad about it? Aw. Hell. You hate Ander$on. You shouldn’t be “reviewing” this. Objectivity? Journalistic ethiks? Hey. You. This aint a creative writing assignment. Right, right. This is rant as useful tool. This connects dem dots. Dis tells me that the shit “kills, yo,” that it’s “as if Tom Waits and Joe Zawinul, Scott LaFaro, Freddie Hubbard, fuckin’ Slint and the motherfuckin’ Melvins ate three sheets of windowpane and went at it al fresco within the very bowels of the Earth itself.” OK. Right. Hell. Yeah. It sounds JUST like this. But, actually: Zawinul is a rather decent “name drop.” He’s the “cat” that packaged Ornette’s way fucked-up Harmolodic Theory in this little hot tamale of t’ought: “nobody solos, everybody solos.” Zawinul. That motherfucker. His name was cool enough.
If dees gloves fit, ewe must acquit. I’d give up three weeks of lunch money to see these two choads trying to pull some polished kid mits over dere wild palms. Ascend aint no more that what Zawinul was huffin’. Listen to “Ample Fire Within.” Spidery scales that seem to connect and then suddenly descend into one another. Duuuuuh-Rhone. Et cetera. Keep at it dudes; tape’s wolling. Another Red Bull & vodka. Some chips & guac? By the time “AFW” hits midpoint, it’s no different than Goldsmith’s
The Mummy OST
in medias res. Really. Oh, Christ yes it’s that plastic. That stoopid. That horribly unimaginative. Shit, the fucking titles aint no different than Goldsmith’s: “The Sarcophagus;” “Imhotep;” “The Crypt;” et cetera. Um. OK. “Divine” (note: NOT on
The Mummy OST) Ditto. More mooky spusic. “Dissonant fanfares!” Clinking keys. “Thematic material!” Zombied fingerings that would’ve worked on an early Gastr del Sol cut, if they weren’t so self-consciously Heh-Vee. Another track? Here’s “Dark Matter.” Sounds like the same ol’ shit that Ander$on’s made for years with O’Malley. Bring in some brass and we’re smack back in
The Mummy OST. Or perhaps one of Boris’ more “experimental” moments. Kooly KTL. Click here to order now!
In zee end, it’s essentially the same gripe the stuff-shirts had ‘bout the “New Thing” Jazz, the OMFG, NEGROES IN DASHIKIS PLAYING TO WHITE WOMEN type shit that no cracker could sip soup to in a Manhattan Michelin rated eaterie. It sounds like a “house of screaming cats.” That was the line. Or maybe something about a “chicken coop” and a “randy agrarian.” Maybe they were right. But those NEGROES IN DASHIKIS were goin’ for it. They were pissed. There was baggage. All sorts of shit. Every –ism you dare drum up. They didn’t care about things like “exclusive LP only tracks” or “Japanese versions,” or some sorta “You have not heard this” ploy upholstered to a pic-disc. There wasn’t ANY money in that music. They played to play. These “cats” which comprise “Ascend” aint even done that and they aint ever gone to. The magic mirror can only persist for so long. Eventually Ander$on & Crue will have to start believing what it’s preaching and go back to what they’re good at: playing fifth-fiddle to far more talented folks than they.
[Stewart Voegtlin]
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