Borderlands Trio: Stephan Crump, Kris Davis, Eric McPherson • Wandersphere
 ree improvising --
music-making with no pre-planned material -- was a legit jazz option by the late 1940s,
when Lennie Tristano’s gang dipped into it. Then came 1960s' free jazz, though even
then, most bands still played tunes, however briefly. Free play was going mainstream by
the 1980s when the acclaimed Keith Jarrett/Gary Peacock/Jack DeJohnette trio only played
improvisations and (unrehearsed) standards. For many jazz combinations nowadays it’s
one tack among many, like playing over a funk or Brazilian rhythm. Jazzy bands that only
improvise are rare, a pity since free play that swings is a beautiful thing. Which brings
us to one of my favorite ensembles working now, the limber Borderlands Trio of pianist
Kris Davis, bassist (and organizer) Stephan Crump and drummer Eric McPherson.
Skeptics used to dismiss free play as like tennis without a net -- too easy. After all, you only have to listen to and respond to what the other players are doing, instantly -- and have good instincts for when not to play, and when and how to reenter: sneak in, or announce yourself? You might pursue an independent line, parallel to whatever else is happening, or y’all might collectively coalesce around some spontaneous melody or motif. For variety, after a suitable amount of time, you’ll want to move on via graceful or violent transition, to some new episode, and begin again. At least that’s how the Borderlanders do it: a trapeze act without a net. They play long continuous spontaneous suites, and on their double-disc sophomore outing Wandersphere they put the concept to the test, by playing four of them. (David Stoller recorded the nearly two-hour program at the Samurai Hotel in Queens; Crump did the dry, clear mix. Extra points for not putting himself out front.) Davis’s 2019 all-star album Diatom Ribbons and her work with the Berklee Institute of Jazz and Gender Justice have brought her wider attention, after years of being recognized as a terrific improvising pianist. She can do (and undo) quick preparations of the piano strings, for West African mbira or Indonesian gamelan timbral effects, without getting too literal/appropriative. With a firm, pliant touch at the keys, she can play lacy harmony with the right hand or snaky Lennie Tristano lines in the bass, can set strings a-humming using a guitarist’s e-bow, and scrabble fast and lightly over the keyboard’s high notes with no loss of propulsion. She has power but is never, ever drearily heavy. Bassist Crump’s plump plucked sound has gravitas; he makes himself felt in an ensemble where any member may take up the initiative at any time. And he gets a confident, frictive singing bass sound when he picks up his bow. Eric McPherson came up playing with heavy swingers like Jackie McLean, was in inside/outside pianist Andrew Hill’s last band, and then joined a long-running Fred Hersch trio. The drummer can play over open terrain but obviously loves to swing, so flexible momentum is a given. As he reminds us over and over, there are infinite ways to swing on the drum kit, so many beats and inflections and colors. He never treats those swinging patterns like dogma: join me or else. More like: Hey! Here’s something else we can try. Playing free, there’s always a temptation to dive in on what someone else is doing. When one trio member pivots, they all may, but each can be contrary too. There’s a moment on “An Invitation to Disappear” where McPherson slips into rapid pulsing on bass drum and cymbals -- an invitation in itself. But rhythmic or melodic counterpoint may be a more creative option. Rather than hopping on, Crump takes up an episodic base line, leaving space for responses the pianist obligingly provides. And McPherson obligingly fades out the pulsing out, comes back with more conversational maneuvers behind that piano-bass dialogue; they will all circle back to more overt time-playing soon enough. There are no end of deft transitions: one rhythm creeping up behind another, an adjustment in one’s player’s phrasing deflecting the trio toward a new inflection. They take the time to explore each new development but have excellent instincts for moving on, for not over-milking. They groove, but never on auto-pilot, keeping their footing on an ever-shifting terrain. And when someone gets quiet, the others will get out of the way. Highlighting McPherson’s essential role,
“Possible Futures” sticks with some kind of time-play for most of its 25
minutes. Swing is infectious. I often wish outward-bound musicians did more of it. One
prominent avant-ish leader once told me, when the band starts swinging, they start
listening to the rhythm section and not to each other. When the band’s all rhythm
section, that is not a problem. |
