This record is many things: it’s a live album (the best kind of album),
it’s a critique and exploration of art while being a piece of art itself,
it’s a musical and political statement, it’s dense and cerebral while
retaining simplicity and viscerality, it’s an iteration on cultural
symbols and signifiers, it’s an exploration of the human experience
through a personal and new lenses which is, put simply, what poetry is. And
it’s Fred Moten’s improvised poetry that this album revolves around.
Sometimes I struggle to convey through words how certain music impacts me
and why I think it’s great but, funnily enough, I’m finding that conveying
how Moten’s words make me feel is way harder than describing the
music on this record; he effortlessly weaves a thick webbing of his lived
experiences, his radical politics and references to current and past
events like the murder of Rodney King into a free associative tapestry of
feelings and moods that I can’t quite untangle neatly or dissect but that
simply, as the kids say, hit. The mastery Moten has over the
english language is evident, with his vocabulary smoothly jumping from
exalted to ordinary just as quickly as he jumps from musings on climate
change and the growing hold oligarchy has on our societies to vignettes of
interpersonal relationships, creating a miniature replica of the pathways
of his brain, intrusive and throwaway thoughts included, a fully fledged
universe of his own.
His wordplay also holds infinite replay value, with new quotes and
thoughts jumping out at every listen and sticking in your head like ‘we
cut each other off to make each other up‘ when discussing the
connections to our fellow humans or the oxymoronic and borderline Lynchian
‘having become fleshly with amputation‘. Hip-hop fans call them
quotables and this album is a treasure trove of wonderful, at times funny
and poetic thoughts to sift through and hoard in the back of your mind. Moten’s not just great with words, he chooses the best words every
time (another definition of poetry).
While the poetry alone is worth the price of admission I’d be remiss not
to mention the incredible musicianship from bassist Brandon López and
drummer Gerald Cleaver. Their synergy is out of this world and their
creativity defies all expectations. López explores his bass in all
possible ways: grinding bowed notes, koto-like harmonics, hypnotic
ostinatos, fast and spidery runs, everything delivered with fiery
intensity and blaring volume. Despite the nature of improvised music and
no matter how some of the playing might be physically demanding the bass
is never out of sync with the drums, López and Cleaver are focused on and
locked in with one another, constantly adding to each other’s ideas and
leading to exhilarating moments like the blood-pumping, Swans-like
crescendo on ‘1A’ or the irresistible rhythms on ‘B1’ and ‘A2’. The pair
are the gold standard of what we might reductively call a ‘rhythm
section’, as comfortable with free-tempo caveman bashing as they are with
Hip-hop inspired wonky beats, not in the Spotify-approved and sanitized
kind of way but in a way that feels honest and true to the artists’
vision. All of this while perfectly complementing Moten’s contributions to
the music and creating a wonderful listening experience. For all the
fantastic interplay among these musicians nothing is as emblematic of
their great chemistry as the times Cleaver punctuates Moten’s lyrics with
his own voice. A microcosm of what improvisation is, a nod of approval and
enjoyment that’s delightful in its simplicity.
Both deeply personal and, in a way, universal, a fantastic album to be
played over and over, recorded on two separate nights but cohesive both
sonically and lyrically. Available digitally and on double LP from Reading Group with gorgeous, abstract artwork, perfectly suited for the music and words
on this record. I can’t recommend this enough.