By Don Phipps
There’s a foreverness in the music of Anouar Brahem’s
After the Last Sky. The music covers a landscape of feelings that stretches outward over a
vast desert – the undulating dunes, the wind, the dry arid heat, the
romance – a beautiful and captivating work that reaches out in profound
grace.
This is music to be savored, like that perfect glass of pinot noir or
chianti on a warm summer evening – the moon and planets emerging from the
ether. Brahem is a master of the Middle Eastern oud, an instrument that
surfaced in the Middle Ages. It has a neck and a round bowl shape that
adheres to the soundboard. And even though the instrument speaks to
antiquity, under Brahem’s masterful technique, it becomes a jazzy bouquet
of texture and sound, delicate yet pronounced.
Brahem is joined by the magnificent Dave Holland on bass, Django Bates on
piano, and Anja Lechner on cello. Together they produce intimate music,
just spicy enough at times to suggest sensual dances, while at other times,
one can imagine windswept dunes that stretch forever outward against a blue
sky, not unlike the movie opening of Anthony Minghella’s movie
The English Patient
or the great North African terrain described in Paul Bowles seminal novel
The Sheltering Sky. Brahem also composed the numbers herein
(except for “The Eternal Olive Tree, which he jointly composed with Dave
Holland),
The music begs the question – what is after the last sky? We know for all
living things there is a last sky. And that may speak to why the
compositions possess a mysterious quality – the contemplation of what comes
after. What hammers home this contemplation is the sweeping and haunting
music that permeate the compositions. Of note in this regard are Lechner’s
wonderful, bowed phrases. Check out her closing on “Endless Wandering” or
her work on the short tone poem “Vague,” which lifts the piece into the
sublime.
Holland stays mostly in the background, creating mood and atmospheres with
plucks or soft, steady, and exquisite repetition (for example, his
arpeggios on “The Sweet Oranges of Jaffa”). Occasionally, his lines emerge
like a sailboat driven briskly by the wind – for instance, the beginning of
“The Eternal Olive Tree.” And Bates creates seemingly uninterrupted
poetry. On “After the Last Sky,” listen for the overtones in his unison
duet with Brahem. Or his delicate interchange with Holland on “Never
Forget.” Or the interlude he provides on “Edward Said’s Reverie.” Or the
ballet of the fingers he brings to “Awake,” perhaps the most engaging piece
on the album.
But if this effort belongs to anyone, it is most certainly Anouar Brahem.
His popping and precise attacks and plucks, the breathing space he gives to
his notes (his opening on “After the Last Sky), and his sweeping panoramic
motifs (“Endless Wandering”) propel the music in unhurried fashion – think
sea turtle swimming blithely by, surrounded by the dark blue water and
beneath it, sparkling white sand.
“Sky” holds other charms – the tango-ish feel of “Dancing Under the
Meteorites” or the artful dance of “The Sweet Oranges of Jaffa,” the black
and white of “Remembering Hind,” or the salsa undertones in “After the Last
Sky.” Brahem offers this point of view: “Today, the sonic materials that
seem particularly transformable and stimulating to me are those that
combine tradition and modernity…. For example, the Arabic maqams, which are
at the heart of my musical identity, fascinate me with their melodic
richness and their ability to integrate into contemporary musical contexts.
They offer an infinite terrain for experimentation. I find it exciting to
juxtapose these ancient modal structures with harmonic approaches from
jazz, creating a dialogue between past and present, between cultures and
styles.”
An infinite terrain…. Yes, and it all adds up to a beautiful and exotic
experience – sounds and notes that take you far away to open ground,
stunning vistas, and wind-swept patterns crossing a distant dune. Enjoy!