By Don Phipps
Clarinetist and composer Christer Bothen’s L’INVISIBLE (in English
– the hidden, unseen, or invisible) is a fascinating bluesy abstraction,
music that suggests David Lynch’s Red Room – a dreamscape where things feel
both oddly in and out of place – like wearing a wrong size shirt that’s
still presentable. This enigmatic kaleidoscopic endeavor is sustained by
Kansan Zetterberg’s expressive bass and Kjell Nordeson’s cool vibraphone and
hot drums.
The music, recorded as two parts, seems maze-like. The labyrinth is deep and
navigating it hints at a journey to the unknown parts of the human psyche.
In “Partie 1,” Bothen quotes Ornette Coleman’s classic “Lonely Woman,” an
unexpected curve ball in what feels like a cat on the prowl in some dark
alley. There’s a film noir aspect to the composition – a grayness of black
& white. Zetterberg alternates between individual note plucks and
staggered strumming across the strings. Bothen’s clarinet rips at time but
mostly its full voiced and spatial, providing an interesting counterpart to
Nordeson’s abstract vibraphone phrases, phrases replete with pedal work that
imparts an ethereal quality.
In “Partie 2,” Bothen begins with a repeating motif in the clarinet’s lower
register while Nordeson develops his vibraphone dissonance and harmonics.
Midway all hell breaks loose, as Nordeson moves to the drums and the trio
pushes forward like a space vehicle launch – accelerating with rapid
intensity. Bothen squeals out his stratospheric lines and the tune darts
here and there like some kind of high-speed chase down a darkened freeway.
Bothen then moves inside the piano, where he rummages about as Zetterberg
uses his bow to create a sonic platform. Nordeson’s drums are hot here but
under control. The bottom drops out –Nordeson resumes his work on the
vibraphone and the trio evokes the bluesy dreaminess of a dark foggy
evening.
Albums like these are to be savored. They bring one closer to mortal
thoughts and beliefs, and how they all jumble together to create reality
within one’s mind. Just what is a dream anyway? Where does it go and why is
it many times beyond recall? Is this what Huxley meant by the doors of
perception? Perhaps Bothen means none of this with these ruminations. Still,
in this music one cannot escape the hidden and unseen.