By Gary Chapin
You may not often think of bagpipes in free jazz improv, but if you do, it’s
a good idea to think of them in terms of behemothic, pre-avian termagants
stomping through the primordial wetlands— unearthly ferns growing up to
their shoulders, a wet-heat, high O2 atmosphere guaranteed to provoke an
altered state—and that’s what piper Matthew Welch and sax guy Dan Plonsey do
on this recording.
The pipes/jazz disconnect comes from the fact that pipes are a very
traditional and regimented (really, there are pipe regiments) and, if played
correctly are pretty dang diatonic, with only an octave +1 in its range and
the two drones (a 1 and two 5s) slamming you into the tonic center. Here’s
the thing, ideally there is but one way to play the pipes correctly, but
Welch (and a few others) have discovered that there are an unlimited number
of ways to not play correctly. Just like with a target: a limited number of
ways to hit, an unlimited number of ways to miss—but when you miss the
target, you’re still going to hit something, and the something on
Eudimorphodon is pretty magical.
Welch and Plonsey paint in jagged, vibrant, microtonal, loud, blunt,
articulate smears, evoking the flying monsters of the pre-human world.
Eudimorphodon is an early pteranodon, as are the other creatures namechecked
in the set list. These are thematic and vibe cues to the music, synaesthetic
comp and improv prompts that—when you hear the music—make all kinds of
sense. Making sense doesn’t make it less unnerving, though. There’s
something about the sheer quantity of sound the pipes produce—as many limits
as the instrument has, only 9 pitches and three drones (supposedly), but
when you stand next to a piper playing it’s infinite, transcendent. Like a
strong river pushing at you, functionally never ending—just like those
drones. And speaking of the drones, they may in some contexts, lock you into
a tonal center, but the way Welsh plays, they create almost geological
anchors with which all of the microtonal possibilities create unique
relationships.
Fiercely interesting stuff. As Plonsey writes in his remarks, “The song of
the soaring, swooping Eudimorphodon could not have been more eerie and
thrilling than that of bagpipes and saxophone together.” Honestly, I can’t
imagine any set of instruments more suited to, say, Albert Ayler’s aesthetic
than these two. It’s spiritual, scientific, metaphorical, old, and new, and
it cleans out your pipes. Five stars.