This review will likely be half gushing over Carla Bley's compositional and organizational genius, and half gushing over the undersung talent of tenor saxophonist Gato Barbieri. Besides, those are the album's two greatest strengths. What makes this album all the more impressive, though, is that it came after a truly monumental feat in Bley's discography: the two-hour-long triple album Escalator Over the Hill, a collaboration with poet Paul Haines. Progress for that album became somewhat hampered with Haines travelled to India, but it provided him ample material for this album, released three years after Escalator. While Tropic Appetites is a smaller affair (eight musicians compared to over fifty utilized on Escalator), many players overdubbed different parts, giving the album a nearly equally grand scale.
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| The inimitable Carla Bley. |
A perfect example of this album's sense of scale is the piece Enormous Tots, which had to have influenced Danny Elfman. The entire track has an absolutely looney, darkly whimsical carnival feel, which is helped by Bley's reading of Haines' oddball poetry. The music itself is also dense and varied, switching from oompah rhythms to dense overdubs of clarinet and saxophone to plodding recorders throughout. When I was listening to it, I thought I had been through most of the six-minute track already, when in fact it had been just over two minutes. That's not to say it's boring - rather the opposite. This track is a perfect realization of Bley's nutty yet deadpan musical universe, and it goes to show how purely enjoyable her music is. I must highlight the last two minutes in particular, when Bley and Julie Tippetts sing together in counterpoint, and Gato Barbieri's tenor is soon added into the mix. The slow, consistent backbeat underneath solidifies the feeling of a half-time coda, similar to the Beatles' I Want You (She's So Heavy). The three voices continue until they are almost against each other, creating a wonderful tension that is effectively released when the track suddenly ends.
A brilliant contrast is the track Caucasian Bird Riffles, which has a much softer, more brooding mood about it. The main voice (literally) is Julie Tippetts, whose ethereal singing is a perfect counterpart to Haines' seemingly wandering, aimless poetry. This one features such standout lines as "The sullenness of families, of compromise in claims of wealthy histories" and "Maturity, a sulking loss of reality". The entire track has a vibe of Beatles-meets-classical-meets-jazz; some particularly effective aesthetic choices come from Toni Marcus' beautiful and subtle overdubbed strings and the soft, delicate brushes of drummer Paul Motian. (Incidentally, Motian is seen here in a somewhat rare appearance outside of a piano-led ensemble or one of his own groups.) The main feature besides Tippetts is Bley's then-husband, trumpeter Michael Mantler. His solo is equally subtle and beautiful, and it highlights his unique trumpet sound and his economical note choices.
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| Carla Bley with Jack Bruce during the recording of Escalator Over the Hill. |
The next track, Funnybird Song, exudes pure charm and happiness. This is due in large part to the vocal features from Karen Mantler (Bley's daughter, who was seven at the time) and tubist/multi-instrumentalist Howard Johnson. There's just something inherently charming (if not adorable) about hearing a 7-year-old singing oddball stream-of-consciousness poetry, and it works here brilliantly, even if she had no idea what in God's name she was reading. Johnson's part is just as charming, starting his lines with "o-okay, my turn." His deep bass voice is also extremely appealing, and there's a whimsical irony in his inclusion in this ditty next to two higher-pitched singers. The irony especially rings true in his last line, "I like to fly-y-y...a lot."
Speaking of the poetry, that's the main thing that the track In India has going for it. Aside from some sparse clarinets, violins and tuba/bass, the main emphasis is on Julie Tippett's soaring, haunting voice reciting oddball poetry to music. The words describe a desolate, flaming village with the only activity being one bird with a "scooped vanilla head" singing a few notes every quarter hour. However, I don't think that description quite does the actual poetry justice. Haines uses language in a quite curious way, similar to modern poets like E. E. Cummings, but I see it as much more tangible and accessible while still being delightfully weird.
And now for the other major strength of this album: the featured soloist, Argentine tenor saxophonist Gato Barbieri. Gato's first major jazz exposure was in the band of fellow Argentine, pianist Lalo Schifrin, before joining the band of the legendary Don Cherry. It was with Cherry that Gato began to develop his visceral, passionate tenor style that combined the high energy of the free jazz movement with a remarkably delicate sense of melody. In 1967, Gato performed on Gary Burton's album A Genuine Tong Funeral, featuring the music of Carla Bley. This was the seed for a fruitful musical relationship between the two, which would culminate in Escalator Over the Hill, and eventually this album. Carla Bley recalls what she saw when she went to find Gato to recruit him in the 70's:
"Me and Charlie [Haden] went and heard him after the first album because we wanted to hire him for the next album, and we were horrified at his band. It was at the Bottom Line, and Gato was up there, dressed like a gaucho with a bunch of guys playing very accomplished Latin music, straight Latin music. And Gato was twirling his hat around and wearing his hat and twirling his hat, and we looked at each other with total disdain, walked out and said, oh, he’s lost it. He can’t be on it anymore."
Luckily for us, this must have been after this album was recorded.
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| Gato in his early years playing in the band of Don Cherry (center) alongside Karl Berger (right). |
Gato's main feature is the opening track, the wonderful What Will Be Left Between Us and the Moon Tonight? The composition itself is simple yet extremely emotional, featuring variations on a simple melodic line that suggest a 4-3 classical cadence. The solo backgrounds are also extremely tight and well done, featuring overdubbed trumpets and trombones from Michael Mantler and wonderful development of the groove, from a foreboding Latin beat to a more relaxed mambo, and finally a more driving Latin feel. However, it is Gato himself that gets the biggest share of the spotlight. His genius here lies in his wonderfully loose interpretation of Bley's melody, his passionate, gutsy tenor sound, and his glorious high range and primal screaming. Not to mention, the arrangement perfectly balances the main melody and looser blowing sections for Gato to simply play. More than anything, Bley had a penchant of writing for a particular soloist (much like Duke Ellington), and this is an outstanding showcase for Gato that suits him perfectly.
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| The much more popular image Gato adapted for himself in the 1970's. |
However, the standout section of this track is Dave Holland's bass solo surrounded by layers of percussion that create drive and suspense. It should be noted that while Paul Motian had recorded with Bley before (on Escalator Over the Hill, of course), this is the only album of hers I can find with Dave Holland. It's a rather interesting scenario for Holland to find himself in, as by this point he was more well-known for being in Miles Davis' "Lost Quintet" and more avant-garde settings, such as the group Circle and his own album Conference of the Birds (both feature Anthony Braxton). Despite his lack of involvement with Bley's music, Holland nonetheless provides some stellar contributions on bass and bass guitar, as well as overdubbed cello next to violinist Toni Marcus. After the bass solo, I particularly like Bley's choice to alternate herself singing parts of the opening melody with passages of Holland soloing.
Bley then supplies a drone behind Tippett, and soon strings are added in. This leads to a charming little moment when Haines' lyric "There's the barnacle crowd" is answered by a brief, demented fanfare from Mantler's muted trumpet. The music continues into a swirling, somewhat atonal passage, which climaxes in the introduction of an absolute banger of a 12/8 groove. Howard Johnson then gives a deep bass reading of a strange mantra-esque lyric:
Next comes another goofy and demented carnival music passage with some subtle rhythmic displacement. The 12/8 groove takes the center again, this time with clavinet, which provides a very counterculture-type sound in this context. The strings cue another wonderful Gato Barbieri solo, full of extremely melodic playing and inspired wailing. One particularly brilliant excursion comes when Gato lets out several rhythmic shrieks, which elicit response from Motian on drums and Holland on bass guitar. This album is a treat for me because it's a rare occasion where Gato and Motian play together; a very dynamic pairing that I feel wasn't explored enough.
The next section is a rather bold aesthetic decision; it's mostly just Bley rolling and mashing her hands on a clavinet and organ. It's quite a surprise after half of the song being relatively tonally centered, and I love it. Whether intentionally or not, in my eyes it pokes fun at the entire idea of a jazz solo, while also just being a kooky electronic texture. After this, Holland delivers a dynamic and rhythmic electric bass solo, which transitions seamlessly into Gato's sensuous interpretation of the main melody. The carnival music then returns to a fadeout, followed by a brief coda with only voice and piano.
Nothing is anything but: the intentionally misleading title contains an exciting finale that works just as well in culminating the album's entire continuity. It starts in a similarly kooky vein to Enormous Tots, featuring a particularly striking lyric: "The houses become themselves and are torn down." In immediate contrast, the next section led by tuba and trumpet call back the very opening of the album, followed by a transition into a lush, impressionistic waltz version of Caucasian Bird Riffles. The Beatles-esque coda returns, accentuated by some eruptions from Howard Johnson's tuba. We are then treated to probably the greatest beat drop of all time, which sees the glorious return of Gato's interpretation of the melody to Indonesian Dock Sucking Supreme. After the carnival march section of that piece, Gato ends up with the last word as he briefly solos over a section similar to the opening track, before free jazz chaos ensues and the album ends with the same 30-second gong reverb that closed out said opening track.
Tropic Appetites is a tight, coherent album that is also simply a lot of fun. Not only a genius composer, Carla Bley also had the same casting talent as Duke Ellington, being able to write for individual players. Her collaborations here with Paul Haines, Gato Barbieri, and Julie Tippetts in particular prove her keen intuition on exactly who she wanted playing her music. In addition, her calling on people like Howard Johnson for additional speaking roles shows extreme attention to detail and dedication on creating something inherently enjoyable. From the poetry to the variety of musical textures to Gato Barbieri's wonderful tenor work and Julie Tippett's haunting vocals, this album has a lot going for it. This was Bley's first solo album after the titantic Escalator Over the Hill; the fact that this album even exists after Escalator is no small wonder, and it stands as a testament to Bley's extraordinary vision and artistic drive. Her sense of continuity amazes me, especially in the closing track, Nothing, further demonstrating her ability to create a neatly packaged musical statement in the course of an album. Overall underrated, coherent, extremely enjoyable, and highly recommended. 10/10.
Track listing:
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