Obviously, the place where an album was recorded can make a very palpable impact on the music. A specific studio’s sound, a locale’s acoustic properties, and the general ambience of a room can all find their way into the music, purposefully or not. In the case of Métro Pré Saint Gervais, though, the setting in which the album was recorded is not just that, a setting, but a part of the album’s music, an instrument, in a sense, played and manipulated just as any other. Where Dan Warburton and Jean-Luc Guionnet are credited as playing violin and alto sax, respectively, Eric La Casa is listed simply with microphones, though, truthfully, he could have easily been listed as using the station from which the album takes its name to make his contributions to the disc. As Warburton and Guionnet played and moved within the métro station, La Casa used a portable DAT recorder and boom mic to document their improvisations, as well as the sounds that occurred around them. The sax and violin converse quietly, in subdued whispers and soft sighs, a product, it seems, of distance and acoustics as much as their actual playing. La Casa is sure to allow for plenty of interplay between the musicians, the rooms, and the other participants within. The rooms’ natural reverb survives the recordings, which are sparse enough that Guionnet and Warburton are never crowded or stepping on each other’s toes. They often work in suspended tones and gentle drones, embracing rather than entering competition with the passing conversations, occasional station announcements, and, of course, the shuddering and clanging of the trains. Much of the more intense playing occurs in the distance, its more obtrusive edges softened by the ambience of the room and the space it’s forced to travel to find the microphone.
Though it can be very lulling, Métro Pré Saint Gervais can be a demanding listen. Ears may strain to hear the music, and be suddenly confronted with the louder reproach of a Parisian woman toward her children, or, even more extreme, the loud sounds of doors closing or a train rumbling through. The suspense of the unexpected plays a part in the music, even if that wasn’t the trio’s intent, though it doesn’t get in the way of the enjoyment of the music. And while La Casa’s recording of Guinnot and Warburton may be most satisfying on a conceptual level, his effect on the music is far more than simple novelty, as it shapes and positions everything that the other two play. Warburton and Guionnet’s playing on Métro Pré Saint Gervais is what it needs to be, interesting without being overwhelming, allowing La Casa and the denizens and architecture of the station to improvise as equals, something that, in a more usual recording, a studio, bedroom, or basement rarely gets to do.
