Evan Parker and Keith Rowe - Dark Rags
(Potlatch)
Evan Parker is, of course, ever productive, his inventiveness and breath
seemingly in infinite supply. Keith Rowe, far more active outside of AMM
than he has been in ages, appears to be enjoying a creative renaissance.
Twin pillars of European Free Improvisation, and infrequent collaborators by
way of Supersession, Parker and Rowe have been overdue for a summit. Just
such a meeting played out on the cusp of the Millennium, in separate
concerts staged in Nantes, France on 12-31-99 and 1-1-2000. An originator
and champion of prepared-guitar and horizontal ("table-top") guitar
techniques, Rowe is a formidable foil for Parker's expressive tenor
aerobatics. As "Dark Rag #1" opens, the musicians share anxious space within
a time-suspended vacuum of tone. The kinetic potential here is clearly
enormous. Like sprinters stealing hungry glances at the starting line,
Parker and Rowe exchange gestures-a fretboard creak, a trill pregnant with
anticipation-and take off. Though at first as patient as Parker is euphoric,
Rowe responds to the saxophonist's hyperbolic flights in turn. While Rowe
scrapes, strokes, and scours strings to spur Parker's impassioned response,
electronic treatments broaden the attack, acting upon deliquescent drones
and rhythms like a solvent wash. During quieter sections, Rowe's short-wave
radio asserts itself, and Parker plays as if to commune with the murmur of
indiscernible voices. At the climax, Rowe engages Parker with quicksilver
trickles of electro-acoustic guitar tone, challenging the saxophonist--a
bundle of nervous energy throughout--to match this magmatic flow. Parker
obliges, but only briefly. He breaks the moment of mutual reflection with a
spectacularly elaborate solo. Rowe's guitar responds to Parker's pointed
provocation with irascible growls, maintaining a pricklier, almost
quarrelsome presence through the remainder of the performance. Whether it's
amiable argy-bargy or genuine tension, such antagonism heightens Dark Rags'
appeal. It also leaves one wondering whether "Dark Rag #2," which opens in
groggy dissonance, is the product of the ultimate New Year's Day drinking
binge or the fallout from the first set's spat. Rowe needles Parker with
shrill pitches; the saxophonist's slurred retort sounds queasy. Cartoonishly
vivid bass-bulge and dry, heaving noises give away the joke. It's a
hangover, improvised in nauseating Technicolour. Cute. A skittering,
jazz-skewed Parker salvo signals the return to serious improv. Rowe pursues
a more turbulent tack, providing an inconstant anchor that shifts and groans
beneath Parker's blustery phrases. After much lurching and pitching, the
harrowing section subsides. Parker plays the passing of the storm in
spacious measures, exhibiting a rare vulnerability. Approaching the halfway
mark of the 40:25 piece, Rowe tapers off the guitar noise to lulling
near-nothingness, leaving a foreign short-wave song to underscore the
saxophone. As Parker's solo continues, Rowe conceives a backdrop of metallic
shimmers and eerie echoes. The two soundstreams merge beautifully,
sustaining the sensitive interplay of these two superb musicians, while
carrying the disc to its riveting conclusion.
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