William Hooker, Christian Marclay, Lee Renaldo - Bouquet
(Knitting Factory)
This record is hard to grasp and even harder to describe. The physical particulars is that it is Hooker
on the traps, Marclay on the wheels of steel, and Renaldo, of course, on the six string and "small
devices" (your guess is as good as mine), playing an improv set at the Knitting Factory, NYC, the
day after Renaldo's wedding. Its just over 50 minutes in length and broken into seven "parts," though
that seems mostly for the sake of having tracks on the cd. At the beginning, Renaldo announces that,
in conjunction with his recent marriage, this is their "wedding set." The result is not too romantic if
you ask me.
The result is a murky swamp of sound out of which music slowly arises and recedes. Hooker's
drumming is jazzy but relentless, laying a constant, frenetic backline, while Renaldo and Marclay
conspire in a dark pastiche of melody, noise, and skronk, frequently all at once. Its often loud and
chaotic, yet always energizing. However, the best parts are when it quiets down to just a little of
Hooker's subtle brushwork and eerie swirls from the other two.
Renaldo and Hooker may be the heavyweights, but Marclay is the real star of this show. As if
Hooker and Renaldo's avant garde fuckery were not weird enough, tossing an equally challenging
turntable mix into the pot pushes this record into the realm of the previously unheard. His work on the
turntables is far removed from popular notions of hip hop or the underground turntablists, using chunks
of other recordings to create a witches brew. Given that this is a jazz-oriented piece, he sometimes
mixes in horns, like in the wild and hyper "Part 1." Sometimes, its bass and piano, like in the
laid-back, hypnotic moments of "Part 3." At one point he even gets cute and works in a little Sonic
Youth into "Part 7."
The highlight, however, is "Part 4," where (and I am guessing here because its frequently impossible
to really tell who is doing what) it sounds like Hooker's traps have been processed through some
crazy sound processing device, while Renaldo wrenches deep, dark moans out of his guitar, and
Marclay bounces back between quick, jumpy scratches and scratches so long they become howls. Its
unlike anything you have ever heard before.
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