Words by Mauro Ferreiro
Finnish label Jazzaggression sent us a few records to dive into that we’d never heard before that shone another light on 1970s Scandinavian jazz and particularly a couple of live concerts from Norwegian composer and pianist Christian Reim recorded at the Molde Jazz Festival. A player on the Norwegian jazz scene since the early 60s Reim would lead his own orchestra and quartet alongside the most talented players of his generation. We asked our creative dynamo in Dominican Republic to give us his thoughts and the recording that really grabbed him was the ‘Mona Lisa’ Suite from 1973 which featured an all Norwegian line-up with Christian Reim on Piano, Calle Neumann on alto and soprano sax, Knut Riisnæs on tenor sax, Ditleff Eckhoff on trumpet, Terje Venaas on bass and Espen Rud on drums. Take it away brother….
Energy is a somewhat loosely defined, yet ever present concept we humans utilise to modulate the world around us. There are things to learn from individuals who can connect with each other, function as a node of information flow, and hook up their spiritual voltage to those around them. If you dare to love, trust and be present, one can always arrive at beautiful sceneries; what must go up must go down, but if you trust the journey you can feel elated for the rest of your weary days. I stumbled upon Christian Reim’s Mona Lisa at MoldeJazz73 when I was discovering how as a musician, breaking down some of the barriers of logical thinking was one of the best things you could do to tune into that collective consciousness with your band mates. And if you practice enough, you can get the crowd to believe in your trance, get on your surfboard and ride that wave with you. That’s exactly what I felt with this record, as the telepathy of these musicians is nothing short of DMT-ish. There was and still is a lot to be learned, and this album is a perfect example of that, so let’s dive right into it and have a closer look at what makes it such an interesting piece of art.
The concert starts off with beautiful promises of a faraway land, convincing you that life is good, that all is well, but what gives? These simple motifs are interrupted by jittery bursts of energy and fast-paced comprovisation, signaling that something might be wrong, but we’re not entirely sure what or why. At this point I was just like “this is gonna be a great record”… the heads and licks really remind me of 50’s Ornette, but much more articulate, you never know where it’s gonna go, but it’s there, waiting for you, like the traveller’s fate. Tenorist Knut Riisnaes takes these cues and ditches the filling ambiance of his saxophone for a stunningly beautiful flute which is affectionate, only appearing when it needs to, creating this uncanny duality which is constant throughout. Dare I say that this is one of the great dexterities of these wind section musicians, as Ditleff Eckhoff for example takes the trumpet, an otherwise brash instrument, and makes it float in seamless harmony with Reim’s marshmallow-mystery-magic. Imagine molding dough, just like that. Everything feels measured, like a massage, and for lack of a better term… “just right”. The storytelling is kaleidoscopic, jumping from modal to Bach to blues, and the recording engineering is just superb, deep imaging and the wideness of it all, truly a treat if you can listen on studio monitors.
Drummer Espen Rud understands this and leaves space for those ideas to do their thing, something certain drummers can’t seem to get through their (quite literally) thick skulls. He seems to be replicating nature, listening to what his mates are saying, and going with what he feels. His ability to mimic the melodies coming out of Christian Reim’s fingers only shows the amount of attention going into keeping it tight enough for the compositions to truly shine. But he’s not grooving too much, and coming from a heavy latin background, I’m used to very flamboyant rhythm sections. I understand it’s part of the style, but hey, I’m not a fucking drummer. Anyways, it’s interesting to see how these guys make a sextet sound like a whole big band, even with two saxophones and a trumpet. It’s just one of those things that only expertise is able to achieve. I love Terje Venaas’ wicked bass action, he leaves all this space between the notes and just keeps the arrangement super tight overall. I also feel that, with the whole authentic swinging feel of these pieces, that these guys really sat down during the 60’s and listened to loads of American records one by one just grooving to them. They just get it y’know? It doesn’t have to sound super academic like it does nowadays, they’re just reminiscing and not really putting too much thought into what their time-feel should be for a certain piece. They just play, and it sounds great.
Part Three comes in with very eerie forest vibes, and I can’t help but draw parallels between these atmospheres and the tales of Norse mythology, where enchanting fairies and will-o’-the-wisps meander through foggy marshes, letting their light be seen, but only to disappear in the darkness of it all. The forest has its secrets, and this feeling is well felt with all the dissonance and call and response, as if the animals who dwell in these lands were speaking to each other about the dangers of the night, warning those astray that their fate is in the hands of the unseen. Then when the sun comes up it’s got a bit of a boogaloo feeling, so that’s quite nice. A speakeasy blues feel suddenly comes on as the crowd raves and cheers, like a chaser to what has been an otherwise superb, once-in-a-lifetime performance. As usual, Reim starts off with a slow piano etude but keeps in line with the bipolar compositional style as the sextet transitions to a modal feel with Carl Magnus Neumann going ham on the soprano... listening to this album start to finish is like playing Jenga, but actually fun. I can feel more synchronicity between Rud and Reim, and I can only imagine what a delight it must have been to watch this live in such a remote area of the world.
Part Five and Six close this chef-d’oeuvre with an interesting concoction of inspirational lines, offbeat fills, and more eclecticism than ever before. I feel this is where Rud and Venaas really get to shine and do their thing, which is why I think this is my favorite part of the album, however short-lived. The flute has this lovely charanga feel before creating a river for a lullaby to end it all, finalising the weary traveller’s journey, who at one point was uncertain about his fate. These sorts of cinematic structures and classical motifs were some of the biggest things that made European jazz so intriguing for me when I first got into it, and this whole album is a great example of how you do not need to inject loads of virtuosity into a performance to make it as memorable, soul-moving and intriguing as this album has been.
8.5/10
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