rogueart jazz
Jacques Coursil: trumpet | Alan Silva: double bass
All compositions by Jacques Coursil
Recorded on November 22nd and 23rd by Christophe Hauser at La Muse en Circuit, Alfortville, France. Mixing: Christophe Hauser (FreeBaseStudio). Mastering: Jurgen Müller, Pink Noise Musikproduction, Aachen, Allemagne. Photographs: «ROGUEART». Cover design: Max Schoendorff. Cover realisation: David Bourguignon. Producer: Michel Dorbon
Tracklist: 1. An Evening and a Night at THE ANNEX Bar – Pat 1 (3:14) 2. An Evening and a Night at THE ANNEX Bar – Pat 2 (3:51) 3. An Evening and a Night at THE ANNEX Bar – Pat 3 (2:25) 4. An Evening and a Night at THE ANNEX Bar – Pat 4 (4:01) 5. An Evening and a Night at THE ANNEX Bar – Pat 5 (2:41) 6. Brooklyn Bridge, the River, the Metal and the Wind (3:05) 7. Brooklyn Bridge, the River, the Metal and the Wind (3:08) 8. Brooklyn Bridge, the River, the Metal and the Wind (2:51) 9. Brooklyn Bridge, the River, the Metal and the Wind (2:21) 10. Brooklyn Bridge, the River, the Metal and the Wind (2:41) 11. Bennington-New York Round Trip – Part 1 (2:04) 12. Bennington-New York Round Trip – Part 2 (2:26) 13. Bennington-New York Round Trip – Part 3 (1.30) 14. Bennington-New York Round Trip – Part 4 (2:47) 15. Bennington-New York Round Trip – Part 5 (3:57)
The three free sessions of Free Jazz Art, in duo with Alan Silva, came out in one go (with Christophe Hauser, sound engineer and subtle arranger). Alan knew all the procedures in advance having lived through the same experience with Dixon though at a different period. It was easy, because he and I are old friends, having so often played together and so often wandered in the hectic New York of the sixties. Already at that time, he had found his remarkable style of bowed double bass. — Jacques Coursil, excerpt from liner notes
Sessions avec Bill Dixon
New York, Lower East Side (1965-1969). Les historiens du jazz disent l’histoire ; les acteurs racontent des histoires : allez savoir ! La sérénité des sessions sous Bill Dixon (en répétition ou en concert, en grand ensemble ou en combo, cela ne changeait pas grand-chose) contrastait avec le bruit et la fureur du dehors. Le rap sortait de terre : Rap Brown, The Last Poets et une si belle littérature. Dans cette période éclatante et éclatée, la rue, les parcs, étaient des lieux de rencontres plus que de passage. Il y avait des groupes de chanteurs dans tous les coins et des gens de toutes sortes récitant des poèmes de Ginsberg ou de Baraka. Dans ma tête régnait un vacarme qui ne voulait jamais se taire. La scène Free de l’époque résonnait du mot ÉNERGIE, Civil Rights MVT oblige. Mais dans les sessions Dixon, à l’inverse, à la croisée du Free Jazz débridé et de la musique contempo-raine, chaque note valait un regard du maître. Mes souvenirs ne sont que des impressions vagues de moments forts. Il y avait un violoncelliste qui comprenait tout avant tout le monde ; quand Bill, sous ses lunettes d’écailles, levait les yeux sur lui, c’était clair pour tout le monde. Parfois, il y avait aussi une danseuse, quelle danseuse ! J’imitais son tourbillon dans mon souffle ; ça m’est resté. Bill Dixon aimait la danse ; il écrivait pour elle. Les trois sessions libres de FreeJazzArt, en duo avec Alan Silva, sont sorties d’un seul jet (avec Christophe Hauser, preneur de son et subtil arrangeur). Alan en connaissait d’avance tous les déroulements, ayant vécu, avec Dixon, la même expérience mais à une période différente. C’était facile, car lui et moi sommes de vieux amis, ayant si souvent joué ensemble et si souvent déambulé dans ce New York mouvementé des années soixante. Déjà, à cette époque, il avait trouvé son grand style de contrebasse à l’archet. Pour jouer en duo de trompettes avec Bill Dixon, il fallait trouver le timbre adé-quat, un peu sombre, vaguement âpre, intériorisé, sans esthétisme, sans pathos, sans vibrato. Quand on écoute ce qu’il a enregistré pendant sa longue carrière, on entend cette constance de poète au son si profond. En 1969, j’ai enregistré Black Suite et Way Ahead sur du matériel qu’il m’avait demandé d’arranger. Puis, on s’est perdu de vue ; c’est ainsi ; il y a déjà presque cinquante ans. — Jacques Coursil
Sessions with Bill Dixon
New York, Lower East Side (1965-1969). Historians of jazz tell the history; actors tell stories: who knows! The serenity of Bill Dixon’s sessions (in rehearsal or in concert, in a large group or in combo, it didn’t make much difference) contrasted with the noise and frenzy outside. The rap came up from the ground: Rap Brown, The Last Poets and such fine literature. In this bright and fragmented period, the street, the parks, were meeting places rather than places you pass through. There were groups of singers in every nook and cranny and all sorts of people reciting poems by Ginsberg or Baraka. There reigned in my head a din that wouldn’t stop. The Free scene at that time rang with the word ENERGY, given the Civil Rights Movement. But in Dixon’s sessions, on the contrary, at the crossroads of unbridled Free Jazz and contemporary music, each note required the eye of the master. My memories are just vague impressions of outstanding moments. There was a cellist who understood everything before everyone else; when Bill raised his eyes to him from under his tortoiseshell glasses, it was clear to everyone. Now and again, there was also a dancer, what a dancer! I imitated her swirling with my breathing; that stayed with me. Bill Dixon liked dance; he wrote for it. The three free sessions of FreeJazzArt, in duo with Alan Silva, came out in one go (with Christophe Hauser, sound engineer and subtle arranger). Alan knew all the procedures in advance having lived through the same experience with Dixon though at a different period. It was easy, because he and I are old friends, having so often played together and so often wandered in the hectic New York of the sixties. Already at that time, he had found his remarkable style of bowed double bass. To play a trumpet duo with Bill Dixon, you had to find an adequate timbre, a bit dark, vaguely harsh, introspective, without estheticism, without pathos, without vibrato. When one listens to what he has recorded during his long career, one hears in this so profound sound the consistency of the poet. In 1969, I recorded Black Suite and Way Ahead with material he had asked me to arrange. Then, we lost touch; that’s how it goes; that’s almost fifty years ago. — Jacques Coursil (translation Mary Aileyrat)
CD version (incl. shipment cost world-wide)