I
suspect that this landed on the doormat in response to my previous comments
that Beraha never appears on a bad album, even when she is not the nominal
leader. Her quality control means that if her name is on the cast list, it’s
worth hearing, like seeing Stephen Graham’s name on a film poster.
This is, apparently, the third outing for her Lucid Dreamers ensemble, the previous ones, Lucid Dreamers and Blink, having passed me by. And, on first hearing, it strikes me that this is a genuine ensemble, not a leader and flunkies group, with the others in the band equally prominent as Beraha, notably Mick’s piano and Crowley’s reeds (especially on, the rather lovely, White Noise).
After a spoken word opening and a passage of vocalese over Mick’s spikey angular piano, the opener, Words, evolves into something more melodic as Mick’s, now heavily rhythmic piano leads us into something more melodic. Giles’ rattling drums support Mick’s flights as she mixes classical motifs in amongst her melodies and her anchoring left hand pulse.
White Noise uses electronics to slightly delay and distort in a slightly dub-style. The voice, piano and drums are operating completely separately on different levels leaving fields of space between until Mick’s solo draws things back together on the same sphere before Crowley steps in and launches a long twisting solo that soars and then falls in a series of melancholy longer notes before he brings hope and a peaceful contemplation back in.
Arnaud (Part 1) features
Crowley’s bass clarinet, which fits in with the Eastern drone that fills in the
soundscape over which Giles’ furious drumming chases, leads and cajoles. Beraha
floats an uncertain, questioning vocal line above everything else; Mick leads
us out of Part 1 with a flowing piano
solo that conjures up images of seascapes. Her insistent, treated piano is the
dominant feature of Part 2 with Giles
maintaining the fury at the back and the vocals remain ungrounded with a strong
sense of desperation and pleading. Crowley’s sax is strong and dominant echoing
above the rest. The desperation in the vocals becomes hope as he lifts the song
upwards.
Mick’s
rich pianism dominates The Matrix as
it ebbs and flows, blending classical elements in with her jazz. It’s probably
her best performance on the album.
Moonstruck opens
with Beraha’s disjointed fragments of voice, short plosives, oohs and aah’s and
longer, held notes, like she is sculpting sound, not singing; Giles provides simple percussive
tapping in support. Beraha follows her own vocal wave line of rises and falls.
As she comes to sing Mick follows the voice closely with short intertwined
phrases and, once again, Crowley rides in to bring a widescreen, cinemascopic
feel, drawing the others outwards. Closer, What
Does It Mean (to be) is a meditative rumination on the human state in its
various permutations as we travel round the sun. (“What does it mean to be
successful, …..liberated, ……an outsider?” Beraha asks).The bass clarinet makes
another appearance adding gravitas in its rich tone and Mick’s piano playing
sweeps us along.
Beraha is no chanteuse running through the GAS. Her voice is a modern jazz tool, more expressive in its range and the use she puts it to; I thought of Julie Tippett and Norma Winstone at times whilst listening to the album. Dave Sayer
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