Calgary-born New York pianist Kris Davis and her quartet — featuring reedman Tony Malaby — glanced at sheet music in their opening set at the Yardbird Monday, but most of the pieces had the feel of all-out collective improvisation. That made for moments of ferocious, inventive interplay and quieter, atmospheric parts as the gifted players found interesting connections and hip rhythmic continuity.
Roger Levesque
The 10:30 PM Studio series, often the place to hear more experimental music with an edge, also got off to a strong start with New York-based pianist Kris Davis and her quartet, featuring saxophonist Tony Malaby, bassist Eivind Opsvik and drummer Jeff Davis. Kris originally hails from Calgary, Canada and, like Jens Winther, this performance is the first of a series of dates at jazz festivals across the country. Operating with the tried-and-true philosophy that touring new material is the best way to prepare it for recording, Davis will be heading into the studio immediately after the tour to record her follow-up to The Slightest Shift (Fresh Sound New Talent, 2006) and Lifespan (Fresh Sound New Talent, 2004). Davis’ quartet has remain unchanged since Lifespan, permitting it to grow organically and meet the increasingly rigorous demands of the pianist’s writing. Opening the set with the far left-of-center “My Resurrection,” the two Davises created an aggressive pulse, with Kris literally hammering dissonant block chords with her closed fists, Cecil Taylor-style. But interspersed with this more angular passage was a softer, more abstract passage during which Malaby’s tenor and Opsvik’s arco bass meshed seamlessly, at times in unison, elsewhere creating dissonant but strangely appealing harmonies. Davis’ music has often more closely resembled a kind of new music chamber aesthetic, despite the more jazz-centric instrumentation. Remaining more in the background and leaving Malaby as the more dominant voice, she would often develop repetitive, minimalist patterns that evolved so gradually as to be near- imperceptible. Her own approach to improvisation, whether soft or aggressive, felt more akin to careful consideration than reckless abandon. Malaby, an underappreciated talent who has, nevertheless, been garnering increasing recognition through his work with bigger names such as pianist Fred Hersch and bassist Charlie Haden’s Liberation Music Orchestra, possesses the same breadth of extended techniques that made altoist John Zorn’s solo performance at Victoriaville’s 2007 FIMAV festival so compelling. Multiphonics, percussive abstracts, odd blowing techniques and more make up Malaby’s larger sonic palette. But, for a saxophonist of inimitable if not limitless technique, Malaby’s focus is always on the music and, like his band mates, the ensemble rather than himself. The biggest surprise of the performance was Jeff Davis’ kit work. Always an inventive player, let loose in a live context he was a veritable fountain of ideas, a more assertive American counterpart to Canadian drummer Dylan Van Der Schyff. From textural work to the almost rock edge of “Black Tunnel,” Davis completed an outstanding triumvirate of stand-out drummers from this first day’s three performances. Opsvik, like pianist Davis, appeared generally more content to function in the background yet, like Kris, his contribution to the overall fabric of the material was no less significant. The Studio performance was far and away the most challenging of the day, but rewarded those who stayed ample rewards and the opportunity to hear new music in relatively germinal form.
John Kelman
Pianist Kris Davis is a Vancouver-born, Toronto-educated New York resident. The Slightest Shift is her debut as a leader and it’s impressive. It’s an assured and individual mix of freedom and soulfulness that looks not only to jazz’s foremost experimentalists but to adventurous 20th century composers like Bartok and Ligeti. The band virtually ignore conventional instrumental roles in a quartet setting — all the players play rhythm and melody, and there is usually no fixed key to determine the many improv sections. If there is a “chief melodist” it’s sax player Tony Malaby, who looks to Sam Rivers’ fluid, challenging phrasing to float on and dive into the rhythmic thicket of the other three players. After listening to this disc several times, I still can’t get a bead on what Davis is doing — a bit of Cecil Taylor? Alexander Von Schlippenbach? Even the liner note writer acknowledges as much. This is a compliment, as it guarantees repeat play with open ears. She doesn’t resort to pounding the piano or grand, doom-y pronouncements to go for avant-garde cred, she can both colour in the ensemble work and lead it into more composed, Monk-ish territory with ease.
David Dacks
The adjective that comes to mind again and again listening to pianist and composer Kris Davis’ quartet recording The Slightest Shift is “refreshing”. Much of the album sounds close to free improvisation, but there is also a recurring sense that one is listening to a modern chamber music ensemble. And the initial impression of at times decentralized free play belies a group working in close coordination within definite compositional frameworks. Tony Malaby (tenor saxophone), Eivind Opsvik (bass) and the bandleader’s husband Jeff Davis (drums) make up the quartet. The Slightest Shift is also a reminder that improvisation that pushes at the boundaries of form The opening “Bloodwine” is the first of several standout tracks. Its halting beginning gives way to a slow, swaying two-chord progression with a wide-ranging Malaby solo and Davis building increasingly tempestuous and dark chords beneath him. “Morning Stretches” is gentle and spare with, as the title suggests, a preparatory feel to it and segues into the album’s compositional highlight, the gorgeous “Jack’s Song”. Similarly, “Twice Escaped” begins sparely, becomes increasingly layered and arrives at a solo piano coda that segues directly into the rhythmically complex and kinetic title track.
On Rye Eclipse, pianist Kris Davis’ quartet ventures deeper into the formidable abstractions documented on their previous release, The Slightest Shift (Fresh Sound, 2007). Featuring her husband, drummer Jeff Davis, omnipresent bassist Eivind Opsvik and Downtown saxophone phenomenon Tony Malaby, this is the Brooklyn-based pianist’s second recording with her reliable quartet and the third for the esteemed indie label Fresh Sound New Talent. Conservatory trained in her native Canada, the current New York City resident has quickly established herself as a gifted writer and improviser. Davis demonstrates a flair for composing works that seamlessly integrate the turbulent angularity inherent in free jazz with the formal austerity of chamber music. Davis writes intricate, multi-segmented tunes that weave collective improvisation into knotty unison themes. Her inventive arrangements disregard conventional notions of soloist and accompanist, requiring each member of the quartet to provide melodic, harmonic and rhythmic support. Numerous shifts in tempo, tone and color blur the line between the written and improvised. An equitable fusion of stylistic precedents, Davis’ cerebral aesthetic embraces the neo-classical experimentation of Jimmy Giuffre and Wayne Shorter, the pensive lyricism of Paul Bley and Keith Jarrett and the stark modernism of Gyorgy Ligeti and Alexander Scriabin. The epic title track opens the album; a labyrinthine structure that pitches tempestuous fanfares against ghostly silhouettes and halting, deconstructed swing. Employing multiple strategies throughout its duration, the piece demonstrates the quartet’s studied accord, culminating in a roiling militaristic march that ebbs and flows with collective fervor. Davis introduces the Monkish “Wayne Oscar” alone, unfurling rivulets of contrapuntal ingenuity with spry euphony. Gradually joined by her rhythm section, she gracefully navigates a loping, abstruse pulse before Malaby enters, amplifying the mood with his brawny tenor. “Prairie Eyes” features Davis’ penchant for brooding lyricism, her brisk minimalist patterns providing a tense undercurrent for the rhythm section’s carefree rubato swing and Malaby’s plangent commentary. Exploring extreme dynamics, “Empty Beehive” revels in textural abstraction, unveiling spectral harmonics, whispery refrains and unsettling atmospherics. In contrast, “Black Tunnel” features the quartet at their most vivacious. Careening through a propulsive staccato theme, they sporadically interrupt their anthemic onslaught with brief passages of spare reflection. Elegantly balancing magnanimous collective expression with challenging pre-written forms, Rye Eclipse is a stellar example of creative improvised music.
Troy Collins