There are a lot of preconceptions about free jazz from those who don’t listen to it – many of them wrong. Chief amongst those misguided notions is that free jazz is simply undifferentiated chaos – the sound of players who can’t play well and who just spit out whatever spills out without regard to what their comrades are doing. That’s not true, though. (Well, sometimes it’s true.) The best free jazz comes from musicians who know their instruments inside and out, who know without thinking what sounds will come out when they put their fingers just there. More importantly, this music is at its most compelling when it’s made by players who listen to each other and act accordingly.
Murasaki is a good example. Guitarist Jakob Bro, drummer Marcus Gilmore, and trumpeter Wadada Leo Smith all come from different generations and different worlds, but they have two things in common: they can play and they can listen. Despite never having recorded together in this configuration (but having known each other in different ones), Bro, Gilmore, and Smith sound like they’ve been side-by-side for decades. Gilmore wanders all over his kit, keeping the foundations of each tune in a state of uncertainty, yet always keeps a groove going if you listen for it. Melodic, adventurous, and ever-searching, Smith balances discordance and elegance like no else in jazz, or in any other music. Despite getting first billing, Bro keeps his presence sparse, his misty single lines and arpeggios appearing and disappearing – sometimes for long stretches – depending on what the tunes need. He contributes to the music as much by his absence as by his presence. But every one of these vets knows by instinct when to support, when to take the lead, and when to lay out completely.
That’s listening. These are the sounds made by musicians who grok each other’s visions before a note comes out. Murasaki is not easy music to consume, but it’s as honest and well-made as any through-composed piece or structured session.
