Music by the best improvisers offers the opportunity to have parallel experiences that would have been impossible otherwise. Below we present an impression of such experiences as stimulated by the quartet of Bobby Bradford (cornet), Frode Gjerstad (woodwinds), William Roper (tuba etc.) and Alex Cline (drums). The recording also gives us a chance to contribute to the welfare of essential L.A. musicians Bradford and Roper, both of whom lost their homes in the recent Altadena fire. The stated price is only a suggestion; you can give as much more as you want.
1. I'll follow you, you follow me, and the drums will tell us when somebody scores a point. Where are we, where are weeee? Listen, call out, it's OK if you run into a tree. Cornet found an open space and it's running around! Wait, is that a bear? Alto offers nervous advice and we're all together writhing around. Where is the bear? We are the bear!
2. Two reeds, hemispheres of the same mind, engage in animated dialogue until they fall back exhausted, supported by a tuba tar mattress filled with cymbal air. The atmosphere feels worried until cornet balances with oblique positivity. Tuba speculates about the nature of elephant angels.
3. Practiced horsemanship. Cornet rides the skins like a cowboy then throws hat in the air; clarinet wakes up from a pipe dream wondering why it's in a rodeo. Crows circle cawing as a possessed man sings, "I'm still always the same" and blows harmonica as if to gather strays around a campfire. Muted cornet blows a Western saddle song.
4. "I'm in the mood for love," not. We're outside in the military camp clapped to attention, cornet yawning, clarinet chirping, drums driving nails on corrugated roof. Reveille: Troops run around like chickens. Clarinet heart flutters, drums dump out the bean-can trash, tuba bitches and gets slammed in the stockade. Naw, bastards, see the world my ass, think I'm getting sick, do you think she'll wait? Lights out.
5. Doubled wind overtones are blown out by cornet & tuba gutpunch. Alto & drums scoot over tuba turbulence. Stop. Let''s play badminton on a flatbed railcar with a medicine ball. Will that bust the racquet? Or what if we play with live free birds and no sticks? Cornet has an idea: Let's sing an old love song while the feathers flyyyyy . . .
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