Zen and grooves

Mitchell and Myth Science make a free-jazz sandwich

by Jonathan Dixon

At the Knitting Factory's "What Is Jazz?" festival this summer, two shows approached that question from extreme opposites. One group -- featuring the great saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell -- aimed for the head; the other -- Myth Science, playing nothing but Sun Ra compositions -- shot for the body. Somewhere in between lay the total experience, but what a way to cover the waterfront.

The trio saxophonist of Roscoe Mitchell, pianist Borah Bergman, and vocalist Thomas Buckner played a cerebral, (mostly) sedate, and ethereal -- and mesmerizing, to say the least -- set of structured improvisations. Several nights later, the quintet Myth Science turned in just as good a set, but bawdy, anthemic, and groove-centered. Both groups also have new albums out on the Knitting Factory label, and each CD is a close correlative to their live performances.

Myth Science's Love in Outer Space is the more sensually and viscerally appealing. Comprising bassist Reuben Raddind, tenor saxophonist Tim Otto, alto-saxophonist Briggin Krauss, drummer Ed Ware, and organist Anthony Coleman, the group do up seven Sun Ra tunes that display a boggling sympathy among the musicians and an instinctive feel for the free-your-mind-and-your-ass-will-follow nature of the Saturnine one's music. To the best of my knowledge, Myth Science are the only Sun Ra repertory group going. Even if there were others, it's hard to see how anyone could do it more effectively. Although there are five players working the charts meant for a big band, the group sound surprisingly full, flowing through the tunes with dense harmonies (mostly via Coleman's organ), thick rhythms, and a mesh of textures and colors from the saxophone interplay. Both on record and during the set I caught in the noisy basement bar of the club, a typical song -- "Discipline (Children of the Sun)," for example -- goes like this. The bass, in a fine approximation of late Sun Ra Arkestra bassist Ronnie Boykins, plays a pulsing ostinato with which the drums interlock. The percussion can be evocative of congas, the 4/4 pound of an R&B groove, or more traditional hard-bop rhythms. The saxophones state the theme and Coleman throws strange chords, Stax riffs, dissonant runs, and discordant clusters underneath. The results are as satisfying as any full-bore I-IV-V rock chord progression, whether the songs race at a good clip or float with an easy ballroom swing (as on the title track), and the players come off like an ace bar band in some cosmic juke joint.

On the Mitchell/Bergman/Buckner album First Meeting, semblances of groove aren't to be found, melodicism pops up infrequently, and there's little in the way of familiar harmonies or rhythm to latch onto. In the course of the improvisations, Mitchell employs a lot of extended techniques, Bergman underscores or parries Mitchell's lines, and Buckner expels a mellow glossolalia. The pieces are sparse and pointed, textured with Bergman's tendency toward pounding outbursts and blurts connected by jagged arpeggios. One song begins with Mitchell's smooth, quiet lines, which switch to drones, overtones, and harmonics; he concerns himself more with interesting textures than with the integrity of the notes. Buckner hiccups, yelps, clicks, and sometimes moans like a penitent chanting dirge -- not dissimilar to Diamanda Galás in a light mood. His vocals are often amplified, parodied, or reflected by Bergman in a series of exchanges that give the music some of its more electric moments.

The performers move in and out of synch, sometimes leaving one person soloing for extended periods, at other points whipping up an ominous density. Live, the trio's tempos remained sedate for the bulk of the show (as they do on CD), and when things exploded -- like the set's final number, when Mitchell skirled frenetically, goading Bergman into matching his pace, getting Buckner almost manic -- they didn't blaze for very long. The music avoids many such moments of high drama, opting instead for lengthy displays of control. The deep tension they create with their restraint drives you nuts at first. The curious payoff comes not through a release but in the tension's dissipation: an almost Zen-like calm from giving in to the music on its own terms (not too far out an analogy given how much some of this stuff is reminiscent of the David Tudor/John Cage collaborations). So when Mitchell does career toward the sun, the effect is that much more devastating.