Paul Bley - Improvisie 1971

If Paul Bley is a river, this album represents the sludge at the bottom, but this is meant more as the sonic translation of a visual image than as a heavy insult. Some listeners may want to unleash the latter at jazz pianist and storyteller Bley when they hear the sounds of this, an example of his brief -- but not brief enough for him or anyone else -- flirtation with the newly invented synthesizer. This is also a messy-sounding, sloppily produced live recording of this configuration in which the only piano to be heard is that of Annette Peacock, an electric one of course. Drummer Han Bennink makes more noise combined than all of Bley's drummers, past and present, placed in a room and told they are not going to be paid. The first side of this album is an improvisation created by the trio, and Bley goes into great length in his autobiography about how sometimes improvising with the synthesizer simply meant trying to figure out how to get sound out of it while the audience waited. The appeal of the recording, besides Bennink who of course plays as if he is hanging out at home in his barn, will be the vividness of the crude synthesizer sounds, even at their cheesiest. This is another area where the bad production of this record, including a battle zone-type pressing, will inhibit enjoyment. The flip side is credited to Peacock but is largely more demented noise-making. Speaking of demented, the cover photo of Bley could be a shot from a mad doctor film, and also belongs in any serious collection of musicians smoking pipes while performing. AMG.

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