South West's saxophone maestro continues atmospheric fascination with Cornish legend and mysticism
7.5/10
Initially, John Surman's saxophone was baritone, an instrument he blew in the Mike Westbrook Band, before broadening his repertoire with the soprano version, the tenor and the odd bass clarinet. Bearing in mind that Surman has been active as a jazz luminary since the '60s, it comes as no surprise to learn that the man is pretty damned adept at playing all three instruments some 40 years down the line, as well as adopting an interest in synths, harmonicas and atmospherics.
On "Saltash Bells", his umpteenth release and his 19th for ECM (not counting guest appearances), Surman continues his passage across the childhood landscapes he is familiar with, layering them with hearty melodies, executed in the usual exemplary fashion without so much as a drum or bassline in sight. Choosing to work alone for his first entirely solo-album since "A Biography of the Rev Absalom Dawe", issued on ECM in 1995, Surman immediately creates the impression that an entire sextet has bedded down alongside him in the studio, yet cunning multi-tracking and the expert co-production of Manfred Eicher, a familiar name on the sleeve's credits, dashes such assumptions.
Another name associated with this varied and engaging set is one Pablo Benjamin, Surman's son who assisted the composer on this album with software synths and programs - sometimes it helps to keep it in the family. He's done a fine job because, as with 1989's previous Kernow-inspired album "Road to Saint Ives", the electronics are only used to simply and discreetly colour in the gaps between Surman's expressive blasts. "Whistman's Woods", "Winter Elegy" and "On Staddon Heights" (play golf do we John?) are prime examples of when this man can craft a melody as sweet as his label-mate Jan Garbarek and not drown it in unnecessary bumfluffery. Simple is best.
When the electronics disappear though, as on the fidgety "Triadichorum" and "Dark Reflections", so does some of the atmosphere, despite the saxophonist's obvious dexterity and warmth. But thankfully, most of "Saltash Bells" reverberates to little more than gentle raindrops of synth, such as those found permeating throughout the fabulous title-track and the albums closing epic "Sailing Westwards", which ends with a chorus of song-birds, another nod to the countryside of his home-turf.
Overall, ECM must be wondering what this man has to do to make a duff album, a phenomena the label and ourselves are unlikely to ever experience. As his West Country compatriots might exclaim after hearing this rather special selection, ""Saltash Bells" is 'andsome".
7.5/10
Initially, John Surman's saxophone was baritone, an instrument he blew in the Mike Westbrook Band, before broadening his repertoire with the soprano version, the tenor and the odd bass clarinet. Bearing in mind that Surman has been active as a jazz luminary since the '60s, it comes as no surprise to learn that the man is pretty damned adept at playing all three instruments some 40 years down the line, as well as adopting an interest in synths, harmonicas and atmospherics.
On "Saltash Bells", his umpteenth release and his 19th for ECM (not counting guest appearances), Surman continues his passage across the childhood landscapes he is familiar with, layering them with hearty melodies, executed in the usual exemplary fashion without so much as a drum or bassline in sight. Choosing to work alone for his first entirely solo-album since "A Biography of the Rev Absalom Dawe", issued on ECM in 1995, Surman immediately creates the impression that an entire sextet has bedded down alongside him in the studio, yet cunning multi-tracking and the expert co-production of Manfred Eicher, a familiar name on the sleeve's credits, dashes such assumptions.
Another name associated with this varied and engaging set is one Pablo Benjamin, Surman's son who assisted the composer on this album with software synths and programs - sometimes it helps to keep it in the family. He's done a fine job because, as with 1989's previous Kernow-inspired album "Road to Saint Ives", the electronics are only used to simply and discreetly colour in the gaps between Surman's expressive blasts. "Whistman's Woods", "Winter Elegy" and "On Staddon Heights" (play golf do we John?) are prime examples of when this man can craft a melody as sweet as his label-mate Jan Garbarek and not drown it in unnecessary bumfluffery. Simple is best.
When the electronics disappear though, as on the fidgety "Triadichorum" and "Dark Reflections", so does some of the atmosphere, despite the saxophonist's obvious dexterity and warmth. But thankfully, most of "Saltash Bells" reverberates to little more than gentle raindrops of synth, such as those found permeating throughout the fabulous title-track and the albums closing epic "Sailing Westwards", which ends with a chorus of song-birds, another nod to the countryside of his home-turf.
Overall, ECM must be wondering what this man has to do to make a duff album, a phenomena the label and ourselves are unlikely to ever experience. As his West Country compatriots might exclaim after hearing this rather special selection, ""Saltash Bells" is 'andsome".
