Cinematic Orchestra
Motion
[Ninja Tune]
Rating: 6.7
Exciting times, these! So what if the Messiah didn't turn up on the Eve of the New Millennium?
What do we need some sandled beardy-weirdy for, anyway? Less than two full months into 2000,
we got Primal Scream's Molotov incendiary device, Exterminator, which resurrected the
emaciated, once-revolutionary specters of the Stooges and the MC5, and stomped dusted-up beats
all over them. Brill!
The rollover of the century also saw avant-jazz taking on electronica and offering us the hope
that smooth jazz wasn't the end of the road for that great tradition. Compare Autechre's
LP5 with Elliot Sharpe's Errata and you'll be gobsmacked by the similarities and
the friendly rivalries. Shit, what if Jelly Roll Morton and King Oliver had had PowerBooks and
CuBase rather than rusty trombones and bordello pianos? What freaky shit we'd be listening
to now! What if John Coltrane...? Or Ornette Coleman...?
The Cinematic Orchestra (aka J. Swinscoe) is coming from the other angle. He's a veteran
electronica producer taking on jazz. And unlike Sharp's ripping up of conventions, Swinscoe's
hung up on admiration. Motion is nothing less than a beat-driven tribute to Miles Davis'
collaborations with third stream arranger/composer Gil Evans. Those 50's records (Sketches
of Spain, Quiet Nights, Miles Ahead, for example) threw away the hard-bop
rulebook and attempted to find a third path between the irreverence of jazz and the academics
of the classical tradition. Davis had already expressed that interest when his nonet recorded
The Birth of the Cool, but the idea was fully realized on his recordings with Gil
Evans.
Swinscoe obviously adores the glowing discords and the curious harmonies of "Saeta" (from
Sketches of Spain) and he's built Motion around them. Rather than using a
sampler to do all the work, he's pulled together a small band and let his drum machine
contribute the beats.
The opening track, "Durian," incorporates a sample of Nina Simone's heart-wrenching
rendition of "Strange Fruit" and builds the close brass harmonies to a forceful climax.
"Diabolus" takes a different approach to the same end and closes with an almost ambient
coda. However, Motion is ironically rigid. The hip-hop beats aren't sufficient to
overcome Swinscoe's reverence for the tradition he cops from. Too often the flow is ponderous
and self-conscious.
If Swinscoe had allowed his musicians the freedom of a true blowin'
session, Motion could have been a signal moment in the much-needed dialog between the
electronic and jazz avant-gardes. Instead, the album simply restates the obvious, however
beautifully. The revolution will not be held in a trendy coffee bar and Jesus won't return
until he's sure that there's some kick-ass music down here to soundtrack his second coming
and the destruction of all those whining bastards who've been bothering his poor, defenseless
father for centuries.
-Paul Cooper