Binary System
From the Epicenter
[Atavistic]
Rating: 8.6
Rock inherited the hallowed institution of the drum solo from jazz and
never quite got it right. Whereas jazz percussion can offer some of the
form's most expressive and challenging music, the rock drum solo never
extends beyond an excuse for the rest of the band to catch a smoke,
drink a fifth of Jack and point out some front-row muff to a flunkie for
an all-access. Consequently, the arena-rock staple is usually comparable
in artistry to a temper tantrum; and while there have been some great
drummers in the annals of rock, the art of rock drumming has languished
in a state of arrested development.
The percussive archaeology of Binary System, however, is neither rock
nor jazz, but a rumble in the deep strata underlying both. From the
Epicenter is an aptly-titled work of violent beauty. The band is a
binary system of percussion and piano, a duo capable of creating a
geologic music that seems to threaten the ground beneath our feet. The
album-- featuring Mission of Burma guitarist Roger C. Miller on various
pianos and sometime Morphine and Concussion Ensemble drummer Larry Dersch
on percussion-- manages to sound simultaneously primitive and futuristic.
The music partakes of the deep time of seismic events and continental drift,
as well as the cinematic careen of modernity. In 53 minutes, a world had
emerged from the molten sea and the sky has already fallen down upon us.
Miller's piano seems to resist melody at every turn, instead resorting
to toy piano and prepared piano (a la John Cage's Sonatas and
Interludes) for color. At times, it recalls the savagely percussive
piano of McCoy Tyner in Coltrane's mid-sixties quartet, circa Birdland.
Miller plays piano like a pinball machine, coaxing grace and fluidity from
the edge of breakdown. Dersch's nimble and resourceful drumming surges in
the willful resistance of anything resembling ordinary time. Under the
direction of Dersch's punctuated catastrophe, the music slips in and out of
odd time signatures, lapses into syncopation and thins out to the faintest
approximation of rhythm-- sometimes nothing more than a rattling of the
sticks.
From the Epicenter thrives on relentless instability, like the
geology it aspires to reproduce: forging the illusion of solid rock where
there's nothing but the gnash and tangle of continents underfoot. Yet
the listener isn't permitted the reliability of permanent earthquake; the
rumble often gives way to the most serenely lovely lines of piano coasting
over the drums like a warm front, the prospect of gathering storm.
The sound is too awfully inhuman to pass as jazz and too willfully
anonymous to pose as rock. More often than not, the effect is classical,
like Stravinsky without strings. From the Epicenter is one of those
rare works of contemporary instrumental music that unfolds without the
threat of growing too cerebral. There's something irresistibly primal
about the whole album, an earthquake in the gut. Once in a while, you
almost forget it's music.
-Brent S. Sirota