Pillow
Three Henries
[Hapna; 2001]
Rating: 7.2
Chicago has become something of a target of late. Critics everywhere stand poised
and alert, eager to be the one that drives the first nails into the coffin of a
once-great music scene. They say they've grown tired of this "post-rock" nonsense--
the hybrid of Louisville-style rock, Chicago/AACM-style jazz, unusual
instrumentation, and heavy experimental leanings that the city has prided itself
on for the past ten years. The term itself a confused and failed attempt to
ground a genre whose only constant is change. They claim that Chicago has gone
stagnant, and grown too comfortable and reliant on the same formula of
lazy-but-upbeat songs, pointing to a market overstuffed with TNT rip-offs
where once there had been such variety. And all this was before Jim O'Rourke--
once a lynchpin of Windy City musical circles-- went east, accepted a full-fledged
membership in Sonic Youth, and started ranting to glossy-paged hipster music
magazines abut the death of creative music in Chicago.
The fact is, if post-rock was all Chicago has to offer, I'd be right in line with
the other naysayers. After Scott Herren's dead-on imitation of the genre (under
the name Savath and Savalas), it's hard to argue that the sound hasn't grown a
bit stale. But the city by the lake is one whose music is as diverse as is its
people. Contrary to popular belief, there is far more to the Chicago sound than
Tortoise imposters and math-rock. Even so, the critics wait, saliva hanging
from their loosed jowls, and Diamond Jim dons his finest bunny suit for
photo shoots on Brooklyn rooftops. Yet, despite its many detractors, the
Chicago scene is holding its own, preparing for an attack against supposed
monotony, and allowing new leaders to step into the limelight, to grow and
develop at their own pace.
In Chicago's war against boring music, Fred Lonberg-Holm stands on the front
lines, armed with nothing but a bow, an ordinary cello and a bag of tricks to
put the best of clowns to shame. Every bit as likely to contribute lush
accompaniment for Freakwater as he is to play squealing noise (Lonberg-Holm did
time in Weasel Walter's constantly evolving free-jazz/metal/noise/performance
ensemble the Flying Luttenbachers) or to stretch the limits of avant-improvisation
(take, for example, a duet this summer wherein Lonberg-Holm jammed action figures
in between his strings and struck them with a modified electric toothbrush, while
Michael Zerang placed cymbals atop a snare and bashed them with a vibrating dildo),
there's no accusing Lonberg-Holm of solidarity. This is a man who's played with
everyone.
On Three Henries, "everyone" is narrowed down to Ben Vida and Liz Payne--
one-half of the sleepy post-rock/jazz group Town and Country-- and reedist and
fellow-former-Luttenbacher Michael Corrigan. It's an interesting grouping; two
artists from one of the quietest groups in town making music with two compatriots
of Weasel Walter. Yet, it works; the musicians are well aware of their diverse
musical lineage, and, like an interracial couple who make public their love
despite the screams and objections of their inherently racist families, Pillow
stands unafraid to flaunt them. It's this very willingness to experiment that
leads me to maintain that Chicago is still a more alive and exciting place to
make music than most.
For those whose exposure to Chicago music ends with the closing notes of
Standards, the sounds contained on Three Henries might be
surprising. The album begins with what sounds like a distant alarm clock (I can
only assume this is the dry ice and tubes Corrigan is credited with playing,
though really, who knows?) and a random pluck of a guitar. Corrigan jumps in
with sparse toots arranged in Spiritual-era Art Ensemble style, while
Lonberg-Holm alternates between long strokes and seemingly random plucks. Ben
Vida's guitar lays a background-- his playing reminiscent of the slow-building
style of Brise-Glace, the musical equivalent of treading water-- while Liz
Payne's bass lingers in the corner, barely audible. As the movement progresses,
these dynamics shift, one overtaking the other, dynamics shifting like mad,
every instrument battling all the others for the listener's ear. Surprising to
some, yes. But for those of us every bit as familiar with Jeff Parker and Co.'s
frequent jazz outings, this is nothing too unusual.
The eight improvisations recorded here, all untitled, juggle each player's
idiosyncrasies well. It is at times slow-moving and dreamy like a Town and
Country record, and at others unforgivingly discordant and jarring like so much
of Lonberg-Holm's other work. Vida plays guitar and accordion. Lonberg-Holm
switches off, at points, to something called the nyckelharpa. Slow moving, yet
interlocking with undeniable precision, Pillow comes off as a Chicago-based
tribute to John Zorn's Naked City. It's an intriguing prospect, and one that's
hit or miss. For every moment that excites, there's one that lulls. This is the
nature of the improvisation-- some parts will naturally be more interesting than
others-- but Three Henries is improvisation properly executed; the slow
parts serving only make us appreciate the exciting parts even more.
Even though Pillow's Three Henries may not be the saving grace that sets
Chicago back on track, it stands as a fine reminder that the city is unlikely to
go down with out a fight. It seems everyone in Chicago has played with everyone
else at least once, and still the vast majority of players here-- all members of
Pillow included-- maintain a remarkably intuitive grasp on their fellow musicians'
explorations. This makes for interesting music, where even the less inspired
moments are still worthy of a close listen. Is Three Henries likely to
start another underground movement as did Tortoise's TNT? Naaaah. But
it will intrigue those with an open ear, and excite those who know deep in their
hearts that there's more to the Windy City than post-schlock.
-David M. Pecoraro, November 14th, 2001