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Ben Monder and David Torn, Jazz Guitarists Unafraid to Wrestle With Darkness Ben Monder and David Torn, Jazz Guitarists Unafraid to Wrestle With Darkness
(1 day later)
Can a jazz guitarist touch the void? What role can darkness play in improvised music, which has historically been built on a spirit of earnest collaboration and bright, restorative energy?Can a jazz guitarist touch the void? What role can darkness play in improvised music, which has historically been built on a spirit of earnest collaboration and bright, restorative energy?
The guitarists Ben Monder and David Torn have been building their musical legacies for over three decades, and both approach those questions in their work. But listen to their latest albums — Mr. Torn’s pummeling, acid-drenched “Sun of Goldfinger,” which came out last month; Mr. Monder’s moody and entrancing double CD, “Day After Day,” due out Friday — and you’ll find two very different ways of answering.The guitarists Ben Monder and David Torn have been building their musical legacies for over three decades, and both approach those questions in their work. But listen to their latest albums — Mr. Torn’s pummeling, acid-drenched “Sun of Goldfinger,” which came out last month; Mr. Monder’s moody and entrancing double CD, “Day After Day,” due out Friday — and you’ll find two very different ways of answering.
Mr. Monder uses only a modest rack of pedals, and his music is elegantly determined and precise. Mr. Torn’s goes the other way: multidirectional, constantly adding conflict to already precarious situations. If Mr. Monder’s music stares into the void, Mr. Torn’s seems as if it’s just been released from it, and is now fleeing in search of safer ground.Mr. Monder uses only a modest rack of pedals, and his music is elegantly determined and precise. Mr. Torn’s goes the other way: multidirectional, constantly adding conflict to already precarious situations. If Mr. Monder’s music stares into the void, Mr. Torn’s seems as if it’s just been released from it, and is now fleeing in search of safer ground.
It’s no coincidence that David Bowie hired both of them, at different stages in his late career, to collaborate: Mr. Torn on his post-9/11 album, “Heathen,” among others; Mr. Monder on “Blackstar,” Bowie’s bleak final masterpiece.It’s no coincidence that David Bowie hired both of them, at different stages in his late career, to collaborate: Mr. Torn on his post-9/11 album, “Heathen,” among others; Mr. Monder on “Blackstar,” Bowie’s bleak final masterpiece.
Young guitarists seeking fresh approaches and a new hybridity between their instruments and gear are increasingly treating jazz, metal and electronic music as interrelated systems. Mr. Monder’s and Mr. Torn’s separate careers over the past three decades have set the table for Rafiq Bhatia, Anthony Pirog and Ava Mendoza, to name a few. And their work continues to be at least as creatively vital as their younger counterparts’.Young guitarists seeking fresh approaches and a new hybridity between their instruments and gear are increasingly treating jazz, metal and electronic music as interrelated systems. Mr. Monder’s and Mr. Torn’s separate careers over the past three decades have set the table for Rafiq Bhatia, Anthony Pirog and Ava Mendoza, to name a few. And their work continues to be at least as creatively vital as their younger counterparts’.
Since the early 1990s, Mr. Monder, 56, has established a shadowy but unmistakable sound: He plays chords in a low-lit, humming tone or a blurred, finger-plucking wash; usually he wedges one or two misfit notes in the middle of his harmonies, making them sound conflicted. And he has a decisive, slow-handed way of soloing, though you wouldn’t necessarily know it from most of his albums. On records, he usually composes lengthy pieces full of intricate harmonic weaves, with hardly any room for improvisation — a testament to his early infatuations with jazz-rock fusion and classical music.Since the early 1990s, Mr. Monder, 56, has established a shadowy but unmistakable sound: He plays chords in a low-lit, humming tone or a blurred, finger-plucking wash; usually he wedges one or two misfit notes in the middle of his harmonies, making them sound conflicted. And he has a decisive, slow-handed way of soloing, though you wouldn’t necessarily know it from most of his albums. On records, he usually composes lengthy pieces full of intricate harmonic weaves, with hardly any room for improvisation — a testament to his early infatuations with jazz-rock fusion and classical music.
“Day After Day,” however, is different. It’s Mr. Monder’s first collection of covers, and Disc 1 is his first extended foray into solo-guitar recording. The second CD finds him in a trio, playing relatively straightforward renditions of popular songs by Bob Dylan, Burt Bacharach and Fleetwood Mac — and, yes, soloing. On his other albums, he’s so distinctive that it can be hard to pin down any individual big influences. On this album, the importance of the fusion guitarist Ralph Towner and Jim Hall, the master of harmonically rich, 20th-century jazz guitar, becomes clear.“Day After Day,” however, is different. It’s Mr. Monder’s first collection of covers, and Disc 1 is his first extended foray into solo-guitar recording. The second CD finds him in a trio, playing relatively straightforward renditions of popular songs by Bob Dylan, Burt Bacharach and Fleetwood Mac — and, yes, soloing. On his other albums, he’s so distinctive that it can be hard to pin down any individual big influences. On this album, the importance of the fusion guitarist Ralph Towner and Jim Hall, the master of harmonically rich, 20th-century jazz guitar, becomes clear.
Mr. Monder played in two of the most important large ensembles of the 1990s — the Maria Schneider Orchestra and Guillermo Klein y Los Guachos — and developed symbiotic partnerships with figures such as Paul Motian, the fabled drummer, and Theo Bleckmann, a virtuoso vocalist. Last year, he served as the linchpin on Dan Weiss’s well-received project “Starebaby,” an explicit marriage of jazz and metal.Mr. Monder played in two of the most important large ensembles of the 1990s — the Maria Schneider Orchestra and Guillermo Klein y Los Guachos — and developed symbiotic partnerships with figures such as Paul Motian, the fabled drummer, and Theo Bleckmann, a virtuoso vocalist. Last year, he served as the linchpin on Dan Weiss’s well-received project “Starebaby,” an explicit marriage of jazz and metal.
Mr. Monder has a print of a small, phosphorescent De Chirico painting on the wall in his practice room at home in south Brooklyn. “There are paintings that seem to convey what I’m trying to sound like,” he said on a recent Saturday morning, considering the image’s metaphysical qualities. His tall frame was coiled up on his stool, and his demeanor was warm but reticent; he ended most statements with a self-effacing joke.Mr. Monder has a print of a small, phosphorescent De Chirico painting on the wall in his practice room at home in south Brooklyn. “There are paintings that seem to convey what I’m trying to sound like,” he said on a recent Saturday morning, considering the image’s metaphysical qualities. His tall frame was coiled up on his stool, and his demeanor was warm but reticent; he ended most statements with a self-effacing joke.
He described a recurring dream that he said the painting always reminds him of. “I’m in a room, which is flooded with light, and I’m practicing, and I’m able to play just, anything,” he said. “It’s super inspiring, and I always wake up and I’m like, ‘Where did that go?’”He described a recurring dream that he said the painting always reminds him of. “I’m in a room, which is flooded with light, and I’m practicing, and I’m able to play just, anything,” he said. “It’s super inspiring, and I always wake up and I’m like, ‘Where did that go?’”
If Mr. Monder’s fantasy is about finding an unobstructed path from idea to execution, Mr. Torn’s is almost the opposite: He likes to surround himself with as much clutter and complication as possible, and figure a way out. In addition to his formidable fleet of pedals and electronics, the 65-year-old musician has built three signal-interrupter buttons into the body of his electric guitar, so that at any moment he can snap himself out of an improvisation’s flow by triggering silence, or a screeching tone, or a sample of something being played by another musician onstage.If Mr. Monder’s fantasy is about finding an unobstructed path from idea to execution, Mr. Torn’s is almost the opposite: He likes to surround himself with as much clutter and complication as possible, and figure a way out. In addition to his formidable fleet of pedals and electronics, the 65-year-old musician has built three signal-interrupter buttons into the body of his electric guitar, so that at any moment he can snap himself out of an improvisation’s flow by triggering silence, or a screeching tone, or a sample of something being played by another musician onstage.
“I want these things to be random enough that I’m surprised by them,” he said breezily in a recent interview.“I want these things to be random enough that I’m surprised by them,” he said breezily in a recent interview.
On “Sun of Goldfinger,” he is joined by the alto saxophonist Tim Berne (a longtime collaborator) and the drummer Ches Smith for two 20-minute-long improvisations. A third, equally long track, “Spartan, Before It Hit,” also features the pianist Craig Taborn and a string quartet, playing a long composition full of saxophone melodies that are sometimes doleful and sometimes strident. Different instruments echo and add friction to each other, and then midway through the performance, the written piece ends and a squall of atonal playing erupts. Eventually it flattens out into near-silence, leading to a long denouement.On “Sun of Goldfinger,” he is joined by the alto saxophonist Tim Berne (a longtime collaborator) and the drummer Ches Smith for two 20-minute-long improvisations. A third, equally long track, “Spartan, Before It Hit,” also features the pianist Craig Taborn and a string quartet, playing a long composition full of saxophone melodies that are sometimes doleful and sometimes strident. Different instruments echo and add friction to each other, and then midway through the performance, the written piece ends and a squall of atonal playing erupts. Eventually it flattens out into near-silence, leading to a long denouement.
The album feels like an extension of Mr. Torn’s other recent releases, “Prezens,” with a quartet, and “Only Sky,” his first solo-guitar recording. Both albums were almost entirely improvised then edited afterward. Movement and narrative become secondary to the feeling of being ensconced in sound; your ear is caught in a battle between gravity and weightlessness.The album feels like an extension of Mr. Torn’s other recent releases, “Prezens,” with a quartet, and “Only Sky,” his first solo-guitar recording. Both albums were almost entirely improvised then edited afterward. Movement and narrative become secondary to the feeling of being ensconced in sound; your ear is caught in a battle between gravity and weightlessness.
Mr. Torn, like Mr. Monder, grew up north of New York City and was inspired by the pyrotechnics of classic rock and fusion. And he too found his way toward a ruminative, personal style. Mr. Torn’s father was a sound engineer who designed stereos, and David grew up thinking not just about music but about sound, as an element with its own dimensions and layers. He had a formative experience at 16, watching Jimi Hendrix play at the Woodstock festival, his guitar soaked in distortion. “That made me rethink everything,” Mr. Torn said. Mr. Torn, like Mr. Monder, grew up outside New York City and was inspired by the pyrotechnics of classic rock and fusion. And he too found his way toward a ruminative, personal style. Mr. Torn’s father was a sound engineer who designed stereos, and David grew up thinking not just about music but about sound, as an element with its own dimensions and layers. He had a formative experience at 16, watching Jimi Hendrix play at the Woodstock festival, his guitar soaked in distortion. “That made me rethink everything,” Mr. Torn said.
Mr. Torn’s music has always tilted toward the atmospheric, and in the 1990s he started creating film soundtracks. He played on the scores to “The Big Lebowski,” “Traffic” and “A Knight’s Tale,” among others, before starting to compose entire soundtracks himself in the 2000s. It was during this period that he suffered a life-changing brain injury, and lost the ability to hear in one ear. It was a great hardship, but Mr. Torn treated it as just another part of life’s ongoing improvisation.Mr. Torn’s music has always tilted toward the atmospheric, and in the 1990s he started creating film soundtracks. He played on the scores to “The Big Lebowski,” “Traffic” and “A Knight’s Tale,” among others, before starting to compose entire soundtracks himself in the 2000s. It was during this period that he suffered a life-changing brain injury, and lost the ability to hear in one ear. It was a great hardship, but Mr. Torn treated it as just another part of life’s ongoing improvisation.
“Life is a continuum in most ways, so an interrupter can be a part of the continuum,” he said, explaining that he had to relearn how to listen to music. “I think my great love of distortion became very fine-tuned.”“Life is a continuum in most ways, so an interrupter can be a part of the continuum,” he said, explaining that he had to relearn how to listen to music. “I think my great love of distortion became very fine-tuned.”
Performing last month at the Big Ears Festival in Knoxville, Tenn., he played a solo set one day, and with the “Sun of Goldfinger” trio the next. In Mr. Torn’s playing there were elements of Hendrix’s snaky, blues-based improvisations, and elsewhere, the thickness and wide-open empty power of doom metal. Whether he was evading darkness or running straight into it, this music had levels of history built in, and a mind of its own.Performing last month at the Big Ears Festival in Knoxville, Tenn., he played a solo set one day, and with the “Sun of Goldfinger” trio the next. In Mr. Torn’s playing there were elements of Hendrix’s snaky, blues-based improvisations, and elsewhere, the thickness and wide-open empty power of doom metal. Whether he was evading darkness or running straight into it, this music had levels of history built in, and a mind of its own.