About these titles: Sure, they’re lengthy. They’re playful. He misspells Gandhi’s title, sure. There’s something to be mentioned about how André can’t assist however use language to each say and obfuscate what he’s feeling. It’s tempting to map some form of narrative onto instrumental music, significantly one thing as gauzy and clearly private as this. You may learn the beatific sigh of New Blue Solar as a touch upon the reduction of anonymity André should really feel, or how the security of a bunch of like-minded individuals means that you can take a more in-depth have a look at the darkness outdoors. In the event you don’t have a look at the tracklist, you are able to do that. However these track titles deflect your gaze, hold you from taking these things too severely, from studying an excessive amount of into it. Name it a feint, nevertheless it looks like a approach of maintaining the music gentle and thrilling, of defending the exploratory spirit that went into its creation.

Regardless of his lyrical virtuosity, André has at all times sought out what a track wants; think about the best way the again half of “B.O.B” is given over to gospel rave, or how “SpottieOttieDopaliscious”’ ineffable hook is a wordless trumpet line. Right here, he’s doing the identical factor, transferring rigorously and solely asserting himself when it feels proper. He checks “The Slang Phrase” out for vulnerabilities, teasing at its cloth together with his flute, selecting calmly lest he rip the seam. Armed together with his contrabass flute in “That Evening In Hawaii Once I Turned Into A Panther And Began Making These Low Register Purring Tones That I Couldn’t Management … Sh¥t Was Wild,” he’s rather more assured. He slurs like Rahsaan Roland Kirk, tweets like Eric Dolphy, units up a melody, then liquidates it and lets it simmer in opposition to the muted vibration of Deantoni Parks’ drum.

Parks, like the remainder of the ensemble, is a full participant within the creation of this music, and all through New Blue Solar, the opposite instrumentalists exhibit their means to spontaneously start new sounds. In “Ninety Three ’Til Infinity and Beyoncé,” Matthewdavid scrapes and smears crusty grains of noise thick as wheatpaste throughout the monitor and Botofasina brings to thoughts Laraaji’s Imaginative and prescient Songs, Vol. 1 together with his homey basement organ in “The Slang Phrase.” Then there’s Diego Gaeta, whose slowly turning piano runs in “Ghandi, Dalai Lama, Your Lord & Savior J.C. / Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, And John Wayne Gacy” are the rotator within the gyroscope, a counterweight that retains all the things from tumbling. He flirts with dreamy realization, pumps a little bit of gospel, then slides right into a resigned darkness, barely touching the keys; the best way his enjoying sits like a glass turned over the buzzing fly of André’s melody brings New Blue Solar nearer to the tragic experiments of Tim Hecker’s Ravedeath, 1972 than jazz or new age.