Without unnecessary sarcasm and
with a constantly refreshed hunger for something new, we descry that the
“scene” here is livelier and more intriguing in improvisation or diverse
“experiment” than in its jazz ambitions. The latter are too easily pulled in by
the mainstream, by global imitation, and only the rare few go beyond
hermeticism and boringness. Even Kaučič’s Kombos often distinctly lean towards
rock and its derivatives, thus enlivening the material and the technique. The
latter is something even
Oholo! is not immune to. And it is no wonder
that the more productive branch of the jazz scene here gathers precisely in it
and the smaller lineups around its protagonists. This ascertainment is a
paradox of its own of course and, as such, relatable for anyone engaged both in
jazz and improvisation (and such fellows make up most of the band under
consideration), but it is worth emphasising that there is a lot less
improvisation in jazz than people usually imagine. They probably cannot hear
well, fall for poorly checked rumours or what? But reservations about jazz,
which some people also refer to as “unnecessary limitation with idiomatism”, are
here superfluous. The activities of Oholo!, who commendably do not exaggerate
with piling up recordings, are all too needed, for, in the way they convey the
subject matter, the septet unabashedly flirt with jazz, but, with the now
pretty now craftily chopped, snippy motifs, gleanings and broken joint playing,
they actually also hold up a somewhat distorted mirror to it, so it can – among
other things – sound even as a more relaxed, more entertainingly performed
contemporary classical music. We live in a time that is politically
accommodating, also when it comes to sound. The material seems familiar; after
all, it follows the example of Mingus and his skilful meandering between
repetitions and the dance and listening lines, but is simultaneously homely,
affable, such as the slightly shrunken cities, somewhat spread out villages and
the oftentimes depraving cultural landscape are prone to stimulate.
The nonchalant beats and alluring
matter polyrhythmically play around in their own repetitions, shifts and jumps,
they play with seemingly modest phrases, the toddling and hopping of two double
basses nicely leading the gang to what in other places and times would probably
be followed by a dance step. The latter would be steady as there are no
unknowns or airtight closures, but merely a humorous, so a well moistened and
accessible but never cheap musical collage, in which we gladly discover a
possible example for the listeners’ first familiarisation with improvisation. An
introduction to improvisation or a subtly conveyed pedagogical knack outside
the classroom. I wonder what they now have in store for us at their concerts. Where
is Oholo!, a special jazz deviation of our improvisers, headed?
Šiba [Whip]
whips well
– now a
“scourge of God”, now a trembling tree, a fruit of comradely forbearance and
zeal. In time, when it adequately develops,
“Šiv” [Suture] already
seduces us with a quickener, in which what at first hearing seems a simple cast-on
on the clarinet is knitted into a “V-neck collar” (read: the good old tested
arrangement of the performers in identical form), with the allure of the basic
conception not being discerned through the melodic characteristics, as is the
case with pop music, for example, but only a bit later when that V-neck
gradually comes apart and assumes its rounder shape, thus entering group
interplay, nicely playing loss and rediscovering the introductory rhythmical
basis.
“Kiparka” [Sculptress] additionally kneads and multiplies the
characteristic haughty [
oholo in Slovenian] repetitive thematic playing
with the material and, in the interplays with the guitar, two double basses and
drums, builds itself a studio playground, on which wind chirping, an odd
background to a never finished musical torso, also finally nicely finds itself.
The zealous bowing right before the end of the song does make room for a cocoon,
but the form with a slightly bombastic finale says that we are to continue
elsewhere immediately. What a film, what images open up before us when a dramaturgical
catch sounds:
“Kino uho II” [Cinema-Ear
II], which Tomaž Grom pulls out of his far-off soloist times without any
nostalgia, moves away from its first version, a most wonderful, subtle ballad
as he performed it in tandem with Zlatko Kaučič on the album
The
Ear Is the Shadow of the Eye (Zavod Sploh, 2019), and, through its
introduction, leads to a common phenomenality: It begins with a puffing
electrophonia, torn in places by ruptures, productively planned “mistakes”,
whose texture and rhythmisation remind us of the famous French historical
beginnings with the train on the La Ciotat railway station (or in a more crude,
German pioneering example with the imposing train engine on the tracks set in
the middle of Leipzig), but it is also suitable for an introduction to Ruttmann’s
Weimarian composition from the so-called experimental documentary
Berlin: Symphony
of Metropolis (1927). The drum
and bass nicely lies down in a weird
reggae-funk hammock, the clarinet
occasionally sends us a kiss from unknown places; the composition is an
accompaniment and a driving force at the same time. Wind tubes slowly transform
into quiet, initially sleepy industrial streamings, the percussions will not
leave them in peace and contort them into a new basis for tiny electronic magic
tricks, over which champing and cooing arch like nobody’s business: a
suspiciously calm sound montage with an abundance of internal excitement. In a
deeply controlled way,
“Ga-Ni” flies off the handle, the wind players
add interval bounces, the violin arches over them, the guitar effectively
strikes and even though the drum and bass underneath Africanises, it
persistently avoids the cliché. The melody twists and contorts, splitting into
its own fragments and only occasionally providing a more integral phrase. The
duration and scope are just right, which is a strong point of undoubted
improvisational mastery. The compositions are kneaded in line with this and
left to an astonished ear. How will this sound on stage?
The septet is a liminal lineup when
it comes to its members, both for the organisation of gigs and tours and in
terms of production spaces. Anything more than this liminal enterprise requires
something that we in these parts are currently too poor for or, more precisely,
cheated of: large enough and comfortable spaces for regular meetings, the
set-up of equipment and perhaps even more electronics, keyboards and
rehearsals. Even though the activity of improvisers has been proven innumerable
times already, what can be done for cultural politics to make grander spaces
one of its priorities so that larger bands can go out of tune in appropriately
airy and permanent spaces? Another paradox that strikes a more attentive
listener and their sociological intention directly concerns the production spaces.
The archive of conversations with musicians in the trade union notebook of the
undersigned reveals that there is a problem with larger bands in our parts
because there are no suitable rehearsal spaces. We should not overly console
ourselves in the conclusion, of course, but improvisational practice finds
space even where there is none – in skilfully arranged registers with drum and
bass and knob-turning; with just two wind players, a violin and a guitar, it can
nicely drown out many a
big band and can adapt to the most unusual
rehearsal spaces to test itself. The way the tours and journeys then proceed often
no longer depends on the bands. Is the matter under consideration, which makes
a loud noise through a seeming calmness, perhaps also a provocation in this
direction? The result of the mentioned doubtlessly is one.
Miha Zadnikar
