Henry Threadgill Extends His Compositional Daring Into Intimacy

The musical art of composer Henry Threadgill has taken many forms over the course of more than half a century. When he emerged as a darting, era-spanning alto saxophonist with the trio AIR in 1971, Threadgill was already defying expectations, playing in the post-bebop “free style” of that loft jazz era, but also covering ragtime songs along the way. His bands over the years were adventurous and unusual: a sextet with two drummers, cello, and brass; the Very Very Circus with two electric guitars and two tubas; a Flute Force Four with, you guessed it, four flutes; the Make a Move band with guitar and accordion; and Zooid, his most recent band, which shapeshifts from project to project.

Along the way, it became clear that Threadgill’s bracing saxophone playing was only a small part of his art. As a composer and bandleader, he had developed a distinctive voice, refracting the lineage of jazz through his personal musical language: contrasting timbres, overlapping rhythms, and a practice of improvisation that encouraged unusual intervals and fresh melodic patterns. During recent recordings, it became clear that Threadgill’s art has expanded beyond any single band to encompass ensembles of unusual size and composition.

The new album, Listen Ship, features a particularly unique ensemble of four acoustic guitars (Brandon Ross on the soprano in addition to Bill Frisell, Miles Okazaki, and Greg Belisle-Chi), two acoustic bass guitars (Jerome Harris and Stomu Takeishi), and two pianos (Maya Keren and Rahul Carlberg). The musicians play a suite of 16 precise and sympathetically connected pieces that largely evade a sense of genre.

Let me emphasize: although Henry Threadgill began his career as a “jazz musician”, Listen Ship only fleetingly sounds like jazz. However, the guitar-centric pieces, in particular, contain the rhythmic give-and-take that is distinctive to jazz. The music, in terms of genre or category, is simply in its own space.

For the first six installments, Threadgill segregates the pianos and guitars, alternating between piano duets and guitar treatments. (For titles, the segments are “lettered”, A, B, etc, with “IJ” as a single piece.) The contrast between these first pieces acts as a prelude. The piano duets are slower and more legato, with notes and clusters ringing in gentle pastels that only occasionally ruffle your sonic feathers. For example, “E” is a set of whispered curls and chords, with low tones and cushioned chords setting up isolated spikes of high notes. Threadgill allows Keren and Carlberg moments of drama here, but most of the playing comes home to layers of gentle accompaniment.

The guitars-only pieces that start the suite are more likely to be contrapuntal and rhythmic, like “D”, with its delicate, dancing plucking. The guitars cover the spectrum from high to low, each voice in place but coming together in strands of written melody that cycle around like a wheel.

The first segment that brings all the instruments together develops Threadgill’s ideas more fully. On “G”, the guitars continue to assert a more percussive voice, but the pianos emerge gently from beneath and then match the guitars with vigor. Suddenly, then, this piece resets to allow the keyboards to play a ballad segment that reinforces their identity, which invites the guitars along, with a bass guitar trading lead improvisations with Ross’s soprano. Ultimately, the eight instruments converge in a single theme.

The second half of the program continues to mix the players and instruments more freely. The bass guitarists face off on a frankly funky duel on “M”; a single piano part underlies one jagged guitar melody on “P”; and the 40-second “Q” is a tightly-composed symphony in a flash.

The two longest segments of the suite also come in this second half of the program, and they are the highlights. The concluding piece, “R”, offers the richest harmonic landscape on the record. The opening piano solo sounds conspicuously like (almost) mainstream jazz, though with this program’s criss-crossing guitar accompaniment. Guitarists also solo, utilizing beautiful harmonic movement as the piece develops a solid background of rhythmic hits. In the final minute, Threadgill brings together a written melody that pays off everything that came before.

A particularly sumptuous performance emerges in segment “L”, marked by a lead guitar that begins with a Flamenco-tinged lyrical bravura. Pianos and guitars move beneath the lead with gentle, consonant support, lifting the piece to shivering beauty. Listeners familiar with some of the folk-inspired jazz of the 1970s may hear echoes of the band Oregon with Ralph Towner’s guitar. Still, soon enough Threadgill’s written theme distinguishes the piece as his own, with two guitars playing a unison melody as bass, piano chords, and contrasting melodies and percussive effects complete the album’s most masterful performance.

One other observation seems important. The soloists on this album typically stand out as utterly themselves regardless of the context in which you hear them play. Bill Frisell, Miles Okazaki, and Brandon Ross rarely disappear into a recording, essentially anonymous. However, it’s seldom obvious on this record who may be soloing. That may be because the settings are so gentle and careful that these huge musical personalities didn’t look to impose their singular stamps. Does this mostly quiet program invite or require a certain egolessness?

Compared to many of Henry Threadgill’s prior ensemble recordings, Listen Ship is a delicate work. Perhaps it tempts us to overlook it, but small can be bold as well as beautiful. This new composition and construction by Threadgill has a “chamber jazz” quality at times. Still, in its relative hush — no urgent saxophones, no amplified insistence or distortion — it invites the closest possible listening. Careful attention is richly rewarded by Listen Ship. You will hear some of the finest creative musicians in the world lose themselves in Henry Threadgill’s patterns and plans, the pathways he sets up that allow melodies and rhythms to wander, weave, and be discovered.

This is subtle music, only occasionally acerbic, but capable of a full range of interest. It moves across styles — yes, there is some folkiness, some hip jazz harmonies, some moments of noise or just texture — but it is best understood as a boundary-blasting form that reflects the adventure inside the head and soul of Henry Threadgill, the most congenial and inviting avant-garde artist in American music.
Listen Ship is a gentle, daring classic.