We have
all learned through concert trial and error that it is impossible
to be equally disposed toward all musical instruments and their
generic sound; some immediately resonate, others never, even over
an entire lifetime. I am unapologetically more receptive to guitar
and piano than the accordion. In fact the latter requires mere
seconds of exposure before I find myself longing for the promised
land of an irreversible lobotomy. So when a musician, through
the power of his invention or understanding of the possibilities
of his instrument, turns us on to a sound that previously left
us indifferent or worse (return to previous sentence), that musician
is to be ranked among those select few who significantly expand
our musical horizons.
Until
I heard Canada's Kevin
Breit, I was never a fan of the banjo. Until Richard
Galliano exploded my prejudices during a concert with Bireli
Lagrene, I was ‘somewhat’ negatively
disposed toward the accordion despite its pivotal role in the
production of tango, whose plaintive interval never fails to stir
the heart.
Many
years ago, dating back to their first collaboration in the 1980s,
I was indifferent to the sub-zero, outer space, metallic peal
of the vibraphone until Jean
Vanasse, in duo with ex-Weather Report bassist
Miroslav Vitous, took my preconceptions by the neck and through
the force of his revelatory playing convinced me of the instrument’s
unsuspected range and distinctly affecting radiance. No surprise
that the Vanasse-Vitous reunion (Salle Gesù) was the most
talked about, pleasant surprise concert of the 2008
Montreal Jazz Festival.
In the
context of jazz, most vibraphonists are attracted to the ethereal,
spacey wave effect the instrument so easily produces. As an unintended
consequence, the single note is often given short shrift, in part
because like the harpsichord note it can’t be shaped or
vibrated, which means the musician can’t impose his will
onto it. The vibraphonist may also fear that single note playing
is tantamount to an admission of inferior musicianship.
As physical
sonic fact, it is true that the vibraphone note, compared to other
notes from other instruments, is exceptionally self-sufficient,
independent from the musician; its generic sound comes across
as prefabricated. But instead of fighting the fixed facts of his
instrument, Vanasse embraces what is there and allows the notes
in their sequence the breathing room they require in order to
effectively disclose their temperament and particular relationship
with acoustic space.
Unlike
the high priests of the vibraphone, beginning with Lionel Hampton,
then Milt Jackson, Bobby Hutcherson and the incomparable Gary
Burton, whose mostly 4-mallet sound is generated by the deliberate
interpenetration of the notes and chord progressions, Vanasse
makes the clarity of the note the instrument’s defining
issue. If the banjo note begins to disappear the moment it’s
plucked, the vibraphone note releases its sound in an unusually
leisurely fashion: think of spray or vapour suffusing space or
how a chime spreads in a Buddhist temple.
To discover
what is essential and irreducible in the vibe note requires an
understanding of its limitation and application; not all feelings
and ideas are equally served. During a Vanasse concert, the listener
is made aware of the vibe’s delicacy, its spiritual indices,
its ability to haunt space, communicate mystery, uncertainty,
hesitation, and post-modern malaise. It is easily the most insubstantial,
disembodied note in the musical lexicon. The intention underlying
Vanasse’s playing isn’t so much to fill space as to
create it, by endowing it with stealth-like depth and dimensionality
that wafts over the listener like a mist or halo. What we learn
to appreciate in Vanasse is his willingness to meet the vibe sound
on its own terms so as to better assimilate its idiosyncratic
lack of density, the insight of which informs his artful accompaniment
which is just as noteworthy as his soloing – and all this
from cold metal keys that ring like bells submerged in water.
Vanasse’s
extraordinary accomplishment has not been lost on Miroslav
Vitous, regarded by many as one the seminal bassists
in Fusion Jazz. In the unlikely but wholly convincing pairing
of bass and vibes, Vanasse has found a way to reveal himself in
the repose of what is bravely original and unprecedented in his
playing, characterized by deceptive simplicity which is an implicit
rejection of the legato-produced, tiresome wave effect that has
become so synonymous with the instrument. Vanasse wants to purge
the vibe sound of everything that is arbitrary, contrived and
pedal boosted. The lazy ear might conclude that when all is said
and sounded there’s not much there; Vitous has concluded
otherwise, and together they make a remarkable case for original
music that features the kind of listening that should be written
into a score. Vanasse’s compositions are born out of the
respect each has for the effective range of his instrument –
and for each other. As such, their latest collaboration (release
date late 2009, Effendi)
establishes itself as the standard against which all future bass
and vibraphone composition will be judged.
Jean
Vanasse, who has been playing to international audiences for over
20 years, including a 4-year stint in Paris, is finally earning
kudos at home, and in this critic’s opinion is a Canadian
treasure whose unique contribution to the evolution of his instrument
will one day be accorded the recognition already granted by his
peers.
