As the title of this release indicates, this is volume one in creative music label Drimala Records’ series of duet recordings featuring the brilliant bassist Dominic Duval. For this first installment, Duval is paired with the frustratingly overlooked reedist Mark Whitecage. Throughout, these frequent collaborators engage in a series of intimate performances that capture plenty of fire, as well as rich lyrical beauty. The compositions, all by Duval, cover a great deal of ground and draw upon both artists’ styles and experiences. Best yet is that the tracks are terse and concise rather than lengthy explorations that can cause the mind to wander; Duval and Whitecage say what needs to be said and don’t waste notes or time.
Duval should be no stranger to those following the scene, as he is by far one of the music’s busiest practitioners. Since the late 1990s, this catalyst has been demonstrating why he is such a valuable player in the improvised music world. He possesses a remarkable technique, a hybrid of his classical inclinations and spirited improvisatory nature that also welcomes sincere lyricism. His fleet, acrobatic lines and ardently conversational approach are put to great use in this context.
Whitecage has been involved in a wide variety of playing experiences, including work with Gunther Hampel, Jeanne Lee, Anthony Braxton, the Fonda-Stevens Group and Paul Motian, as well as several releases as a leader. He firmly demonstrates his proficiency on a variety of instruments, including alto and soprano saxophones, as well as clarinet. This range of instruments from his arsenal serves a welcome series of timbral contrasts to keep the listener engaged.
Duval’s compositions are mostly loose constructions, blueprints even, for the duo’s improvisations. The appropriately titled "Beginnings", perhaps an ode to the road that they have traveled both together and apart, starts the proceedings in an even-paced fashion. Whitecage goes with the clarinet here, where his dark-hued, woody tone works well with Duval’s engaged pizzicato lines. Almost from the start, these two demonstrate their prodigious technique, as well as seamless interplay, obviously garnered from many joint ventures. Whitecage’s main instrument, the alto saxophone, is utilized next on "A Moment’s Thought", with his bright, cutting lines contrasting with Duval’s elongated and dancing arco. The intensity builds slowly and rises and falls throughout, with Whitecage’s full, effulgent sound ringing through.
Worth noting is that one would be hard-pressed to say that any of the performances here "swing", however this influence is a factor in the results. A good example is "Snap Judgment", which features Duval’s ribbony punctuations and Whitecage’s thematic lines. Likewise, "Katherine’s Song #4", dedicated to the memory of Duval’s late wife, features intermittent walking by Duval as Whitecage matches this approach with darting, almost bluesy lines on his soprano. Another delight is "Rainbows Were Over…", based loosely on the familiar themes of Harold Arlen’s gem, which allows these collaborators to put their spin on the well-known melody. Finally, Duval is simply inspiring on "Marks On The Wall", where he has an active workout, even incorporating slapping techniques and his bass’ body into the performance.
The record concludes with two solo pieces. Whitecage’s solo recital, "Solo Clarinet", captures his deep moodiness perfectly, as he concentrates on the lower register to evoke contemplation, while at the same time, showcasing his rhythmic mastery. Duval’s piece, "Solo Bass", as one might expect, highlights his considerable dexterity and soulfulness.
Despite the expectations of a relatively limited sound spectrum, the shared virtuosity, the diverse compositions and Whitecage’s array of horns allow for both a varied and engaging program. One can be certain that Drimala’s promised volumes two and three, collaborations with Joe McPhee and Steve Swell, should signal good things to come.
~ by Jay Collins
"I have forced myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste."
Marcel Duchamp