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Nate Wooley -
The Almond
 Improvised
music is drawn from the well of experience and, as such, it is a lived process.
Playing creatively whether in a solo or a group context is, in part, drawing on
history and conception, but it also requires (or encourages) getting to know oneself,
one’s environment and one’s partners. It’s social, psychological
and experiential. In the best instances, creative music can be sublime in the
truest sense of the word - standing before a mountain or precipice as both listener
and performer. Trumpeter and improvising composer Nate Wooley is a player with
his hands in a number of pots - jazz-derived small groups (of which he’s
both leader and sideman), as well as freer work with the English percussionist
Paul Lytton and stateside players like drummer Ben Hall and guitarist Joe Morris.
Wooley’s solo music, however, is in an entirely different space than any
aforementioned setting and deserves to be taken on its own.
If, according to guitarist/improviser Derek Bailey, solo playing is the process
of developing one’s language apart from a collective scenario, Wooley’s
solos go even further - at least if one considers musical language from a phrase-based
approach. Following on the heels of 2010’s feedback study Trumpet/Amplifier
(Smeraldina-Rima), Wooley has released two new solo recordings that are equally
remarkable. The closest thing to a traditional solo trumpet record that Wooley
has cut is [8] Syllables on Chicago’s Peira imprint. On the surface
it is a soloist’s project, with untreated acoustic trumpet moving through
passages of related sounds and phrasal palimpsests. There is also a hint of ‘blowing
the bell off the horn’ and putting the instrument through its most extreme
paces, à la Bill Dixon’s early ‘70s solo work. But Wooley is
taking a different tack here, in that while he is avoiding simple refined exploration
of an improvisational vocabulary, pushing the instrument is also part of a grander
clause. In [8] Syllables, sounds are organized through assigning them symbols
derived from the International Phonetic Alphabet (phonemes, intonation and word/syllable
separation), with a specific series of breaths assigned to each. The effect is
a challenging directed improvisation for solo brass instrumentalist. In practice,
circularity, tinny swipes, screams and areas of winnowing, cyclical gulps separated
by lengthy tacet sections are among the composition’s syllables, but the
cruel abstractions that Wooley derives are his own immediate response.
The Almond developed from a 25-minute study released through the online
imprint Compost & Height and is presented on this Pogus disc as a single 72-minute
composition. Wooley has taken a kernel of pure, unadulterated pitch modulation
and through overdubbing placed it in multiple scenarios - different rooms, microphones
and mutes were used. Though it is technically an ‘acoustic’ recording,
the result is certainly related to electronic composition. These sonic nuts are
stretched out and overlap throughout the length of the piece, with variations
in hue subtly appearing in shifting relation to a variety of overtones. Often,
they take the appearance of other instruments - voice, percussion, organ and,
indeed, Wooley does vocalize in a striking turn beginning around 58:00. One musical
antecedent is Swedish composer Folke Rabe’s Was?? (Wergo, 1968) in which
a simple word is electronically stretched into an amalgam of drones and partials.
While it’s hard to see this group of sounds as being derived from ‘words’
in exactly the same way as Was?? or [8] Syllables, expanding a granular
series of phrases into something environmental is a fascinating compositional
approach. Wooley’s piece unfolds gradually, though it does give the effect
of infinite immersion - akin to the graded, fuzzy tones and optical envelopment
of a Mark Rothko or Clyfford Still painting. There is objective sonic beauty too,
as a pinched, feminine wail peeks out from a series of pure and chuffed tones,
augmented by the lapping of a brass chorus that recedes just as quickly as it
advances, only knowable through living the work. It’s a beautiful and perhaps
even psychedelic experience, superseding observable micro-changes. Compared to
[8] Syllables, the end result of The Almond feels more organic in
its development, swaddling in an acoustical tapestry rather than confronting with
materialist parameters. Nevertheless, both works are fascinating, turning the
‘solo’ inside out while continuing to define Wooley as an instrumentalist-composer
of the highest order. - Clifford Allen, The New York City Jazz Record
Listening to these two recent solo trumpet projects by Nate Wooley made me think
back to around 2000 when Franz Hautzinger’s Gomberg for quarter-tone
trumpet on Grob, Greg Kelley’s Trumpet on Meniscus, and Axel Dörner’s
solo release on A Bruit Secret came out in relatively close proximity to each
other; all of which, if not reinventing the trumpet, certainly re-invigorated
an interest in the instrument. Sure, masters like Bill Dixon and Toshinori Kondo
had released strong solo statements before this, but here were some new voice
with prodigious technique who embraced the process of constructing advanced forms
from the elemental sounds of breath and brass. Wooley’s first solo release,
Wrong Shape to be a Story Teller, came out a few years later, providing
ample evidence that he was another vital voice to keep an eye on. Since that release,
Wooley has used the solo setting to meld pure acoustic playing, amplification,
processing and tape constructions in order to develop projects of singular vision.
These two recent projects are stellar examples of this musical process.
A 25-minute excerpt of his piece The Almond was offered for download
on the Compost and Height website two years ago, providing an opportunity to
experience this engulfing work. With this release on Pogus, one can now hear
the full 72-minute realization of this lushly layered orchestral construction.
In the liner notes, Wooley states that “The piece is made only of trumpet
tones, no extended technique, no processing,” which may be true, but in
no way prepares the listener for the harmonic opulence of what is to come. Digging
in to the mechanics of the piece, Wooley explains that: “There are 10 major
loops running throughout the whole piece. Within each of those large loops there
are three to five smaller loops that have an element of silence. Within those
smaller loops there are four to 10 smaller loops with silence and made up of
the basic harmonies that move in and out. Each note of those harmonies are made
up of three to six different recordings of each single pitch, using different
mic techniques, room sounds, and mutes.” The result is an immersive experience
(and he rightfully suggests that this one be listened to loudly), as the loops
of buzzing and quavering tones accrue into coursing layers of sound.
It is easy to flip to shorthand and describe the piece as a modulating drone,
but there’s far more at play here. Wooley has meticulously charted the
flow and density of the piece, building upon a simple harmonic center that provides
a continuous thread while transforming the resulting overtones through the use
of sumptuous striations that ebb and flow throughout. The nature of the loops
amassing on each other creates a sound that brings to mind a huge pipe organ,
and one quickly loses track of the fact that a trumpet is at the root of the
music. At other times, there are shades of a vocal choir, particularly as the
densities begin to disperse at the end of the piece. Wooley eschews simple structures
of arc and trajectory, instead depending upon the pulsating interactions of
the overlapping sounds to develop eddies of activity, which get woven in to
the immersive mix. Doubtless, hearing this one on a deluxe sound system would
reveal even more richness in the detail.
Wooley’s [8] Syllables is far more raw in sound, while no less
structured in process and execution. Here, he created scores for a series of
sounds utilizing a graphic representation of the International Phonetic Alphabet
(IPA). This was employed to create parameters of attack, body and decay of each
sound. Wooley laid out groupings of similar phoneme symbols to define the deployment
of traditional trumpet technique. He explains that “the idea has never
been to control the elements of the embouchure, mouth, throat, tongue, et al.,
but to allow them to operate in an environment of their own, separated from
their typical roles in the production of sound; essentially to set up a machine
and let it run on its own, with no results based judgment of the resultant product.”
In this process, the core kernels of spoken language are transposed to define
the structural form.
The piece is broken in to sections separated by silence, with each section
structured around the manipulation of the prescribed technique repeated for
a specific number of breaths, a concept Wooley appropriated from James Tenney.
While Wooley describes the generation of sound as “the machine,” it
is his spontaneous integration of techniques established over years of playing,
injected with the rudiments of techniques used to vocalize language, that sparks
this piece into something beyond mere exercise. The choice of location for the
recording also comes in to play; the live reverberance of the ISSUE Project
Room adds yet another layer of nuance to the performance. What could come off
as dry and formal is anything but as Wooley’s pinched tones, splayed flurries,
hisses, shreds, scrapes, yelps, growls and groans are transformed into circuitous
trumpet lines that gather force and momentum and then break into dramatic pause.
Here, bereft of amplification, processing, or tape treatments, the recording
captures him as he builds a transmogrified language for performance. - Michael
Rosenstein, Dusted
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