Pendulum

Matt Pierson's Liner Notes

The 1970’s. More traditionally-inclined members of the jazz world have often stated that it was a period when nothing much was happening. Trane didn’t survive the sixties, Miles had plugged in, and we lost Louis Armstrong and Duke Ellington in ’71 and ’74 respectively. As Branford Marsalis stated during the final episode of Ken Burns’ documentary Jazz, “Jazz just kind of died. It just kind of went away for awhile….A lot of the more talented younger generation that was supposed to come up did something else, and that had never happened before.”

 

I can certainly understand the point that many of the younger players were attracted mainly to non-traditional jazz forms, but the idea that jazz just “went away” in the seventies couldn’t be farther from the truth.

In fact, the decade may very well represent the most fascinatingly active period in the history of jazz. A drastic stylistic expansion was taking place, mainly due to the innovations of the post-Bitches Brew “fusion” groups (Weather Report, Headhunters, Return to Forever, the Mahavishnu Orchestra, etc.) However, just as exiting was the whirlwind of activity that was taking place in the acoustic jazz world. The influence of hard bop, free jazz, soul jazz, European jazz (mainly by way of recordings on the ECM label) along with the pervasive impact of Miles Davis’ classic sixties quintet as well as John Coltrane’s later work inspired a generation of distinctive artists to create some extraordinarily refreshing and original music.

The challenge that faced a young jazz musician after 1970 was daunting, especially if one were inclined to absorb the many diverse stylistic directions in which the art form was heading. Indeed, it would be a logical assumption that the wildly adventurous and challenging seventies led to the need for the neo-traditionalist movement of the eighties. When faced with great challenge, it made sense to go back to the basics.

Although on its surface Pendulum is just one more in a long line of Live at the Village Vanguard recordings documenting great players adeptly blowing on standards and a couple of originals, it is so much more than that. What is clear three decades later is that for these five brilliant musicians, it wasn’t enough to embrace the great stylistic diversity of previous years; it was also essential that, in doing so, one must still connect with the great lineage of acoustic small group improvisation that led up to it.

Saxophonist Dave Liebman fell squarely into the first generation of players who grew out of the remarkably fertile musical environment of the late sixties. His varied pursuits provided him with a broad and open-minded creative outlook. After his graduation from NYU in 1968 (with a degree in American History no less), Liebman settled into the New York jazz scene, building a network of like-minded young players and eventually forming the free jazz cooperative organization Free Life Communication. After joining up with the jazz rock outfit Ten Wheel Drive, participating in John McLaughlin’s groundbreaking recording My Goals Beyond, and working extensively with jazz legends Elvin Jones and Miles Davis, he founded three distinctive ensembles: the Open Sky Trio (with Bob Moses and Frank Tusa), the world music influenced Lookout Farm, and the funkified Ellis-Liebman Band (with fellow saxophonist and James Brown alumnus, Pee Wee Ellis).

As a player, Liebman was clearly in the very first wave of post-Coltrane tenorists. There was certainly a lot of Trane to go around, with Bob Berg focused on his earlier recordings and Steve Grossman and Michael Brecker expanding upon the middle Impressions period to name but a few. Although he had carefully studied playing “inside,” Liebman was most attracted to Coltrane’s later, freer post-A Love Supreme work.

Over time, with so many younger players embracing this style of playing, Liebman became more and more interested in finding a direction that could be more distinctly his own. And although he still loved playing the tenor, it was clear that performing in the piano/bass/drums quartet setting would inevitably draw comparisons to the Coltrane quartet. This eventually led him to put together a group featuring guitarist John Scofield rather than a pianist around the time of this recording and, eventually, to drop the tenor from his arsenal for several years, focusing solely on the soprano.

As Liebman states, “Once you’re assigned as being a certain way in the minds of the business, critics, record people, you can’t change that; you will always be known for that thing. You can’t separate yourself from the identity that you started out with at the beginning. So I realized that the only way that I could change this was to specialize on an instrument that appeared to have a more open terrain at that time. I had never studied Trane’s soprano playing like the tenor and I knew that because of that I had less of the (Coltrane) legacy on soprano which would maybe enable me to possibly find something different.”

However, although by 1978 he had begun to establish a very distinct approach to the higher-pitched instrument, he was still playing mostly tenor. And upon reflection (perhaps he was too self-critical), this recording attests to his fine playing on the big horn.

In the late sixties, while other young pianists were embracing electronic keyboards, Richie Beirach was immersing himself in 20th century classical music, focused on developing his own harmonic language. Although he had played electric piano with Lookout Farm (his solo on the classic “Loft Dance” from Drum Ode stands as one of the great Rhodes solos), his focus was squarely on the acoustic piano. While Herbie Hancock had absorbed the work of Debussey, Ravel, and the more romantic and impressionistic composers, Beirach tended to gravitate toward the dissonant work of Schoenberg, Scriabin, Takemitsu and others. The integration of these harmonic devices into the more accepted jazz piano approach earned him the nickname “The Code.”

However, in addition to expanding his own palette as an improviser, Richie used this harmonic “code” to drastic effect within the rhythm section. By combining his vast harmonic knowledge and rhythmic inventiveness with his incredible musical intuition and communicative abilities, he was able to lead a rhythm section in a nearly revolutionary way, creative the perfect environment for a soloist.

The unique relationship that was cultivated between Dave Liebman and Richie Beirach beginning in 1969 was exceptional. The deep symbiosis between them grew over the decade that followed and by the time of this gig at the Vanguard, their creative partnership had become one of the great unions in post-bop jazz, exhibiting a telepathic connection unparalleled this side of Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter.  (To further explore their association, check out the 3-CD release David Liebman & Richie Beirach [Mosaic Select #12], a live collection featuring Lookout Farm, Quest, and duet performances.)

It all began when they met at Queens College in 1968. While studying at Manhattan School of Music, Beirach started showing up at Liebman’s loft on West 19^th St., which along with Bob Moses’ and Gene Perla’s spaces was a regular jam session spot. Dozens of the most talented young players in New York took part, including Chick Corea, Dave Holland, Mike and Randy Brecker, Bob Berg, Steve Grossman, and many others.  Musically, it was completely free, straight out of late Trane a la Ascension. They never called tunes or talked, they just played, and it was a great way to let loose creatively and get their chops together.

Since the live performance scene was so difficult, they decided to form Free Life Communication, performing 300 concerts in the first year in art galleries, museums, and other non-traditional performance spaces in the city before securing a grant which enabled them to have a permanent spot in the “Space for Innovative Development” on West 36^th Street.

In 1971, bassist Gene Perla got the call to play with Elvin Jones and Liebman followed shortly thereafter. As their whole “loft thing” died down, they realized that it had been a very necessary episode imparting real musical lessons. As Dave puts it, “We came out of it with the idea that you can superimpose anything harmonically. You get used to the colors like a painter uses reds and blues and oranges, and you know the shadings. It’s like a number on a tension scale, from one to ten. The challenge is how to use it.”

After Liebman joined up with Miles Davis in 1973, he got the opportunity to record for ECM, and immediately called Richie, suggesting that they put their music together. This was the birth of Lookout Farm. Although the group didn’t have the high profile of some of the other “fusion” bands, their approach was actually more stylistically inclusive than most. As Liebman says, “I always felt that with Lookout Farm we were one of the groups that made eclecticism kosher. It’s okay to play ‘Lover Man’ in a duo a la Herbie and Miles and then go play over a G7 chord for twenty minutes with a backbeat, no problem.”

Finally, after three recordings with Lookout Farm and the 1975 duet recording Forgotten Fantasies, Liebman and Beirach took a break from each other. Dave had wanted to try a new direction, and had a patron who would support the Ellis/Liebman Band, so he moved out to San Francisco for two years while Beirach worked regularly with the John Abercrombie Quartet.

Upon his return to New York, Liebman arranged with club owner Max Gordon to play a week at the legendary Village Vanguard. Having played there before with Elvin Jones, Liebman had secured a week at the club a few years back for Lookout Farm. (As Dave remembers it, “Max went crazy. ‘Why do you play that soprano! Put that thing away, that screaming banshee!’.”)

The main point of the gig was to get back together with Beirach and pick up where they left off, pursuing their musical relationship within a more straight-ahead setting. In assembling this particular coterie of players, all of whom he had long-term relationships with, he knew that they could hit on the highest level from day one.

Liebman’s connection with trumpeter Randy Brecker went back even before the days of Free Life Communication. Randy’s well-earned reputation as one of the most versatile musicians in jazz has unfortunately drawn attention away from the fact that he is one of the great improvisers of his generation, as his playing throughout this recording clearly attests.

The relationship with Tusa went back even farther, to the mid-sixties and club dates at resorts in the Catskills. The prototypical workhorse bass player, Frank could always stand up with any drummer and keep the time absolutely solid, and although he and Al Foster had never worked together (at least not on any regular basis) the lock was immediate. Unfortunately, shortly after the Vanguard gig, Tusa moved out to California and left active playing except for some rare live performances.

As for the hard-swinging Foster, it’s hard to imagine a better choice. Since his first session at age 16 on the Blue Mitchell date The Thing To Do, he had established himself as a burning straight-ahead player. However, when he got the call to join Miles Davis’ group in 1972, it became clear that Al’s hard-driving and intuitive approach was adaptable to nearly any musical situation. Of course, Liebman joined the band the following year and the two established a deep connection. 

The singular brilliance of these musicians notwithstanding, it is the expert direction of Richie Beirach that truly makes the group come alive. As Liebman puts it, “Richie was the helmsman. He loved to negotiate between the bass and drums and the soloist. He took control, and wasn’t timid about it.” Although it was nothing new to have active communication among the players in a group – collective improvisation is what has defined jazz from the beginning – rarely does the dialogue reach this level of complexity. Upon repeated hearing, each of these performances rewards the listener with the discovery of another level of interaction, be it tossing a melody back and forth, reacting to a rhythmic motif, creating complicated call and response moments, or just subtly egging each other on with a sly voicing or tricky figure.

Other than bringing in a few choice originals, the set list at the Vanguard was actually spontaneously called on stage, the repertoire consisting of tunes that each of these musicians had played dozens of times in a variety of settings. (The first three tracks are presented as they appeared on the original 1979 release of Pendulum on Artists House.)

The opening version of Beirach’s “Pendulum” sets things off on an open-ended slant. Based only upon an F# pedal, there are no chord changes and, in fact, a specific mode is not even dictated. The opening solo by Brecker stands as one of the great examples of “pedal point” playing. His statement is unbelievably clear, implying distinct tonal centers, effortlessly flowing in and out of key, expertly using pentatonic scales and patterns, all held together by an innate sense of melodic development. Right off the bat, it’s apparent that what Richie and Al provide behind him strongly encourages this kind of artistic freedom. Beirach follows with an architecturally well-developed and searching yet hard-hitting statement, finally giving way to Liebman, whose tenor picks up the ball and drives the band to even higher heights, with Foster bashing away and Richie aggressively urging everyone on. It’s no wonder that the tune would become the regular opening number for Quest in the years to follow.

Surprisingly, the two versions presented here of Liebman’s “Piccadilly Lilly” are the only recordings of this terrific tune.   Dave’s solo on the first version, which is performed sans Brecker, is one of his finest; a perfect balance of melodic development and controlled tension and release.  The second take is a bit more reflective and lightly swinging, with Brecker making a wonderfully tasteful solo statement before Liebman takes over for several more free-blowing choruses.

The moody Wayne Shorter blues “Footprints” was of course first introduced on the Miles Davis recording Miles Smiles. Here, the treatment is more aggressive and punchy, with Liebman on soprano soloing first. His effective use of space and the constant interaction between him, Beirach, and Foster make this a particularly outstanding display. Brecker is next with an equally compelling solo, followed by Beirach and a gripping tour de force by Foster.

The most straight-ahead tune on the date, “There Is No Greater Love” is a terrific up-tempo burner, with Brecker’s inside/outside playing and Liebman’s tenor work standing as particular highlights. The rhythm section’s high level of playing, in addition to Beirach’s incredibly complex and inspiring voicings, boosts the energy as well. After trading fours with Foster and a very loose interpretation of the melody, Randy and Dave trade over the vamp, burning up the joint.

Following the melody statement of the swinging Miles Davis blues “Solar,” a boppish Brecker shows off his mastery of the language, with a full thirteen choruses of inside burning hard bop before Beirach drops out and the harmony frees up just a wee bit. Liebman’s tenor follows, with the sublime level of communication between him and the pianist used to full effect, leading to Beirach making his case as well. After Randy and Dave trade fours with Foster, the head and a vamp out, the track winds down at 20+ minutes, with not a second wasted.

The group takes Cole Porter’s classic “Night and Day” on an up tempo journey, with the whole band telling their version of the story followed by Kenny Dorham’s “Blue Bossa”, which is taken as a samba. After strong solos from Liebman and Brecker, Beirach gives a four-minute master class in modern jazz piano followed by a particularly melodic turn from Al Foster.

After a very respectful statement of Monk’s melody “Well You Needn’t,” Brecker expertly plays a game of harmonic hide and seek, weaving out, in, through, and around the changes. Beirach chooses to take a McCoy Tyner–inspired turn, setting up Liebman’s burning tenor. 

Liebman’s second original for the date is the midtempo blues “Bonnie’s Blue,” and after Brecker and Beirach each contribute fine solos, it’s time for Liebman’s tenor, driven by Foster’s hard-swinging groove, to shine.

Finally, there’s John Coltrane’s “Impressions,” a chance for the band to burn out on the master’s modal masterpiece, an apt coda to over three hours of mind-blowing small group jazz.

Thirty years ago, when as a young musician in Detroit I first heard the original release of Pendulum, I was in awe of the way that these players were able to sound so tight yet so loose at the same time. I had been listening a lot to fusion, and when it came to straight ahead jazz, it was either the inside hard bop of Clifford Brown or the freewheeling and loosely energetic John Coltrane Quartet that moved me the most. The thought that there was a way to keep one foot in each camp was so very foreign to me. However, the way that Liebman and Co. floated between these two divergent musical poles, exhibiting a rare and inclusive form of small group improvisation, struck me as revolutionary. And it still does.

The most apt metaphor in this case is that of the pendulum of the title tune. There is no feeling of changing gears – it’s more like a constant stream of ideas floating back and forth between inside and outside, as the pendulum swings, with the mind-blowing rhythm section acting as the fulcrum, effortlessly coaxing the soloists from side to side, allowing them to feel safe within the groove yet encouraging risk.

Following Pendulum, Liebman would move on to record a wide variety of projects, including two terrific recordings with his pianoless quintet (featuring John Scofied and Terumasa Hino), a wonderful cutting-edge funk-fusion project featuring Kenny Kirkland, Marcus Miller, Scofield again and Steve Gadd (What It Is), solo saxophone records, and more. But the real “follow-up” to this gig was the first recording by the band Quest in 1981, when Liebman, Beirach, and Foster, along with bassist George Mraz came together to solidify this dynamic small group approach.

In the many years since, although there have been numerous other musical events in each of their lives, they keep coming back to the unique approach that it seems only Liebman and Beirach fully understand, a secret Code that continues to allow them to continually expand the language of jazz in ways that many would think impossible.

David Liebman's Liner Notes

Pendulum-my first live recording and of all things at the hallowed Village Vanguard!! I had worked a lot at the club in the 70’s with Elvin Jones and then my first group, “Lookout Farm” which also included Richie Beirach and Frank Tusa. We knew the place and that special vibe where so many of our heroes had burned it up and left the air full of inspiring ideas and feelings.

It was a transition period for me between bands and returning from living in Frisco for a minute. Richie also was in transition, so we thought it would be nice to play with some brothers just straight ahead, stretching out mostly on standards. Who could be better for that kind of repertoire than Al Foster with whom we were playing with at the time,  united by our common love and respect for the 60s groups of Miles and Trane. This weekend planted the seeds for the future band “Quest” which would have a long run in the 80’s, first with Al and then Billy Hart, and after George Mraz and Eddie Gomez, bassist Ron McClure in the group. Joining us at the Vanguard was Randy Brecker, my all time favorite trumpeter and one of my oldest friends, going back to my college days at NYU playing in the Bronx with Larry Coryell and Bob Moses.

Although three tracks were released on the Artist’s House label as “Pendulum” (which became a kind of minor classic among musicians), there was plenty left over which is what comprises this collection. Hearing the music nearly thirty years later, I have to really think about who that saxophone player is!! But for sure, Al and Randy are absolutely at the top of their game and show a side of their playing that contemporary listeners may not be aware of. I’m glad this music is available and of course on the right label. It is a peep into our collective development at an early stage.

Special thanks to Kurt Renker and Walter Quintus for their time and care in editing the tapes; as well to original producer John Snyder for his support during this period of our careers. We dedicate this music to the memory of our long time engineer and good friend, who was with us that weekend in 1978, the late great David Baker.

March 2008

Richie Beirach's Liner Notes

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