i don’t post a lot of jazz. listen to a pile of it. just there’s an expectation amongst jazzbo’s (and classical fiends, i think) that unless yr authoritative on the science behind it – diatonic phrases and polyrhythms and all that… y’know, jazz – a writerly type has no business discussing it. not that i ever in any real sense review records (it’s all situationist allusions and nonsense hyperbole), but i have little interest in being sniffed at by the kind of cunts who read jazz reviews. dig? so it tends to be a kinda second-hand relationship on here. one fed through biological proxies like zappa or zorn. which is fine, coz i guess a lot of young uns get jazzed through gateway drugs like frank or van vliet or jimi anyway.
which brings me to whoarfrost. they make reference to ornette coleman. the record’s out on ny jazz microlabel engine studios. but this shit’s probably gonna have traditionalist beboppers running, shrieking. much more in the splattered vein of the zorn / laswell / harris painkiller trio. or electric eels discordia. or all that whatevercore of hair police, locust and melt-banana. aye. for all the riffing on free jazz i think the term energy music is much more fitting here.
reductively: a power trio exploding (heh, picturing the knack with three sonny sharrocks as i type that). a musical spasm of metal skronk and lo-fi nels cline freakouts. a-thrash and a-clatter is how this goes. an inexorable five-armed rattle of flustered drumming batters away in the back. the word busy is an understatement. electric strings thick and wild and straining to out-do one another. vox that are as much expulsions as mantra. it’s all too fucking much sometimes. in the best possible way.
when they hit a groove, which they do occasionally, it’s like stumbling into some early blood brothers post-hardcore mania. chords and notes stop scraping against each another for a second or two. melody bleeds in (or out). rhythm reconciles. and then… blam! everything falls apart again. and in this i s’pose lies the link to ayler and coleman and sun ra. that sense of controlled chaos. free as in temporary abandonment, floating out of yrself but still with that umbilical cord tugging you back like some meatfilled helium balloon. a human cannonball knowing/hoping there’s a net at the end.