To have traversed and re-traversed the trails of exploration and innovation that reedsman Sonny Simmons blazed is an accomplishment in and of itself. To continue to do so in his ninth decade is miraculous, and this eight-disc box bears witness to the journey and to the spirit of discovery that has informed Simmons' journey for more than fifty years.
Recorded from mid 2006 to early 2014, the compendium was planned as a celebration of Simmons' 80th birthday, but it is much more than that. It attests to his continued creativity in the company of the recent collaborators who have helped the ever-adventurous Simmons to foster his musical visions. I have heard the results of veteran improvisors' involvement with electronics, where good intentions pale besides quaint execution. While I wouldn't say that the electronic work is groundbreaking, it certainly inhabits territory only bordering on space-age cliché, delving into post-rock and noise as the transgenerational collaboration births one epic track after another.
The box consists of two discrete four-disc sets. If I describe Leaving Knowledge, Wisdom and Brilliance as the dreamier of the two, it is only for simplicity's sake. Maybe it would be better to call it dronier, or to suggest that it wears its stereotypically "Eastern" mysticism more obviously on its sleeve. There are Indian instruments at play, but we also hear gorgeously droning textures from Julien Palomo's organwork on tracks such as "The Outer Inner Chord," which graces the fourth disc. It comes at the listener directly from center stage, Simmons' English horn serving as a wonderful foil and complement. The organ is also integral to "Four is Equal to the Fingers of your Hand," where Michel Kristof's sitar and Simmons' English horn weave rings of counterpoint around it. The atmosphere is one of expanse, of meditation and of transcendence, and the occasional addition of keyboard swells gives the piece an even more orchestral feel.
The second set, Chasing the Bird?, dives headlong into the freaked-out post-everything squall and scree that, one would imagine, would be anathema to Simmons. Not a bit of it, and on a boiling journey inward such as "We can Turn Invisible," the Other Matter Duo's sonic assault is tempered by Simmons' way-back bluesy alto. He is reaching back beyond the bebop referenced in the set's title, back to the music of his ancestors, and the combination is a winning one. By complete contrast, there is a disc of fairly brief pieces exploring, or in homage to, the martial arts, where keyboard sweeps and distorted sounds from way down at the bottom of the pitch spectrum bespeak a very different kind of drone and the radically altered universe they embody.
It is Simmons, of course, who is both the lynchpin of the set and a supporter throughout the sonic excursions. He has mastered the craft of space insertion, allowing each phrase to breathe, bloom and disperse with the intuition and skill only a master has the presence of mind and spirit to combine on the fly. As if in accord with the depth of his playing, the set was mixed to be a continually morphing study of changing environments. Even within a track, Simmons might go from reverbed to dry acoustic in a matter of seconds. Nothing is predictable, nothing is fixed, and the nearly eight hours of music bears continual reappraisal with ease. There is a beautifully touching moment where Simmons sings "Come Rain, Come Shine." His voice appears throughout the set, but the way he intones that heartbreakingly beautiful melody speaks to every layered aesthetic this compilation has to offer. It is an instant where the past is so palpable that it becomes the present again, and as the standard is washed away, the listener becomes aware of the temporal fluidity at the heart of the whole set. As Simmons is chasing the Bird, we're chasing his still developing legacy; every collaborator on these sessions is aware of these complex relationships and rises to the challenge of expressing them. A better birthday tribute is difficult to imagine.
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