Derek Bailey once referred to performing solo as a ‘second-rate activity’. A statement full of irony coming from a man who released more than a dozen solo albums and surely belongs among the great solo improvisers. He was probably suggesting that playing music is ideally a social activity, and that it turns into something entirely different when two or more musicians are involved. Yet, there is something special about the solo performance as well. The performer is up there alone, completely vulnerable. If you play with others, a less inspired moment will pass unnoticed. If you play solo and run out of ideas you have nothing to fall back on.
Solo performances also have the potential to become truly transcendental. There is something about a solo artist delving deep into his resources, the relationship between artists replaced by one between the artist and his instrument. All the great improvisers succeed in playing a series of improvisations that are both similar and unlike each other. They have some touchstones and their signature sound, but manage to repackage their ideas in constantly shifting ways. The end result can sound like a series of distinctive aural portraits or, if there is an overarching unity, a multifaceted suite.
Guitarist Daniel Thompson recently made his mark on the British improvisation scene with an extended series of collaborations, both ad hoc and long-term. He appeared on more than twenty albums, featuring different approaches and line-ups. Finch is his first solo effort, and it is a strong one, containing four improvisations and a mysterious snippet that gave the album its title. Of the improvisations, one is brief, the others extended. The short one is the sparsest, filled with only a handful of notes and long silences, somewhat reminiscent of the minimalist Tonus-releases on this label.
The three lengthier explorations feature wider reaching temperaments and techniques, skillfully recorded at the Sunny Side studio. Together, they provide a nice illustration of the ‘unity in diversity’-principle referred to above. The second improvisation starts from the simplest of ideas, almost austere. Slowly, the music becomes denser, with jumpy intervals, accelerating/decelerating patterns, cutting repetitions and perhaps you will even notice a jazz-tinged bended note. Before you realize it, Thompson is involved in knotty digressions, frantic turns and a physical, almost aggressive treatment of the instrument, with plucked strings resulting in discontinuous, convulsive spurts.
The next improvisation shows some similarities, but initially seems more light-hearted and playful, getting to the point quicker, but then following an equally unpredictable course, that also involves passages involving rubbing movements with unidentified objects. For a present-day improvising guitar player, the vocabulary used doesn’t end with the guitar itself. And like that you get slowly immersed in Thompson’s introspective universe with its sinuous twists and turns. The British tradition of guitar improvisation includes some game changers like the aforementioned Bailey, but also John Russell, Keith Rowe and Fred Frith. Yet it doesn’t prevent Thompson from carving out his own little corner. Finch proves that even in the most demanding and intimidating of circumstances, Thompson has a sharp, creative mind. Surely, there will be more to follow. There should be.
Guy Peters 2019
