Describing the Borgesian pianist requires an accumulation of adjectives: explosive, unpredictable, feverish, chatty, witty... the words are there, available, yet inefficient.
Listening to Martial Solal, in one (strict, strong) sense, implies an encounter - with a vivid anxiety, and a playful virtuosity that tells no other tale than itself.
Lovely and scholarly, its self-contained, half-sketched narratives suggests some kind of danger is here, and there, always delayed, and the heat is omnipresent, terrible, full of snares and traps. After so many flip-flops and surprising breaks.
Perfectly plural rhythms, out of joint/whack elusive forms, rapid-fire transition-free transformation: this is the quintessential music of whim.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Martial Solal, "seul", solar in New York
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