by Nicholas Fernandez
Photo credit: James Carson
Pianist James Carson and drummer Lyndon Rochelle poured their hearts into a set
of original compositions and improvisations at Rockwood Music Hall on Friday. Between
Carson’s dancing at the piano and Rochelle’s constant wiping of sweat from his
brow, the physical and emotional energy the duo devoted to the performance was
palpable.
Carson is far from your typical up-and-coming artist—a man with a feature documentary
scheduled for release in the coming year, but no Wikipedia entry; a prodigy who
designed and built a clay cabin in the isolation of rural Canada to spend
countless hours practicing, accompanied only by a wood-burning oven. Carson’s quirks,
however, are not without purpose. While attending New England Conservatory,
Carson had an epiphany and realized his goal was to create a completely new
musical conception that expressed the sound of earth and nature.
Carson is adamantly opposed to labeling his music, instead comparing it to
bird songs or any other natural expression. It does not need a name to exist;
it just is. Still, the repetitious
melodies, shimmering piano flights, and trance inducing ostinatos came as close
to John Adams minimalism as any jazz performance I’ve heard. Rochelle, of
Esperanza Spalding’s Radio Music Society band fame, added hypnotic hip hop and
jazz-influenced beats that drove the music with a passionate pulse and grounded
Carson’s agile dashes across the keyboard.
Upon hearing “hip hop,” many listeners may expect formulaic drum patterns
that lack dynamic range and nuance. But this is only an unfortunate outgrowth
of the gross commercialization that has enveloped the style. Carson and Rochelle
presented all of the groove, repetitive structures, and additive orchestration we
have come to expect from the genre with none of the simplicity. The performance
reiterated the concept that nothing that repeats is ever the same, even if only
because we have changed in the intervening moments.
Carson split his time between Wurlitzer organ and acoustic piano, the
nebulous attack of the lightly fingered organ often better fitting Carson’s
shimmering arpeggiated figures, which he played with such speed as to invoke
Coltrane-esque “sheets of sound.” Rochelle complemented Carson with a constant
rumble, articulated with sharp accents and gaping silences, resulting in a
heavily nuanced performance with tremendous dynamic range.
Most of the songs were preconceived, but they were only
composed in the sense of having developed over time through improvised
performances. Carson and Rochelle let the audience witness the process midway
through the set, taking time for an extended, unplanned improvisation. The
similarity between the ad-lib performance and the finished products revealed
the artists’ level of mastery; the only difference between the two was that the
duo was less coordinated in ending the improvisation, resulting in a few false finishes.
Whether Carson has indeed created a new musical form is not
of any matter. Hints of Jazzanova, Dave Matthews Band, John Adams, Bud Powell,
and the Roots are all present, but the music does not sound like an
amalgamation. It is coherent, pure, and thrilling. Carson has a clear vision
and has found a kindred spirit to articulate it in Rochelle.