Camila Nebbia and Chris Corsano - Six or Seven Ways Towards Becoming Undone

By Brian Earley

 

"When you hear music, after it's over, it's gone, in the air. You can never capture it again." These, as many readers of the Free Jazz Blog will know, are the famous final words of Eric Dolphy’s mythical work, Last Date . While other recordings have come to light over the years, in many ways these also serve as the final words of Dolphy’s life, as he died a mere 27 days after Last Date’s recording. 

 

I evoke Dolphy’s words here because of the grabbing and somewhat cryptic title of the first album recorded together by saxophonist Camila Nebbia and drummer Chris Corsano. Last Date was a functional title; it provided listeners with useful information about the record they were to hear, and it held weight. It most certainly was intentional.

 

As I listened to Six or Seven Ways Towards Becoming Undone I found myself returning again and again to this title. What the hell does it mean? Was I chasing specters, pumping meaning into a mere throw away phrase by Corsano or Nebbia? But I also kept returning to Dolphy’s words.

 

Music, afterall, can become undone, and as it turns out, Nebbia and Corsano do a masterful job of achieving this in each piece. The duo make a tacit pact with their listeners as each song opens, only to wipe away expectations completely by midsong. For example, the album opens with a burner: “Shattered Things.” Nebbia slides around her instrument’s keys like an oiled snake as Corsano works urgently on cymbals and snare. By the one minute mark, the piece feels like it wants to reach through the ceiling as Nebbia holds long notes with multiphonics and screeches in death-ray like effects, roiling up and up and up as Corsano opens ringing crashes on the ride cymbals and drops explosions on the toms. It is as though Rashied Ali were playing with John Coltrane AND Pharoah Sanders at the same time on Interstellar Space.

 

The kinetic maelstrom continues, but somewhere around the seven minute mark, I realized that the music had furtively gone quiet. Nebbia leaves tons of space and silence and Corsano softly swipes the high hats or bows other cymbals. And, by 7:50 the piece has entered total silence. It must be over, I thought. But the two musicians continue extemporaneously creating overtones and whistles and shimmering effects for over three more minutes. The piece becomes undone, but the two recreate new expectations well before the work finishes.

 

This coming undone happens again and again on this album. Well, seven times, since there are seven total songs. Although the final track, “Unadorned/Never Better,” only sort of follows this approach, remaining largely atmospheric and meditative, with Corsano playing what sounds like a gong or a sheet of metal and Nebbia whispering overtones. At times it becomes almost impossible to tell if I was hearing a saxophone or a drum kit, as the sounds whistle and ring out. This work serves as an entirely new direction for the album as a whole, and in that sense, serves another method of becoming undone. So, let’s call it six or seven times, or ways, of becoming undone.

 

I want to be clear, however, that Nebbia and Corsano do not repeat one pattern the entire way through the first six tracks. While, “Shattered Things,” and the following pieces “Cast-A-Spell,” and “Sunken House” all possess Interstellar Spaceintensity and searching at times, the songs move surprisingly into sonic territory I did not anticipate. My favorite work is a piece titled “Dead of Night.” The fourth of the seven works on the album subverts expectations by opening with the saxophonist playing her horn whispery, airy, and breathy. Corsano adds accents with sticks and rolls with what sound like his fingers. This song retains its quiet openness, and, in this way, the undoneness isthis song. The piece is seductive, however, and plays with expectations as the two appear to build intensity, only to continue searching through the silence. But, by the 5:40 mark Nebbia’s horn is screaming with more volume than at any other time on the record.

 

“A Paper Cut in Smoke” sees Nebbia both whispering and honking her instrument. Corsano even nearly plays a groove a quarter of the way in. “Nothing is Fixed” remains a highlight of the album, and works mysteriously and lyrically. I swear at times I hear Ben Webster blowing breathy ballads on this tune.

Six or Seven Ways Towards Becoming Undone is a masterpiece that leaves me, at least, asking questions about impermanence. All things, as the opening work states, may be shattered, and nothing may be fixed, but we strut and fret our way through paper cuts in smoke not to signify nothing, but to be “Never Better.” All songs must become undone as they fade and end, but the next adventure is waiting to bloom sonically somewhere from the silence.