ALAWARI: Leviathan
April Records
Whereas ALAWARI's eponymous 2022 debut release has been characterized as “a cacophonous musical reflection of revolution,” the Danish instrumental sextet's sophomore release is a slightly different proposition. Yes, moments of high-decibel bluster do surface on the recording, but Leviathan is dramatically enriched by its exploration of multiple styles and moods. On paper, personnel and instrumentation give ALAWARI the appearance of a jazz band, but the music Sune Sunesen Rendtorff (piano, synthesizer), Carlo Janusz Becker Adrian (trumpet, flugelhorn), Frederik Engell (tenor saxophone), Michela Turcerová (alto saxophone), Rafal Rózalski (double bass), and Simon Forchhammer (drums) craft is more akin to chamber jazz, especially during through-composed parts that tip its music in a classical direction. For a group comprising six members only, ALAWARI can roar with the intensity and dynamism of a larger jazz or chamber classical ensemble, depending on the material in play.
While Leviathan includes individual solos and a spontaneous feel, it's not an improv set laid down in a couple of hours. Its music is intricately woven and features the kind of counterpoint one associates with classical writing. At the same time, Leviathan is anything but stuffy; the performances, captured at Monochrom Studio in Poland in early 2024, are marked by vitality and hit with a hard visceral impact. In fact, there are moments when the band's playing recalls Charlie Haden's Liberation Music Orchestra, in more tumultuous episodes the outfit's 1970 debut and in the more refined passages its finessed follow-ups, The Ballad of the Fallen (1983) and Dream Keeper (1990). When ALAWARI blazes riotously through “The Mind,” for example, it's hard not to be reminded of tenor Gato Barbieri roaring through that 1970 set.
The full spectrum of human experience is represented, be it playfulness on the opening “Evangelisten” or lamentation on “Degrowth.” In the former case, a plinkety-plunkety percussive pattern provides a ground for resonant horns and acoustic bass to nurture a peaceful ambiance. As the horn textures expand, the music grows correspondingly more powerful and as it swells in volume grandiose. As the performance nears its end, it grows increasingly chaotic until a reinstatement of playfulness brings the piece full circle. In the case of “Degrowth,” a lone trumpet emotes plaintively against a sombre backdrop accented by eerie synth warblings. Evoking Philip Glass's North Star and other early forays into minimalism, rapid saxophone ostinatos intertwine with trumpet on “I Push Too,” the material morphing from chamber classical to something approximating a classical-jazz hybrid.
With Turcerová leading the way and the others rumbling alongside her, a jazzier feel introduces “Procession”; the performance builds rapidly from that controlled opening into a furious group statement that sees all six players wailing. The vertiginous closer “Peace Train” is perhaps more representative of the release, however, in the balance it achieves between formal composition and free expression. Liner notes liken the album to “a vessel—slowly navigating like a majestic ship or a steadfast train, embarking on a peaceful yet powerful crusade,” and the description's apt in highlighting the music's range. While it's not uncommon for trumpet or saxophone to take the lead on these pieces, the impression clearly forms that ALAWARI is very much a group of equals whose members are clearly of like minds and operate with the synchronicity of a single, multi-limbed organism.November 2024