Jaimie Branch: FLY or DIE II: bird dogs of paradise
International Anthem

In the liner notes to FLY or DIE II: bird dogs of paradise, Jaimie Branch's follow-up to her acclaimed 2017 debut Fly or Die, the trumpeter says, “So much beauty lies in the abstract of instrumental music, but being this ain't a particularly beautiful time, I've chosen a more literal path. The voice is good for that.” Yes, vocals by her do appear on two tracks, but more relevant is the point she makes about the, shall we say, imperfect times we're living in. Consistent with that, the tone of the album's raw, visceral, and powerful, and her singing and horn playing are presented in much the same spirit. Recorded mostly at the Total Refreshment Centre and at Café OTO in London at the end of a UK tour, the album features Branch with cellist Lester St. Louis (in place of Tomeka Reid, who appeared on the debut), double bassist Jason Ajemian, and drummer Chad Taylor; the sound's rounded out by percussion contributions from all four plus a small number of guest appearances.

Nowhere is disgruntlement more explicitly expressed than in the pieces featuring vocals, in part because Branch articulates it directly in lyrics. Arriving at the album's end, one might think “Love Song” will be a gentle, ballad-styled exercise; instead, she makes it wholly clear that isn't the case when she pairs its robust shuffle and exuberant horn expressions with the lines, “This one goes out to all those assholes, and all those clowns out there—you know who you are” and the sung refrain “A love song for assholes and clowns.”

However much a takedown “Love Song” is, it pales in comparison to the album's towering “Prayer For Amerikkka Pt 1 & 2.” At eleven minutes and with episodes building forcefully on one another, the seething epic sees Branch calling out “wide-eyed racists coming for your wallets” and denouncing corruption in all its forms. Though the performance grows into a blistering roar, it begins as a dirge-like crawl with Branch brashly wailing over a bluesy base. Her voice then enters to drawl “It's a prayer for America, for the good, the bad, and the rest of us,” her words embellished by heated background chatter from Ben LaMar Gay and Marvin Tate. Halfway through, the music swells and the tempo accelerates, all concerned lunging into a Spanish-tinged episode that sees Matt Schneider's twelve-string guitar added to the mix and Branch declaiming about the plight of refugees and migrants when not slathering the tune with toreador-like flourishes.

If nothing else is at its show-stopping level, that doesn't mean the other cuts don't reward in their own ways. She eases the listener gently into the set via “Birds of Paradise,” a cello-and-kalimba-driven number credited to all four quartet members. The ostinato design and percussion emphasis gives the piece a bit of an AEC vibe, and Branch purrs languorously, such restraint occurring rarely in what follows. In adding electronics and layered trumpets to “Twenty-Three N Me, Jupiter Redux,” Branch shifts stylistic gears and adds extra out-there flavour to the album. “Bird Dogs of Paradise” is as heady, though in this case its stylistic focus centers on eruptive dronescaping replete with simulated coyote wails. Whereas “Nuevo Roquero Estéreo” is a Dionysian groove monster that weds infectious horn riffing to a roiling funk pulse, “Simple Silver Surfer” leavens the dark mood of “Prayer For Amerikkka Pt 1 & 2” with a rollicking, Latin-inflected cut that features horn playing at its most joyful. That epic, take-no-prisoners socio-political statement is unquestionably the most memorable thing here, but Branch smartly ensured the release wouldn't be seen as one-dimensional by coupling it with material of different moods and character.

December 2019