Greg Chudzik: Solo Works, Vol. 2
Panoramic Recordings

On this fifty-two-minute sequel to 2015's inaugural solo works volume, Greg Chudzik fashions four pieces using layered double basses and in so doing parts company from the preceding set's electric bass focus. What might at first appear to signify a concentration on the resourcefulness and richness of acoustic timbres is, however, altered by the usage of electronics and effects. Consequently, these four pieces sometimes end up resembling ensemble works than solo settings when built into dynamic, rhythmically forceful performances. As one might expect, bass lines act as animating elements in pieces that receive an added boost from the live feel, the impression created of an advanced musician thinking on his feet and spontaneously reacting to musical developments as they happen. Among other things, Chudzik's considerable acumen as a player and assured handler of extended techniques is consistently evidenced.

He certainly brings a wealth of experience to the project and is in no way cowed by the prospect of executing everything solo. He's associated with numerous outfits, among them Signal Ensemble, Empyrean Atlas, Wet Ink Ensemble, Bing and Ruth, and Talea Ensemble, and has worked with figures as diverse as Steve Coleman (on Morphogenesis and Synovial Joints), Steve Reich (Pulse / Quartet), Brian Ferneyhough, Pierre Boulez, and Tristan Perich. Being comfortable operating in contemporary classical, jazz, and experimental contexts serves him well in tackling the varied challenges a solo project such as this entails.

If the opening Wind Hymnal exudes a rather plaintive air, it's likely attributable in part to it having been written in the wake of Hurricane Sandy in 2012. With great care, Chudzik assembles bowed figures into a hypnotic, see-sawing structure that eventually separates into a rhythmic foundation and soloistic gestures. The fourteen-minute running-time allows the material to progress unhurriedly through its many sections, the moods changing from ponderous to turbulent as it advances. Chudzik brings organizing shape to the composition by restating the mournful opening passage before venturing into another exploration, the shifts in direction suggestive of the violent ruptures a natural disaster can impose so suddenly. He also shows himself to be a deft handler of transitions, with a somewhat Reich-ian episode segueing smoothly into the quiet resolution at track's end. The What changes things up dramatically with a high-spirited homage to David Eggers' novel What is the What, in this case the bassist fashioning an interlocking 7/8 rhythm whose driving ostinato pulse feels as indebted to rock'n'roll as Africa. Coupling pizzicato and arco playing does much to hold the listener's attention, as does backing bowed lines with a funky slap bass groove.

At eighteen minutes the longest of the four pieces, Y'Chi shifts the focus to sustained masses, the bowed rumbling generated by the double bass at the outset suggesting something like deep-level whale vocalizations captured by recording equipment, albeit foggily, at the water's surface. With the masses unfurling slowly, the material alternately begins to evoke the slow-motion undulations of a massive sea vessel; eventually, high harmonics and interlacing solo expressions introduce a melodic, at times supplicating dimension to the soundscape-styled aspects of the design. Automated Ocean strays more than the others from the instrument's natural acoustic timbres through its generous integration of electronic treatments into the sound design, Chudzik here using MIDI data to accompany the bass via auto-tune. Though fluttering, synth-like effects sparkle through the opening minutes, the presentation isn't wholly given over to electronics when Chudzik balances it with bowed lines that maintain a connecting thread to the preceding pieces. An unexpected development arises midway through when off-kilter hocketing figures announce a further shift in the presentation, the moment lasting briefly before a plunge into a convulsively flickering sequence and finally a neon-lit, minimalism-inflected coda.

April 2019