Roddy Ellias Free Spirit Ensemble: Not This Room
Roddy Ellias

The musical journey of Ottawa-based guitarist Roddy Ellias is one that's traversed a panoply of genres, from pop and R&B to jazz, classical, opera, and world music—a creator who resists easy pigeonholing, in other words. Much the same could be said of his Free Spirit Ensemble and its Not This Room album. It's his name that's attached to the band's, but it's very much a collaborative effort involving him, Juno award-winning vocalist Kellyee Evans, and eight others; as critical to the recording are lyrics by Canadian writer Sandra Nicholls. Ellias himself brings a diverse background to the endeavour, including a Master's Degree in classical composition at the University of Montreal and a seventeen-year teaching stint at Montreal's Concordia University in its Faculty of Music.

At the risk of being reductive, the album's style could be described as a chamber-styled blend of jazz and folk. There is soloing, but the emphasis is on song form and execution, and to that end the collective performs the material with sensitivity to detail, nuance, and texture. As critical to the songs are the arrangements and the character they assume when performed by the ensemble. In addition to Ellias (acoustic steel string guitar) and Evans, the group features Marc Copland (piano), Justin Orok (nylon string guitar), Petr Cancura (saxophones, clarinet, mandolin), Guy Pelletier (flutes), Richard Page (bass clarinet), Pierre-Yves Martel (viola da gamba), Chris Pond (bass), and Jose Garcia (percussion). The absence of a drummer is telling: this is a group that's less about exuberant propulsion than hushed intimacy.

While the Free Spirit Ensemble had only just formed and begun rehearsing when the pandemic hit, the calamity became the inspiration for the album's songs. In addressing the reality of the situation honestly, a solemn tone dominates, but Not This Room isn't an unrelenting slog of despair. Instead, Ellias and Nicholls conceived it as a testament to resiliency, hope, endurance, and creativity (see “Hold On” for one of the album's most direct expressions of the sentiment). However isolated we are, music, including Not This Room, helps us feel less alone and disconnected.

In keeping with the ponderous tone, Nicholls' lyrics read like poetry, and in their occasional enigmatic character encourage interpretative engagement. As much as the words invite attention, so too do the performances. The haunting title track that opens the release benefits greatly from the natural warmth and soulfulness of Evans' voice and the clarity of her unfussy delivery as well as the rich blend of woodwind, guitar, viola da gamba, guitar, and percussion textures. “Suddenly” illustrates the arresting sound the band's capable of in its integration of bass clarinet and soprano saxophone into the lilting presentation. The jazzier side of the release comes to the fore during “Closer” in turns by the leader and Copland and in Cancura's sax solo during “Hold On,” though they're hardly the only times improvisation surfaces.

Ellias's songs move through multiple keys and often follow unusual melodic trajectories, which makes them challenging for a singer. Evans, however, is an excellent partner in that regard as she navigates the challenging turns with assurance and seeming ease. In unfolding along such unconventional lines, his writing in places vaguely calls to mind Joni Mitchell's style during her Hejira and Don Juan's Reckless Daughter period; Evans' voice too shares a little bit of the delicacy of Joni's delivery in places.

January 2022