Eric Revis: Slipknots Through A Looking Glass
Pyroclastic Records

Bassist Eric Revis has associated himself with a number of different projects over the years, from leading his own outfits to collaborations with artists such as Branford Marsalis (in whose quartet he's played since 1997), Jason Moran, and Peter Brötzmann. Having participated in Revis's evolving trio and quartet units, pianist Kris Davis, saxophonists Bill McHenry (tenor) and Darius Jones (alto), and drummer Chad Taylor were natural recruits for the California-based bassist's eighth album as a leader, Slipknots Through A Looking Glass. In keeping with his omnivorous nature, Revis was drawn to weave aspects of those different projects into a single statement for his first release on Davis's Pyroclastic label.

It makes sense, then, that the eleven tracks would be an eclectic bunch. Yet stylistic sprawl is held in check by the personnel's presence throughout the set, the only deviation from that the subbing of Justin Faulkner for Taylor on two pieces. With players of such calibre involved, it would be a waste if their talents weren't given room to maneuver, and the fifty-three-year-old leader smartly grants it. Imagination, rhythmic drive, exploration, and atmosphere are in plentiful supply on the set, recorded in July 2019 in NYC.

The irresistible opener definitely catches the ear. Animated by a tight neo-funk groove (Faulkner in the drum chair), “Baby Renfro” plays like some heady fusion of Average White Band's “Pick Up the Pieces” and classic M-Base, with McHenry and Jones honking like a modern-day Coleman and Osby and Davis working prepared piano into the presentation. One of the best things about it, however, is Revis's locked-in bass, his sparse yet deliciously funky playing complemented by the drummer's equally tasty groove. Indicative of how far afield the album travels, the piece that follows, “SpÆ,” is a trio exploration that sees Taylor on mbira and the leader and pianist bowing and plunking, respectively.

Faulkner returns for the noirish “Earl & The Three-Fifths Compromise” to administer a slinky groove well-attuned to the velvety sax purring and spectral piano twinkling. As the tune advances, the terrain widens, with the expressions of the saxophonists growing ever more emboldened and the compositional structures loosening. Revis's conceptual side asserts itself in his treating “House Of Leaves” as a series of textural shapes to be navigated, each an “island” that has the players leave one and then enter a state of “nothingness” before advancing to the next.

Helping connect the album are three iterations of the title track that feature multi-tracked bass parts augmented by abstract background textures by the others. Again the album's stylistic contrast is highlighted when this first treatment is followed by “Shutter” (written by Jones), with Taylor's aggressive snare and Revis's pulsing throb leading the charge. Single-note sax statements add to the fury, with Davis's roiling contribution almost overwhelmed by the others' outpouring. The eleven-minute colossus “Vimen” pushes free interplay to a tumultuous pitch, with the pianist unleashing oceanic volleys of sound and Jones braying like a wounded animal. Another shift comes via the pensive, McHenry-penned ballad “When I Become Nothing,” which finds Taylor on brushes supporting ruminative expressions by the others.

October 2020