How do you spit white-hot fire continuously for over half a century? It’s not that I’m not aware that this is just what Peter Brötzmann does — I saw the legendary reed-ripper for the first time in 2003 with Sonore, his all-reeds trio with Ken Vandermark and Mats Gustafsson, and he seemed too old to be going full dragon mode even then — but when you listen to his more recent work, the force is still dizzying.
In that regard, Tongue in a Bell, a live duo recording made in Dublin in 2015 with pianist and Weekertoft label co-founder Paul G. Smyth, is short on surprises. It wails hard, then harder, then a little softer (but still pretty hard). Smyth does an admirable job of pulling his piano into full clangour mode, splashing a frenetic, action-painting backdrop through which Brötzmann proceeds to blow holes.
Not to suggest that the three pieces here don’t duck and weave plenty. The duo move steadily from razor-sharp angles to somber asides, though never does it tarry anywhere near melodic gentility or "swing". It’s easy for this kinda heavy blurt to become a dick-measuring contest, but Smyth and Brötzmann make a good, sensitive team. They buoy each other through the sidelong title track, daring each other to push harder; later, on the first half of ‘Falling Out of All the Towers of Space’ Smyth restrains himself, egging Brötzmann on with mannered clatter and spare interjections until he just can’t keep himself from entering the fray. ‘Eyes Wide’ sets to bringin’ it (squall) back home to a noisy, satisfying coda.
One could argue that there’s a downside to this sounding like what you’d expect from these two together, in that it debatably makes even the unexpected feel de rigueur. At least, I’ve heard other improvisers voice such general concerns in the past. I feel, though, that this is consumerist claptrap: if it feels good for them, and suits the people for whom they’re playing (or even if not: fuck ’em, they’re not the boss, and fuck bosses anyway), then what’s the issue? Not everything needs to be "new", y’know. Besides, what do ya want, one of ’em to pull out a couple bars of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ with a little wink? Brötzmann to jam through a looping pedal or a laptop?
If that’s what you’re into, never fear: in the jazz world writ large, there’s an eternal surfeit of clever musicianship working in tandem with hackneyed nerdery. This ain’t that, thank Christ. Tongue in a Bell is a no-frills recording of two hardened vets going full bore for the heads. If that sounds up your alley, it probably is.
