Paul Bley: Open, to Love

Reviewing an album that is already heralded as a masterpiece, the highlight of the work of Paul Bley, is intimidating. The quality of the recording as issued on CD was already magnificent. Would it be enhanced on vinyl, revealing hidden depths?

When Bley sat down at the piano in Oslo, he was already the creator of twenty albums. He had worked with Charles Mingus and Art Blakey, but it was leading a band at the Hillcrest Club in Los Angeles that changed him. Ornette Coleman joined the group and Coleman taught Bley that he did not have to improvise on the chord changes. Bley soon adapted Coleman's harmolodic ideas to the piano.

The essence of this album is its austerity, the integrity of the notes, the need to let them ring, to decay, to inhabit the silence. In some ways, the album set the character of the new ECM label.

The album was created when Bley said, jokingly, that he was trying to be the slowest pianist in the world. It was connected to the work he had just finished with his electronic period. Long sustained notes had been possible with electronics. Bley wanted the piano, when he returned to acoustics, to do what he had been able to achieve electronically. While the tracks on the new album were composed, they also included heavy improvisation. "So much of the music is improvised that the line between improvisation and composition pretty much disappears, so that the goal in improvising is to sound like it is composed," Bley told Jazz Weekly, later in his life. "From the audience's point of view, they are not really supposed to know whether it's written or improvised, so what you're really talking about is spontaneous composition, which is often called improvisation. The audience responds not so much to composition or improvisation, they respond to the individual players and what they respond to with the player is pretty much the timbre and tone of the player and the passion of a player. That's what engages an audience."

Throughout the album, Bley's approach to space, silence and patient interpretation of the compositions creates a unique listening experience. His playing alternates between moments of contemplation, serenity and occasional darkness. The power of the music emerges strongly when virtuosity gives way to economy, in other words, restrained lyricism.

The power of Open, to Love lies in the notes that Bley withholds as much as in those he plays; his silences suggest awkward hesitations, phrases broken off prematurely, and they lend the album an intimate, sometimes disquieting, frisson.

Jan Erik Kongshaug was the engineer at the studio in Oslo. He worked closely with ECM's Manfred Eicher. Kongshaug always adapted to the strengths and idiosyncrasies of the musicians he recorded. He would sometimes place microphones far from the instruments to capture the sound of the room; other times he simply used reverb to create the feeling of space, on occasion combining reverbs with different effects on a single track. "He changed the sound as necessary when we recorded," Mr. Eicher said. "Chick Corea's solo records, Bley's solo record Open, to Love (1973) and Keith Jarrett's Facing You (1972): All three players recorded on the same piano, but each sounded very different—from the mic positions, the different action. We never had a standard sound."

Kongshaug played a key role in the definition of the ECM sound through his innovation in recording techniques and his insistence on sound quality. He was creating sound sculptures that had a life of their own, vibrant and reverberant, with the courage to allow melodies to breathe in their own space, proving that emotional authenticity emerges most powerfully when technical display yields to poetic economy.

Tracks

"Closer" (Carla Bley): This piece opens the album with a sense of gentle introspection. The melody is simple yet poignant, and Bley's touch on the piano is delicate and precise. There is a spaciousness in the arrangement, allowing each note to resonate and create overtones.

"Ida Lupino" (Carla Bley): A hymn to a film director and actress, a woman who forged ahead, an early feminist. A slightly more melancholic piece, "Ida Lupino" evokes a feeling of longing. Bley's playing here is expressive, with subtle nuances in dynamics and phrasing. The melody unfolds gradually, the sonics are subtle.

"Started" (Paul Bley): This is the first of Bley's compositions on the album. It's a more abstract piece, with fragments and a sense of improvisation. Bley explores the sonic possibilities of the piano, using the instrument to create clashes of textures and colors.

"Open, to Love" (Annette Peacock): A spacious, meditative and ethereal piece. Peacock's composition inhabits the notes and the atmospherics, and Bley's interpretation is sensitive and nuanced. There is a sense of openness and vulnerability in the music.

"Harlem" (Paul Bley): This is the most conventional piece, almost music from a late-night bar, a more rhythmic and energetic piece than the others, with a strong sense of swing. Bley's playing here is virtuosic, showcasing his command of the instrument. He introduces shifts of rhythm, uncharacteristic harmonies and a clipped left hand.

"Seven" (Carla Bley): "Seven" is a complex and challenging piece. It features intricate melodies and harmonies, and Bley's playing is both technically impressive and emotionally resonant.

"Nothing Ever Was, Anyway" (Annette Peacock): Introspection is a feature of the whole album. It is fitting that the track to finish the album should be the most melancholic and haunting piece by Peacock. Tentative, hesitant, thoughtful. It is a slow and introspective piece, with a melody that lingers in the mind long after the music has stopped. Bley's playing is masterful, capturing the essence of the composition, almost an irresolute lullaby with every note given its worth.

The Luminessence ECM vinyl has been cut from the original masters and has interesting notes from Greg Buium, who is currently engaged in writing a biography of Bley.

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