In October of 1988, a chain music store in Dallas, Texas had in stock an album
by Wayne Shorter. That album was Night Dreamer and the album was shrunk
from its 1964 version into the form of a compact disc. Later, in November of that
same year, an independent music store (now out of business) in Austin had in stock
an actual Lp record of John Coltrane’s Kulu Se Mama. In January of
the next year a music student in the basement wing of a dormitory in Denton, Texas
looked for a poorly dubbed copy of Pharoah Sanders’ Tauhid.
The above are just a few references to some of the first seeds of exposure to
improvised music experienced by the leader of this date, Michael Cooke. I know
because I was there — and lent my copy of Tauhid to a guy named Lee
and never saw it again. Those three albums, along with a host of others, and more
importantly the musicians who created that music became a part of Michael Cooke
in that dormitory in the basement. For Michael they formed a path of sorts, one
which absorbs influence while at the same time adamantly strikes out to forge
a distinct personality.
And so this debut album for the Cooke Quartet is aptly entitled Searching.
And more than just a name to put on a cd insert, Searching is faithful
to its credo. With any genuine search there will be small imperfections —
a necessary byproduct of risk. There will also be, to paraphrase Gil Evans, moments
of magic. Listen for both in this album. If you hear a split note or notice high
D going sharp, it’s because the music is being played by a human being. What
you’ll also hear from this human being is the kind of well-placed eighth
note run, a channeled emotion and restraint that can make your synapses pop at
once, your hand slap the tabletop in exuberance and expletive.
Who likes liner notes? The writer? The writer’s mother? The worst kind of
liner notes are those that proceed, tune by tune, to analyze the music in such
a way that the potential buyer might be overcome by the writer’s grace with
adjectives and thus purchase the recording that’s connected with all those
adjectives. With cds, as opposed to vinyl, the notes are usually on the inside
of the package rather than out. That means you’ve probably already purchased
the music before you read the notes — if you read the notes. If you do read
them, should you remember them? Who remembers liner notes more than the music?
Music is about listening. Ralph Gleason, an established
and eloquent writer of notes, once said that, though it would cost him his job,
he’d like to see albums without notes. No words, after all, could comprehensively
describe any Coltrane solo. Did Ralph Gleason stop writing notes? Hell no. He
needed money to buy records just like the rest of us. His point, however, still
stands: Listen.
Listen to the leader’s individually styled soprano, alto and tenor saxophones
as well as flute and bass clarinet. Listen to Mel Nelson’s intuitive blend
of dissonance and consonance on the piano. Listen to the wood sound Alec Lytle
gets from the bass and how that wood sound is integrated into the group’s
collective sound. Listen to Sameer Gupta sound like Tony Williams, then like Jack
DeJohnette, then like Sameer Gupta. Listen to the host of fine percussionists:
Paul Fisher, Roland Robles, Greg Rosenberg and the tanpura of Cliff Winnig. Listen
and listen again. And forget the liner notes.
Jay Carter
June, 1999
Among others, Jay Carter listens to Frank Strozier, Bob
Gordon, and
Conrad Gozzo. He is currently making a literary study of Interstate 5.