Formations

Hawktail
Formations
Padiddle Records, 2020

Starting off with a brief whisper before a wallop, Hawktail opens their new E.P. swinging into action.  The title of the track, "Annbjørg," is a tip of the hat to Norwegian hardanger fiddle player Annbjørg  Lien, and the basis for tune itself is from the Norwegian folk repertoire: the 'Nordfjord Halling' dance tune, named after a location in Norway.  'Hallingdans' tunes are traditionally designed to accompany a male dancer, and are a test of endurance and agility, usually ending with the dancer executing a backflip which kicks a hat off of a cane elevated above his head. 

Typically, Norwegian Hallings (and Norwegian players in general) have a much more rigid and static approach to both volume and note values -- primarily a function of left-hand placement and bowing style: long/steady/static/consistent bows, and very “hammered” left hand finger work.  Norwegian players often push the bow harder at the end of the stroke, swelling or steadying the volume.  This is apparent in their hard kick-back of the bow, back and forth, which is a compensatory measure against volume decay that naturally exists as a function of changing bow directions. So being, the tunes can seem very rigid, but that flavor has an emotional appeal all its own.  Haas’s playing is a refreshing touch on a Norwegian melody, as it skirts sensibilities both American and Scandinavian: the emotive looseness in the swing of the bow, style of slurs, and the intonation is decidedly American.

Although a Halling's tempo is often fixed for the sake of the dancer, the form of a Halling can be very loose, with irregular amounts of bars or phrases, as well as flipping the melody's emphasis back-and-forth between 16th-note and triplet feels.  Hawktail's rendition is fresh and alive in new ways, on two major accounts: Haas's trading in of Annbjørg's 16th-note sensibilities for a heavy triplet feel, and a stunning interlude, chock-full of whole-band interplay, solo lines, harmonies, and back-beat.  Exceeding anticipations (or expectations), the peak of the interlude culminates with the fragmentation and restructuring of the rhythmic emphasis.  The tune's melody could be understood in terms of 4 bars of 6/8, thus a total of 24 8th notes divided 6+6+6+6.  At the tail end of the interlude, these 24 beats are run through the meat grinder, ground into an 8th note rhythmic motif divided (2)+2+2+3, (2)+2+2+3, (2)+2+2 -- still 24 8th notes, but a whole world away in emphasis:


Such play with rhythm might be a dominant feature in the closure of jazz drummer's fill-in, or an Indian tabla player's solo, but is also put to great use here.  The resulting affect is a clever building of tension and a 4th-dimensional viewpoint on the main melody when it re-enters.



Try as you may, you will be very hard pressed to find such detailed breakdowns & elaborations on Scandinavian albums, as it isn't part of their historic culture.  Folk art coming from deep history -- including music -- is typically made *at purpose*, serving a known cultural function with given parameters.  In Scandinavian folk music, a large part of the folk music is still based on purposes of social custom and dance: bridal marches, walking tunes, waltzes, memorial tunes, and a nearly endless assortment of folk dances, from Halling & springar, to Rørospols & Långdans.  Any of those dances are typically tuned in tempo and rhythm to the style of a given municipality or town.  Given that the music is sponsoring the momentum of the dancers, improvisation, tempo changes, and breakdowns are counter-progressive, and not done or not retained.  Similar restrictions exist in other cultures as well: though a flamenco guitarist must think quickly on his feet to follow wherever a cantaor melodically goes, flamenco maestro Paco de Lucía stated in his biography that he hadn't truly improvised in his guitar playing until he toured with fellow guitarists Al Di Meola and John McLaughlin in 1981.  It was their encouragement that led him to making it a regular practice.  Given that restrictive tendency in many folk musics around the world (that form follows function), to have such a fantastic jam session in the middle of a Halling is a real treat.

"Last One On The Line" could be a tune considered more typical of sensibilities in American folk music... except for where it's not.  Although it certainly has a very familiar toe-tapping tempo and pulse in the bass line, the complex chord progression pushes the melodic envelope into deeper harmonic waters as the song ferries along, glinting with chords more akin to gypsy jazz than bluegrass or folk.  Densely-harmonic chords can be tempestuous to navigate melody through because, as beautiful as harmony is, it can also limit melodic freedom, continuity, and ease.  The boundlessness of unharmonized backing is something Coltrane explored in "Alabama" by asking for nothing more than the tonic from pianist McCoy Tyner during the intro sections; an idea which he got after discussions with Ravi Shanker on the use of drones in east Indian music.  Despite the dense chording in "Last One On The Line," it flows smoothly, and after a solo section the melody becomes transposed: up to B minor for a breakdown where it is re-approached with a harmony line between the bows of bass and fiddle.  Once it does sit back down to A minor, the melody itself is instead introduced by Dominick playing its harmony line.  Trading harmony for melody once Brittany joins in, the full band closes the tune with a shimmering cascade of melody's final bars.



Of all the tracks on Formations, it might be "Dandelion" that is the most genre-bending.  Cinematic in its nature, Brittany's intro fiddle work reflects less of an old-time fiddle style, and more of an Indian violin nature with reduced meend, and with free-flowing movement.  Although the first leg of the track builds, it ultimately reduces itself to a single point, before following an elusive & winding chord progression into a wall of sound.  Oddly enough, one might get flashbacks of old King Crimson concerts during "Dandelion," since 'a wall of sound' was so much the nature of Crimson during the highly-improvisational power-trio era of Fripp/Bruford/Wetton.  Paul Kowert's bass lines running down to the root of the chords parallels the engulfing gravity of Wetton's old bass lines.  Moments of intentional (and purposeful) dissonance were also a trait of King Crimson: a choke-point of tension in the song, before it ended in either spinning out of control, or smoldered to silence.  This type of tension exists in Dandelion, corralled harmonically, situated in the aura of a BbMaj7sus2 chord toward the end of the build-up, and ending with Jordan's guitar book-ending the tune as it begun.


"The Tobogganist" may be brief, but is the real breath of fresh air in the E.P.: comforting like a sea shantie sung in a safe harbor after a long voyage.  It is also good to hear Jordan play some lead melody, since on many of the tracks he has a largely chordal role.  The Tobogganist might just be a perfect show-closing crowd-pleaser, to send home the audience home with warmth and good vibes.



The album title itself, Formations, may allude to a musician's will to do more than exist within the ubiquitous forms: casting convention aside and getting inside the tunes to toy with the nature of it and its impact.  Undoubtedly, Hawktail has broadened their palette on the Formations E.P..  What has been put to audio adds to their arsenal tunes imbued with hues not typical of the folk genres, regardless of nomenclature.  The breadth of the material should be no surprise, given that all of Hawktail is masterful with their instruments.  Once a musician has mastered the idioms of their own folk art, the adventurous ones inevitably head for new frontiers, on sabbatical for new forms and ideas.  Such is the way that musicians become cultural ambassadors, and such is the reason why American folk tunes appear on albums in Europe, and European folk tunes appear on albums in America.  That cultural mixing is the result of musicians playing and arranging tunes in ways that are undeniable: undeniable in the same sense of Van Cliburn's undeniability, by winning the inaugural International Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow at the height of the Cold War in 1958, or undeniable in the sense of jazzers Bob Belden & Animation, who, in 2015, became the first American artist to perform in Iran since the Iranian Revolution, and was greeted with warmth.  With Formations, Hawktail takes their place at the table of that undeniability.

-Seth Premo

Hawktail is:
Paul Kowert (bass)
Brittany Haas (fiddle)
Jordan Tice (guitar)
Dominick Leslie (mandolin)

https://www.hawktailmusic.com/

Niño Josele - (self-titled)

Niño Josele
(self-titled), Sony BMG
2003

Although many Americans having found their way to Ottmar Liebert, Jesse Cook, or Strunz & Farah via PBS specials or the purchase of a discount cd, it is lamentable to think that probably a good number of them stopped developing their understanding of what flamenco music is not long afterwards.  The trouble is that the above artists often don't use much of the flamenco traditions.  The "rumba" for example, a rhythm that is often associated with flamenco (and which Liebert, Cook, and S&F use to exhaustion), is actually a Cuban rhythm.  Although some pure flamenco guitarists *might* use it (surely, Paco de Lucia got worldwide attention secondary to his release of a rumba tune in 1976 called "Entre Dos Aguas"), it is known to be on the periphery of flamenco.  Alongside their severely limited use of true flamenco forms and rhythms is their severely limited hand techniques: despite the art being largely noted for complicated techniques utilizing the fingers (a variety of rasgueados, picado, golpe, alzapua) Cook and Strunz & Farah use guitar picks.  And so, the actual "flamenco experience" offered by the above artists is somewhat comparable to one thinking they know what Italian cuisine is, on the grounds that they just ate an Oscar Mayer "Lunchables" pizza combination.

The problem for New Wave, New Age, and neo-pseudo-quasi-flamenco guitarists is that one knows little of flamenco by a guitar alone.  Without the guitarist's counterparts of the cantaore (singer) and the bailaores (dancers), much of the guitar work lacks purpose.  The singers and dancers of flamenco give the guitar its true utilization, and these vocal and dance forms are a large part of the reason why there is such a solid and long-held tradition for the guitar.  The flamenco experience was about families, gathering together in their cave homes in Spain.  If you couldn't play guitar, you might play percussion; if not percussion, then perhaps palmeros (a rather sophisticated rhythmic accompaniment through clapping, often involving 2 different patterns played simultaneously by two or more people).  If not las palmas, perhaps you could sing, and if not singing, perhaps you could dance.  If you can't dance, well then... there are always dishes that need to be done.

Another consideration is that a good number of purest flamenco rhythms are based not in the 4 beats, as a rumba, but are understood as 12 beats -- a system referred to as Compás. The 12-beat forms often have subdivisions of 2's and 3's, and specific emphatic points within that, making it much more complicated than what New Wave flamenco artists often attempt.  So much of the true color of flamenco music is in these forms and the purpose of the forms to the art collective (musicians AND dancers AND singers).  For example, the Siguiriya is often considered a tune where the cantaore should pour out his or her most heart-breaking revelations and sorrows on living, and the structured progression of different parts that is traditionally in an Alegria (a different 12-based rhythm) is largely a formula that flamenco dancers know and are familiar with.

Other characteristics outside of the guitar-work include the singing style.  The "stressed" or broken sound in the voice bears an element of tonality, and also an element of fray or abrasiveness.  Although the historical reasoning for this being part of the flamenco tradition is plain to see (expansion and influence of the Umayyad empire and migration of the Romani people), it is uncanny how much the often-revered voice in flamenco is comparable to that of the styles of Pakistani Qawwali singers like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, or Egyptian singers like Yasin al-Tuhami.  Look for yourself:

Egyptian, Sheikh Yasin Al-Tuhami

Pakistani, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Spanish, Duquende

 Referred to as "gorgorito," this fractured (or "gorged") yelling quality of the voice is sought after in children to inherit the vocal tradition.  It is also important to note that, like many folk traditions, the music is not so much about making sounds in accordance with perfect adherence to an algebraic principle, but rather that the passion, the execution, and the convincing sentience of the artist -- the communication of emotion -- is what is valued. As examples, much-loved flamenco cantaores like La Paquera de Jerez and José Mercé are seldom singing in tune with the guitar chords that surround their voice, but this is their style, and it is not seen as a drawback by very many:


If there's one thing to admire about the tradition of flamenco players, it is the unmasked sincerity in their expression -- which is what seems to be the most-rewarded characteristic by the audience.  Non-musical elements of emotion end up making it into the mix of the art, and it is not uncommon for the style of many singers to utilize a sobbing quality while transitioning through a series of notes.  Some examples are Enrique Morente and this Jesusy-looking dude (El Torta) in Carlos Saura's "Flamenco":

With all that in mind, Niño Josele is one who has proven himself to be both a strong bearer of the traditions of flamenco (via the now out-of-print album "Calle Ancha," back in 1995), and a notable pioneer.  This 2003 self-titled album shows his willingness to work with elements that have influenced flamenco in both the near and distant past -- namely Arabic culture and jazz. Many flamenco artists have been utilizing really dense jazz chords over the years, and the brilliant pianist/guitarist/jazzist producer Javier Limón has been passed around among flamenco artists more than a joint at a Led Zeppelin concert. On the other side of the influence scale, from the Arab world, one might say the whole history of flamenco music as it is owes its sound to the Arab world:

With the Umayyad expansion across north Africa and into Spain, they brought their instruments with them.

Umayyad expansion at its greatest, 661 - 750 AD

Of course, the Arabs didn't have a guitar, they had an oud: the fretless round-backed wonder of the Arab world.

Oud

Vihuela

So the Arabian term "al oud" got translated to Spanish as "La Oud,"; Europeans take La Oud (and some of the design) and make the fretted instrument called the "lute" -- which would eventually be the guitar.  There were many other luthier experiments in between, and at the same time, so it's hard to qualify a direct lineage.  The manufacture of the lute and guitar seems largely of Arabian origins, but the word guitar comes from the old Greek "kithara" -- even though the composition of a guitar resembles nearly nothing of the harp-like nature of it's ancient Greek namesake.  The seemingly most-immediate predecessor of the guitar was called the vihuela in Spain and Portugal, and it was essentially what you called a lute with a flat (or mostly-flat) back.  Notice that the tuning pegs of a vihuela are driven through the back of the headstock, and not from the sides.  This is unlike many modern guitars, and unlike the oud itself.  Flamenco guitars acquire this from its lineage of the vihuela, and I've even seen some luthiers here in Colorado building flamenco guitars with the pegs in this traditional fashion.

Put quite simply, every redneck raving about a Creedence Clearwater Revival tune's guitar solo should, in a way, thank an Arabian woodworker -- historically speaking.

In addition to physical woodworking or manufacturing history, another important Arabic element of flamenco (besides instrumentation, and besides singing styles) is the musical scales.  From its gypsy roots, flamenco artists have largely harped on what they call the "Freygish" scale, or phrygian dominant scale: a scale common to the musics of Persia, Greece, Jews, and the Arab world.  There are variations, but largely, the Freygish scale is one with a flattened 2nd, as well as a flattened and 6th and/or 7th.  Probably not by coincidence, one of the Arab world's most-played scales is a maqam (their equivalent term for a scale) called 'hijaz'.  Again, though there are variations, most variations of hijaz include the flattened 2nd, as well as a flattened 6th or 7th.  Aside from scales, consider the palmeros: those layered hand-clapping styles mentioned earlier.  A brief trip to the musics of Morocco can show you that there just might be some relationship between the palmero function in flamenco music, and the function of the qarkabeb (massive metal castanets) in Moroccan music.  Although the rhythms have different feels and lengths, their 'place' within the music is very similar.  Look for yourself:

Qarkabeb in Moroccan music of the Gnawa people.

Palmeros in Flamenco music of the Spanish people.

So then, ... it should be of little surprise that a flamenco artist, in messing around with influences, invites into his album both "modern" jazz tunes, as in this rendition of "Beautiful Love," re-titled, "Miel, canela y yerbagüena," with Israel Sandoval on electric guitar and Paquete on mandolin:


...as well as old Moroccan folk rhythms, for a tune called Zawiya:


Some of the truer flamenco moments shine through on his self-titled album, including "Cosas de Amores," a tune with master vocalist Enrique Morente, citing words apparently by early 20th century Spanish poet Manuel Machado.  The song isn't performed without a touch of jazz sensibilities: Niño's solo fires through passages stunningly, utilizing the peculiarity of the whole-tone scale (starting at 53 seconds in this excerpt).  This is a scale utilized by Josele also in his 2001 release, "El Sorbo," with jazz producer Javier Limón:


Leaning on the more flamenco side of things is, "Llanto de Sal," which has wonderful moments of jazzy approaching chords and a wanderlust in its chord progression, as shown in this clip...


...and "Estirpe," a buleria featuring another wonderful cantaor, Guadiana:


Josele's experimentation with jazz would find him doing whole jazz albums, like "Paz" in 2007, which shows him working with a large portion of jazz pianist Bill Evans's repertoire.



Depending on which side of the fence you're on, the strength (or the fault) of Niño Josele's self-titled album may be that he worked so much out of the context of traditional flamenco.  This may be received as a problem for someone wanting a traditional repertoire from a great player, but one has to consider: all the new ideas that players might later incorporate into their tradition in a more natural way need to come from somewhere.  Certainly the success of Paco de Lucia's work "Cositas Buenas" with Javier Limon is an indication that audiences loved the new approach in the traditional context.  Perhaps then we should appreciate what the musical explorer does in their journey, and enjoy watching them go along their way, rather that cling to our own expectations of what their individual art is.  Besides, if the album seems too unapproachable... there's always Ottmar Liebert.

--Seth Premo