A great deal of improvised music, especially improvised rock music, is deserving of its reputation for being aimless, self-indulgent, and boring. Scales are tested, forwards and backwards, vamps are cycled and regurgitated, and a narrow range of sounds are deployed, all in an effort to fill space. The listener is left straining their ears and minds, scouring the tunes for those few shining moments—moments that aren't guaranteed to appear, not by a long-shot. In the field of improvised rock, the problem seems to lie in one of two places: a group's desire to stand out, to be seen as pioneers in unprecedented sonic territory (the avant-garde angle) or a group's willingness to accept tried-and-true and patently automatic-sounding blues techniques and structures (the Phish angle). Box averts both of these approaches on their Studio 1 release, by having a brilliantly planned “toolbox” of sounds and arrangements and the rarest of all traits in improvised music—a purpose for their music.
Box is not a band in the traditional rock sense, as much a conceptual “project” brought together by film-maker Philip Mullarkey at an appointed time for an entirely unscored studio session. No discussion of the music to be played was permitted between the musicians until the session. The music was created with the intention of acting both as a film score and on its own merits. This “strictly loose” approach is dangerous territory musically and Mullarkey must be given credit for choosing some of the best possible musicians for the project. Instead of drawing from the jazz conservatories, Mullarkey gathered some of the finest improvisors from the rock world: Raoul Björkenheim (guitarist, Scorch Trio), Trevor Dunn (bassist, formerly of Mr. Bungle, Fantomas, Secret Chiefs 3), Ståle Storløkken (keyboardist, Supersilent) and Morgan Ågren (drummer, Zappa's Universe).
Bringing together these musicians assures a wide array of possible sounds, exceptional skill and experience, and most importantly, a fearlessness of the strange or unfamiliar. The question in my mind before I heard Studio 1 was simple: “But will it rock?” Without any reservation, it absolutely does. Improvised music is an emergent phenomena—growing from an initial set of input, an immensely complex form takes shape with little or no external nudges. In the case of Studio 1, the initial conditions strike a perfect balance between a broad range of textures and possible directions. Lacking any advanced editing or overdubs, the music is immediate and spontaneous, possessing the best qualities of live and studio-recorded material.
The chemistry between the players is almost supernatural. In a project of this sort, it's common that one musical identity comes to dominate the music as the other players play back-up (or catch-up). Björkenheim's affected guitar shredding slashes through the music like splashes of molten steel, demanding the listener's attention and holding it, but the lead guitar element never takes more than its share of the total sound space. As Dunn's churning magma bass and Ågren's searing—and seering—drum beats set in, the guitar tends to take on a more percussive and dissonant role, stabbing and piercing where it cut laterally before. Storløkken's keyboard-playing provides a wild kosmiche flavor throughout, at times surging up amidst pockets of silence with a low-frequency hum. There are moments on this album where each instrument seems to meld brilliantly into a single, multi-faceted instrument. The individual territories of frequency and textural qualities for each instrument are often balanced such that each picks up where the last leaves off. The interplay of the guitar and keyboard sounds as they overlap and finish each other's phrases is especially thrilling. This exchange of sounds makes the electronic washes, buzzes and drones more than simple garnishes, but a brilliantly subtle index of the tone and direction of the music.
The best tracks on this album are the 17-minute opener, "Untitled 9," and the more focused "Untitled 7," which sounds something like a track rejected from Miles Davis's On the Corner, for being “too much”. The tracks on this album, far from being songs, do sound similar, as they all employ essentially the same arrangement, with slight textural adjustments to guitar treatments and keyboard presets. "Untitled 3," a difficult middle track, does wank around a bit, but the overall wank-factor on this album is so low that even mentioning this track is purely a concession to ethics.
It is difficult to say whether Box, the ensemble, has created something extraordinary with Studio 1. The conceptual nature of the project and the peculiar circumstances surrounding its creation make it hard to assign responsibility to a specific entity. Its hard to say whether or not I expect good things from another release by this group. But I will say that this recording is splendid, without any caveats for its improvised or spontaneous nature. Fans of John Zorn's music—or fans of any of the groups the individual musicians of Box have played in—will find a lot to enjoy in Studio 1. Daring music listeners will find the challenge they crave from improvised music and instrumental rock listeners will find the intensity and attention to detail they expect from the best releases.
-Greg Havlicsek