Spinning disks by Carbon may be something like facing off against an ancient Greek army. Traditionally, such battles began with big, intimidating displays of each army's prowess and exchanges of insults, with the real violence held in abeyance. What this metaphor amounts to musically, here, involves the flurries, disturbances, and displays that arise frequently from the sonic backdrop of the compositions. Drummer Joseph Trump and bassist Marc Sloan tend to lock into spacious-but-insistent patterns that, while exhibiting composer/leader Sharp's penchant for mathematical complexity, exude a certain soldierly air. This rhythmic stasis provides room for the pyrotechnic displays from Sharp, Parkins, and Weinstein, as they take turns briefly emerging from the line of battle to whirl their swords and strike fear into the hearts of the enemy.
Take track 3, "Cauldron," for example. The piece has a more psychedelic feel than the first two tracks, with its swirling echoes and the ululations of Sharp's soprano saxophone. The music and its title are somewhat evocative of an ecstatic, primitive dance. And as the drums pound along, prodding the lead instruments into a frenzy, the sense of impending threat remains — perhaps that of a tribe whipping itself up for battle.
Is all of this hawkish imagery meant to imply that the listener is the enemy? Hardly. Certainly no more than for the lines of ancestry from which Carbon emerged. In rock, for example, from Link Wray through Thin Lizzy to Rage against the Machine and onward, copping a stance of menace has served as a form of catharsis for band and audience alike. Jazz, too, is not above a healthy serving of outright 'tude, especially notable on such albums as Miles' "Bitches Brew." And with the Roland-like peals of Zeena Parkins' harp floating above the easy groove of "Fermion," thoughts of that Miles Davis classic are hardly a stretch.
References to the legacy of Carbon's music here would seem incomplete without reference to King Crimson and British prog generally. Sharp as a guitarist has a penchant for jagged repeated figures that, when dancing above the afore-mentioned off-kilter rhythms, easily connote 1980's Frippery. Some, segments like the intro to "Index of Minerals," with its bright, open feel, are somewhat reminiscent of Hackett-period Genesis. In general, though, Carbon is a much grittier band than those predecessors. The angst and tribalism of no wave and punk have informed Carbon's aesthetic (Sharp is, after all, an SST alum) and the compositions and performances on this disk are generally far-removed from the pretensions of progressive rock.
One of the most exciting elements of "Void Coordinates" is the degree to which the pieces differ from one another. This is only a five piece group, but this fact is belied at times by the differences between the compositions. Even compared to many earlier Carbon albums, the degree to which this disk sounds like the same band from track to track is relatively minimal. While each of the players wields at least two instruments except for electric harpist Parkins (who nevertheless clearly uses effects that radically change her instrument's sound) the pieces themselves lend themselves to exploring different approaches and nuances of the quintet setting. There is much here to reward repeated listening.
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