Saturday, 5 January 2019

David Moss ‎– Dense Band (1985)

Genre: Electronic, Jazz, Rock
Format: CD, Vinyl
Label: Moers Music

Tracklist:
A1.   Stride
A2.   Shuffle
A3.   Slow Climb
A4.   New Feet
A5.   Fallaway
A6.   Surface Tension
B1.   Sixth Sense
B2.   Say So
B3.   Three Metal Moves
B4.   Next Witness
B5.   Dance Bend
B6.   Unsafe At Any Speed
B7.   In The Dark Times, Will There Be Singing

Credits:
Alto Saxophone – John Zorn
Bass – Fred Frith
Cello – Tom Cora
Effects (Rain, Manipulations) – Fred Frith
Guitar – Arto Lindsay, Fred Frith
Guitar, Soloist – Fred Frith
Scratches – Christian Marclay
Synthesizer – Wayne Horvitz
Turntables – Christian Marclay
Vocals – Arto Lindsay, David Moss, Tenko
Voice – Fred Frith, John Zorn, David Moss
Drums, Percussion, Steel Drums – David Moss, Jules Moss

IN 1985, David Moss released ''Dense Band,'' an album that distilled downtown noise improvisation into song-length chunks and added a funk beat now and then. It was a showcase for Mr. Moss's precise, clattery drumming and his peculiar specialty: improvised vocal gibberish that can evoke anything from a newscast in Lithuanian to a soprano wrestling a hyena. 
Two years later, he is touring with a group called Dense Band; the group made its American debut Wednesday at the Whitney Annex. 
The current Dense Band includes Wayne Horvitz on keyboard, Jean Chaine on electric bass, Christian Marclay on turntables and John King on guitar. It was a showcase for both Mr. Moss and Mr. Chaine, who made an impressive New York debut with ultra-fast funk patterns, whizzing melodies and strummed and plucked chords that took the innovations of the late Jaco Pastorius a step further. 
Nearly a dozen concise, varied pieces used stop-start patterns, rock and funk riffs, bursts of loud noise and relative quiet, and Mr. Moss's own sense of timing and timbre -part funk, part slapstick. He uses a drum kit that features bent-up, clanking cymbals as well as conventional ones, so a steady beat can sound like it suddenly collided with a garbage truck. 
Mr. Horvitz's bell-like keyboard sounds, Mr. King's guitar twangs and Mr. Marclay's selections from records - mostly swelling orchestral chords and operatic voices, rendered silly by their context - also contributed to the poised, cheerful cacophony. The only problem was the Whitney Annex's acoustics; the echoing concrete-and-glass room muddied the music.
Jon Pareles / The New York Times