DEC 1, 2009 -- LOISAIDA: Decoupage is the brainchild of trombonist Curtis Hasselbring, and calls upon Mary Halvorson, Matt Moran, and Satoshi Takeish to round out the quartet in ultimate style. The group's biography is publicized as such:
Decoupage is an improvising chamber ensemble focused on creating maximum color and texture with minimal musical content. Curtis composes the group's repertoire and writes pieces that are (mostly) quiet by nature but maintain a high level of inner turmoil.
It's not often that the self-released statement accurately represents the band, but that's pretty dead on. Presenting the group under the "chamber" title seems to allow Hasselbring to get away with a lot of great decisions that many current jazz aces shy away from. Right off the bat, it must be said, Curtis Hasselbring is a master of the short song. A single piece didn't exceed 5 minutes, a tight pop hit as far as the jazz realm is concerned, and that sort of active compression allowed improvisations to hit hard, without a fear of overplaying or saturation. The first piece was a bouncy, pompous unison melody that rapidly recessed into collective improvisation. Satoshi Takeish's presence as a floor-bound banger, rather than a stooled drum-kit operator, provided for a more present equality among the four musicians, and their uniqueness though simultaneous similarities drove Decoupage to often sound like a giant, super-instrument, which is the best kind of instrument.
The similarities were percussive, with each player bringing some punch to their respective tools. For Matt Moran a striking tone on the vibraphone is a given, but his ability to manipulate the sounds with a bow, mallets, or his mouth give the instrument a whole new dimension. Mary Halvorson's guitar was cutting in all the right ways, jaggedly outlining melodies and improvising a whirlwind of sound, while avoiding a "lead guitarist" tone. Hasselbring's sound punched as well, which is less expected on an instrument that can so easily glide along, and Takeish sat on the ground, surrounded by an array of unknown drums and cymbals, able to lay down some seriously high powered grooves, drop them into loose sound, then pull it back out without thinking twice. It definitely kept the listener on their toes.
The middle of the set brought the aptly titled piece "Head Head Solo Head," a loose timed melody featuring a counterpoint between the guitar and trombone, with the latter peacefully crooning on top of Halvorson's low end runs. This song also featured the first true "solo" of the night, an explosive overblown improvisation courtesy of the trombonists on top of slow jamming drums that deteriorated beneath him. It was funky in the way that a 70 ft. tall man would be funky. Clumsy funk. Clunk. Pure, whole clunk.
The collective energy was hard hitting, but volumes were maintained, as the bio describes. It was almost a test to see how much this group could do within a smaller dynamic range then a live band normally grants itself, and that self imposed rule made the few moments of breaching the threshold that much more powerful (such as the solo mentioned above. In a similar fashion, a solo has much more kick if it is the only solo of the set). The set finished with an impossibly dexterous composition, "Just Another Day on the Surface Of The Sun," that still maintained the humor that all of Hasselbring's writing preaches. As the quartet synched up on fast, surprising rhythms and a leaping melody, the equality of each player shined stronger than ever, like there was some unspoken common goal that we weren't aware of, beyond just making great music. I'd rather they kept it a secret. That mystery makes the live experience exciting on a whole new level.
