The first time I heard this record, I barely noticed what was going on within it, subconsciously pitching it, I suppose, as a kind photo-ambient offering. But in more recent years, attentive listening reveals the movement and connectivity within the work of the two trios featured on the LP. Side one often just plays on repeat mode.
Recorded in the hot New York summer of 1967, the 17-minute-long Ending slowly marks out each player’s respective areas as they slip in and out of trio formation. It’s a conversation that doesn’t encourage repetition, where reclusive piano notes skulk between the reverberations of snare and cymbal or the telling economy of laconic bass. As each player revolves within their respective sphere of influence, when they gradually overlap or align, fresh exchanges are sparked. It’s this process of gentle accretion and dissolution that gives Ballads its intense but quiet beauty.
This is the second vintage New York recording of Bley’s on ECM, and it’s easy to grasp Eicher’s attraction and why he sought to adopt them, given that the aural spaciousness that would come to define ECM recordings is present, albeit in nascent form, throughout Ballads. A minimalist painting in sound that stands well outside the decade of its creation, it possesses a timelessness that’s indicative of the best kind of art. That quality seems wholly appropriate for a man whose 1999 autobiography was entitled Stopping Time.
Annette Peacock’s writing provides the conceptual underpinnings, while the respective trios do the heavy lifting. Her role here is crucial to the album's success, and she doesn't get anything like enough credit for her work. Speaking to The Wire in 1983 about working with Bley, she said, “I wrote music specifically for that time, that environment, and that particular person. Whatever I did for him had to be fresh and give the musicians something to work on or towards, creating an environment for them to work within. The free movement at that time was just pure energy, just chaos - ‘We’re free at last! - I looked at that, and I could see a balance had to be struck, so I started off writing music that wasn’t in time, it just had speeds. Music that didn’t deal with traditional chord shapes but relationships between harmony and dissonance, and how they interacted. That opened up a whole new world to me as a composer.”
Paul Bley
Ballads ECM 1010
Recorded in 1967, in what could be a Morton Feldman score for jazz trio or a manifesto for The Necks' sonic minimalism, Bley’s poetic ear charts starry clusters that grow, glow, and fade within the gauzy expanse of Annette Peacock's stellar writing. #ECMFirst100 #ECM