In a way, it’s a wonder that jazz and punk rock never thought to cross paths sooner. Mind you, I’m not talking about the technically impressive but rather flaccid “jazz/rock” of 1970s proggers like Emerson, Lake & Palmer – that shit falls pretty firmly under the heading of “Reasons Why Punk Had to Happen.” But from the perspective of a movement whose very goal was to slap some sense back into the late ’70s music scene, just what could be more alienating to the mullet-rockers and navel-gazers of the world than a little late-period Coltrane? Or, put this way, which seems more “radical” to you: the mildly overdriven, nihilistic Chuck Berryisms of the Sex Pistols, or James Chance & The Contortions’ frenetic blend of punk rock invective, James Brown groove, and Ornette Coleman saxophone skronk? I’ll tell you one thing; I know which one of those styles is more likely to clear the floor at a meeting of the Rod Stewart Appreciation Society, and it ain’t the one with the loud guitars.
The polemical/extreme/punk as fuck qualities of avant-garde jazz are familiar territory for Mike Watt, George Hurley, Dan McGuire and Joe Baiza, the five men who form the nucleus of the loose jazz/punk/poetry project Unknown Instructors. Not only is their recent release, The Master’s Voice, their second record as a group (debut The Way Things Work was released on Smog Veil Records in 2005), but the boys have been treading similar waters individually since the early ’80s: Watt and Hurley with the Minutemen and then fIREHOSE, Baiza in the Saccharine Trust and Universal Congress Of, and McGuire as a general jazz sax/spoken-word man about town. That accumulated experience is obvious from the first notes of The Master’s Voice, when the ironclad Watt/Hurley rhythm section propels Baiza’s wailing guitar feedback into a head-on collision with McGuire’s deadpan, Beat-inspired verse. The song is called “Swarm,” and by god the music lives up to its title, conjuring images of a locust plague of Biblical proportions; it may be over in less than two and a half minutes, but it’s a hell of a way to start an album, somehow manic and restrained, propulsive and deeply atmospheric all at once.
And the fun doesn’t stop there. Pound for pound, The Master’s Voice is a better and more accomplished record than The Way Things Work; while the shortcomings of that album (chiefly an uneven, occasionally “samey” quality in the instrumental grooves) aren’t entirely absent here, coming as they do with the territory of recorded jam sessions, this second effort from the Instructors feels both more cohesive and more thrillingly of-the-moment, both of which, paradoxical though they may be, are good things. On the one hand, the core Instructors have grown as a musical unit, cutting off-the-cuff jams (“At the Center,” the Wolf Eyes-monikered “Maggot Sludge”) which sound less like noodling and more like actual songs, while moving into intriguing new free-form territory on tracks like the bluesy, Beefheartian “Doghouse Riley.” But on the other hand, the band’s auxiliary lineup has also been expanded, breathing new life into the proceedings and ensuring that we won’t just be hearing The Way Things Work, Part 2. David Thomas, who guests on three tracks including the hilariously titled “This Black Hat is Rage,” is of course his usual inimitable self, his “strangled penguin” vocals coming off even more unhinged than they did on the last Pere Ubu album; hearing him cut loose in this setting just might be worth the price of admission alone.
Granted, not all of these guest spots work: legendary SST “house artist” (and designer of the Black Flag logo) Raymond Pettibon contributes a nice drawing for the cover, but his vocal performance on “Twing-Twang” – basically a series of “whimsical” variations on the title – is proof enough that even the most talented of graphic artists aren’t always meant to mix media. Still, the loose, collective atmosphere of the record benefits enormously from this shifting lineup, even though it means we have to endure Pettibon’s moment in the spotlight; it gives a further sense of Unknown Instructors as more than just another band of aging punks, something more akin to a genuine art/punk/jazz/poetry “happening” which goes down refreshingly rough in these days of same-sounding “supergroups” and “indie rock” as a codified genre. In fact, The Master’s Voice is such a freewheeling and one-of-a-kind record that it makes Watt’s current moonlighting as a Stooge-in-Waiting feel all the more disappointing; if Iggy and the Asheton boys had just thought to take a little of the spirit displayed by Unknown Instructors into the studio, then maybe, just maybe, they would have made The Weirdness into a record worthy of Fun House‘s legacy…or at least just made it live up to its name.
Meanwhile, those for whom one record of modern jazz/punk just isn’t enough would do well to check out the self-titled debut by Puttanesca, released late last year. Also featuring Baiza on guitar, as well as his former UCO bandmate Ralph Godoretsky on bass, drummer Wayne Griffin, and vocalist Weba Garretson, Puttanesca may not boast the same kamikaze thrills as The Master’s Voice, but what it lacks in off-the-cuff excitement it more than makes up for in tunefulness, with cool melodies that drift up and out of the speakers like cigarette smoke in a noir nightclub. As a frontwoman, Weba Garretson is a powerhouse, her intoxicatingly smooth vocals lending a touch of class to Baiza’s angular fretwork. Her apparently structuring influence as a songwriter, too, suits the guitarist well; if his more tedious improvisations with the Instructors occasionally serve as reminders of just why the electric guitar is a less expressive instrument for free jazz than, say, the tenor saxophone, here he’s at the top of his game, laying down grooves with an easy funkiness on “Shiny Red Box” and channeling his best Antennae Jimmy Semens on “Fruit Filled Pancake.”
But Puttanesca works best as a collaborative effort, and the best songs on this record are the ones where the whole is greater than the sum of its musical parts. Like “White Nylon,” where Godoretsky plucks out an almost subliminally funky bassline under Garretson’s and Baiza’s mutual racket. Or “Red Haired Woman,” the album’s majestic chill-out number, in which the band wisely resists the urge to go all out and lets Garretson’s voice stretch languorously over a bed of mellow guitar chords, brushed percussion, and even a closing flute solo to boot. Best of all, though (and not just because it allows me to make my third Beefheart reference in this single article), is the closing cover of “Lick My Decals Off, Baby,” which faithfully co-opts the Magic Band’s galloping arrangement while Garretson injects the lyrics with a sexuality Don Van Vliet could never muster. In fact, just about the only complaint I have for Puttanesca is the cover art, which might just be the worst album artwork I’ve seen in a long while. The tiny version we have posted above simply doesn’t do justice to its awfulness (try here), but you can probably tell that it depicts the band members’ heads as ingredients in a giant bowl of – you guessed it – pasta puttanesca, which is depicted inexplicably flying through outer space. I think I’ve said enough. At any rate, let’s hope that next time these guys drop an album, they’ll hire a new graphic designer; music as good as this demands much, much better visuals to go with it. Seriously, a space-traveling pasta bowl? That’s so not punk.
Unknown Instructors Official Site (Facemop)
Puttanesca Official Site
Buy The Master’s Voice
mainline magazine. 