The
REDCAT stage looked like a rehearsal room Friday night when Lou Reed,
Ulrich Krieger and Sarth Calhoun took the stage. Effects boxes, pedals
and other sound manipulation tools were strewn here and there in
cluttered arrangements. In the center, a row of guitars sat next to a
vintage amp. The set-up was practical, not symbolic, but it also
carried a message: Tonight's performance by the trio, going by the name
"Unclassified," would be informal and almost private, an act of
creation first and a show second.
Not all improvisers adopt this casual aura. Some are highly
theatrical, other quietly mystical. Still others are aggressive punks.
But for Reed, one of the most venerated leather-jacket-clad pioneers of
the rock era, this evening offered something particular -- the chance
to put aside his image along with his songbook, and turn inward. He had
his collaborators and the intimate room downstairs in Disney Hall to
thank for that.
Reed has been in an arty mood lately. His latest release is the DVD
of "Berlin Live at St. Ann's Warehouse," the Julian Schnabel-directed
concert film of his super-heavy 1973 song cycle of that name. He
recently performed with fellow New York boho potentate John Zorn, and
earlier this year he wed his longtime partner, performance art doyenne
Laurie Anderson. Tonight's concert is part of this move away from
having to recap "Sweet Jane" for drunken nightclub nostalgics, and
toward a serious legacy.
For that, Krieger is an excellent match. The saxophonist, composer
and CalArts professor did what Reed had deemed impossible when he
transcribed and arranged the Velvet Underground co-founder's epic 1975
feedback experiment, "Metal Machine Music," for chamber orchestra in
2002. The two men met at the premiere; Friday's performance and the two
that preceded it Thursday were their first public gigs together.
Like
Reed, Krieger is both strong-willed and eclectic. His projects have
included the John Cage-focused quartet A Cage of Saxophones; Text of
Light, a group that improvises soundtracks to avant-garde films, and
Sus Futuros, a death metal-inspired duo. The German-born Krieger ranges
wide as he seeks the spots where noise and beauty meet, and that makes
him an apt helpmeet as Reed cultivates his avant-garde side. (Calhoun
is another fellow traveller, a knob-twisting daredevil who describes
himself as an "electronic alchemist," and who's currently in Reed's
band.)
At REDCAT, the trio played two improvisations in an approximately
hourlong set, easing into a distinctive approach. At first the music's
chromatic and dynamic shifts seemed emblematic of minimalism, recalling
both Terry Riley and Robert Fripp. Reed bent notes up high on his
guitar fretboard while Krieger found some interesting multiphonic tones
deep in his saxophone.
The mood grew grittier after Reed had his roadie fuss with his amp
for a while and changed guitars. Calhoun, using a laptop, a keyboard
and a sort of electronic slide instrument called a Haken Continuum
Fretboard, added gut-shaking low notes, distortion and drone to the
mix. Krieger responded aggressively, and Reed seemed to draw in the
energy, modulating his own contributions more carefully.
The music touched on free jazz, especially when Krieger let forth
some quick runs or hit those intense, dented notes aficionados refer to
as "skronk." He was a fiery presence onstage, often bending over an amp
to produce feedback or furiously stomping on his pedals. The approach
mirrored Calhoun's mad scientist act, while Reed, older and wiser
perhaps, eschewed such flamboyant moves.
Though Reed's playing could be noisy, there was something
essentially relaxed about it. He'd spend time exploring one or two
musical phrases, bending notes or varying their tempo, deconstructing
bar chords. Only occasionally did he really sink into the raga-like
drones for which the Velvet Underground was famous.
Once in while, the blues surfaced, and the trio's final chords
invoked the majesty of the most high-minded heavy metal. But more than
any one moment, what intrigued was the current of ideas that Reed and
his colleagues formed into a rough channel.
It was a rare chance to see Reed at his most spontaneous and
introspective. A few audience members walked out early, either driven
to leave by the noise (Calhoun's bowel-shaking keyboards were
particularly challenging) or by the realization that they weren't going
to be hearing "Walk on the Wild Side." Those who stayed took a
different walk than they might have expected, and an interesting one.
-- Ann Powers
From Los Angeles Times
