There is something tremendously fitting about Barry Guy engaging the piano-trio format, as he has for three releases with pianist Marilyn Crispell and drummer Paul Lytton. After all, the bassist was at the forefront of European free deconstruction of the format forty years ago, in a group with pianist Howard Riley and a succession of drummers. From disassembling Miles and Bill Evans toward poised mini-suites of the members’ own pens, to electro-acoustic improvisation, that trio did it all. Though it might be something of a misnomer to label Riley the British Paul Bley, there was an affinity for that music early on, something to which Crispell is no stranger to – delving into the songbook of Annette Peacock, for example, on Nothing Ever Was, Anyway (ECM, 1997). Phases of the Night follows Guy’s fascination with surrealist painting in title over four meaty, directed improvisations.
The reason that Riley wasn’t a European Bley was because he replaced tonal ambiguity with directness and poise, even within what are otherwise loose structures. Even as Crispell places herself spatially behind other instrumentalists in a group she’s still a guiding force, displaying an affinity for Riley’s approach. She colors the angles at wide intervals behind and around Guy’s five-string hammered fullness, spinning atonal ellipses in jarring cycles. It’s a strange facet of this music that one feels holes in her lines – even where they are dense – and wants to fill them in, thereby creating extreme tension (but not ambiguity). From this, a rondo form emerges at nearly the seven-minute mark of the title track, Crispell off at a foreground run but still pockmarking her phrases as the jitter of knitting needles, brushes and bass thwack spray the ground behind her. The pace then slackens to fractured points of light, Crispell replaying her egg-like clusters and flecks toward a tumbling group obsession with minutae. To a degree, density and sparse detail are the main poles by which the trio structures its music, slabs of sonic ground worked over until most of the paint falls away and leaves a curious residue of unfamiliar objects. Though “Nardis” might appear distant, one must keep in mind that the history in such pieces imbues every brushstroke this trio makes.
Clifford Allen, BAGATELLEN, USA, June, 27, 2008

Das zweite Stück heißt „Insomnie“, aber schon beim ersten ist an Schlaf nicht zu denken, wenn Pianistin Marilyn Crispell mittendrin plötzlich beidhändig ein fetziges, ein wenig an Brubecks „Blue Rondo à la Turk“ erinnerndes Thema einbringt, das man nach den vorangegangenen Klang-raumerkundungen nicht erwartet hat. Mit solchen Überraschungen warten alle vier Kompositionen des gewohnt aufregend agierenden Bassisten Barry Guy auf – etwa wenn er mit Crispell in herzergreifend elegische Zwiesprache tritt oder die Wendung zur Kontemplation im letzten Stück dann doch wieder jäh zurückgenommen wird.
Klaus Nüchtern, Falter, Wien 22/2008 vom 28.5.2008

Any subversion of the piano trio tradition as manifested in the clinical virtuosity of a technocratic elite is always welcome, and it's present here in abundance. This is not however to suggest that this trio lacks technique, it's just that the music they produce is so free of the constraints of any overt tradition that the results are compelling.
Listeners need hear no further than the opening title track for evidence. Pianist Marilyn Crispell, bassist Barry Guy, and drummer Paul Lytton are razor-sharp in terms of how they listen and how they respond to what they hear, and whilst this is a program of Guy compositions the line between them and all-out improvisation is blurred to the point of non-existence. When a dark unison figure is articulated in unison by Crispell and Guy at around the seven and a half minute mark of the track, the result is as intrusive as it is stimulating, however, serving as it does to confound the listener's expectations.
By way of contrast “Insomnie” is music of gestures, the avoidance of anything as seemingly contrived as a theme coming from the very way in which the music evolves. Guy is all over the music here, his application of augmented technique allowing him to function as the epicenter around which Crispell and Lytton coalesce even as the music's taken at a fast tempo. There is however nothing frenetic about it. The relatively crude and indeed macho posturing of the blow-out has no role here, not when all three musicians are working so closely in realizing more rarefied ends.
”The Invisible Being Embraced” starts with a portentous Crispell playing solo but again expectations are confounded in the way the ensuing duet with Guy resolves itself. That in turn is usurped by some of the most torrential music of the entire program before a composed calm that's some distance from unmeasured is restored. The effect overall is of a deeply empathetic trio coming to terms with the moment with the aid of prepared material that's anything but inhibiting.
Nic Jones, All About Jazz, July 06, 2008

Reiner Kobe, Jazz n' More, Schweiz, Juli / August 2008

Christoph Wagner, Jazzpodium, Deutschland, Juli/August 2008

gam, Jazzzeit, Österreich, Juli/August 2008

Wenn ich Musik mit Malerei be- oder umschreibe, mit Informel und Abstraktem Expressionismus, mit Dubuffet, Pollock, Tapies oder Rothko, ist das immer ein subjektiver Übersprung. Aber BARRY GUY z. B., den gibt es tatsächlich nicht ohne Bilder. Mit Reproduktionen etwa von Eugen Bisig, Alan Davie, Gottfried Honegger, Albert Irvine, Phil Morsman, VANCHE, George Vaughan oder José Vento ziert die Veröffentlichungen des Londoner Kontrabassisten eine Galerie gegenwärtiger Malerei. Für Phases of the Night (Intakt CD 138), nach Odyssey (2002) und Ithaka (2005) nun die dritte Demonstration des Zusammenspiels mit MARILYN CRISPELL & PAUL LYTTON, wurde surrealistische Malerei zum direkten Ausgangspunkt der Komprovisationen (Guy nennt es 'propositions‘). Max Ernsts gleichnamiges Gemälde von 1946 inspirierte das Titelstück, das nervöse Perpetuum mobile 'Insomnie‘ wurde durch Dorothea Tannings Ringkampf mit den Bettlaken von 1957 angeregt, das im Dunklen schwebende ‚The Invisible Being Embraced‘ nimmt Bezug auf Wilfredo Lams 'Transparent Serré‘ und in 'With My Shadow‘ hallt Yves Tanguys finsterer Dreamscape von 1928 wider. Der Versuch, visuelle Elemente, Assoziationsanstöße durch die Titel und ein surrealistisches Eintauchen in Traumzeitmetamorphosen, die das Ich und den Status quo überschreiten, zu übersetzen in Dynamik und Harmonie, lenkt das Geschehen auf andere als die üblichen Pfade. Der Schleier vor dem Möglichen wird transparent, das Überwirkliche scharf, grazil und kristallin, Arpeggien laufen wie Zahnräder, das Piano meiselt präzise Traumsplitter. Als Unscharfes, 'Verträumtes‘, gedehnt, verzerrt zu Glissandi und Drones, als flirrende und zischende Percussion, verliert so das Banale/Irdische nicht seine Sicherheit, seine Gewissheit? Wie Crispell und Guy im wehmütig-sehnsüchtigen Auftakt von'The Invisible...‘ sich einem Schatten hingeben, in Aufruhr verstrickt werden und wieder zum 'wie durch einen Spiegel in einem dunkeln Wort‘ zurückkehren, ist bestrickend. In Tanguys Traumdunkel tasten sich die Drei nur mit angehaltenem Atem und werden doch von ihren eigenen Ängsten überfallen. Crispell fängt sich mit einer melancholischen Geste, bis ihr erneut ein Schrecken in die Glieder fährt. Musik ist eine Berührung mit dem Überwirklichen, vielleicht die einzig realisierbare.
Rigobert Dittmann, Bad Alchemy, 59/2008

Duncan Heining, Jazzwise, London, September 2008

Therry Lepin, Jazzman, Paris, Septembre, 2008

In a "genre" already trading in innovation and surprise — avant garde jazz — Phases of the Night is a surprising album. This is truly edge-of-your-seat music.
Perhaps the most overarching reversal of expectations arises from familiarity with the players. Marilyn Crispell, Barry Guy, and Paul Lytton are big names in the world of outsider jazz. Crispell is perhaps best known as the pianist in Anthony Braxton's legendary quartet of the 1980s and early '90s, and Guy and Lytton are well-established as the tornadic rhythm section of the Evan Parker Trio. One might, then, be forgiven for expecting a somewhat engaging extension of the Cecil-Taylor continuum. Far from it. While these players often employ their recognizable styles, their interactions here defy predictions.
On the title track for example, expected trajectories either fail to take shape or to unfold in familiar patterns. It begins with an astoundingly virtuosic solo bass intro by Barry Guy. Guy employs split-brained variety of plucking, fingering and arco techniques simultaneously that make him sound like two bassists. Pixels of Crispell and Lytton gradually begin to dot the sonic landscape, and tension builds. Yet the piece avoids "fade-in, blow, fade-out" structure of much improvisation. At one point in this track, surprisingly, the generally loosely-structured playing gels into a motif that is reminiscent of Brubeck's "Blue Rondo a la Turk."
Other tracks on the disc are equally multi-faceted and engaging. In "The Invisible Being Embraced," the opening piano chords evoke the foreboding of some of Chopin's and Scriabin's works, while another section of the same piece has the contemplative, atmospheric feel of a Paul Bley trio. Even the most uniform piece, "With My Shadow," offsets an exploratory middle section that practically uses silence as a fourth band member, and works its way toward a rather surprising ending.
All of the tracks here are described in the packaging as being compositions, but the music itself subverts the expectations that such a label can evoke. There are clearly sections in these works, but it is generally quite difficult to tell what is improvised and what is composed here. Nor does it matter, because the dramatic unfolding of these pieces makes the improvised/composed issue practically irrelevant for listeners.
In his liner notes for the disc, Guy invokes the notion of Surrealism to describe the aesthetic the compositions and players employ. He describes the intent to juxtapose materials and, like the Surrealists, to evoke the logic of dreams and the subconscious. The contrasts in the actual recording, though, don't involve the sleepy fluidity often associated with "dream-like" music, and tend to be starker. The result is not is not as extreme as pointillism a la Zorn, however. Rather the various sections receive ample exploration, and the transitions make solid musical sense in context.
If this album is lacking anything, ironically, it is more showcasing of the composer's incredible bass work. But this is essentially an organic group effort, and the effectiveness of these works reaffirms that Guy is as effective a composer as he is an instrumentalist. Highly, highly recommended.
- Wyman Brantley, Squidsear, NY, USA

Fred Bouchard, Downbeat, October, 2008

Peter De Backer, Jazzmoziek, Belgium, September 2008

Michael Rosenstein, Signal To Noise, USA/Canada, Fall 2008

Barry Guy's musical relationship with pianist Marilyn Crispell has been a fruitful one. Not only has he used her talents within the realms of his London Jazz Composers Orchestra, he has also continued to play with her in his own trio. Encompassing percussionist Paul Lytton, the trio has made three enormously creative albums over the last few years. "Phases of the Night" sees them continue that track record. This time around, Barry Guy's compositions were inspired by paintings of Max Ernst, Dorothea Tanning, Wilfredo Lam and Yves Tanguy. Interplay is second to none. There are very few trios who can communicate on this sort of a mesmerizing level. While Guy treads a fine line between a wallop on the strings of his bass and some wonderfully realized arco strokes, Lytton populates the palette with a raining pool of light cymbal strokes that oftentimes turn into hail mode. Key component of the trio is obviously Marilyn Crispell's piano mastery. Not to be outdone, she reaches for off-kilter phrases, while retaining a passing hold on melody. What I love most about her work here is her keen attention to details, in the way she holds the pauses between the notes constant, in the way she surprises with allegorical movements. When the trio comes together as one body, there's no holding them back. Through the twists and turns, they layer Guy's written work into a coherent whole. "Phases of the Night" is a journey of three travelers who understand each other's particular musical needs. In a nutshell, this is communication of the highest possible echelon.
Tom Sekowski, Gaz-Eta Nr. 68, October 2008, Poland

Hans-Jürgen von Osterhausen, Jazzpodium, Oktober 2008, Deutschland

Barry Guy, der wie kein anderer zeitgenössischer europäischer Musiker für die Dialektik von Komposition und Improvisation steht, hier endlich wieder in seiner für mich definitiv spannendsten und ergiebigsten Formation. Crispells Piano trägt natürlich viel zu der Reichhaltigkeit der Texturen bei, doch die Klasse dieses Trios besteht auch immer darin, dass es Dynamik und Statik, Komplexität und Simplizität sowie Magie und Transparenz am konzentriertesten hörbar machen kann und die dialektische Spannung dieser Pole am direktesten und unmittelbarsten rüberbringt - das ist die schätzbar-unschätzbare Größe dieses kleinen Ensembles. Das Thema der vier Stücke ist das Unbewusste, die Nacht und der Surrealismus, mit dem sich Guy - auch als eine revolutionäre Bewegung - gut befasst hat. 4 Gemälde sind die Auslöser und Transformatoren, und wir tauchen nicht weniger als direkt ein und aus in diese neue Realität.
"made my day" by HONKER, Terz, Deutschland, November 2008

Enzo Pavoni, Jazz Magazine, Italy, November 2008

There are few trios in any form of music with the depth and history of Guy/Crispell/Lytton. The way they work intuitively as a unit is a commodity that once was common in Jazz, but the musical economics of our times has unfortunately made a rarity. So (1) comes with some high expectations, and they are completely filled. Most of the readers of this magazine need no introductions to these three masters, but the approach of the trio is new on (1). Guy has written all four compositions, and each uses a surrealist painting as the “springboard for the compositional strategies that reflect dream scenarios and unusual juxtapositions,” and together they take the musicians and their listeners on a “night journey.” For example, on “Insomnie” (inspired by a series of paintings by Dorothy Tanning) Guy aims to create a “relentless nervous piece,” and the trio plays energy music that is lightning fast and aggressive, the most outside music on the recording. But this is in deep contrast to the largely consonant though abstract music of the other three pieces, as with “The Invisible Being Embraced” (after a painting by Wilfredo Lam) where out of ominous and moody blocks of sound a mournful and pretty melody emerges from the piano and bass. While this is challenging music, it does not challenge the form of the piano trio. At every moment you know well who is playing which instrument. These musicians are not trying to extend the trio, only to explore the furthest reaches of the piano trio format. Their music has truly dramatic and powerful moments. I am listening without much familiarity with the paintings that inspired Guy and company, which makes my experience purely musical, though I expect that finding the paintings will deepen my understanding of their music. This I will do soon, as I urge you to find this CD as well.
Phillip McNally, CADENCE, USA, Jan-Feb-Mar 2009

Barry Guy and Paul Lytton have worked extensively in a trio with saxophonist Evan Parker, adding Crispell to record After Appleby (Leo, 2000). This lineup, omitting Parker, also recorded Odyssey for Intakt. Now with Phases of the Night, the Guy/Crispell/Lytton trio gathers again to interpret four Guy compositions inspired by surrealist paintings. The title track takes its name from a work by Max Ernst—a strange canvas of earthy pastoral green and bright institutional blue. Beginning with extended free improvisation, the trio at last arrives at a precise, rhythmically assertive theme, launching Crispell into higher gear. "Insomnie," after an even more abstract painting by Dorothea Tanning, is busy and unsettled, with a long piano-drum duo passage (recalling the Moholo album). "The Invisible Being Embraced," for Wifredo Lam, veers more toward the tonal, with a foreboding intro leading to melodies of an almost classical Spanish tinge. "With My Shadow," for Yves Tanguy, ends the set with dark, hovering chords that work up to dense, rumbling free interplay. Best to let these selections play while gazing attentively at the images that inspired them.
David Adler, All About Jazz New York, USA, March 8 2009

«Phases of the Night» est le troisième disque du trio après Ithaca et Odyssey. La conception de ce nouveau répertoire par Barry Guy, compositeur du groupe, est issue de réflexions autour de l’art moderne, et notamment des Surréalistes. Comme il l’écrit dans le texte de pochette, ces derniers ont toujours cherché à proposer de nombreuses pistes de réflexion, en travaillant par exemple sur les rêves et l’inconscient, et souvent leurs œuvres - textes ou toiles, nous déstabilisent. Dans cette perspective, chacune des quatre compositions qui constituent «Phases of the Night» est inspirée par un peintre surréaliste. Là encore, la lecture des textes explicatifs s’avère très instructive.
Le morceau qui donne son titre au disque, inspiré d’une œuvre de Max Ernst, s’ouvre sur une longue introduction d’une grande liberté formelle, constituée de courtes phrases au piano posées sur les motifs percussifs de la batterie et de la contrebasse, cette dernière s’autorisant par instant quelques traits rapides en pizzicato. Peu à peu les phrases s’allongent, comme si on quittait une situation de rêve mal formé pour entrer dans une vision nocturne parfaitement structurée mais agitée. Puis, émergeant de cette improvisation collective, surgit un magnifique motif mélodique et rythmique. On comprend mieux Barry Guy lorsqu’il explique qu’il était fondamental pour lui de rester dans la formule piano-contrebasse-batterie. Certes, il s’agit ici d’une version contemporaine de cette formation, mais elle reste ancrée dans une longue tradition. Le jeu de Marilyn Crispell est passionné, très percussif. Les motifs qu’elle imagine sont mis en relief par Paul Lytton et Barry Guy qui installent une atmosphère sombre. Pour finir, la musique s’accélère, comme si l’étreinte du rêve se renforçait, se précisait… jusqu’à nous réveiller !
« Insomnie », trouve, lui, son origine dans l’observation d’une peinture de Dorothea Tanning. C’est une longue plage durant laquelle, comme l’écrit Barry Guy, la musique ne semble jamais s’installer : tension et évolution sont permanentes. Le contrebassiste entretient ce feu continu tandis que Crispell et Lytton improvisent. Le duo piano/batterie, au milieu de ce deuxième morceau, est d’ailleurs impressionnant par sa maîtrise du silence, de la dynamique et de la surprise. On sent chez ces trois musiciens de grands dramaturges !
Wilfredo Lam, peintre cubain, inspire le troisième morceau, « The Invisible Being Embraced », qui propose un nouvel aspect du trio, plus éthéré, comme en suspension ; les notes sont tenues, Crispell utilise beaucoup les pédales du piano et on se laisse prendre par la résonance. Le geste est ici proche du piano classique, la mélodie captivante, soutenue par une contrebasse lyrique et un jeu aux balais coloriste, tout en finesse et en délicatesse. On est loin des insomnies incontrôlées ! Un certain mystère imprègne cette musique parfois saisie de soubresauts, mais l’énergie déployée cède vite la place à une conclusion apaisée, avec un Barry Guy très inspiré au-dessus des notes perlées de Crispell. « The Invisible Being Embraced » se termine comme il a commencé, au piano accompagné d’une discrète batterie.
C’est « With My Shadow » et son grand inspirateur Yves Tanguy qui vient clore «Phases of the Night». Le piano domine, toujours avec une noirceur et une mélancolie assumées, mais on devine l’intention de B. Guy : cette composition tourne en réalité autour de la contrebasse, ombre du piano et qui parfois le devance -indomptable, joueuse, omniprésente et insaisissable à la fois. Le tout surveillé de près par un Paul Lytton à l’affût.
Au fil de ces quatre ambitieuses compositions on traverse des atmosphères variées, des paysages nés d’un esprit tourmenté ; l’ensemble crée cependant une musique qui vous prend pour ne plus vous lâcher et qui, magnifique, évolue entre pénombre, ténèbres et lumières diffuses. Mais ne sommes-nous pas au pays des rêves et de l’inconscient ?
Julien Gros-Burdet, .citizenjazz.com, France, March 16 2009

Alexandre Pierrepont, L'art du Jazz, France, 2009

It's always worth wondering how much of your response to music is inflected by titling and packaging, such as the bassist Barry Guy's fondness for austere, Xenakis-style Greek titles. His trio with pianist Marilyn Crispell and drummer Paul Lytton debuted with Odyssey (recorded 1999, released in 2002), which I found rather frostily formal in its beauty – but was that just the lofty Homeric title? Still, its sequel, named (you guessed it) Ithaca (2003) was altogether friskier and more varied, and now with Phases of the Night Guy has abandoned the classics for another longstanding obsession, surrealist art: as with his early Ode, each of the four movements of this suite pays homage to a painting by a favourite artist. This is (compositionally-assisted) free improv in the grand manner, almost disconcertingly free of the gap between thought and action that's central to so much improvised music (witness the Veryan Weston disc reviewed elsewhere in this same issue for a beautiful example). Which isn't to say that lightning reflexes and absolute certitude/commitment aren't themselves exciting to listen to, of course. The result here is an awesome collision of spirits, and the players effortlessly handle these four big musical canvases with due attention both to the explosive power of individual gestures and to the way these contribute to the larger whole.
The title track (Max Ernst, 1946) slides gradually into the disc's nocturnal soundworld via one of Guy's trademark solos, his stretchy, twisting lines peppered with percussive counterattacks. The trio slowly converges on a free ballad, then announces the piece's knotty midsection improvisation with a fanfare a tad reminiscent of "Blue Rondo a la Turk". Crispell's in great form here, effortlessly modulating from crashing-chandelier drama to scattered hop-skip improv, then pulling everything together with a sustained alarm bell ring just before the return of the head. There are plenty of similarly intense passages elsewhere on the disc, but the tracks also offer some of Guy's sparsest, most dignified balladry. "The Invisible Being Embraced" (after Wilfredo Lam) touches on churchy monody, Debussyesque tone-poetry and the kind of lush Iberian rhapsody that previously surfaced on 2006's excellent Aurora (Agustí Fernández / Guy / Ramon Lopez), while "With My Shadow" (after Yves Tanguy) has the eerie beauty of a deserted temple. Crispell's notes resound like they're bouncing off marble walls, and while Guy's decision to tie the whole suite together with a return of the Brubeckian fanfare and a pell-mell finish makes perfect sense, I almost wish that I could linger permanently in those echoing hallways....
Nate Dorward, Paris Transatlantic, Lent 2009

Luc Bouquet, Improjazz, France, Janvier 2010

Ofta återkommer man till frågan om var gränsen går mellan improvisation och komposition. Om det nu finns någon gräns, de är ju trots allt barn av varandra. Det är en svår fråga som bl.a. fick Derek Bailey att i sin bok "Improvisation" lansera begreppet "icke-idiomatisk improvisation", som innebär ett fullständigt fritt spel utan några som helst föreskrivna idéer, tecken eller utgångspunkter. Man börjar helt enkelt bara att spela och "det händer" (förhoppningsvis). Det finns också improviserad musik som mer eller mindre förhåller sig till en bestämd struktur eller rent av till ett partitur. Resultaten är alltid olika. Ibland fungerar det riktigt bra. Men ibland känns det som två musikaliska världar krockar, att någon av sidorna tycker sig ha företrädet och resultatet blir mer en slags konkurrens än interaktion (jag tänker t.ex. på vissa av Mike Westbrooks projekt).

Virtuosen Barry Guy är en av dem som verkligen behärskar denna balansakt. Få har som Guy lyckats få modern komposition att låta improviserad och i sin tur få improvisationsmusiken att verka komponerad. Det märks att Guy har en mycket lång erfarenhet inom detta. Sedan slutet av sextiotalet har han verkat lika mycket inom den moderna och klassiska kompositionen som på den fria scenen. En annan bassistkollega, Gavin Bryars, började också inom den fria improvisationen, men han lämnade den i förakt för att istället ägna sig helt och hållet åt komposition. Det "gick inte längre att skilja musiker från amatörer" var Bryars huvudsakliga invändning. Guy tänkte annorlunda och jag tror inte att det är en överskattning att påstå att han är en av dem som verkligen arbetat med att förnya den fria musiken. Det jag kallar för förnyelse är ingenting radikalt eller excentriskt, inga manifest eller skolbildningar. Han är ärligt intresserad av i vilken utsträckning kompositionen förmår att bära den densitet som uppstår när verkligt skärpta improvisationsmusiker träffar varandra. I förlängningen tror jag att han undersöker på vilket sätt ett stycke kan byta fokus eller ändra riktning inom ramen för en tämligen löst hållen notation. För man in improvisationen skapas en form av störning eller anomali som förändrar stycket utan att egentligen röra dess kärna.

Trion tillsammans med Marilyn Crispell och Paul Lytton bildar alltså en enastående plattform för den typen av musikalisk utforskning. Den förra plattan "Ithaka" (2003) ligger högt på min lista över samspel som närmast kan betraktas som telepatiska. "Phases of the Night" är trions tredje platta och den bjuder på en liknande upplevelse, även om den inte når lika högt. Ett lyckat steg är att Crispell har fått ett stort utrymme på denna skiva. Hennes öppna, melodiska flygel i samspel med Guys ofta varma toner skapar en stämningsrik, nästan melankolisk atmosfär, vars sköra harmoni dras i riktning mot dissonans utan att nå dit alla gånger. Samspelet med Lytton får det istället att verka som subversiva underströmmar i en annars klar och romantiskt upplyst tjärn. De två sista spåren, "The Invisible Being Embraced" och "With My Shadow", är exemplariska stycken inom blandformen jazz och komposition. På vissa ställen drivs musiken till extatiska utfall som Crispell sedan sluter i en lugn, melodisk vila.

Guys kompositioner har retoriska moment som lyssnaren ganska snart avslöjar. Men jag har definitivt inga problem med det, precis som verkligt betydande konstnärer vill han inte dölja dem utan lägger dem i öppen dager (vilket också det är ett retoriskt grepp). Det är ett gediget arbete och skall man agera litet terapeutiskt kan man hävda att "Phases of the Night" är den skiva som jazzälskare som har svårt för fri improvisation bör skaffa sig. Den hoppar inte mellan olika världar, den visar snarare hur de kan hänga ihop – och att resultatet kan bli vackert.

Något kryptiskt är ändå skivans tematiska ram som Guy kort redogör i texthäftet, nämligen den surrealistiska konsten och (förmodar jag) dess psykomontage. Skivans titel är tagen från Max Ernsts målning "Les Phases de Nuit" från 1946 (vilken tyvärr inte finns reproducerad) vars tematisering av tanken och natten jag kan förstå. Men jag kan inte se något eventuellt mimetiskt förhållande mellan musiken och surrealismens ofta oidipala samordnande av det undermedvetna (läs sexuella) och det vardagliga genom dess förgudligande av fantasins makt. Det är visserligen ett intressant koncept, men jag inbillar mig att resultatet skulle låta annorlunda. För mig känns det mer som det öde, fossila landskapet i Ernsts "L'europé Arrès la Pluie II" (Europa Efter Regnet II) som avslutades mitt under kriget 1942. Om man nu skulle rota efter möjlig rekvisita till denna skiva så hör jag personligen en annan europeisk historia, en historia där jag tillsammans med Hermann Broch och Else Lasker-Schüler sveper absint till tonerna av Guy, Crispell och Lytton.

Johan Redin, Sound of Music, Sweden, 2009

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