Filigree

by Thom JurekThis CD reissue carries a different title than its 1982 predecessor, Timbre. It also includes the track "Early Piece," which was omitted from the original. According to the liner notes, this recording "already" features Lauren Newton's idiosyncratic nature as a vocalist. And to a degree, it's true. Newton comes from two very formal traditions in her singing -- that of the classic Ella Fitzgerald/Sarah Vaughan school of be- and post-bop scat singers. On the other hand, given her European studies, she was reared in the 20th century Viennese school of lieder, as composer by Webern, Schoenberg, Berg, and others, and performed by singers such as Cathy Berberian. She is at home in both places, and tried not so much to fuse them but to create from them a new place for the vocalist in modern music. She is a cerebral singer who is sometimes very physical and, as evidenced here, can flawlessly weave a scat improvisation with tonal -- and even polytonal -- guttural conversations between herself and herself and finally with her band -- David Friedman is a perfect foil since his playing is so lyrical and grounded. In the funked-out scat of "Early Piece," where Tomas Stabenow's bass moves into a gut-bucket groove covered by Friedman's octave harmonics and finally rhythmically contoured by Manfred Kniel's drums, Newton goes for the top of her range early and carries through with both melody and harmony in counterpoint. It is followed by the instantly composed "Run of the Mill," which begins as a low moan where mode and timbre become a kind of reverse melody for Newton to improvise from. Her bandmates, while attempting to hold her voice to the place of "just another instrument" in the mix, fail miserably, and she writhes and groans her own glorious death rattle of an angel. In all, this is a fine, fine recording. But one has to wonder if, for all her alleged physicality, Newton's approach is limiting because she over intellectualizes her improvisations, and needs to pack in, it appears, everything she knows into each track here. She does not possess the raw, organic bodily contact with improvisation that Julie Tippet does, nor does she command the same deep spontaneous yet deep emotional range Tippet has. Which leaves us to wonder, why -- since Newton, as talented as she is, so very carefully attempts to emulate that same organic, unpretentious heart that Tippet displays so naturally -- she doesn't ever credit her influence?