I don't really like this album. I know that's a strange thing to say about your latest release and maybe it's the word 'like' that I'm unhappy with in relation to these sounds.
I'd not be the first artist to be dissatisfied with their art. Maybe I'm just dissatisfied in general. I wasn't going to release any of this music. But who am I to judge.
It might be the best thing I've ever done. I really can't tell.
Recording free improvisation is a tricky affair.
By it's very nature this music is ephemeral and dissolves into nothing as soon as you touch it. So trying to make it permanent is somewhat contradictory.
And once you've hit the record button there's always the feeling that you've got to come up with something worthwhile, which disturbs the improvisational instinct and you start trying to second guess yourself and panic sets in. The really good stuff always happens when you're not recording and you've let your guard down cos there's no danger of judgement.
What does get recorded often feels more like an artist's impression of a crime scene - a taped off area where something once living was discovered too late.
But then there's the feeling that you should be documenting it all because otherwise how would anyone know you exist, other than the six people who came to your last gig.
So here's another album of alto sax improvisations. I hope you 'like' it. Maybe I should've called it "Just what the world needs, some more recordings of existential angst and despair." But I used meaningless vowel sounds because I once more failed to express myself adequately. Music and language may have evolved concurrently. Eventually my music may evolve into some kind of coherence. But maybe you'd 'like' it less if it did.
"Dave Jackson free-squeeks the alto sax into Yoko Ono’s attic. - Julian Cope
"classic squee-pileage in the post-ESP tradition..... loose sonic collisions and interwoven blather in ripely extended fire-form. Solid, savage blurt." - Thurston Moore - Arthur Magazine
"nice freak register tangling" - Byron Coley
"an acid-fuelled maelstrom of impeccably blown hellishness" - Plan B