We are happy to introduce a new piece of music of the planetary value and significance – the last recording of the legendary David S. Ware Quartet. The performance took place in Vilnius in March 2007 and will be remembered among the most exciting musical acts ever. It’s our pleasure to deliver this music as a double recording to a wider audience worldwide and share the joy with you!
NoBusiness Records is proud and happy to announce that this performance has been released as a double limited edition LP.
Limited Edition of 1000 records.
August 2009 issue, review by PHIL FREEMAN
David S. Ware’s new group with guitarist Joe Morris, bassist William
Parker and drummer Warren Smith made some very impressive music on
last year’s Shakti. But that disc had a tentative quality, as though
the bandmembers were feeling their way into a performing rapport,
using easy grooves and simple melodies to bolster their largely
horizontal improvisations. With his long-standing quartet, Ware was a
different man – possessed of a leonine confidence and a staggering
tone and power, he seemed to combine lungs the size of beer kegs with
a Zen master’s discipline, never blowing an unnecessary or
gratuitously attenuated note. This double vinyl release documents that
group’s final concert, recorded on 24 March 2007 in Lithuania, and
it’s almost overwhelming. The band is so unified that their
improvisations feel like compositions – not because of predictability,
but telepathy. The opening trio section of “Ganesh Sound” is a
massive, throbbing roar, sent into the stratosphere when Ware enters.
The intensity is maintained for 17-plus minutes, leading into a
tree-uprooting, wall-collapsing version of “Theme of Ages.” A gently
swinging “Mikuro’s Blues” seems almost like a respite, leading into a
near half-hour version of Sun Ra’s “The Stargazers,” the performance’s
centerpiece and highlight, on which pianist Matthew Shipp seems to be
playing a celeste as William Parker offers some of the most subtle
accompaniment of his career and drummer Guillermo Brown rattles
hand-held percussion. At about the five-minute mark, the composition
proper begins. Brown hits the toms like John Bonham, and with Elvin
Jones dead, he’s got the heaviest kick-drum in jazz; Parker throbs
like a tyrannosaurus heart; and Shipp dominates the keyboard’s low end
with Gothic fervor. Ware doesn’t enter until nearly ten minutes into
the piece, but when he does the intensity ratchets up again, to a
level it’s hard to believe they can sustain…and yet they do. The
improvised “Lithuanian Whirl” begins with three minutes of
unaccompanied saxophone, followed by a four-minute Shipp solo, then
another four minutes of Ware. The concluding version of “Surrendered”
crashes like waves on the rocks, a suitably thunderous conclusion to
this band’s epic musical journey.