François Houle (II)

This interview with François Houle was conducted during May-June 2020.

Tony Reif: In some ways this record harkens back to your last group record to appear on Songlines, the François Houle 5 + 1’s Genera (2012), particularly in the way it combines avant-jazz improvising with a highly developed compositional voice. There are also some major differences I think, one of which is that the compositional focus this time is even more rigorous and methodical (and methodological) rather than the (I think) more widely varied and perhaps more intuitive approach on Genera. And yet that title suggests the connection, because as you write in the liner note to RECODER, “Each track follows this principle: the initial idea dictates the process and informs the structure, in essence becoming the DNA of the work, giving the work its distinct shape, color, and identity.” The term “Genera” could also suggest a guided development process over iterations or generations springing from an initial conceptual framework. In which case, the main difference this time might be the extent to which the formal compositional givens of each piece determine its development, perhaps in multiple aspects or dimensions simultaneously. I’m wondering if you could comment generally on how you see the differences and similarities between these two bodies of work from a compositional p.v. or other aspecsts.

François Houle: RECODER is not all that dissimilar to Genera because for both projects I had time to collect ideas, and to shape them based on each specific band member’s affinities and approaches. From there it was about sticking to the process, in the hope that the initial idea for a piece would sustain my interest and reveal itself.

As such, a lot of what I composed for both projects ended on the editing room floor, in bits and pieces, with the more promising materials being retained for further development. I would “kill my babies!!!” (that’s an expression Swedish drummer Raymond Strid taught me!). The best, most malleable and bendable ideas prevailed.

What is a marked difference between the two projects is that I wanted to let the initial impulse for the piece remain in focus throughout for the RECODER project. In Genera I would allow myself to put two contrasting ideas together, and create “transitional” spaces to link them, creating longer, suite-like miniature tone poems. In RECODER I wanted the ideas to be succinct and focused. That’s probably why most tracks on RECODER are not s lengthy as on Genera.

TR: Another interesting aspect of this music is the way it balances free and freeish improvisation with contrapuntal writing (an interest that you and Gord Grdina share!), and the stylistics of jazz with structures that in many cases may be more classical in their complexity (a modern Third Stream – and do any serialist concepts inform these pieces?). Also, did the sounds you were hearing in your head predate your decision of who to work with or did you already know who you wanted in the group before you started writing down musical ideas? There’s an interesting synergy I think with this quartet – what would you say are the strengths that your collaborators bring to the music?

FH: My writing style leans heavily on the juxtaposition of melodic threads, from which harmonies and structural elements emerge. It is in part based on my affinity for classical counterpoint, but more directly from my affection for a certain kind of jazz and improvised music. The clearest examples that come to mind are the chamber music-like interplay heard in the Jimmy Giuffre Trio’s seminal albums Fusion and Thesis, and in Steve Lacy and Gil Evans’ Paris Blues album. I am also indebted to Anthony Braxton for his teachings and writings on creative and re-structural concepts. In these recordings the harmony and rhythm are very often defined not by the archetypical roles of the instruments (bass plays a bass line, the piano plays chords, etc.) but rather by a complex layering of melodic threads from which harmonies and rhythmic aspects emerge through the interplay between the protagonists. That’s what I’m after in my own writing. Do serialist concepts inform these pieces? No, not at all. But the music is conceived very methodically, with pitch cells, tonal key areas that are constantly shifting, and rhythmic figures that I stretch and compress following a pre-established yet flexible compositional matrix.

I already had musicians in mind for both albums. I like to strike a balance between writing lines that lean heavily on what I’ve heard collaborators play on record and also pushing them with other kinds of instrumental writing that are in line with my own compositional voice. I strive for innovations that don’t ever get in the way of a player’s expressive strengths.

TR: I’m wondering if you could deconstruct one of the pieces as an example of how the initial idea led to the ongoing “recoding” of the music as the piece plays out in this particular performance – and maybe give us an idea of which parameters were/are available to you and the other musicians to interpret differently in a different take or maybe in a live performance a year from now  on tour when you may find ways to unlock new aspects. Are some of the formal aspects easier to access in the improvisational sections? I can imagine some of the formal/structural demands being just too complex to realize improvisationally, and thus become fixed in the writing. Could you describe how those two famous jazz complementarities, improvisation and composition, relate to each other in these pieces (and perhaps differently from piece to piece)?

FH: Take “Baseline” (my weak reference to baseball and tennis – I love sports!), for example: there’s a 6-measures bass line that always ends with two quarter note low notes (thump thump) – another weak reference, this time to Shostakovich’s 8th String Quartet, an ominous knocking at the door. These 6 bars are repeated several times, each time with added notes in the clarinet and guitar parts. It repeats until all the instruments finally play the “complete” 6 bars in unison. The solos and lead melodic lines all emerge in fragmented bits from this “hidden” theme. “Recoder” is also built in similar fashion, except that some of the solos emerge over a vamp figure, opening up the form freely as opposed to the close-system approach of “Baseline.” The trickier aspect of negotiating solos over these forms was to anticipate the arrival points. Having played Persian classical music for almost 12 years, I’ve been really curious about finding ways to integrate elements of the meandering modes of Dastgah and the Radif into my own writing. Persian music provides the soloist with very clear arrival points where all of a sudden an improvisation culminates with a glorious tutti ensemble passage. It’s these kinds of magical moments that make listening and playing music so uplifting.

TR: Do you think of the word “recoder” in a scientific way, relating to mathematical/computer processes of variation and recombination, and/or in a more poetic or linguistic way, in which “recoding” might be interpreted more metaphorically (and less deterministically?) as an ongoing process of making structure and meaning that relates concepts to sounds? And what about the expressive qualities in the music, how do you think of them as fitting into the more intellectual formal frameworks? Did that relationship develop in the process of rehearsing and recording, or did you have some ideas about what expressive/emotional territory you were going for when you composed the music?

FH: Yes, the word “recoder” is used metaphorically, and poetically. I launch my compositional process from a vague concept of structural and compositional procedures, and this is quite on purpose as I prefer to “follow” the music. If an unexpected sonority or surprising rhythm emerges in the course of writing, and it doesn’t fit the procedural method I’m observing, I’d rather not dismiss it for the sake of methodology. This self-awarded license forces me to responsibly challenge compositional precepts, to explode notions of conventions and tap into a well-grounded notion of invention. Furthermore, expressive qualities eventually reveal themselves in the compositional process. Rather than dictating what the mood or spirit of the music should be, I let the compositional ideas lead the way and take me down some path where a range of emotions emerge – sometimes the sounds I create suggest an inner state of peace, or turmoil, or sheer goofiness. How do they fit in the intellectual formal framework? The intellect eventually takes a backseat to what the music expresses, and I navigate that fine line between territories. I trust that if I’ve done my work and allowed myself to follow my musical instincts in a considerate, thoughtful manner, the musicians playing this music will respond positively to what’s on the page. There might be some questioning, or slight adjustments to be made, but ultimately the spirit of the music will prevail. Great musicians such as Gerry, Gordon and Mark will capture that spirit and bring the music to life. At least that’s a kind of pursuit of mine in the act of composition.

TR: In the liner note you mention exchanging ideas about the direction of the compositions with Mark, Gord and Gerry and that you discussed with Gerry his own experience of composing as well as collaborating in long-lasting projects such as BassDrumBone (with Helias and Ray Anderson) and Thirteen Ways and with Anthony Braxton, Georg Graewe and Reggie Workman. How did these discussions influence the writing for RECODER and in how you conceived the group interaction?

FH: Given the stature of these musicians on the global scene, it was my responsibility to make sure they’d want to invest the time to rehearse and contribute to the music that I wanted to create. To do that I simply reached out to them with ideas and concepts with a really open-minded attitude. My goal was to create a music that would challenge them, but always in full respect and understanding of their own personal affinities. These discussions (always ongoing, by the way, among musicians) gave me the confidence to push myself a bit further. For the music on RECODER I did more revisions and experiments than I would normally, in order to be convinced that the choices I made were indeed the most appropriate ones. Once in rehearsals, and at the studio, there was yet another level of probing in order to really squeeze out the full potential of an idea. The musicians on this session were in some ways relentless in their pursuit of that. In their solo contributions and improvisations on this album, I felt that the musicians found some truly creative and imaginative ways to interpret the material, and to support each other in weaving a coherent canvas for self-expression.

TR: Gerry also turned you on to the Miroslav Vitous ECM recording Universal Syncopations (2003), in which, you write in the liner note, “the structural features of each track vary considerably from the others, hinting at alternative ways of thinking about the creative compositional process.” Yet with players such as Garbarek, Corea, McLaughlin and DeJohnette the music must be quite different! So are there any important similarities?

FH: Gerry and I talked about the magical, the unexpected, about how does one arrive at a musical composition that is evocative and surprising, while observing traditional morphologies and stylistic identifiers. I wanted to write pieces that reflected my sound world, but with a focus on the transformational. Gerry suggested this Vitous album as an example of a recording he felt conveyed that. It’s a music where, as a listener, you marvel at the ingenuity of the result while wondering how the musicians got to that end. It’s an absolutely mesmerizing album in so many ways. Very orchestral in scope, yet very intimate and soulful. It would be a conceit to compare my writing to what these masters have created, but I’d say the similarities are in the act of trying to find fresh new ways to express the human spirit in sound.

TR: Could you talk about the interludes/prelude/postlude, when they entered the compositional picture and what they to bring to the record in terms of recoding as well as less formally? Are some of them free improvisations and others more structured? (Also, I didn’t know Mark played clarinet!)

FH: The duets are all free improvised, short, single takes. We spent about two hours just playing, having fun talking to each other in clarinet language! Mark might only have a couple of years or so under his belt playing the clarinet, but he has played and hung out with some of the greatest musicians on the planet for years. He just knows what to say and when to say it. These improvisations ended up being a vital component of this project (I talked to Mark from the very start about doing a duo session with him), as I was looking to balance the highly structured pieces with something more spontaneous and free. I think these interludes give the ears a bit of time to settle in between the more demanding material.

TR: “Morning Song 1 (for Ted Byrne)” is the one piece that’s quite different from all the others –  a quiet, mysterious and contemplative pool that barely and distantly reflects the more exuberant and even raucous qualities found in many of the other pieces even as it foregrounds its own textural/improvisational and melodic/compositional beauties. I see that Ted Byrne is a Canadian poet who has lived in Vancouver since the late 60s. How does this piece relate to his poem (which I haven’t found online – could you send me the text)?

FH: Ted is passionate about music. You’ll see him and his partner at the Vancouver jazz festival, attending all kinds of concerts throughout the year in the clubs and small venues for creative music in Vancouver. I love his Morning Songs poems and plan on setting them all to music as I go. For “Morning Song 1” I wanted to create something with lots of space, as if sitting by a pond early in the morning, taking in a sunrise with birds and a gentle breeze…but also the less bucolic, more introspective elements of this short poem. The line “a broken word/reassembled” resonated deeply with how I felt, my state of mind while composing this piece. My instructions to the musicians were quite simple: tons of space, economy of means.

Morning Songs

1

Making

or finding

a knowing

a morning

like this

a broken word

reassembled

TR: Is “Bowen” a reference or tribute to Ken Pickering (I’m sure he would have liked it!).

FH: Yes it is, definitely. But it is written more for Christine Fedina, who with Ken built a beautiful house on Bowen Island. Both Ken and Christine loved having friends over for the day, have a meal and share in stories, while listening to music on the hi-fi system. The piece steals pretty heavily from Messiaen’s sixth movement from his Quartet for the End of Time. The movement is called “Dance of Fury, for the seven trumpets.”  Ken succumbed to a virulent cancer, having to go through treatments just as they were finalizing plans for the construction of their new home. He was very angry that life had thrown this in his way, just as he was entering what was to be the happiest stage of his life, in a dream home, with his soulmate. I wrote a piece that expresses that anger, but which is constantly interrupted by moments of serene tranquillity. There’s anger, but also great sadness that emanates from this piece. It’s my clumsy way of saying that life is not perfect. and throws challenges at us just when we think we’ve finally arrived at a point of stillness and peace.

The whole album is dedicated to my older brother Yvon, who has been battling with a virulent form of brain cancer since before Christmas 2019.