Casa Schraum, difficilmente sbaglia un colpo.

Transparence di Philippe Lauzier, è una raccolta di dodici passaggi (impro) solisti, registrati in vari luoghi della sua città natale (Montreal), fra il 2010 e il 2012.

Per clarinetto basso o sax.

Espressione acustica leggera ed in costante movimento.

Nuda e cruda o sollecitata dall’amplificazione, in versione sovrapposta multitraccia o screziata di leggero feedback, delle campane motorizzate sul finire.

Riduzionista, ma non priva di una forte componente persuasiva (è un fitto dialogo di silenzi e microsegnali quello offerto).

Luminosa e suadente, sia quando raschia pancia a terra (Gisement), o s’alza come candida nebbia trafitta dall’alba (Au-dessus).

Una vibrazione pigolante, calda ed accogliente (Serpenter), per un percorso narrativo che intriga e rasserena.

L’avvicinarsi è consigliato.

Le trio de base de l’ensemble Cordâme s’est transformé en septet pour ce concert enregistré à L’Astral, mais la cohésion est telle qu’on croirait bien que ces musiciens-là jouent toujours ensemble. La musique de Jean Félix Mailloux (contrebasse), qui a des racines partout, laisse bien sûr une belle place aux cordes (celles du violon, du violoncelle, de la harpe ou du piano), mais la clarinette de Guillaume Bourque et la batterie d’Isaiah Ceccarelli permettent aussi au compositeur de varier les couleurs. Le pianiste François Bourassa est vraiment utilisé comme un membre de l’ensemble, faisant évidemment un solo ici et là, mais servant surtout la musique avec brio (son ajout donne un petit côté «Michel Legrand» pas désagréable du tout à une pièce comme Vancouver).

Au cœur des mutations entre langues réelles et langages inventés, à travers le parcours géographique ou imaginaire des peuples qu’elle a fréquentés ou rêvés, Géraldine Eguiluz refait son monde, chante et vocalise sa folie, improvise, libère son enfant intérieur et marie sa voix à celle des cordes qui l’accompagnent. Elle vient du Mexique, est passée par la Colombie, la France et le Portugal, puis s’est installée à Québec et à Montréal, où elle vit maintenant. Mais dans sa musique, elle est de partout. Ou plutôt de l’alchimie, de la force mystérieuse, de la puissance tragique et de la composition instantanée, quelque part entre la musique contemporaine écrite ou improvisée, la musique de chambre, les sons afro-américains, la valse déconstruite, l’opéra volontairement croche et le chant autochtone. Elle joue dans le chant, incarne ses personnages intérieurs, connecte avec l’au-delà. En pénétrant le souffle de la terre.

A series of solo investigations into various woodwinds with some ‘motorized bells’ (whatever they are) thrown in for good measure, from the Montreal-based improviser and composer. Lauzier works with bass and half-bass clarinet and alto and soprano saxophones; sometimes he amplifies or multitracks the explorations to fill out the sound, but for the most part it’s just him and the horn.

That said, it’s not as austere as you’d expect. Empoigner’s bass clarinet clicks and squeaks are pretty minimal, true, but the rest of the record is full of life and quirks. Geyser is just under four minutes of bubbling and hissing with an almost inaudible whine underscoring, like a giant kettle (or, in fact, a geyser). Meanwhile, Pigment, is a less liquid, more angular, a whistling, popping piece. Despite its analogue origins, it sounds atonally digital, as if it were generated by the sound card of some primitive computer. Bruine — the final track on the album, and the only one not created with a woodwind instrument (it’s those pesky mechanical bells) — is a gorgeous and glistening sheet of sound.

Lauzier provides a succinct yet comprehensive summary on the back of the CD to explain which instrument was used for each piece, and which, if any treatments were applied. So, for, example, it is interesting to know that En-dessus’s long, uneasy drone was made by four multi-tracked bass clarinets, and surprising to find Gisement’s grind and roar is unadulterated bass clarinet.

Listening to this record, I keep feeling I’m eavesdropping on a roomful of instruments after their players have gone home. The tracks are like exhalations, utterances, cries, conversations, the instruments playing themselves. The seesawing wheeze of Interlignes is like an alto saxophone stretching and relaxing after a long day in the orchestra pit. The Evan-Parker-on-holiday-style trilling of Au-dessus is the soprano saxophone’s joyful, bird-like preening. Silhouette advances slowly, like a panther picking its way through long grass.

Lauzier has put together an intriguing collection of pieces for this record, which open our ears to the possibilities of his chosen instruments. An engrossing listen.