A new recording of Different Trains (1988), one of the most significant pieces in composer Steve Reich’s canon, as well as in the œuvre of works dealing with the undealable, the Nazi’s Final Solution.

Reich explores the Holocaust in a highly personal manner, by juxtaposing his relatively comfortable childhood in the US, being shuttled between his divorced parents across the American continent, with the tape recorded recollections of survivors who had been forced to travel across the European continent on entirely different sorts of trains. A groundbreaking aspect of the piece is the manner in which Reich takes the vocal snippets and has the string quartet imitate the rhythms and cadences of the voices, thereby rendering them in themselves musical. The piece has deservedly received innumerable awards and the World Premiere recording by The Kronos Quartet is simply superb. A devastating acheivement.

Quatuor Bozzini from Montréal (Clemens Merkel and Nadia Francavilla, violin; Stéphanie Bozzini, viola and Isabelle Bozzini, cello) were encouraged by Reich to attempt their own interpretation. The quartet reinvigorate the piece with its intense playing and attention to detail, and appear even to have inserted some samples of the recorded testimonies which do not appear on the original.

Different Trains is one of the strongest works of the postwar era. So which to buy? Why not Quatuor Bozzini’s? Aside from the fact that it is every bit as good as Kronos’ version, you will be supporting a new group at the beginning of what promises to be a brilliant career (Kronos hardly need an introduction), own a very nifty little package, all folds and flaps, and spare yourself the tedious second piece on the Nonesuch release, Electric Counterpoint with Pat Metheny on guitar.

Collection QB is the quartet’s personal imprint under the DAME label umbrella in Quebec, which has already released a previous CD, Portrait Montréal, interpretations of works by their most immediate contemporaries.

Another cd from this notorious duo. If I’m not mistaken, their first collaboration dates from 1999 — the cd 21 situations. In 2003 they toured together through Europe. At the end of this tour they recorded in Montréal Studio — Analogique — Numérique, released as three mini-cds. The tour itself is documented in a series of 4 cds (!) of which now the fourth cd is released. This collaboration must have been a very important experience for both gentlemen, as it is so extensively made available. If you know this duo from one of these earlier releases they do not need further introduction. Once again we find them behind their turntables from which they extract the most extreme noises. This ‘music’ is far beyond all categories and standards that normally define music: its noise concrète. Very physical. It fascinates because of the radical approach and offers the opportunity of experiencing the beauty of noises and sounds. Well, if you are in the right disposition of course.

Ne pas parler pour ne rien dire. Il aura fallu presque une vie à André Duchesne, l’as guitariste, le champion compositeur de musique actuelle, le vétéran de Conventum et Locomotive, le cofondateur du label Ambiances Magnétiques, pour qu’il juge nécessaire d’élever de nouveau la voix. Vingt-deux ans séparent ses deux seuls albums de chansons, mais Le Temps des bombes et Arrêtez les machines sont néanmoins frères de colère. Rien n’a changé en mieux, comprend-on: le nouvel album enfile les constats implacables comme on mène des veaux à l’abattoir. Qu’il s’agisse de l’état désespérant du monde (Bruits de guerre, Les petits souliers) ou d’observations plus locales (La machine à sous, Ville ouverte), c’est le même bourbier, décrit sans fard sur fond de musiques inquiètes et intenses. À travers ce paysage ravagé, Dieu merci, subsiste un peu d’espoir (Un bon matin), un peu d’humour (On est dans la merde) et un peu d’amour (Danser contre les ombres, manière Leonard Cohen). Oui, ce disque est d’un abord difficile, comme ceux de Desjardins, mais pareillement réconfortant. On y est moins seuls à désespérer.

Le compositeur et guitariste André Duchesne lançait récemment son sixième disque (sans compter ceux parus sous d’autres noms, Locomotive et Les 4 Guitaristes de l’Apocalypso-bar, ou, dès 1977, Conventum). Il lançait simultanément un site Internet où il sera dorénavant possible de se procurer ses productions sans intermédiaire. S’il a déjà tâté de la chanson, et dès son tout premier disque solo, il y a eu un long passage instrumental avant ce retour au texte. Il dit ce dernier plus souvent qu’il ne le chante, et d’une voix qui «en a vu d’autres». Appuyé par Pierre Tanguay (batterie), Patrick Hamilton (basse) et un Jean Derome (flûte et sax) aussi omniprésent qu’indispensable, le guitariste se fait poète urbain et conteur intimiste.

Explorations among the wood, metal and air columns of the reed family […] Pee Wee et moi has a different agenda. Featuring Robert Marcel Lepage, one of the major players in Quebec’s musique actuelle scene, it’s an exploration of his links to Pee Wee Russell (1906–1969), jazz’s most idiosyncratic reed player. Russell, who over the course of his career played with everyone from Bix Beiderbecke to Thelonious Monk, was his own man in any situation. The strength of his oeuvre is such that Lepage, who composes theatre, dance and film pieces as well as improvises, felt, that long with a rhythm section, he had to invite six other clarinetists to share the clarinet role.

Although six reedists often playing in unison may conjure up bad memories of retro-jobs like Supersax, Québécois quirkiness prevents this. With the reed section, including Vancouver’s François Houle, made up of outright modernists and the rhythm section members – guitarist René Lussier, bassist Normand Guilbeault and drummer Pierre Tanguay – leaders of their own projects, this isn’t a band likely to play a Dixieland Jazz hotel party any time soon.

Instead, two Russell compositions and 12 of Lepage’s are used to sketch a slightly off-kilter view of the older clarinetist’s legacy. Taking Dixie-Swing conventions and turning them on their heads, at any time some of the musicians work from a 1930s base, while a few others are resolutely in the 21st century. Part of the date’s success has to be attributed to Maxime Séguin, who collaborated on the arrangements.

Look what’s done with Russell’s own Muskogee Blues, for instance. With Tanguay playing a simple backbeat and Lussier jangling T-Bone Walker-like licks, the tune surges polyrhythmically as one clarinetist growls in false registers like a modern version of Russell, while another emits a more elegant Jimmy Hamilton-like tone. Just after the turnaround the entire ensemble suddenly speeds up, then slows down to mid-tempo for the finale.

Unfortunately the booklet notes don’t name any of the clarinet soloists – surely Lepage couldn’t do all the work himself – but the key to this collection of blues lines is how Séguin and Lepage alter our perception of Quebec’s musique actuelle musicians as much as the purported Dixielanders.

Guilbeault, whose avowed influence is Charles Mingus, slaps his bass à la Pops Foster on Pee Wee fait des archaïsmes, moi je fais des anachronismes, while Lussier’s strings scratching suggests a tinny version of Tiny Grimes’ style. Right in the middle of the composition there’s a quick turnabout as the tempo leapfrogs from andante to agitato, followed by a high-pitched clarinet solo that in this context, sounds like Pete Fountain fronting a 1930s Swing Era band.

Similarly, Pee Wee joue aux échelles et serpents is a parody two-step, riding on Tanguay’s paradiddles. Here the guitarist showcases distorted strumming in Eddie Lang fashion, as the horn section riffs around him. Reed solo exhibitions include double-tonguing harmonic vibrations and chalumeau excursions.

Portrait de Pee Wee à la face longue finds Lussier procuring a Middle-Eastern, lotar-like sound from his axe, creating finger-picking reverb that meets a chorus of spetrofluctuation from one of the clarinetists, with the duo surrounded by repetitive legato riffs from the other reeds.

Fully POMO, despite the instrumentation, other tracks are redolent of Miles Davis’ Birth Of The Cool sessions – if that session had featured crisscrossing rasgueado guitar work; one of Gerry Mulligan pseudo-Swing Era lines, with a clarinet lead, two-beat drumming and the threat of bursting into barnyard cacophony every chorus; and Dixieland as interpreted in the style of French chanson by a marching band. The last includes a species of musical fanfare that springs from the European roots that influenced both Russell and Lepage.

Then there’s Dixie chinois, which sounds a lot more like Heavy Metal than Chinese music. Still, it does prove that the combined smeared overblowing of seven clarinets, often adding pedal-point snorts, can be as solidly rhythmic as any guitar-laden hard rock band.

Rippling unison section work from the reeds doesn’t upset the foot-tapping fervor of most of the tunes. Who knows maybe because of this the musique actuelle types will investigate Pee Wee’s Dixieland and – though doubtful – perhaps a few Classic Jazz fans will try to listen to POMO – or even MO – improvisations.