MOG

Steve Reid Ensemble - Daxaar
Domino, 2008
3 out of 10

It wasn't long ago that Steve Reid would have been on a list, if I had cared to make it (clearly I didn't) and think for a long time about it (I might have, had I cared), of “ultimate badasses” (apologies to Moss & Chigurh). It actually might have been about a week ago. In fact, if I'd decided to make the list last week, he would have been closer to my mind than usual, because here I was, buying the new CD by Steve Reid Ensemble, Daxaar, featuring on the cover the subtitle “(recorded in africa).” We're talking the legendary out-jazz drummer Steve Reid, with producer and now-constant sampler-collaborator Kieran Hebden (Four Tet, Fridge), mixing it up in Senegal with a group. Reid's kit-manning resume is star-studded, and I mean Ornette, and I mean Miles, and I mean James Brown; Nova and Rhythmatism (1976), for decades his only studio work as a band-leader, are now classics, if a bit under the radar; his work as a duo with Hebden over the last two years has been refreshing, a welcome, organic generation-gap-closure effort.

Problem with Daxaar being, though — oh, man — it's bad. Really bad. Can barely think of a kind word to say here. The man's got such a luminous smile, such a storied past, such an admirable attitude, it's difficult to feel right doing this, but I must. Daxaar could give a first-time Reid listener forever the worst-possible impression of Steve Reid's work; possibly worse still, Daxaar could mislead a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed initiate into thinking that this is anywhere near the best of what funk-based out-jazz can accomplish, when it is closer to a nadir. In the latter case, one could at least hope that the initiate would then explore Reid's '76 pair of explorations and begin to understand where he went wrong with Daxaar. Yet in no case shall I recommend Daxaar.

We open with a three-minute unaccompanied song of kora and voice called “Welcome,” written and performed by Isa Kouyate. The kora is the West African harp made known to the first world by Mali's Toumani Diabate. A web search for “Isa Kouyate” leads me exclusively to Daxaar references, which is unfortunate, since his piece is lovely and I would have hoped for more solo recordings from Kouyate. His overture is sweet but brief as he takes his bow and does not join the ensemble for the remaining five long-form pieces.

Like the sudden and sharp realization that you missed the last freeway exit for 40 miles, the tone undergoes a drastic change; these pieces would be more accurately served with the word “jams,” with all of the negative connotations one might bring to hearing the term. Reid's beats are occasionally on-point in the most basic sense, and else occasionally flaccid. From beginning to end of these sessions, rarely do I ever note the contribution of any particular musician as a benefit to the ensemble. The trumpet playing by Roger Ongolo is pointillist at best and would often be distracting if there was something of note to distract from. The guitar playing by Jimi Mbaye is textural filler when he isn't attempting a misguided lead (in fact the liner notes from Gilles Peterson correctly identify a Santana moment). Even Mr. Kieran Hebden, a boon to Reid's work and soul in the recent past, can't save this jam band from jam band hell; he offers up, in large part, the most wankish and irritating color choices from his electronic palette.

A key problem here may be that a man named Boris Netsvetaev, the most consistently obnoxious member of this band, not only attempts to anchor each piece with egregious Rhodes noodling or even-more egregious organ noodling, but also has been elected “musical director” of these Senegalese sessions. It will suffice to say, on the subject of song descriptions, that the second full jam on Daxaar (“Jiggy Jiggy”) sounds exactly like a Club Med band riffing on the Doors for nine minutes as someone with a recorder is strangled. The merits of the rest of the disc, Kouyate's introduction excluded, do not rise far above this. Steve Reid has, as far as I know, never put his name on something this tasteless before. I hope he has the sense not to do it again.

-Spencer Owen