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Part 1

Name: Chad Fowler
Nationality: American
Occupation: Composer, improviser, saxophonist, label owner at Mahakala Music, programmer
Current release: Chad Fowler's Alien Skin, featuring Steve Hirsh, William Parker, Matthew Shipp, Ivo Perelman and Zoh Amba, is out via Mahakala.

[Read our Steve Hirsh interview]

If you enjoyed this interview with Chad Fowler and would like to know more about his music, visit his minimalist official website. He is also on Instagram, and twitter.



When did you first start getting interested in musical improvisation?

It was probably when I started going to bluegrass jams as a kid in Arkansas. We’re not talking about fully improvised music here but we are talking about groups of people with no predetermined plan, not counting anything off and relying on a shared musical language vs their spoken or written languages to coordinate.

I specifically remember the sound of the musicians laughing as one of the tunes ended on my first trip. They didn’t laugh because it was funny. They laughed in amazement over what they had done, the specific likes of which they could not have guessed before starting.

After that it was in my teens on the guitar. I was into metal and punk guitar, but what I spent most of my time alone doing wasn’t practising riffs or solo techniques. I just sat for hours with my guitar and amp making sounds. Sometimes ugly, rarely consonant, clusters, textures, bends, vocal cries, anything I could do. I think it was music. It was definitely improvisation.

Much of what I do today stems more from those sessions with my guitar than with anything I ever learned formally.

Which artists, approaches, albums or performances involving prominent use of improvisation captured your imagination in the beginning?

There were many, but the one saxophonist that comes to mind that really woke me up was David S. Ware and his quartet. I love the juxtaposition of singable tunes and free improvisation. I tend to take this approach even when doing free improvisation, though I like to say I go from “corny” to noisy.

In Alien Skin, you can hear echoes of this idea on “Sentien Sentiment” where I start with a banal melody that I repeat many times through the first half of the piece. And then we end up improvising triumphantly as a group over what sounds like a beat set up by the corniest school marching band.

Speaking of Ware, a common thread through much of my musical inspiration has been William Parker. Whether it be on his recordings with Frank Lowe (whose music we performed in an early Mahakala Music released called Nothing But Love), his long stint with David S. Ware, his many performances with Peter Brotzmann or his own ambitious projects such as Essence of Ellington and Voices Fall From the Sky, William is a constant source of creative energy that specifically drives me to keep searching for my own essence.



Focusing on improvisation can be an incisive transition. Aside from musical considerations, there can also be personal motivations for looking for alternatives. Was this the case for you, and if so, in which way?


Everyone has some embarrassing memories from their childhood. For me, the one that stands out the most is a time when, at around 8 or 9 years old, the students in my class at school were told to write a little play which would then be acted out by their classmates.

My approach to this task was typical for me: I asked myself, “what would a normal kid my age do in this situation?” and then I did that.  I don’t mean that I behaved like a normal kid. I specifically tried to mimic what a normal kid would do. The result was that I created something childish and decidedly “uncool” compared to my classmates, who were all imagining some scenario from their favourite TV shows and movies.

That event has stuck in my head and helps me remember that I was born a natural outsider and my unconscious tendency is to act as if I’m not. I’ve rarely been aware of consciously concealing myself from others (or from myself) but in moments of self awareness I recognize myself as being encased in a shell of how I hope others will perceive me, the real version of me unable to pierce through.

Musical improvisation provides a practice ground for authenticity.

I rejected traditional “jazz” education precisely because of this veil I was trying to lift. Jazz education is all about patterns, formulas, and hero worship and emulation. Would-be jazz musicians adopt the lingo and practice regurgitating licks into carefully planned, narrow cavities amidst the jazz tunes’ chord changes and form.

The more I learned in jazz school, the less I wanted to play whatever it is we were learning to play. If playing jazz is just reciting pre-composed micro-pieces in new places and keys, I’d rather not play jazz. Jazz is a LARP (Live Action Role Play) for most students. LARPing is exactly what I was trying to avoid in my life, so I stopped adding to my catalogue of premasticated jazz nuggets and started trying to figure out how to play the music that was in my head.

What, would you say, are the key ideas behind your approach to improvisation? Do you see yourself as part of a tradition or historic lineage?

This is going to sound strange, but the real reason I love the saxophone is the sound of a good scream. It’s not all I do, but if it weren’t for the screaming I wouldn’t keep playing the instrument. So there’s that. When I improvise I will almost definitely work in some screaming.

Apart from screaming, improvisation for me is about communication and catharsis. Most of what I do lately starts without planning or any preconceived notion of what will happen other than who is playing and what instrument(s) they’ll play. I’m largely uninterested in playing music alone. The adventure of just starting to play with a group of people, maybe some who don’t know each other is a primary motivator.

What gets communicated via that music? For me, the ideal is something emotionally moving. Or really funny.

On a more tactical level, I think more like a “classical” composer than a jazz musician when I’m improvising. I think about the shape of the piece, introduction and restatement of themes, and that sort of thing.

I actively avoid anything like reverence for people or hero worship, so the question of being part of a tradition or lineage is tricky. There’s no way to escape the traditions that have influenced us, but I don’t actively track and attempt to identify with any lineage.

The root of “lineage” is “line”. I can’t imagine making art of any sort that is narrow enough to define itself as a point on a single line.

What was your own learning curve / creative development like when it comes to improvisation - what were challenges and breakthroughs?

There were probably two phases, neither of which ever ends but the second didn’t start until after the first was well in progress.

The first phase was getting to a place where I could play the things I heard in my head. Another name for this is “fundamentals”. It’s a combination of ear training and facility on the instrument. I started this process at around age 11 on the saxophone. That’s when I started learning to play tunes by ear on my own at home outside of any assignment given to me by my teachers.

I can never be a perfect instrumentalist or have a perfect ear, so this process will never end. But at a certain point, I developed the facility to get to phase 2.

If the first phase was developing the ability to play the ideas in my head, the second is about developing those ideas. Coming from a straight ahead jazz background, a lot of the work here is unlearning the patterns I mentioned previously. So much of jazz music is muscle memory. I don’t want to play music with my muscles. I want to play it with my mind and my heart.

Over the past few years I’ve had some formative experiences in this area. Preparing for the Nothing But Love record, after focused listening to hours of Frank Lowe, I practised slowing myself down and stopping any sound that wasn’t created with real intent. Frank’s playing is like this. He didn’t play licks. You get the sense that everything that came out of his horn was sincere.

When we recorded Dopolarians’ Garden Party in 2018, I had breakfast with William Parker, where he taught me about his philosophy that there are no rules in music.



“There is no ‘supposed to’”, he said. And with that he said everyone is born a certain way, and they should be true to that identity. One guy might come from a long line of people who only play music in major keys. That’s in his DNA. His mother only played in major keys, and her mother only played in major keys. So he only plays in major keys. That’s OK. There’s no rule that says it isn’t.

This sent me into a new period of musical self reflection. I listened closely to my own playing on record and would evaluate which things were clearly me and which were a put on or muscle memory or me copying someone else’s style.

Finally, over the past few years I’ve befriended the pianist Joel Futterman. We recorded two albums together early this year: The Deep with William Parker and Steve Hirsh and Ebb & Flow, a trio with just Joel and Steve.



Joel’s approach is unlike anyone else I know. It’s about intense, close listening and deep interaction at the micro- and macro levels. Joel developed close relationships with both Jimmy Lyons of Cecil Taylor Unit fame and Kidd Jordan, both of whom had or have the uncanny ability to follow and develop even the most complex and deeply textured music.

Joel and I talked a lot about what he refers to has phrases, connections, and resolutions. Digging into this has opened a whole new level of listening and contributing to improvised music.


 
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