In Threads – Orange Justice

Eyeless

Well, well, well. Look what these cats dragged in. There’s a witticism of Simon Munnery‘s that’s springs to mindd with this record: “Shakespeare says, ‘brevity is the soul of wit’. I say ‘Bum’. Thus, I win”. In Threads‘ schtick, such as it is, lies in vignettes of skittery improvisation, offering mere soupçons of potentially longer pieces.

Which is quite marvellous, frankly. I don’t know how many free improv shows you go to, dear reader, but I’ll wager if you’ve seen a number greater than zero you’ll have seen an ensemble go on a little longer than is entirely necessary. There is, one might say, an amount of time before you start losing interest and wanting to have a scratch. In Threads avowedly live within the ball-scratching window.

In Threads is a trio of drums, cello and bits and bobs, by the seems of things — two members of Brighton’s Art Ensemble Of Chicago-esque Bolide and local poetry vixen Verity Spott. She’s also a fine player of various instruments, but doesn’t play music so much these days. Which is a shame.

Anyway, the music. We’ve got a smorgasbord of ideas and directions here. “The Sad Truth About Orange Justice” does a fine line in melancholy, tremulous cello lines over preponderous piano and drums, something like if Belá Bartok was feeling sad mood because he had to teach hyperactive free jazz kids. Opener “The Weather” sits on some open chords, resolutely avoiding resolution like a moribund cloud. “Lots of Beginnings And Lots of Ends” sounds something like a plumber sitting in with a ’60s jazz rhythm section.

It’s possible I’ve framed this to make it seem funny or something, but I don’t mean it like that; there’s certainly nothing “funny” about it, but it’s not lacking in mirth, and levity. There’s a kind of playfulness that’s never “wacky” about it, a tempestuous oscillation between free improv tropes and desperately veering away — a moment on “Pain Break” where, after a few bars of assiduously playing closely with each other over some fractured arpeggios, they wilfully disappear into some other direction before drawing to an as-ever sudden ending. “I Dipped My Moon Tube In It” does a fine line in a dripping chaos of scattered cocktail jazz piano over hyperactive drum twittering; the kind of thing that sounds at once entirely consummate without necessarily being so.

Perhaps that’s the magic of In Threads, or at least the relevance of the name — there’s never a point where they allow themselves to be over exposed. Everything is just so, just enough of a tune, enough of a blow out, enough of a pastiche of a walking bassline, etc, that it’d be very difficult to get bored of the record. It being tantalising is imperative — very little doesn’t leave you wanting more, but it’s all for the good that the listener doesn’t get more. The opposite of a sickly record. Continent af, as Aristotle might say.

-Kev Nickells-