Kaleidoscopes (Ornette Coleman Songbook)

This recording, dating from 1992, is still an auspicious undertaking. Other than Charlie Haden, Don Cherry, and Pat Metheny, few musicians have taken anything but "Lonely Woman" from Coleman's vast selection of compositions. The reasons are myriad, but the most common among them seems to be the degree of freedom Coleman insists upon in his works. While his compositional methodology has always been systematic, it also insists on the intuitiveness of the musician interpreting the work: there are no specific chords to play over the melody or a chart arranging harmonic and rhythmic changes. This presents problems for musicians, even superior ones who need that ground to move from. Enter Paul Plimley and Lisle Ellis, two improvisors who play primarily as a duo determined to cut an entire disc of Coleman tunes despite the massive problem of instrumentation. Coleman almost never features a keyboard in his ensembles (Geri Allen being the only notable exception, and that one after this recording was made). the artist's particular voice as a composer and as a saxophonist came from the manner in which he approached the musical possibilities of the saxophone: since his line comes from breath it effects his rhythmic and phrasing characteristics, as well as his variance from concert pitch (his microtonality). Plimley's approach to Ornette's music would have to be different given the sonances of the piano and its vibrant voicings — which he uses for all their worth. Ellis is a closer bet in that he favors a smaller instrument, one that does not reverberate or sustain notes for as long as bassists to these days. He offers Plimley's colored readings a heady and stalwart counterpart by playing both the role of pulse-keeper and contrapuntal improviser. As the pair slash through "Long Time No See," "Poise," and "Dancing In Your Head" it becomes clear what the duo hopes to achieve: to reveal the luxuriant, inherent lyricism in the artist's compositions and, in "Beauty Is a Rare Thing," "Street Woman," and "Folk Tales," the cost of such a lyricism. Freedom carries with it, especially in a duo setting, a tremendous weight, and one that almost overcomes the pair on numerous occasions — especially "Dancing in Your Head," which was written for a septet originally. Here we find Plimley using different chord voicings and single note runs via accent and dynamic variations to compensate harmonically and tonally for the skeletal band. It works. Coleman's voice shines through the proceedings largely because of Plimley's drastic piano phrasing and Ellis' intense focus on counterpoint as a way inside the intricate interval movements the artist constructs inside his melodic framework. It's a dazzling set, one worth hearing again and again just to cipher how they did it in the first place, but the pleasure inherent in such daring music — making is, in fact, beyond measure.