Pitchfork

Every Day, the Cinematic Orchestra's third full-length release, proves that occasionally it's not what you do that really counts, but whom you do it with. By enlisting new recruits to his Orchestra, Jason Swinscoe has sloughed the derivative mannerisms that marred 1999's Motion and 2000's Remixes 1998-2000-- where those two albums sounded stiff and crippled by the weight of overt influence, Every Day is both stately and loose. And by ditching his Miles Davis/Gil Evans stance and embracing freer jazz elements, Swinscoe has finally achieved a much-needed spaciousness and grandeur in his music.

Much of the credit for this new openness must be given to guest vocalist Fontella Bass-- Lester Bowie's fearsomely voiced ex-wife and erstwhile member of the Art Ensemble of Chicago-- whose presence brings an immense dignity to the album. Just as David Axelrod's self-titled 2001 LP on Mo'Wax was pushed beyond its label's confines by Lou Rawls's performance of "Loved Boy", so does Bass's rendition of "All That You Give" push Everyday beyond the scratchadelic goofiness I've come to associate with Ninja Tune.

"All That You Give" begins with harpist Rhodri Davis laying out chromatic clusters of sound through which strings and Luke Flowers's leaning drums make a steady course. After a swift key change, Fontella's august vocal emerges. The simple lyric and Bass's cooing and humming give the song an almost hymnal quality. It's as though Bass is imprecating a soul, attempting to coax someone's essence into view.

Such an opener is hard to follow and Swinscoe knows it. The opening minutes of "Burn Out" consist of percussion and a stern bass figure similar to the one that underpinned the Irresistible Force's "Nepalese Bliss". Swinscoe's giving the listener time to absorb the solemn power of "All That You Give" and prepare for the remainder of the album. Three minutes into "Burn Out", sampled gospel voices intertwine before John Ellis begins an extended electric piano solo. Closely stacked horns occasionally puncture his lines, recalling the tonalities Swinscoe proliferated through Motion.

"Flite" picks up the tempo and heads the listener into marimba-lead broken beats. Flowers' maintenance of the breaks is impressive and the other players leave him to show off through the track's six minutes. There's no sitting out during "Evolution"-- the second track Fontella Bass brings her wisdom to. Starting off almost as a spoken word piece, with Ellis's piano commenting on Bass's words, "Evolution" quickly transforms into a fiery prayer with Bass hollering the title. At this point the Cinematic Orchestra really parade their skills and channel the spirit of Les McCann's cosmic jazz masterpiece, Invitation to Openness-- albeit updated with DJ Food-member Patrick Carpenter's lysergic turntable scratches.

Just as "Flite" belonged to drummer Flowers, "The Man with Movie Camera" belongs to soprano saxophonist Tom Chant. He threads sharp Pharoahic lines through Flowers's cascading kicks, rimshots, tom-tom rolls until the group surges out into territory first mapped by Alice Coltrane. Then, after those minutes of mystical groove, Every Day turns back to serenity for the contemplative, doubting, restless "All Things to All Men", featuring Roots Manuva. For the performance of his career, Roots Manuva drops his Stockwell rudie schtick for a philosophical self-examination that never descends into navel-gazing or therapy-babble.

Every Day closes with the title track, a showcase for the man who has provided the surest foundation throughout, bassist Phil France. France gets ninety seconds to bare his soul before Swinscoe brings in Flowers's delicate cymbal dance to add tonal color. The combination is cosmic drum-n-bass: Flowers and France match Fontella Bass's grandeur and forcefulness. I can't conceive of a more fitting conclusion to this incredibly commanding album. Swinscoe has escaped his influences and marked out his own genus of non-aligned spiritual music.

While Every Day is often too serene to be appropriately described as "fire music", the essence of Coltrane and Albert Ayler are very much present. Yet, as impressed as I am by the record, I can't delude myself that this album will alter the opinions of those of you who insist that jazz is dead. Lacking the mathy awkwardness of Andrew Pekler's Station to Station or the jam-band frivolity of Medeski, Martin & Wood, Every Day lacks angles that can be used as polemical poignards. Outside of the downtempo/chill-out community, this album's even distribution of majesty and poise may work against its acceptance in more outré circles-- more fool those who don't embrace what is, in the simplest terms, a flawless collection.