Pitchfork

Pittsburgh's local public radio station, WDUQ, was responsible for some particularly unique late-night programming, especially on Sundays. Unable to sleep, dreading another middle school Monday, the diversion and mentally exhausting activity DUQ provided often allowed me to fall asleep with ease. Relevant specifically to this review, however, is what came on at 1:30 a.m., the timeslot I longed for during the week: Ken Nordine's Word Jazz.

Nordine would embark on tangents about colors, nagging wives, sit-down-showers, bohemians, whistling, movie scripts, and his favorite topic of discourse, language and thought. Perhaps most emblematic of Nordine's style was the constant personification and visualization of language and sound, exemplified in pieces like "Reaching into In" (available on the Rhino Word Jazz compilation), where, as the title explains, he attempts to reach into the very "in-ness" of "In". You can only imagine what a disappointment it was for a kid who grew up listening to this stuff to have to learn about semantics.

I haven't gotten to the cello-playing and compositions of Fred Katz yet because I didn't know who he was until last week. Until I heard the recent tribute, led by consistently adventurous cellist Fred Lonberg-Holm (Peter Brötzmann Tentet, Lightbox Orchestra), I had no idea Katz was responsible for a good share of the backing music that mingled with Ken Nordine's bizarre monologues over the airwaves each week.

The work with Nordine is what drew me into Katz's work; it would have been enough to secure his place in the history of strange music, but Lonberg-Holm's tribute brings to light solo cello LPs, work with Chico Hamilton, and a nice chunk of soundtrack compositions, most notably with Roger Corman (though of Katz's film work, only a piece written for a Burt Lancaster film-- in which Katz appears-- makes it on to the album). These are recordings I imagine many, including myself, will be more than inclined to hear after Valentine's convincing argument.

The execution by Lonberg-Holm, Wilco percussionist Glenn Kotche, and bassist Jason Roebke is at least partially responsible for this newfound enthusiasm, but the instrumental mastery and subdued sweetness of this recording isn't enough in and of itself: it stands up thanks to Katz's songs, presented with pristine delicacy and consideration.

John Corbett's liner notes suggest that Lonberg-Holm's interest in Fred Katz might have something to do with the shortage of cello-centric jazz musicians, but more than a cellist, Katz showcased the instrument in his pieces. Corbett remarks that the cello has roughly the same tonal range of the favored jazz instrument, tenor saxophone, yet the use of double stops, glissandi, pizzicato, and emphasis on timbral color are all focal points for Katz's work, accented twofold by Lonberg-Holm's choices as an interpreter.

The interplay between Jason Roebke's acoustic bass and Lonberg-Holm's cello is a particular pleasure, as they exploit their similar tone for dynamic counterpoint. Kotche's percussion might be easy to overlook, as his degree of professionalism and light touch make for seamless playing, but when he makes a pronounced gesture, as he does in the "The Squimp", it catches the listener by surprise-- and just ten minutes before the album ends.

The trio plays two standards and one original, allowing the listener to get a feel for what is specifically unique to the recording, and what is due to Katz's fairly idiosyncratic compositions. Lonberg-Holm's composition, "Mystery Kat", adapts to and explores Katz's rhythmic nuance and exotic harmonies. A gorgeously drawn-out, warbling rendering of "My Funny Valentine" shows one of the many appeals of cello in a jazz setting, especially to the distinctively reductive aesthetics of so many modern jazz musicians on the Atavistic label. There's no concern about breathing, as there would be with a horn, so notes can linger indefinitely.

Fred Katz's music is well served by Lonberg-Holm's trio, in spite of the fact that A Valentine for Fred Katz might be a more down-to-earth, traditional affair than its participants have been involved with in quite some time. Lonberg-Holm displays a reverence for Katz that saturates each track, bypassing the inane bravado that makes its way into so many jazz recordings, and making a somewhat brief 40-minute album feel remarkably full.