Mike Thomas, Rembrandt Trio, Pol Brennan, Tri Nguyen: New Music for October 2023

 

 

 

Mike Thomas might be the only country artist who was actually born in Tennessee, albeit Knoxville rather than that town that begins with N. He’s also intriguing because he tried to carve out a musical career back in 2004, walked away for 13 years, and came back for another go. His new album Diamonds is a good reason to familiarize yourself with Thomas. Some reviews have noted it has a “vintage” vibe, which is the case in several ways. There’s a bit of blue-collar Merle Haggard in Thomas’ songs. “Room on the Dance Floor” opens with the line I don’t go to the parties/I don’t run with the crowd/I’m a working man/With a family now, but the song’s narrator admits he wonders what other directions his life could have taken. Discontent? Quite the opposite as it slides into a remembrance of the woman he was lucky enough to meet on that dance floor. In many ways, though, the most vintage part of the music is its evocation of gritty rock n’ roll, which is why he also draws Tom Petty comparisons. Or perhaps some John Cougar Mellencamp. On one level, “Bricks, Boards & Stones” is a country smorgasbord–tractor, dogs, God–but it’s another standup guy song–I still miss her when I’m gone–with the theme that the right decision is the hardest one to make. The title track is definitely old-style country with its pedal steel-forward arrangement, but again Thomas celebrates a working stiff who’s glad he wasn’t born rich: How would I know which way to run? There’s a lot of power and gravel in Thomas’ voice, and fire in his pen. 

The Rembrandt Trio is a bit of a sly joke as it is anchored by a Dutch pianist named Rembrandt Freichs. To add a few more punchlines, he is trained in jazz and classical music and sometimes plays tunes so artfully structured they evoke that other Rembrandt. Freichs doesn’t like to be tied down, though, so his band has four members counting himself–another little bit of whimsy?–and includes two Iranian musicians that make sure he doesn’t go too longhair on us. One is vocalist Mohammad Motamedi whose keening is definitely not classical or Dutch. The latest project is titled Intizar–Songs of Longing, the first part of which is a Turkish word that means wait. Intizar uses urgent piano notes to frame Motamedi’s expressive vocals that skirt the boundaries of operatic intonation. By contrast, “Az Khoure Javanan”(roughly, the priest is good) places Freichs at the keys of an organ for a somber song that feels like it was torn from a 14^th century songster. Mohamedi sings in Arabic, his voice adorned with laryngeal vibrato to produce an effect that’s somewhere between a Marian chant and a Muslim call to prayer. “In the Middle of the Garden” is a 15-minute composition that is equal parts meditative piano, background bass, understated percussion, and lung-emptying vocals. If you’re the kind of person who appreciates ensembles capable of sharing musical space with symphonic orchestras, there are astonishing moments on this record. 

I recently attended a farewell concert from the Donegal band Clannad. I reckon after 50 years it’s time to come off the road. Of course, musicians never actually retire. If you know Clannad, you are aware that it’s a Brennan family band–Enya is the little sister. Flautist Pól Brennan has been a Clannad mainstay, but he has also had an active solo career that involves film scores and collaborations with musicians around the globe. You can now add composer and arranger of orchestral suites to the list. The Irish Revolution is his take on events that took place between 1919-21 that ultimately gave rise to the Irish Republic. The cost was that predominately Protestant Ulster remained part of Great Britain. (Partitions are generally fraught, hence “The Troubles,” clashes between Catholics, Protestants, and their allied armed groups.)  The Irish Revolution is reminiscent of the compositions of Shaun Davey (The Brendan Voyage, Granuaile, The Relief of Derry, etc.) That is to say, it is an instrumental work that seeks to evoke moods that take us from the decision to revolt to the partition. It’s tricky, as the composer has to match sounds to what an audience is likely to infer. Quick, frantic-sounding string notes and pounding drums are perfect for “The IRA Goes to War,” as is the drumming that alternates from sounding distant-to-near. “Volunteers and the Brigade” has a more mournful and ominous edge to it, an effect achieved by using darker-toned violas and cellos. “War Grinds On” is a combo of the previous two with repeated bass notes and background timpani and metal sheets creating thunderous effects that drive home the feeling of a constant slog. Is it a bit heavy-handed to use vaguely villainous tones for “Ulster Unionists?” Probably, but there are few neutrals on the subject. Or on “Partition,” which is literally a tragic air followed by piano and violin that’s both hopeful and melancholy.   

 

Since I’m on the topic of instrumental music, let me give a shout out to Vietnamese pianist/composer Tri Nguyen. He also plays a Vietnamese zither called the dan-tranh, which he has mounted in such a way that he can switch between the two instruments akin to how splits his time between Saigon and Paris. On Duos Alone he crosses East-West borders musically. I have seldom heard a pianist who plays the high, plinky white keys as much as Tri Nguyen, but he uses them to draw upon the higher-pitched sounds one often hears in Vietnamese music. Another reason for doing so is that it frees his righthand to roam the lower parts of his instrument. I’ve not seen supporting material for this assertion, but I imagine it helps him establish the album’s seemingly contradictory name; that is, it sounds at times as if two different pianos are at work when it’s really just him. I’m going with the sentiment that if my take isn’t true, it ought to be. “Weeping Mango Leaves” has a splash of zither to go with the piano; if you listen carefully and if you close your eyes, you can imagine rainwater running off a forest canopy. Its flirtation with bent notes is deliberate; after all, even steady rain changes. You’ll hear more zither on “Scent of the River,” but as soon as he puts his hands on the keyboard, you’ll notice that Tri Nguyen has a definite affinity for water. It’s a lovely piece made all the more so because its delicate melody doesn’t always go where we’d expect Western music to wend. Bach fans will be intrigued by his take on one of Johann’s arias in a variation Nguyen calls “Sigh of Sorrows.” Most of the music on Duos Alone is quiet and mood–it was composed as tribute to his departed mother, which might be his reason for the album title–but classical fans will also hear some echoes of Ravel and Vivaldi. 

 

Rob Weir