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For decades now, double-bassist Edgar Meyer has been rearranging the
molecules of various musical forms -- classical, bluegrass, folk, jazz
-- bending them into some elusive admixture sometimes called
"neo-bluegrass;" a sort of American vernacular music redux. But really
it's both a lot more (and a lot less) complex than that: skill born of
intuition. Whether side-by-side banjo-player Béla Fleck or cello
virtuoso Yo Yo Ma, Meyer seems to magically see around blind corners,
to feel just the place where musical bridges meet -- like a hobo
jumping a musical train-of-thought. Racing up behind him on the path,
mandolin sensation Chris Thile (Nickel Creek and most recently Punch
Brothers) seemed to pop up on the scene fully formed. Tagged early as a
prodigy, Thile (who too seemed bent on coloring outside of the lines)
made his mark in 1994 at age 12, with his first solo album, Leading Off. It would seem inevitable their paths would cross. It wasn't until 2003
that they'd begin to exchange ideas musically and eventually take this
experiment out into the world; Meyer playing a sort of meditative
straight-man to Thile's barely contained buoyancy.
Their debut duo album is simply and aptly titled Edgar Meyer & Chris Thile. No better label for a set of distinctive pieces that could have been imagined only by them. The twelve original compositions showcase the pair alone in deep
musical conversation. We're privy to their proclivities (Thile likes
sprints, rapid daring intervals) and idiosyncrasies (Meyer can bend his
gorgeous bass into a sound that is both sorrow and joy at once); we
witness how each swirls around and away from the other. Then they
regroup in step -- all loping lines and canting angles -- so much of
it, despite its busy intricacy, laced with humor.
While the music side-steps categorization, you can tell where they've
both been -- like mud on the shoe, there are traces of all of the
side-road journeys. Setting out, the opening piece, "Ham and Cheese" is
about as wide-open-spaces-in-the sun as you can get -- Thile's frolic
set against Meyer's assured, good natured lines. But by track two, "The
Farmer and the Duck," you realize that you're privy to something else
entirely. Meyer's sharply angled bowing set against Thile's spiky,
trickling runs halt all of a sudden to melt into a sort of a Django
Reinhardtesque hot café motif. "I Wasn't Talking To You" swings from
stark brush painting -- Thile's more pared-down-to-the-syllables
approach into Meyer's thorny retorts that vacillate between
introspective and funky. "Rabbit Cake" is a swirl of moods: think
Jackson Pollack, where Thile is the spray of paint speckles, Meyer the
swirl of long, unbroken lines. And stand outs like "FRB," "Fence Post
in the Front Yard" and "This Is the Pig" showcase the reach of their
influence and abilities within the space of one song.
Much of Edgar Meyer & Chris Thile provides a chance to step back
and listen to two musicians, a generation apart, not just "noodle" but
truly explore and extrapolate. . Meyer is an exceedingly fluid,
brilliant player reaching as deep into his soul as he does back into
the repertoire, all of it -- literally -- at his fingertips; Thile,
his instrument full of joy and restlessness, it seems hasn't stopped
long enough to have anyone tell him that he can't.
Like a lot of improvisational music set down for prosperity -- the rush
of spontaneity that comes from sitting in a room, big or small, concert
hall or sleeping porch -- fades a bit on disc. If you've seen these two
live, there is a measure of urgency that's lost. Perhaps it's because
the mood shifts so abruptly or that leaps in sequencing on-disc would
not be the same as those taken in real time. But it's a virtuoso album,
full of risk and magic and dark passages. In other words, if you're
looking for background atmosphere, go elsewhere, but if you're looking
for something that works as a weather vane of the moment, start right
here. You'll find a bit of everything, from the surprise of a new day
to the dissonance of the 3 a.m. soul. It's life-is-good music for a
moment where the good is there--but sometimes hard to find.
