Undersung and often ignored during his lifetime, Julius Eastman (1940-1990) is an artist whose influence and reputation seems to have grown exponentially in the decades since his death. Black, gay, impish and provocative – at a time when few contemporary American composers were any of those things – Eastman seems to speak with a certain urgency to 21st-century audiences. The latest of many recent tributes is this mammoth, continuing anthology of his work by the sonically omnivorous LA collective Wild Up. Eastman’s manuscripts are hard to find (many were infamously dumped on the streets when Eastman was evicted from his New York apartment in the late 80s; friends and lovers attest that Eastman even lined his cat litter trays with discarded manuscript pages), so Wild Up have had to diligently unearth scraps of scores and tapes of old performances to complete this seven-volume project.
After the ecstatic minimalism of Vol 1: Femenine and the wonderfully demented Vol 2: Joy Boy comes Vol 3: If You’re So Smart, Why Aren’t You Rich? The 20-minute title track, written in 1977, is the rarest composition here: a series of rising and falling chromatic scales that are slowly mutilated, complete with fiddly orchestrations, background countermelodies, vocal harmonies and instrumental freakouts that serve as a commentary. The 12-minute The Moon’s Silent Modulation, from 1970, is an episodic piece of serialism, featuring brief forays into discordant operatic harmonies, swing-style walking bass, rumbling cellos and two pianos that appear to be a fraction of a tone apart.
Best of all is a thrilling version of Eastman’s 1979 composition Evil N****r. It’s minimalist, but not in the static, deadpan, additive manner of Reich and Glass: this is a wild, sensual, high-intensity, maximalist minimalism that’s as unsettling as its title. It starts with jabbering, rumbling pianos, then piles on strings that are initially lush and romantic but end up neurotic and terrifying. It’s demotic, demonic and blissfully delirious stuff.
Also out this month
Dolphin (Strut Records, 15 June) is a collaboration between veteran Italian ambient composer Gigi Masin and British pianist Greg Foat, and it is the most blissful, aqueous and dreamy piece of smooth jazz that you could possibly imagine.
In a slightly more edgy vein is Distance of the Moon (Colorfield Records, 9 June), on which New York saxophonist Nora Stanley, sometimes playing modal solos, sometimes playing real-time harmonies through FX pedals, is backed by the woozy analogue synths, organs and muted pianos of Benny Bock.
On Free Folk (self-released, 9 June), Norwegian violinist Inger Hannisdal plays solo melodies – often inspired by Nordic folk song – but using an instrument that has been prepared with assorted clips, which create metallic effects, forced harmonics and ghostly percussive textures.
