Theoretically, could a robot play jazz? Like any other genre as old and storied as jazz in all its various permutations throughout the years—such a vigorously, consistently studied, practiced, and performed art—this style has endured largely through its cultivation and use of certain basic properties. Many of these have to do with sheer mechanics—what tones are produced through which instruments, the rhythms used, the essence of rolling-triplet swing, the ballad, the burner, the 12-bar blues, the 32-bar A-A-B-A form, etc. It makes sense that any mechanical attributes to a style of music could indeed be emulated by a computer processing unit, and this simple fact, from classical to rock, to hip-hop, to disco and dance and back again, has created a massively huge macro-genre of electronically generated music, (perhaps foolishly) blanketed simply as “electronica.” But there’s something cold behind a lot of electronic music, the icy beating heart of a metronomic processing unit, regurgitating simply what it’s been programmed to do. But jazz is a bit different—there’s something else there; something less predictable, inherently tied to the emotional and imaginative responses of which only the human brain is truly capable. This, of course, is one of the style’s ultimate calling cards, the art of improvisation. That wonderful, whimsical way an artist can use technical mastery combined with the creative human spirit to make something wholly unique with each go around—to tell a different story each time.
It is this element that James Bradell, a.k.a. Funki Porcini, wisely clings to in his moody, meditative compositions, and indeed what shines most brightly on this, his sixth official release for the cult-followed experimental hip-hop label Ninja Tune. And actually, this is really the only element of jazz that carries through to Bradell’s work (except for swing... yeah, he can do that. Hard.) Much like his contemporaries, Squarepusher and Amon Tobin, Porcini seems to be on the cusp of jazz music’s next step, dropping a traditionally structured format, traditional band setups, etc. and opting instead for a visceral, modal approach, creating soundscapes based on simple motifs—generally bass and drum grooves—and building from there, layering soft textures and harmonic undertones to solidify the feel before allowing an instrument to head off to the races—a synth, a vibraphone, a piano, a demonically processed saxophone (Charlie Parker... in Hell?). Instruments flow from the recognizable—found in the bewilderingly precise, bop-tastic drumming, walking upright bass-lines, and scattered horn samples—to the mysterious, synthetic, and obviously processed, including his trademark time-stretched manipulations of vocals.
The record is kicked off in an almost predictably (given Ninja Tune’s recent track-record) lounge-heavy, lazy sort of mood, first with the wonderfully light and airy “Belisha Beacon,” and followed close by the much darker, funkier, soulful sort of jam called “Bright Little Things.” But a more curious selection comes next: “The Magic of Fernando Del Ray,” a bright, big-band swing tune with upbeat, animated plucked strings, and rip-roaring solos. Despite the track’s lack of a definite hook—something to really grab hold of and listen for (actually, a defining feature of Funki Porcini’s overall aesthetic)—it remains one of the album’s most fascinating, repeatable songs, scorching fast, inseparable from bebop, but also playful, and almost cartoonish in its execution, like a jazz combo playing on Marvin the Martian’s spacehub. These first three tracks also do a nice job of setting up a record rife with variety, as Bradell pulls from many styles throughout the record’s ten cuts. On skips from drum’n’bass-flavored hysteria to lolling lounge to doleful ambience, and even into some heavy hip-hop infused beats. “Undermud” is especially intriguing with its syrupy flow and relaxed, almost behind-the-beat drums that create a hypnotic pulse.
Computers will (hopefully... let’s not get into “Terminator” conspiracy theories quite yet) never be without their organic components—the men and women who so painstakingly connect their brains with circuit boards to create recordings for us to ponder and enjoy. Those in the Ninja Tune coup (which is currently on a refreshing upswing with the release of Bonobo’s brilliant Black Sands earlier this year), are thankfully putting in the extra effort to connect with listeners in a way that is undeniably human. Funki Porcini is nowhere without his laptop, but his style simply can’t be divorced from what comes naturally to a true musician: the creative, mindful spirit that is overflowing with fleeting, in-the-moment ideas that blurt forth with both excitement and control.
Track List:
1. Belisha Beacon
2. Bright Little Things
3. The Magic Hands of Fernando Del Rey
4. Moog River
5. On An Inconsequential Afternoon
6. Robert Crumb’s Natural Gait
7. This Ain’t The Way To Live
8. Undermud
9. Walking Up
10. The 3rd Man
