Recorded at the 2006 Vision Festival XI in New York, Renunciation is the sound of a band who has been playing together for a very long time -- drummer Guillermo E. Brown is the newest member and he's been around for more than seven years -- and who knows and understands the value of everything, from circular rhythm and mantra-like compositional structures to the extended gift of free improvisation within their own definition of the time/space continuum. Tenorman David S. Ware has released lots of different kinds of records in the past two decades. But those he's issued in the 21st century have been the most satisfying. His understanding of dynamic, force, color, and that rare thing that John Coltrane discovered and taught in finding a series of fluid modes that you defined through your horn to play in and improvise through to the next one are in evidence here throughout. Matthew Shipp's communication of theme, idea and bridge of ideas throughout the gig -- but most eloquently displayed on the relative simplicity that is the Alice Coltrane-like "Ganesh Sound" -- is majestic, dignified and purposeful. The centerpiece of this set is the three-part "Renunciation Suite." While much of what takes place within it is free-blowing, one can hear the wildly adventurous anchor that the rhythm section -- bassist William Parker and drummer Brown -- provide, particularly in those knotty and wily exchanges between Ware's horn, Shipp's piano, and Parker's bass. The time is out of the box, it stretches and strafes between Ware's intervallic exploration and Shipp's codified, open investigations into dissonance as harmonic interplay. But lest one think the rest of this date is some free-blowing excursion into excess, think again. "Mikuro's Blues" is a modal blues with a repetitive circular rhythm that sways, swaggers and strolls before it finds its way back into the reprise of "Ganesh Sound." Shipp's climbing and shimmering that middle register as Ware finds places to blow along every chord cluster make the cymbal and tom work of Brown and Parker's thematic, as well as schematic, bass patterns carry more weight. It feels like an elongated introduction to a tune that's been taking place all along. The disc closes on "Saturnian" which does not reflect Sun Ra so much as it does a sky's ear view of bebop, the blues, and even hard bop. Yes, but does so through the angles, twists, and kaleidoscopic twirls of Ware's soundworld. It stops, starts, tries on one aspect of the tradition, finishes with it, and breathes in another in its joyous three-minute-and-forty-three second sprint. For those who get Ware, this is another essential title in his discography. For those who don't yet but are open, this may be the one to put you over the line and into his camp. For those stalwart uptights who simply refuse to try, there's certainly some freshly recorded slab of museum-piece jazz to keep you happy while you chew your cud in the pasture. - Thomas Jurek
While it is always tempting to over-praise the final work of any major artist—in this case arguably the greatest jazz combo of the last twenty years—sometimes a more measured, nuanced approach is useful. After all, hagiography does little to situate such works within a larger oeuvre, and sometimes the task of contextualization is exactly what one most wants from criticism.
With that said, Renunciation, billed as the last incarnation of the David S. Ware quartet (Ware on saxophone, Matthew Shipp on piano, William Parker on bass, and Guillermo E. Brown on drums and percussion) feels less like an immense, concluding, culminating statement than one may hope. Certainly there are moments of profundity, especially in the massive theme of "Ganesh Sound and "Ganesh Sound (reprise), built around a simple, folk-like theme the reiteration of which provides the ideal setting for Ware's unencumbered musings. At just over eight and a half minutes, the first reading of the piece is as powerful as any statement the quartet has issued. More than anything else on the disc, "Ganesh Sound" captures best the essence of renunciation Ware addresses in his liner notes.
Much of the proceedings, however, are taken up with the less than focused "Renunciation Suite, a three part movement in which the individual members all step out, oftentimes to staggering fashion, but which, taken in the whole, ultimately loses momentum. "Renunciation Suite I is the least clear of all, with short interchanges between Ware and the trio, the terseness of which perhaps speak volumes about the mindset of the individual members as they near the end of their run. Perhaps not. Either way, the ambivalences of the piece and its lack of center—especially following the sheer weight of "Ganesh Sound —soon result in diminished returns.
"Renunciation Suite II, on the other hand, is a powerfully concise statement, with Shipp's blend of polyrhythms and quick stabbing runs setting the primary course. Brown is the essence of fluidity throughout, a watery shimmer. As always, Parker more than makes his presence known, giving plenty and receiving as much in return. "Renunciation III, a duo for Shipp and Parker, has much to applaud as well. It also, though, seems just a bit too long and looses focus during a lengthy, mid-range, arco-heavy section in the middle.
Revisiting "Mikuro's Blues —also found on Go See The World (Columbia, 1998) and the epic three disc set, Live In The World (Thirsty Ear, 2005)—is a stroke of genius and helps to provide some perspective on the working nature of the group. There's little else in the last twenty years as powerful as the combination of Shipp's block chords and Parker's looping syncopations, and it's a treat to hear them revisit this now standard tune. Ware seizes the moment, and all the majesty the group is capable of is once again allowed to shine forth.
Two pieces end Renunciation, the first being a reprise of the aforementioned "Ganesh Sound, a stately summation which should have ended the affair. Instead, the listener is treated to an unfortunate three minutes of crowd exhortation on the part of the emcee, as if both the audience and quartet needed to be convinced of continuing. Any sense of renunciation is lost by way of cheap hawking. When they do return, the group hits fast and hard through "Saturnian, full of abrupt stops and changes of direction. It's a fun romp, but one yearns instead for the grandeur hinted at, and oftentimes achieved, within the previous hour.
As a final testament, one may have hoped for something else. And yet, given Ware's own statements about the end of the group—simply, that they don't work that much in the U.S. anyway—one can't help but also think that this is perhaps the perfect way to close. After all, this is a working group, and as such, its music is ever always nothing more than a process of continual invention. Culmination, perhaps, isn't the point at all. In the end, then, what matters most are those countless interactions, both large and small, and the continued reverberations sent forth, sounds and feelings which will most certainly be heard for years to come. For now, we can be thankful for the decades of music from the David S. Ware quartet. We can be thankful for the gift they have shared. And we can be thankful for the ways in which they have helped us to re-hear. - Matthew Sumera
Renunciation documents this now-defunct quartet’s “farewell performance,” at the 2006 Vision Festival in New York City. As is usual with this group, the most satisfying moments occur when Ware plays to his sidemen’s strengths. “Renunciation Suite II,” for example, provides the freedom pianist Matthew Shipp and bassist William Parker need if they’re to sound their best. Preordained structure is eschewed in favor of an elongated, concentrated burst of energy. Ware’s frenetic linearity is of a mind with Shipp’s. The two burn circles around one another, while Parker slices drummer Guillermo E. Brown’s super-fast tempo into thirds and halves (I’d have liked to hear Parker lock into Brown’s ride cymbal, but that’s not the kind of thing he generally does). Ware is especially powerful on such medium-tempo modal tunes as “Mikuro’s Blues,” where he can express his swinging side and indulge his in-and-out kick, though Shipp’s ham-handed (and lead-footed) accompaniment and Parker’s insecure ostinato mitigate the pleasure. A note: Following the disc’s penultimate tune, co-producers Ware and Steven Joerg include the nearly three-minute ovation, topped by a nameless MC shouting the players’ names. It’s a hideous production decision-a vulgar and self-indulgent gesture that contributes nothing of value. - Chris Kelsey
Last year's Balladware was relatively soft and accessible, some of David S. Ware's albums in the past were relatively hard (but rewarding), this one might even convince those not entirely convinced by the concept of free jazz. Ware is accompanied by some of his usual partners, Matthew Shipp on piano, Guillermo E. Brown on drums and William Parker on bass, all top-notch players to say the least. The album was recorded live at the Vision Festival in New York in 2006, and it is magnificent. You can hear these guys have played for years together and anticipate each other's moves. "Ganesh Sound", the first piece, brings a slow and melodic piano line over which Ware floats so spiritually with a deep yet expansive tone, melodic too, but harsher, crying, shouting over the melody without disturbing it. The "Renunciation Suite" falls into three pieces, the first one intervallic, with unaccompanied solos of Ware on sax alternating with Shipp, Brown and Parker playing as a band, which gives the strange impression of strangers meeting on a road and starting a conversation, sometimes agitated, sometimes subdued, sometimes sad, moving into a more boppish mode, with Shipp exploring some dissonant sounds at times plucking the strings of his piano directly, again in call and response with David S. Ware. The second part is more fierce and intense abstract interplay, leading into a calmer third part, but no less intense, entirely made up of complex piano and arco bass interplay. And that's possibly the best aspect of this album, that Ware gives ample space to his bandmates, something which has not always been the case in the past (I should check but I think that on Live In The World, his triple live album, Ware can be heard at all times!). "Mikuro's Blues" is a blues indeed, but transformed in an interesting way, with repetitive playing by Shipp. David S. Ware has made many albums, using various angles of approach, such as including electronics, or referencing to tradition, or just organizing some hard blowing fests, and most of them are worth hearing, but he's always at his best in a live context, with the audience playing a key role as enthusiastic response mechanism, and this album should not be missed. - freejazzblog.org
Tracks
1. Introduction
2. Ganesh Sound
3. Renunciation Suite I
4. Renunciation Suite II
5. Renunciation Suite III
6. Mikuro's Blues
7. Ganesh Sound (Reprise)
8. Saturnian
WILLIAM PARKER bass
GUILLERMO E. BROWN drums
MATTHEW SHIPP piano
DAVID S. WARE saxophone
Music composed by David S. Ware
Recorded live on June 18, 2006 at Vision Festival XI at the Orensanz Art Center in New York City.
AUM Fidelity – AUM042