Logical Fallacies

Logical Fallacies was filmed and recorded at Torpedoverkstedet in Horten. The concert movie was shown on the national broadcasting station NRK june 2022.
You can watch Logical Fallacies at NRK.
Buy the music at Bandcamp

Logical fallacies Cover Notes

Scheen Jazzorkester is not your typical big band. For one, there is no band leader. The orchestra’s members decide what to play, commissioning works from composers of their own choosing. Top-notch, classically trained musicians balance equally top-notch improvisors. Bridging the gap between musicians accustomed to improvising and those not, Rosland introduced a concept he calls contribute. Rather than writing out every single note to be played, he employs elements of indeterminate notation similar to the kind used in the minimalist school of composing. The concept requires that all musicians pay attention and make creative decisions on the spur of the moment.

The combination of musicians with different backgrounds adds up to an exceptionally wide palette of tone colors and dynamic range, combined with a creative force to be reckoned with. In particular, the orchestra has a rich and perfectly intoned deep and dark register. Line Rosland on bass clarinet alongside Åsgeir Grong on bass trombone make a significant contribution to the band’s sophisticated bass-end timbre. Add to this the band’s ability to articulate tiny nuances in quiet passages, coupled with Audun Kleive’s rare skill in maintaining momentum even at the lowest levels: this band can make powerful statements at a whisper. Rosland exploits these qualities extensively in this recording.

The musicians on this recording are permanent members, Even Hermansen (guitar) being the exception. This is Rosland’s second set of compositions for Scheen Jazzorkester, the first being Tamanoar.

Conspirational theories and other Logical Fallacies are rife on social media and have played a large part in recent events on the world stage. These events have inspired the title of this record and all the pieces on it.

Rosland has adopted an unconventional approach here, quite different to Tamanoar.

Themes comprise series of angular motifs rather than conventional melodic lines. By interweaving these motifs with layers of repeating melodic and rhythmic figures, Rosland is able to create evolving textures with changing color and density. He imbues these textures with varying degrees of dramatic tension, sometimes dwelling and poetic, sometimes aggressive, even brutal. We can sense that the logical fallacies mentioned in the titles have inspired these moods, without the need to interpret anything too literally. Nevertheless, each of the pieces on this album seems to be driven by an underlying plot. Like scenes in a drama, we can sense that something is going on. In several of the pieces, things seem to fall apart: the foreground dissolving to reveal the background. Ad hominem, the first song on the album, is a case in point. Towards the end, Thomas Johansen mutes his trumpet, changing the sound from an open relaxed mood to one of nervous intensity. He has our full attention up to the point where this curtain of anxiety is drawn to one side, leaving the bass clarinet unveiled, alone and exposed until the velvety brass fabrics cover up again.

The improvised solos seem to portray characters who are compelled by the underlying plot in each piece. Unlike displays of technical prowess that are ubiquitous in jazz, the solos on this album are more geared towards expressing facets of a personality, one that reacts to and engages with the orchestra. The aforementioned solo by Thomas Johansen is one example. Ad hominem refers to the rhetorical technique of attacking the person rather than the point being made. Is Thomas the attacker or the one being attacked, or is he someone else? The Strawman sets the scene for two solos. Guttorm Guttormsen in free flight on the flute is followed by an astonishing drum solo by Audun Kleive. Just before the drum solo, things start falling apart (on purpose of course). Then Kleive seems to fall apart himself, one part of him getting ahead of the other, before finally coming together again: a bit like the phasing techniques used by Steve Reich. The difference being that whilst Reich’s phasing pieces were completely abstract in nature, this solo by Kleive is highly expressive and dramatic. Rune Klakegg portrays a mercurial character on Slippery Slopes. The spikey organ sound he uses is perfect for this dodging, darting solo, contrasting with the glacial theme in the orchestra. Catch him if you can! The threatening guitar riff at the start of Ad Populum is a signal to run for cover. Here comes Andre Kassen on soprano and that means energy. The sky is not the limit. Just when you think he can’t go any further, he does.

Roger Jeffs

Tamanoar

Tamanoar was recorded in Rainbow Studiosin Oslo.
Buy the music at Platekompaniet

Say hello to Tamanoar, the giant anteater. The tamanoar is rather peculiar animal with a long-pointed head and a huge bushy tail. It walks on its fists and despite having no teeth, can easily devour thirty thousand ants in one day with its ridiculously long tongue. So what’s with the Tamanoar and this music? The answer may lie in Jon Øystein Rosland’s preoccupation with the concept of gesture in music. Rosland thinks of gesture as any movement that expresses something. This something could be an emotion, personality, intent, a facial expression and more. If we were to watch a choreography with the sound turned off, we could say that we were experiencing visual music. Rosland turns this idea around and attempts to create movement that we can hear, without seeing. Rosland seems to have asked himself, if I had a giant anteater in my garden and he wanted to dance, what would it sound like?

Tamanoar isn’t the only beast in this suite. Watch out for the Latrodectus (black widow spider). Apparently, some spiders tune the strings that make up their web like musical instruments. When the right note is plucked by an unsuspecting victim, the spider knows the weight and location of the next meal. This piece opens with Rune Klakegg weaving his web on the accordion, an instrument that Joe Zawinul once referred to as “the only truly analogue synthesizer”.

Snake Oil and Sjarlatan make up a pair that share some common ground. Here, Rosland contemplates the peddlers of quick fixes. In the old days, unscrupulous salesman could fool people into buying snake oil in bottles, as a cure-all. Nowadays, we are offered metaphorical snake oil in politics and in social media, as well as in the marketplace. Rosland conjures up the essence of conmanship in audible gestures. Snake Oil presents some of the thematic material that the rest of the suite builds on, but you really don’t want to drink the potion that Børge-Are Halvorsen cooks up in the opening passage on alto. Beware, when listening to Sjarlatan (charlatan): Thomas Johansen on trumpet is definitely not to be trusted and neither is Magne Rutle on trombone. Not to mention Line Bjørnør Rosland, on bass clarinet, who would love to lead you up the garden path. In fact, don’t believe a note anyone is playing.

Oppidum, meaning settlement, examines the intricacies of urban living. In any settlement or city, tensions will arise between individual interests and what benefits the collective good. Civilization, depending on moral codes and statuary laws, is necessary for urban societies to exist and develop. In Oppdidum, tensions arise and resolve at the hustle-bustle pace typical of city life. Sections with conflicting or lonely solo-voices seamlessly transform into choral unity.

Rosland is concerned that the foundations of civilization, that have worked so well on an urban scale, may have the opposite effect on a global scale, eventually making the planet inhabitable. Nevertheless, Habitable is full of hope. André Kassen flies high and free like a bird on soprano. Towards the end, Jan Olav Renvåg (bass) seems to be gesturing a plea: please keep the planet habitable.

Lemuria, like Atlantis, is a mythical country. We will never find it, so how can anyone get lost there? The answer, my friend, may be floating around at sea, in a bottle, waiting to be recovered. In the meantime, we can listen to the three interludes that share the title, Lost in Lemuria. In these pieces, it is apparent that Rosland’s musical palette is not derived from mainstream jazz. For one thing, there is no beat. Then there are no chord progressions. In fact, chords are only marginally present if at all. Instead, there seem to be two planes of movement. One is a slowly repeating ostinato-like pattern that creates an eerie feeling of static timelessness. Maybe this is Lemuria? The other plane is imbued with melodic wanderings. Although the two planes fit together musically, they seem to be unaware of one another. So maybe it is possible to get lost in a place without ever knowing that you were there.

In Wabi Sabi the stage is set for an Audun Kleive speciality, a slightly off-center and constantly evolving groove, balancing energy with delicate nuance. In the middle section, Rune Klakegg (piano), Jan Olav Renvåg (bass) and Audun Kleive (drums) engage in a round of telepathic improvisation. Listen, and you will hear the smiles on their faces.

Wabi Sabi is a Japanese aesthetic concept which sees beauty as impermanent, incomplete and imperfect: nothing lasts, nothing is finished and nothing is perfect. In one sense, Wabi Sabi involves finding beauty in the here and now. Perhaps this is what Rosland has in mind when he opens out his compositions for the unpredictable.

Roger Jeffs