Q
02-16-2003, 09:54 AM
It has been many, many months since I've written one of these long-winded essays. Those who recall my early site participation will remember that I wrote them constantly, on every subject imaginable. I have backed away from that since joining the Mod team.
But I have just listened to Pat Moraz's solo piano album "Resonance" for about the 60th time, and in spite of several false starts writing this piece, I think I am ready to put down something that will make sense.
See, when I attempted to write about this album in the past, I was so overwhelmed by its technical brilliance that I would immediately launch into a discussion of that. It's so easy to talk about! But what truly overwhelms, more with every listening, is the complex emotional content of these works.
The four-movement suite "Vortex of Life" launches the album with such intensity and purpose that the album could well conclude at its end and be wholly satisfying. This applies both from a technical and emotional perspective.
"Vortex's" four movements are all distinct yet bound together by Moraz's deeply personal and unapologetic style, which is firey and even moody. To say that "notes fall like raindrops" is lame but accurate - perfect cascades of rapid-fire runs, intertwining with well-crafted dissonance, telling an emotional tale that goes beyond him into the space around. The most amazing aspect of this is his breathtaking use of the extreme upper and lower registers, where he spins off without warning, underscoring his emotional subtext. It isn't the scene, it's the scream, as they say, and as John Lennon once tried to insist. You find yourself awed, and a little uncomfortable, as though Moraz has just told you more than you needed to know.
He is to the piano much what Alex Lifeson is to the guitar; there is no distinction between a rhythm part and a melodic excursion (not in Vortex, anyway).
"Sundance" amazes because you find yourself wondering whether he's really playing it with two hands (as opposed to overdubbing, which seems inevitable, given the blazing melody and agitated, bouncing I-V7 back-and-forth of the rhythm). "Moondance" takes us into a smoky, jazzy idiom that is surprising, given what has come before. It is a much more conventional piece, perhaps presented to show us that Moraz's musical language will work anywhere (which it does).
The title track returns to the emotional depth of "Vortex," but is somehow more centered, more intimate, less a cascade of activity. There are bluesy tinges, and definitely a blues-derived subtext that accentuates his use of dynamics in this deeply personal piece.
"Colloids" is another instance of music-as-motion, built around 12-bar blues but featuring that brilliant dissonance and dazzling melodic execution. The reverent "Standing in the Light" yanks us back yet again across the emotional spectrum, filling us with quiet and awe in yet another dynamic reverie. At 12 minutes, "The Light" is sort of the "Awaken" of this album, an emotional outpouring that begins with disarming simplicity but actually harbors an integration and melodic sweep worthy of Brahms. "Birds on a Wire" concludes the album on a seemingly frivolous but deeply affecting note, bursting with innocent energy.
This album requires substantial investment on the part of the listener. It can dazzle like Wakeman and will impress even the most arrogant musician, but there are feelings and experiences awaiting the eager listener that will deeply satisfy for any willing to spend the time.
~ Q
But I have just listened to Pat Moraz's solo piano album "Resonance" for about the 60th time, and in spite of several false starts writing this piece, I think I am ready to put down something that will make sense.
See, when I attempted to write about this album in the past, I was so overwhelmed by its technical brilliance that I would immediately launch into a discussion of that. It's so easy to talk about! But what truly overwhelms, more with every listening, is the complex emotional content of these works.
The four-movement suite "Vortex of Life" launches the album with such intensity and purpose that the album could well conclude at its end and be wholly satisfying. This applies both from a technical and emotional perspective.
"Vortex's" four movements are all distinct yet bound together by Moraz's deeply personal and unapologetic style, which is firey and even moody. To say that "notes fall like raindrops" is lame but accurate - perfect cascades of rapid-fire runs, intertwining with well-crafted dissonance, telling an emotional tale that goes beyond him into the space around. The most amazing aspect of this is his breathtaking use of the extreme upper and lower registers, where he spins off without warning, underscoring his emotional subtext. It isn't the scene, it's the scream, as they say, and as John Lennon once tried to insist. You find yourself awed, and a little uncomfortable, as though Moraz has just told you more than you needed to know.
He is to the piano much what Alex Lifeson is to the guitar; there is no distinction between a rhythm part and a melodic excursion (not in Vortex, anyway).
"Sundance" amazes because you find yourself wondering whether he's really playing it with two hands (as opposed to overdubbing, which seems inevitable, given the blazing melody and agitated, bouncing I-V7 back-and-forth of the rhythm). "Moondance" takes us into a smoky, jazzy idiom that is surprising, given what has come before. It is a much more conventional piece, perhaps presented to show us that Moraz's musical language will work anywhere (which it does).
The title track returns to the emotional depth of "Vortex," but is somehow more centered, more intimate, less a cascade of activity. There are bluesy tinges, and definitely a blues-derived subtext that accentuates his use of dynamics in this deeply personal piece.
"Colloids" is another instance of music-as-motion, built around 12-bar blues but featuring that brilliant dissonance and dazzling melodic execution. The reverent "Standing in the Light" yanks us back yet again across the emotional spectrum, filling us with quiet and awe in yet another dynamic reverie. At 12 minutes, "The Light" is sort of the "Awaken" of this album, an emotional outpouring that begins with disarming simplicity but actually harbors an integration and melodic sweep worthy of Brahms. "Birds on a Wire" concludes the album on a seemingly frivolous but deeply affecting note, bursting with innocent energy.
This album requires substantial investment on the part of the listener. It can dazzle like Wakeman and will impress even the most arrogant musician, but there are feelings and experiences awaiting the eager listener that will deeply satisfy for any willing to spend the time.
~ Q