#esp-disk

Far Driven Sun asks listeners to pay attention to the guitar itself, the sound of its materiality, in a way that few records insist on. The opening track, which shares a title with the record, introduces the instrument with a sparse melodic figure, alone at first, then joined by a complimentary riff. The close, high-definition recording style admits creaks and the sounds of friction, but it also recreates the sustain and warmth of this rare construction of sacred, exotic wood. It’s a short tune, the star of the show stepping out from behind the curtain. Once introductions have been dispensed with, other possibilities are immediately explored. The propulsive “Unicorn Song” lays down a bed of strums over which a brass slide and an e-bow are used on the Butterfly to make sounds so sonorous and smooth you would swear it was the neck pickup on a Jazz Master being played through a vintage Fender Twin, not an acoustic guitar. Throughout Far Driven Sun Curran weaves guitars masterfully. Sheets of slide, sonic aurora, embed themselves between the hollows of patient fingerstyle arpeggios; waves of e-bow ambience crash against rhythmic shores, beauty resides in the spaces between sparse notes. Far Driven Sun is proof positive of the way in which a purposefully limited palette, instrumental in this case, can push creative boundaries.

There is an exception to every rule, however, and on the climactic cut “ILiad (Slight Return),” Buck brings a rhythm section to bear on a theme that was explored earlier on the album, a structural/titular reference to Jimi Hendrix’s unforgettable revisitation of “Voodoo Chile” that closes out Electric Ladyland. In “ILiad (Slight Return)” one can almost hear a future full band Buck Curran record. His rock-inflected playing works just as well with the advent of bass and insistent drums as it does with his own tasteful overdubs, but the deployment is so restrained: the textbook definition of leaving them wanting more.

Thematically, Far Driven Sun is a record about how the vast expanse and wonder of the universe is situated and experienced locally, in the carbon atoms of the wood of a singular guitar, or in the intimate human galaxies that are families. Tunes like “Unicorn Song,” which was named by Buck’s daughter and appears three times in different incarnations across the record, or “You Are My Sun” demonstrate that this creative cosmos revolves around children and partners, the closeness of the home hearth. “ILiad (Slight Return),” “Deserto Parallax” and the album’s title track show the cosmic and spiritual distances covered in this musical journey. Ultimately, however, much like the Odyssey, the classical companion to the Iliad invoked in the peak moment of Far Driven Sun, this is a record about returning home to the things that are essentially important. The cherished family and the perfectly crafted, one-of-a-kind tools that inspire the best work an artist can do. Buck might have taken a queue here from the legendary cuisine of his adopted home country, Italy. Just a few simple ingredients and a lot of love and intention produce a sublime result.

The trio has operated with this line-up since 2015, and even if it’s Shipp’s world, each of the other players is an essential component of it. Take anyone out of the mix, and the idea of what the Matthew Shipp Trio is changes. Bisio brings an expanded idea of counterpoint, one that not only includes playing a part that locks into and completes another player’s part, but also one that operates in a quasi-lunar relation to the home planet. Which is to say that even when he sounds like he’s playing around what everyone else is playing, his gravity changes the action on the surface, just like the moon influences the tides. And Baker is as much a creator of shake and structure as he is a vector of motion; the sounds issuing from his kit hang about the bass-piano conversation like a mobile being moved by a purposeful and architecturally minded breeze. 

It must be admitted that the world in which this trio operates is one in which Matthew Shipp has already made a whole lot of records. He used to say he was going to quit making more, but at this point he isn’t even trying to stop; if anything, he’s grown more productive. If he said tomorrow that he was stopping, who could possibly believe him? So, for those who recognize the merits of those involved, but aren’t up for grabbing every album, why single out World Construct for attention? It presents an ensemble whose dynamics have matured, but not settled into routine. The pianist’s intimations of gravity and lyricism, the bassist’s capacity to elaborate upon his partners’ implications, and the drummer’s fantastic economy of gesture are all in peak form. Trust me, there are far worse worlds in which to spend an hour.