Anthony Braxton
For Alto

If you have neighbors with heart conditions, nervous disorders, or even those simply inclined to call 911, forget about listening to this "stuff" at high volume... only do it if the conditions allow, or if you are prepared for the worst! You might say: "Why all the precautions? After all, it's just music, right?"...NO! It's much more. And then, is it really music? I don't know. I only know that listening to it for the first time (but also on subsequent ones) is a disconcerting, hallucinatory experience! Unheard sounds... (sounds or noises?). You are catapulted into a kaleidoscope of blood-red colors, splatter I would say; who ever imagined that the alto saxophone (like Charlie Parker's) could produce such obscene wonders? From those extreme breaths emerge apocalyptic, ridiculous, terrifying, cacophonous, painful visions. Simply entropic.

This "For Alto" from '69, a double LP converted into a single CD, represents the sonic version of the stream of consciousness of Joycean memory; the Freudian unconscious uncovered in music in its most primordial nature; pure surrealism! 73 minutes of solo saxophone during which the great and almost unknown Anthony Braxton, a modern-day Dalí, gives free rein to the overflowing river of his delirious and brilliant visions, climbing to great heights only to let himself fall into the deepest abyss, being vulgar and elegant, creator and destroyer, angelic and satanic. Throughout the work, there is a palpable effort, an immense fatigue in accomplishing this incredible catharsis, and it is understandable, given the psychological and "muscular" effort that such an undertaking requires. In this regard, the splendid cover manages to capture this intensity better than a thousand words! A face at the brink of exhaustion, striving to surpass the "sound barrier." Inside, there is all the struggle, and the strength of a Nietzschean superman intent on accomplishing something unique. It's impressive to hear Braxton's inhalations at the microphone after some of his powerful air emissions... they sound like those of a man who nearly drowned but resurfaced just in time (by the way, the recordings took place in the midst of summer, and there was probably quite a lot of heat in the studios).

Impossible to describe the eight tracks, because although they have very different characters from each other, they are so complex and multifaceted that attempting to do so would be truly arduous and potentially tedious for the reader. In any case, it's incredibly interesting to compare the second piece, "To Composer John Cage", with the fifth, "Dedicated To Ann And Peter Allen". A violent hurricane the first, that overwhelms and sweeps away every obstacle; an elegiac ode the second, played on the edge of silence, whispered, where the notes are just perceptible, until they become "conceptual"! At one point, in fact, Braxton stops blowing into the mouthpiece, yet continues to blow, and you can hear the clicks of the keys being pressed on the instrument... as if for a moment he wanted to hear those sounds only in his head and not in his ears, almost aiming to sublimate them!

But anyway, is this record good? No, if it's judged by conventional standards; absolutely not. It can be horrible, annoying, grotesque. But it's important to emphasize that it's a revolutionary and brilliant work, totally original in idea and execution. The American magazine Jazz Down Beat awarded the work a five-star rating, precisely because of these merits. Personally, I find this work unique and sublime, and I even managed to study for many exams with it in the background (all A plus), even though my father wanted to call the loony bin (for him or me? Never knew). The problem of personal tastes remains, often based only on what is known, so I warn you: I'm afraid many of you, upon listening, would say, like some of my friends, "what the hell is this crap??". And there's still the problem with neighbors, obviously (and listening with headphones is not the same thing)...

To those who have the courage, BON VOYAGE!!