Centipede
Septober Energy

The greatest and most ambitious project conceived by the English avant-garde of the 1970s. This is the essence of the experiment that bears the name Centipede, strongly desired by the Bristol pianist, Keith Tippett.

After two solo records dated 1969 and 1970, Tippett was noticed by Mr. Robert Fripp, leader of King Crimson, who wanted him for the sublime fingerings of "In The Wake Of Poseidon". The collaboration between Fripp and Tippett continued for quite some time, and among the many, this 1971 one is certainly the most anomalous.

The initial idea was to generate a big band, assembled with the cream of London jazz, the cream of the Canterbury Sound, and a good number of avant-gardists and experimenters who were revolving around the progressive world of those vibrant years. As can be well understood from the name "Centipede", the choice settled just above fifty musicians: 13 violinists, 6 cellists, 5 trumpeters, 7 saxophonists, 4 trombonists, 3 drummers, 5 vocalists, 6 bassists, 1 guitarist, and obviously 1 pianist (Tippett himself) and 1 producer (Robert Fripp). Among the great names of the multitude it is worth remembering Ian Carr, Mongezi Feza, Mark Charig, Elton Dean, Ian McDonald, Dudu Pukwana, Gary Windo, Alan Skidmore, Karl Jenkins, John Williams, Nick Evans, Paul Rutherford, John Marshall, Robert Wyatt, Julie Tippetts, Mike Patto, Boz Burrell, Roy Babbington, Harry Miller, and Brian Godding.

As for the musical aspect, the work features a single piece, played in four parts for a total of about 84 minutes, with the eloquent title "Septober Energy". And it is precisely in this transitional passage between the September summer and the October autumn that the elegiac and binary sense of the work is condensed. The research was therefore based on total dualism: jazz and rock, jazz and symphony, improvisation and rigor, full orchestration and minimal voids, experimentation and melody, Soft Machine and King Crimson, everything moves on a compositional sketch typically of classical symphonic roots, in a strange land where Berio meets Pharoh Sanders exploding in a wall of noise and oxymoronically sublime cacophony.

The distinction between the four parts, which in the original vinyl coincided with the sides, is quite clear, and we find a decidedly free and challenging first part where the interplay between winds and violins creates very pronounced contrasts, in a sort of free jazz made of strokes of genius and roaring improvisations, solos of great mastery blended with chants having a nearly Gregorian setting, where the language is that of the guts of instinct. The second part is decidedly more fluid with rock and vocal intrusions that bring the long track to unfold on more amiable grounds, sometimes Crimsonian and sometimes in the Nucleus style. The third part returns to being dark and chaotic, improvisation reigns supreme, and here I try to imagine Tippett with the baton in hand directing such sublime minds on score drafts, imagining their class, strength, and management difficulty. The concluding fourth part is very variable which, still in a strongly dualistic manner, sometimes opens up on more jazz-rock paths, with a vaguely Soft Machine flavor, and sometimes closes in wild improvisations where the avant-garde chaos is (only partially) held back by the rhythmic explosion of a finale that features John Marshall in the left channel, Tony Fennell in the right channel, and Robert Wyatt in the center channel, obviously not necessarily doing the same things.

Digesting such a record today is a complex affair. The complexity is joined by a certain difficult sonic appreciation of a work that may seem dated. But I know curiosity is the mother of many listens, often shameless. Therefore, among all the curiosities a keen listener might want to satisfy, this should be at the top of the list, because we are facing a clearly "historic" work.

sioulette