Armistice 1918

Perhaps the most creative musician to emerge from the Twin Cities, Bill Carrothers has long had a fascination with military history, incorporating these themes into several of his 14 recordings over the past decade. Released in 2004 and performed at European venues, the pianist’s epic Armistice 1918 (a double CD) has its American debut in early January at the Artists Quarter in St. Paul. The series of tone poems was inspired by tales of a World War I veteran that Bill remembers hearing as a boy. “When the guns fell silent on that cold, rainy day in 1918 [Armistice Day], the carnage and devastation of Western Europe was something that is still difficult to comprehend today,” Bill writes in his liner notes. “Nearly ten million dead and 40 million wounded…With the music, I am trying to tell a story of that process, from the relative innocence of 1914 to the wasteland of November 1918.” 

Does music based on the melodies and agonies of World War I have relevance today? Notes composer Bill, “I think if people studied history a bit more, we wouldn't be so shocked by the events of today, and might be able to have a bit more perspective about our modern problems." 

Drew Gress©Andrea Canter

Inspired by the works of Great War poets and partially funded by a war museum in the Somme region of France, Carrothers developed a program over two disks that reflects three stages of what was thought to be the War to End All Wars. The first volume includes original and often quirky arrangements of 13 popular and traditional tunes of the era, evoking the joy and innocence that preceded the outbreak of war, an innocence soon challenged by fears of separation and the first carnage of battle. Some of these tunes are easily recognized and recalled, but here are given the more melancholy treatment drawn from historical perspective. Disk 2 includes many original compositions reflecting the stark reality and horror of the war and its ultimate resolution. 

Disk One opens with four popular tunes of the relatively carefree pre-war period, followed by tracks that sonically illustrate the call to arms, early separation, and the unofficial Christmas truce of 1914. The epic opens with the first rendition of “There’s a Long Long Trail A Winding,” here a one-minute duet with Bill and Peg Carrothers. It reappears in much extended form later, a dark contrast to the more upbeat first track, with piano and bass providing the sound effects of howling wind. Bill launches a delicate improvisation over the mournful harmonies from the bassline, and with an appropriately thin tone, Peg sings the last chorus, flattening the notes into a melancholy final bar. The world has changed over the first ten tracks. 

Still in the zone of prewar comfort, “Hello Ma Baby” has the quirky angularity of an original Bill Carrothers composition, while “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” features the gruff voices of the Knob Creek Choir and clanging bells. (The choir, apparently named for the wine label at hand, features some names familiar to Twin Cities jazz fans—engineer Steve Wiese, Artist Quarter host Davis Wilson, and dad Bill Carrothers, Sr.) With the feel of a bunch of friends sitting around the bar, the sing-along dissolves into a barrage of dissonant piano chords over a stride that puts the rag in ragtime, Stewart having a heyday on drums and Epstein adding extra “sound effects” before Turner comes in with a high register voice that only adds to the raggy sound; Henderson sweetens it all with the bass clarinet. On “Cuddle Up a Little Closer,” Bill lets the early 20th century feel filter through more clearly on solo piano, but his 21st century embellishments are still close at hand. 

“Say Au Revoir” marks a shift in mood, Peg Carrothers’ vocal giving a heart-tugging farewell as the first soldiers face separation from family. The music takes a further grim and eccentric turn as Carrothers slides “A Call to Arms” with its militaristic drum roll and dark piano vamp over a minor key vocalization of the otherwise upbeat “On Moonlight Bay,” the juxtaposition a reminder of what was and what would never be again. And rather than the original patriotic statement, Peg’s treatment of “America I Love You” is dissonant and foreboding. Drew Gress’ haunting pizzicato highlights “I’m Always Chasing Rainbows,” a lyrically melodic and airy—if ominous—track. 

One of the more disturbing as well as beautiful arrangements, “And the Band Played On” is marked by dischordant piano passages, fluttering, unearthly percussion and sound effects, and deep bowed tones from bass (and maybe cello). The original melody and tempo are disguised but enough familiarity seeps through. Nearly six minutes into the seven-minute track, Peg joins in with her ethereal minor tones, adding an appropriately funereal air. Commemorating the unofficial cease fire among troops on “Christmas Eve, 1914,” the band starts out with harsh squealing tones (from what?), joined by the choir singing “Silent Night” in German, and highlighted by Turner’s cello at its most mournful. Solemn, dark and joyless, the mood lightens only slightly when the choir shifts to English, truce declared.  

Bill Carrothers©Howard Gitelson

The second volume includes two standards from the war period followed by 8 Bill Carrothers originals, another pair of standards, a pair from Carrothers, a pair from the pens of Ford and Novello, and closing with Bill’s “Armistice Day.” Most tracks are shorter than on the first volume, and the reality of war becomes increasingly grim. Often the juxtaposition of the chaos of battle against the bleak sadness and longing for better times is painfully beautiful.  

“Till We Meet Again” features the solo voice of Peg Carrothers in a single verse, while “Roses of Picardy” glows with the dark, gloomy beauty of Bill’s abstract arrangement for solo piano. The original “Evening Stand-To” features and ominous bass and percussion lament buoyed by Bill’s lingering lyricism, while his “Trench Raid” yields a variety of discomforting sounds, skitters and scrapes via percussion and strings, a series of piano chords giving it a marginally melodic anchor. “The Leaning Virgin of Albert” contains some of Bill’s most haunting writing, with a distant thundering percussion in the background, the modern classical theme introduced by Turner’s cello. Drums sound the approaching “Caissons,” only to fade into the night. 

Carrothers’ “Rum Ration” contains snatches of popular songs in a halting, Monkish shroud as percussion and cello call up the sounds of battle. “No Man’s Land” is a collision of sounds, fluttering strings, percussion, creaking bass and odd poundings in the background, sounds of desolation. Some of the effects appear to come from percussive attacks on the inside of the keyboard—hardly unusual tactics for Bill Carrothers. His “Funk Hole” features clicky, buzzy exchanges among percussion and bass, while Bill’s soft piano lines attempt to rise above the chaos, his chime-like passages wafting over a popping, increasingly intrusive vamp. Ultimately the drum beat a retreat into oblivion. “Birds on the Wire” brings forth ominous tones from the cello, chirping sighs that raise hairs like fingernails on a chalkboard, with Peg’s vocalization heard above the distant thunder of drums. 

On the familiar “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary,” the melody is pushed through a sea of percussion counter rhythms. With an arrangement emphasizing pain and longing rather than hope, Bill produces one of his most embellished, elegant improvisations of the set, largely an interaction between piano and percussion. “The Rose of No-Mans Land” (by Caddigan and Brennan) evolves from a solo cello tribute to the Red Cross nurse, Bill contributing a light and gentle swing. 

Bass and percussion rendezvous on Bill’s “Rumor of Peace” with a faster tempo, while the piano echoes the later track, “Keep the Home Fires Burning.” “The Wait” features off-kilter percussion drop shots alternating with brief minor key piano phrases, like a slow ticking clock. Carrothers moves the piano through an endless series of short phrases without resolution, simply returning to the original piano-percussion exchange. Two tunes by Ford and Novello follow: “Keep the Home Fires Burning” offers an abstract introduction to Peg Carrothers’ faint vocal in a wilderness of chaos. Turner creates an epitaph weaving around the vocalized lines, the melancholy piano moving forward until it is the final remaining voice, flowing seamlessly into the next track, “I Didn’t Raise My Boy to Be A Soldier.” It’s a dark and brief duet of the Carrothers, not an affirmation but a resignation. 

Bill’s finale, “Armistice Day,” barely lasts a minute, sounding the tolling of bells for the first 45 seconds, the reverb slowly dissipating over the final 20 seconds. It’s a simple ending that haunts beyond silence. 

If a musical work can give us perspective on the senseless waste of war, then Armistice 1918 should have received a Global Grammy. Carrothers has created an elegant elegy of loss. 
 

Bill Carrothers and his ensemble present the American premiere of Armistice 1918 at the Artists Quarter on January 4-5; click here for more information or visit www.artistsquarter.com