For the past 15 years or so, pianist Marilyn Crispell has found her niche in the ECM stable as a pianist of magnificent, abstract introspection, in solo or trio contexts. The oddly if ultimately aptly titled One Dark Night I Left My Silent House marks her first duo release and first collaboration with bass clarinetist David Rothenberg; it also marks her first full free-improvised effort for ECM. The two musicians came to the studio with nary a note on paper, and throughout the 13 tracks, offer spontaneous give and take, typically one or the other starting out, taking the first steps that allow his or her partner to enter and embellish.
The first few tracks offer an overview of the whole suite-like recording, in range of sound and mood: “Invocation” opens with Crispell sounding gentle suggestions, Rothenberg entering quickly with deep tones, like a fog horn warning a lone boat in a dark sea. “Tsering” finds Crispell on both sound board and keyboard, the former creating a backdrop tang and the latter adding gentle lyrics; meanwhile, Rothenberg adds a mournful melody – large wistful spaces remain. “The Hawk and the Mouse” is a more dramatic exchange, Rothenberg “hawking” over the atonal soundboard antics of his counterpart; a video might help explain Crispell’s sound effects, which range from woody scrapings to near-silent knocking to faint string vibrations. Meanwhile, Rothenberg soars and swoops tethered to Earth, mostly well within our lyrical comfort zone. As they reach the end, Rothenberg injects more tension with a repeating line that finally fades.
“What Birds Sing” is… well, what birds sing! Crispell chirps with jagged phrases from the high end of the keyboard, Rothenberg sings and squawks, the bass clarinet ideally suited to a wide range of birdcalls. Three more tracks suggest avian themes: On “Owl Moon” (the most extended experiment at over 7 minutes), Rothenberg hoots with the higher, standard clarinet over a gentle, gauzy tapestry of Crispell’s most lyrical piano, the duo gradually building a luxurious song. “Still Life With Woodpecker” juxtaposes probing clarinet and the clicky “pecking” of Crispell’s soft attack on the sound board. Like an avant-garde percussionist, Crispell expands her soundscape with rhythmic rattles and scrapes, while Rothenberg plays straight man, beautifully. Cacophony of the delightful sort marks “Grosbeak,” Crispell engaging in Monk-like somersaults across octaves, Rothenberg vaulting across an equally daring sonic range.
“The Way of Pure Sound” is Crispell’s percussion playground—a menagerie of gongs, vibrating strings, rattles, sticks, creaks and more, all in zinging contrast to the long deep sounds of the bass clarinet. “Motmot” is one of the more dense experiments, both clarinet and piano expressing themselves across their full tonal range and at times it’s difficult to isolate the source of a given set of notes. The lovely, almost bluesy “Evocation” closes the suite, Crispell suggesting Jarrett and Ravel, Rothenberg the gentle whispering of “one dark night.”
For Marilyn Crispell and David Rothenberg, music is a conversation without boundaries.
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