Songs
Sharp soprano saxophone geometry meets Brion Gysin’s rhythmic cut-up poetry. A minimalist masterclass in space, precision, and avant-garde spoken word.
1981 · hat ART
Sharp soprano saxophone geometry meets Brion Gysin’s rhythmic cut-up poetry. A minimalist masterclass in space, precision, and avant-garde spoken word.
1981 · hat ART
Songs is an exercise in intellectual friction. It sounds like the intersection of a drafting table and a smoke-filled Parisian basement. Steve Lacy’s soprano saxophone does not flow: it carves. Each note is a deliberate, geometric incision into the silence, mirroring the rhythmic, permutational logic of Brion Gysin’s poetry. The record feels less like a traditional jazz album and more like a live-action blueprint of a creative philosophy. It is demanding, precise, and utterly devoid of sentimentality, yet it possesses a strange, hypnotic warmth born from the obvious rapport between the two masters.
How does Songs sound next to the rest of Steve Lacy's catalogue?
The writing leans far further into surreal abstract than the rest of the catalogue.
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