I was having a little trouble concentrating at work yesterday afternoon, so I got my listening equipment ready and declared that the task at hand required some “squeaky music.” A co-worker raised an eyebrow, so I proceeded to unplug my earbuds for a few seconds to give him a listen. After about 10 seconds of quivering electric guitar torture set against some angry saxophone squall, he turned to me and said “Why…would you put yourself through that?”
It’s a good question, I suppose, though it seems likely I’ll never arrive at a reason that’s concrete enough to satisfy the exasperation. I mean, I do love how Zorn and Moore listen to each other. On “Jazz Laundromat,” the process results in textures that produce so much tension it can make a person feel almost itchy with nervous excitement. I don’t know what I like better, the shriek of Zorn’s sax hurled against Moore’s barely-controlled feedback, or the industrial moan that develops as Zorn floats some low tones over Moore’s growling, razor wire rumbles.
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