About these titles: Yes, they are big. They are playful. He misspells Gandhi's name, yes. There is something to be said for how André can only use language to say and blur what he feels. It's tempting to assign some sort of narrative to orchestral music, particularly something as innocent and obviously personal as this. You can read his enchanting sigh New Blue Sun as a comment on the relief of anonymity Andre must feel, or how the safety of a like-minded group allows you to take a closer look at the darkness outside. If you don't look at the tracklist, you can. But those song titles distract you, keep you from taking it too seriously, from reading too much into it. Call it pretentious, but it's like a way to keep the music light and exciting, to protect the spirit of exploration that went into its creation.
Despite his lyrical prowess, André was always looking for what a song needed. think the way the back half of “HEAVY” given to the gospel rave, or how “SpottieOttieDopalisciousThe unspoken hook is a wordless trumpet line. Here, he does the same thing, moving cautiously and asserting himself only when it feels right. He tests “The Slang Word” for vulnerabilities, teases his fabric with his flute, picking lightly lest he tear the seam. Armed with his double bass flute on “That Night In Hawaii When I Turned Into A Panther And Started Making These Low Register Purring Tones That I Cooln't Control… Sh¥t Was Wild,” he's much more confident. He whistles like Rahsaan Roland Kirk, tweets like Eric Dolphy, sets up a melody, then liquefies it and lets it simmer against Deantoni Parks' hushed drumbeat.
Parks, like the rest of the ensemble, is fully involved in the creation of this music, as well as throughout New Blue Sun, the other instrumentalists demonstrate their ability to spontaneously generate new sounds. On “Ninety Three 'Til Infinity and Beyoncé,” Matthewdavid scrapes and smears grains of noise as thick as wheat paste on the track, and Botofasina conjures up Laraaji's Vision Songs, Vol. 1 with his homemade basement organ on 'The Slang Word'. Then there's Diego Gaeta, whose slow-turning piano on “Ghandi, Dalai Lama, Your Lord & Savior JC / Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, And John Wayne Gacy” is the spinner on the gyroscope, a counterweight that keeps everything from they fall. It flirts with dreamy realization, pumps out some gospel, then slips into a plaintive darkness, barely touching the keys. the way his playing sits like an overturned glass the fly humming Andre's tune New Blue Sun closer to the tragic experiments of Tim Hecker Ravedeath, 1972 rather than jazz or new age.
