By Matt Marshall

“With My Garden, an album of songs for large ensemble with poetry by Charles Bukowski, composer/conductor Nicholas Urie continues his exploration into modern-day isolation and disconnect begun on 2009′s Excerpts From an Online Dating Service (Red Piano Records). On Excerpts, Urie invited the listener to hear (“imagine” might be more fitting) a certain poetry in the missives he lifted from actual online dating sites. Fit into Urie’s jumping or eerily longing scores and sung with complete conviction by Christine Correa, the dating posts do offer unexpected jolts of crude lyricism–the supplicant’s plea rushing out into a cyberspace of desperately comic emptiness.

It’s hardly surprising, then, that Urie would turn to Bukowski–the skid-row poet of fated desperation, failure and trying–for his follow-up record. Culled mostly from collections published after Bukowski’s death, the songs here trace a similar, yet more expertly crafted path than that heard on Excerpts. Inherent in that project was the technology that enabled it–a thrillingly advanced social network that too often pushes a user toward isolation. And that sense of imprisoning technology carries over into My Garden, which opens with “Winter: 44th Year,” a suicide note in the making, intoned in overlapping cycles by Urie’s father, Walter, pianist Frank Carlberg and bassist John Hébert. The readings are part of the music, not out front, and are almost swallowed by the bass-heavy strains. The man is trying to reach the one woman who can help him–who can pull him back from the edge–but his message is directed into the dead end of a phone service.

Correa handles the singing from here on out. As on Excerpts, her frank, straightforward manner lends a detachment to the poems, but induces fewer laughs here; instead, opening disturbing, stretching gaps of dread. While the voice and visage of Bukowski will, no doubt, float before many a listener, Correa sings few lines that seem necessarily a man’s (a common occurrence on Excerpts that supplied a good portion of that album’s quirky humor). Yet Carlberg, tenor saxophonist Kenny Pexton, trumpeter John Carlson and others are again afforded ample solo space, and commune wonderfully, forlornly, desperately with Correa’s singing and Bukowski’s poetry. “Round and Round” offers especially poignant contrapuntal statements from Carlberg, on an inspired, but eerily aseptic Rhodes, followed later by Pexton on the earthier, more human tenor sax; “You have my soul and I have your money,” Correa repeatedly implores, meanwhile.

The swirling, mad, repetitious incantations of anxiety and longing that cut across the record may seem a bit much to endure. But Urie and his band also supply a good deal of punch and funk, most notably on “Round and Round,” “Lioness” and “Lean,” that keep matters moving. And while the narrative ends by dragging a mad Ezra Pound through the streets of Italy in a crate, the poet (Bukowski too?) realizing that all he has written is ultimately “worth nothing,” Urie attacks this modern, losing arc with increased surety and insight. It’s an attack helped by Bukowski’s poetry, to be sure. But Urie succeeds wonderfully in transferring the grime of skid row to the sheen of the concert hall without sacrificing any of the poet’s bite and desperate humanity.”

By Glen Hall

“Composer Nicholas Urie blows the dust and cobwebs off the jazz big band. He re-envisions its sonorities and gestures, avoids clichés and breathes new life into a vital resource that was in danger of becoming a museum artefact. Urie’s choice of Charles Bukowski’s poetry is apt. Both share an aesthetic of manliness, but they also share a passionate love of beauty and delicacy. Urie’s orchestrations are redolent with rich, woody textures and a glandular bass clarinet bottom, resounding with triumphant brass flourishes, as on “For Crying Out Loud.” Fitting the noir vibe of Bukowski’s Los Angeles-informed vision, soprano saxist Jeremy Udden finds melodic light in dissonant darkness on CD standout “Slaughterhouse.” But it’s hard to avoid the Steve Lacy paradigm when coupling jazz and poetry, and for vocalist Christine Correa, avoiding Irene Aebi’s stern declamatory approach is a challenge. On the two-line “Round and Round,” that elocutionary shadow informs Correa’s punchy delivery. Yet elsewhere, she evinces an entirely personal way into the words uttered by the barroom bard, like on “Lioness” and “Lean.” My Garden has abrasive splendour in abundance.”

With the power of google-alerts I was presented with a few nice comments from the UK press on my arrangements of music (originally for the Kluvers Big Band) from Kurt Elling’s new record, The Gate performed on a recent tour with Tommy Smith and the Scottish National Jazz Orchestra.

From the Herald Scotland, “With SNJO at their classy, sumptuous best and individually creative whenever opportunity arose, the highlights arrived by conveyer belt. Resolution was one; King Crimson’s contrastingly calm, deliciously swooping Matte Kudasai another.”

From The Scotsman, “Elling does not restrict himself to standards. Norwegian Wood received a darker and more dramatic treatment than the original, while a lucidly beautiful version of King Crimson’s Matte Kudasai was one of the high points of the concert.”

The Jazz Breakfast “Classics from a different era and featured on The Gate, the Beatles’ Norwegian Wood … felt substantially enhanced by live performance and the addition of the big band arrangements.”

You can hear both Matte Kudasai and Norwegian Wood by clicking the links.

“Urie is a 25-year-old wunderkind avant-garde jazz composer whose first album, [Excerpts From An] Online Dating Service, was built around lines snatched from online dating services. My Garden uses the same found-words idea, this time poking through the vast poetry catalog of the late Charles Bukowski. You could quibble with the selections made by Urie, a handful of lines, but this seems representative: “Drinking beer doesn’t make you fat. It makes you lean… against bars, tables, chairs and poles.” – JEFF SPEVAK

If you are in the UK next weekend, go see Kurt Elling perform two arrangements I wrote (originally for the Kluvers Big Band Scandinavian tour) with Tommy Smith and the Scottish National Jazz Orchestra. It should be a great show. You can hear both arrangements here: Matte Kudasai & Norwegian Wood.

11th March: Queens Hall Edinburgh
12th March: RSAMD Glasgow
13th March: Macrobert Stirling
14th March: Barbican Hall London

Charles Bukowski liked Beethoven, maybe because he recognized a fellow drunken genius, maybe because Beethoven is great drinking music. Would Bukowski have appreciated Nicholas Urie’s new Bukowski-themed big band album, My Garden? Maybe. Urie’s intent here is to honor Bukowski’s legacy by elevating him above his popular image as the poet laureate of fratboy excess. A good guess is that the frequently astringent third-stream atmospherics would have grabbed him, not to mention that all but one of the tracks here illustrates a poem or a Bukowski quote. And the one that doesn’t is ironically right up his alley, booze-wise: “Drinking beer doesn’t make you fat. It makes you lean: against bars, tables, chairs and poles.” Its main character aside, this is a fascinating modern big band album with some delicious charts, clever and even psychedelic production and an A-list of jazz talent, most of them from the New York area.

If you can get past – or don’t mind, or even enjoy – Bukowski’s gimlet-eyed perspective, he was an amazing observer. It’s hard to find someone who can distill an idea to its essence like he could, and usually did. Urie knows this, and takes his cues from there. As much as the arrangements here are lush and rich, there are no wasted notes: the band’s focus is intense. The brief opening track, Winter: 44th Year sees Bukowski feeling suicidal, knife in hand, drunk-dialing some woman and getting her answering service (this was in the days before voicemail), brought to life with moody, swirling atmospherics. Round and Round – the simple phrase “you have my soul and I have your money” – makes an uncharacteristically roundabout way to explain away a dayjob, and the music perfectly captures this, the band’s circular chromatics leading to a careful, soberly disdainful Rhodes solo from Frank Carlberg, up to impatiently circling Kenny Pexton tenor sax and then a labyrinth of vocal overdubs from Christine Correa. John Carlson’s ominous solo trumpet kicks off the title track – “pain is flowers blooming all the time,” vivid rainy day ambience walking steadily with the trumpet and then Alan Ferber’s trombone lifting the downcast atmosphere a bit with wryly bluesy tints as the band swells behind him.

A very cleverly disguised ballad, Weeping Women illustrates Bukowski’s claim that he would have offered women more solace if they hadn’t been so high-maintenance. Awash in shifting segments, Carlson, Douglas Yates on alto and Jeremy Udden on soprano sax alternate voices in a conversation, less weepy than brooding and somewhat conspiratorial. A predictably shrill crescendo is followed by a laugh-out-loud disappointed ending: Bukowski would have liked this! Another circular number, Lioness – “There’s a lioness in the hallway: put on your lion’s mask and wait” is vigorous fun, driven by Carlberg’s unbridled, staccato piano. The arguably strongest track here is Slaughterhouse – “I live in the slaughterhouse and am ill with thriving” – a feast of tectonic shifts and high/low contrasts, Udden’s soprano sax against Max Siegel’s bass trombone, with a bit of a round and a neat soprano/alto conversation over just the rhythm section. The last track, Finality, illustrates a rather nihilistic portrayal of a crazy Ezra Pound repudiating his life’s work, a moment that ostensibly comes to all of us. Pexton’s tenor rises gravely against Carlberg’s judicious, acidic chords, then Carlson’s trumpet blazes while Rome burns in the distance. The one bit of a letdown here is the number about beer not making you fat, which Correa sings like a wine drinker – or your mother – against the rhythmically tricky playfulness of the chart which then goes completely off the charts when the booze kicks in. Sober, it’s a great album – how does it sound after a few drinks? That’s a question that deserves an answer!

All About Jazz:

Wilbert Sostre

The combination of poetry and music is not new. Spain and Latin America have a great tradition of poetry musicalization. As part of the Nueva Trova style of the 1970s, singers like Silvio Rodriguez, Mercedes Sosa, Atahaulpa Yupanqui and Roy Brown set the poetry of some of Latin America’s best writers to music.
Being that jazz is mostly an instrumental form, its fusion with poetry is not that common, which is one of the aspects that makes Nicholas Urie’s My Garden so unique. Still in his mid-twenties, Urie is already a recognized composer/conductor, and has led large jazz ensembles as well as symphony orchestras.

After his critically acclaimed debut, Excerpts from an Online Dating Service (Red Piano Records (2009), Urie comes back with the equally creative My Garden, focusing on the poems of Charles Bukowski, born in Germany in 1920 but already living in the United States by1923. This poet/novelist’s writing style has been described as minimalist and his poetry as sober, direct, realistic and sometimes crude. So the challenge here was to take that approach and translate it into music.

Urie-conducting a big band of great musicians-rises to the challenge, delivering arrangements with a good balance of simplicity and sophistication that perfectly reflects the mood and meaning of Bukowski’s poems. The arrangements vary, from the classical feel of “My Garden” and march-like “For Crying Out Loud,” to the swing tempo on “Round and Round,” funky groove of “Lioness,” and cinematic mood on “Slaughterhouse.” With a tone reminiscent of Cassandra Wilson, Christine Correa is ideal for Bukowski’ poetry, her empathy translating what Bukowski was feeling when he wrote lines like, “pain is a flower; pain is flowers blooming all the time” adds emotional depth to Urie’s music.