Pianist and poet Elliot Cardinaux floats into this set of music and poetry quietly and when the first track ’Thicket’ ends on the phrase “There never were any Indians in Columbus’ America” you know something is happening, even if you don’t know exactly what it is. Though it took me a while to get to this album, when I finally dove in, I soon found myself enjoying the unexpected moments when surreal snippets like “I’ve ruined all my life but I’ve got nothing to show for it – teach me how to ask a question, any question” jumped out at me. Yes, I thought, as I trudged to the train on my daily commute, what are the questions that I do not know how to ask? The ambiguity allows meaning to form from a multitude of angles.
Just as important, though, is the music. The line-up speaks volumes: violist Mat Maneri, bassist Thomas Morgan, and percussionist Flin van Hemmen help Cardinaux in creating an abstract yet supportive environment for his words. The music is thick and buzzing on ‘Thicket’, it is 10 minutes of fractured rumbling that reaches a ruminative peak towards the end, which finds Morgan and Van Hemmen digging deep into the pulse and Maneri adding an affective shimmer to Cardinaux’s introspective playing.
Cardinaux has a flat affect to his voice. On ‘Questions (to the Thought)’, in a highly effective, near monotone, he recites the aforementioned words about life, before Morgan’s walking bass line forms a musical spine around which tendrils reaching out from the viola wrap around. The pianist lays down crisp tonal clusters and arpeggiated lines, and as Maneri starts digging in, van Hemmen responds, and they start building to an apex that only lightens up at the end with a series of drum rolls and a final decisive pluck from Morgan.
The tracks, some instrumental, some with short surreal verses interspersed, and at least one with a delightful parable (‘Angel’), flow quietly from one to the other, often reaching muted climaxes that help round flesh-out Cardinaux’s intriguing imagery.
