Luís Vicente / John Dikeman / William Parker / Hamid Drake — It Goes Without Saying, But It’s Got To Be Said (JACC)
Goes without saying, but it's got to be said by Luís Vicente, John Dikeman, William Parker, Hamid Drake,
Hamid Drake and William Parker are one of the great drums and bass combos of our time. Their partnership began nearly three decades ago in Peter Brötzmann’s Die Like A Dog quartet, and has endured through work as a duo as well as associations with Jemeel Moondoc, Frode Gjerstad, Joe Morris, Daniel Carter, and, most recently, expatriate American tenor saxophonist John Dikeman. Rounding out the quartet on It Goes Without Saying, But It’s Got To Be Said is Luís Vicente, a Portuguese trumpeter who has worked previously with Dikeman, but not the other two musicians.
In every setting, Parker and Drake range between apparently unstoppable, maximally swinging grooves, and constantly morphing rhythmic refractions that set you up for something good, and then change into something different but equally good before you get a chance to get comfortable. You can hear both of ends of this spectrum at play on “1st Sentence,” the album’s 27-minute long opening sequence, as well as the splendid opportunities that they feed to the horn players. While the rhythms shift, Dikeman builds from gruff, cork-screwing lines to ecstatic cries. The bass and drums ease back on density and volume as Vicente steps in, then slowly raise the temperature to match the trumpeter’s fluttering figures and caustic asides.
But even on a purely musical level, Drake and Parker are not just a rhythm section. The former is as commanding playing hand percussion as he is playing a trap kit, and he also sings devotional verses in diverse tongues. Parker also plays gimbri (a Moroccan bass lute), double reeds and wooden flutes. Particularly when these instruments come into play, their music expresses a spiritual consciousness that projects a faith in music’s capacity to uplift and redeem. “3rd Sentence” opens with a prayerful duo interlude which lasts for several minutes before the horns come in, braiding lines of profound gravity. They may have been playing in a nightclub on a summer evening, but they give full measure to mournful expression before building to a gritty finale.
During the past year, between the COVID pandemic and the racism, ignorance, and base malevolence that has risen up around the globe, but especially in the American and European centers where these musicians spend most of their time, the faith in better angels that infuses this music has taken a beating. So, while this album was recorded before the pandemic began, Dikeman and Parker use its booklet to respond to 2020. Parker’s contribution is a prose poem subtitled, A Small Journal Kept During the COVID 19 Crisis Phase One. It acknowledges loss, vulnerability, and the things people tell themselves when facing or denying these experiences. It also ponders the utopian, redemptive message of African American art music, which Parker has made it his life’s mission to transmit, and which has continued to provide momentary respite from the fatigue induced by life during plague time. Dikeman, on the other hand, acknowledges the privileges he has enjoyed as a white American. He numbers among them the chance to stumble with teenaged gracelessness upon that same musical tradition and be allowed to contribute to it. The album’s title recognizes his indebtedness to the culture upon which he has built his own art, as well as the ongoing need to challenge racism, internally and systemically.
