Mary Halvorson Album Review: Cloudward
(Nonesuch)
BY JORDAN MAINZER
Jazz guitarist and composer Mary Halvorson doesn't demand attention--as a listener, you give it to her anyway. Her latest album Cloudward features eight new compositions from the Amaryllis sextet, the same group featured on her excellent dual 2022 releases Amaryllis and Belladonna. Largely written in 2022 and inspired by post-pandemic optimism, the album title refers to flying on planes, an aspect of pre-pandemic life that returned despite our world never again being the same. Indeed, you could say the songs recall various stages of flight, from ascent and descent to coasting and turbulence, but in a broader sense, they simply show off Halvorson's incredible ability to foster something organic.
For much of Cloudward, Halvorson retreats into the background. Opener "The Gate" features Patricia Brennan's vibraphones in unison with the horn section, Nick Dunston's bass and Tomas Fujiwara's drums sneaking behind. Halvorson's trademark wiry playing peeps out from underground but doesn't assert itself to distract from Fujiwara's immaculate tempo changes or Jacob Garchik's trombone. Similarly, when Halvorson enters on "Collapsing Mouth", it's minimal and subtle, making room for Brennan panning around the horn section, and the rhythm section. Halvorson simply creeps on "Unscrolling", a song whose title I like to think pays tribute to the plane as the last place many of us can't or don't want to access the Internet. Its gongs and rippling cymbals contrast both the gorgeous brass harmonies and Dunston's moaning bowed bass, an exercise in deep listening if there ever was one. And then there's the Laurie Anderson-featuring "Incarnadine", a song that plays with your perception to the point you want to go even further down its rabbit hole. Atonal strings sound like they're being sucked out of the air and spit into another dimension; you're not sure whether the horn-like sounds are from effects or the featured players themselves, the entire track an alluring mystery.
Even on the tracks where Halvorson places her guitar front and center, she creates an atmosphere for all of the instruments to play off of each other. "The Tower" starts with prickly, echoing picking that turns chaotic and spidery--similar to Dunston's bass on "Unscrolling"--and eventually slows down to let vibes through the door along with Fujiwara's washy brushwork and the horn section. As the song builds, it sounds like the instruments are ricocheting off of each other. When it slows, it's delightfully woozy and harmonic. By the end, you realize Halvorson's beginning, alternating between abstraction and tactility, had set the stage for the rest of the song. On "Desiderata", the space between her guitar rhythms and Fujiwara's drums creates a funky sway, Brennan's vibes the first lead instrument. Halvorson crawls along horn lines before unleashing a crunchy, effects-laden solo, her one time to shred. On closer "Ultramarine", her playing emulates Dunston's upright bass solo to the point where it creates a pseudo blues vamp. Later, her bends emphasize the woozy quality of the horns, making space for Adam O'Farrill's trumpet solo. The song exemplifies the ultimate paradox of Cloudward in general: As players enter, the songs feel no less spacious, and no less empty as players leave. Halvorson creates a sort of static motion, like you're suspended in air while tunneling through space and time, on a plane in the sky.
