Review: Kevin Figes’ Wallpaper Music, Fringejazz @ Bristol Music Club

It’s 100 years since French composer Erik Satie coined the term ‘wallpaper music’ to mean compositions that would blend into your environment such that you would not actually listen to them for themselves. Fifty years later Brian Eno took the idea further, inventing the new genre of ‘ambient music’ in the mid-70s. However, that has nothing to do with Kevin Figes’ new project which is a decidedly attention-seeking and abstract conjunction of jazz, contemporary classical music and art rock. The only link is chronological – his inspiration was the genre-defying band Henry Cow whose individualistic career developed around the same time as Mr Eno was thinking about airports.

Kevin Figes (pic: Tony Benjamin)

So what did we get? Pretty much all kinds of everything, ranging from intricately composed and complex melodic lines to bursts of sledgehammer Neo-prog, free jazz vocalisations and sonic workouts. Some of the longer numbers pretty much included all of the above and more. All of this would be familiar to anyone who ever saw Henry Cow, whose fluid compositions always had an internal logic all of their own (but not always obvious to the listener). It seemed that, as a composer, Kevin had pretty much assimilated something similar and as a bandleader found an excellently capable bunch of free-thinking accomplices.

Brigitte Beraha (vox), Kevin Figes (sax). (pic: Tony Benjamin)

Opening with the Orwellian More Equal Than Others they set out their stall perfectly in a series of contrasting sections that saw Figes alto flute and vocalist Brigitte Beraha’s pitch perfect unison lead to a fragmentary moment of vocal plipper-plopping swept aside by Jim Blomfield’s prog-informed synth voluntary. A narrative section of voices from Animal Farm was unsettlingly propelled by Mark Whitlam’s militaristic snare drum and undermined by mocking soprano sax until everything got a little out of hand and Brigitte began berating us through a howling megaphone.

Jim Blomfield (keys), Ashley John Long (bass); (pic: Tony Benjamin)

Other tracks were, of course, completely different: Ashley John Long’s dark bass drove the oddly frenetic domestic drama of Danse Macabre from a jaunty opening into a manic central period with freeform keys and a jabbering cross-purposes vocal duel between Brigitte and Kevin that would eventually become an intense piano trio, Jim’s hands a blur over the keys as he rang the most from a ten-fingered chord. The most conventional song was a tribute to Shelley’s Ozymandias called Half Sunk, A Shattered Visage Lies … yet beneath the neat vocal structure and its absolute unity with the alto sax Mark’s drumming was telling its own story. That one ended with a cleverly shrinking riff on piano and sax, exemplifying the fading significance of a pompous emperor over time.

Kevin Figes’ Wallpaper Music (pic: Tony Benjamin)

Possibly the least successful number was Game of Chance an evocation of John Cage’s compositional gaming, whereby the musicians each approached a completely improvised piece using prescribed rules and specific ideas. Naturally this was going to be a bit hit and miss – such things are generally more fun to do than to listen to – and though there was some nice harmonic interplay the erratic dynamics made for a less comfortable experience (which may well have been what Mr Cage would have intended, however).

Brigitte Berahah (vox), Kevin Figes (flute); (pic: Tony Benjamin)

Much more entertaining was alt.view, a longer suite bracketed by two short songs called Fear of Failure. This was a series of clearly defined sections opening with a rich piano solo that felt its way round the chord changes beautifully before sweeping itself aside into another ferocious two-handed torrent announcing a calm sax/vocal melodic interlude. That abruptly shifted to a seriously prog keyboard trio that in turn gave way to a moody Weather Report blend of synth chords, wailing sax and precision bass and drums. The riff became a stuck record over a drum explosion from which a seething Hammond organ sound emerged. Just as that came to the boil it stopped abruptly for a vaguely Brazilian flute and vocal duet, like a Bossa Nova without the beat, that gently put the whole thing to bed.

Kevin Figes (soprano sax). (pic: Tony Benjamin)

There was no doubt this all added up to something new, both for Kevin as a composer and for the music scene more generally. It’s a brave endeavour – in their day the inspirational Henry Cow were far from universally appreciated but deeply loved by those who got them (including this reviewer). This talented band – and especially Brigitte’s combination of vocal clarity, perfect tuning and creative spontaneity – are a fine palette for Kevin to deploy in ever more ambitious material and this felt like the first bold steps down a very interesting road indeed.