Hyde Park was still a lively, stimulating place when Roscoe Mitchell lived there in the 1960s. He played his woodwinds and “little instruments” all over the neighborhood, from the University of Chicago’s Mandel Hall and campus lounges to a church, a school, the small theaters of the day, and on the lakefront at the Point on summer mornings. Musically it was an exciting time: he was leading his Art Ensemble in its formative period, as it discovered new forms, sounds, and structures–as it evolved into the Art Ensemble of Chicago. Thereafter people began to get arrested for playing music at the Point, urban renewal and gentrification gradually made Hyde Park ghostly, and the Art Ensemble left home and became famous. During the 70s and 80s the group returned to their old stomping ground (pun intended) now and again–as did Mitchell alone, pursuing his remarkable separate career. So when the University of Chicago wanted a jazz event for its centennial concert series, Mitchell was an obvious choice.
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Mitchell’s odyssey apart from the Art Ensemble has been unique, to say the least. Early events included a Mitchell-led crowd of saxophones, with two drummers, playing a Bach fugue, and a rumbling Mitchell sextet of baritone and bass saxophones, bass and contrabass clarinets, string bass, and bass drum. Then came his investigations of sound, harmony, and rhythm per se, as he isolated the constituent elements of music and analyzed them, often in solo saxophone concerts. These investigations climaxed in the startling late 70s albums Nonaah (Nessa LP) and L-R-G-/The Maze/S II Examples (Chief CD, Nessa LP), which placed Mitchell squarely in what music critic John Rockwell calls the tradition of great American loners, after Charles Ives, Carl Ruggles, and Ornette Coleman. Critic Larry Kart likened Mitchell’s search to that of Guillaume Dufay and his peers, over half a millenium ago, when polyphony and harmony were new ideas in Western music: “He is discovering anew that when music is truly broken down into its component parts, a new order can emerge.”
But also in the 80s Mitchell began to discover a new lyricism. I don’t think he was always well served by his associates in those years–too often they were tentative about playing his music, which was often composed in high detail. But there was nothing tentative about the band he brought to the HotHouse last September. It had pianist Jodie Christian, two bassists, and three drummers, and it hit hard, the accompanists providing a stampede of sound while Mitchell improvised.
Such a range of ideas, such a variety of music is rare in jazz or any other kind of concert, and such variety and range has almost always characterized Roscoe Mitchell’s programs. Most of the Note Factory were old hands at his music, and most of the pieces they played were familiar (if I recall rightly, they’d done three of them at HotHouse). You might say that it was a typical day in the life of Roscoe Mitchell–he’s concerned now with elaborating on and refining his discoveries. His most exploratory work seems to be behind him, though given his many changes we can never be sure of that.
