I binged on Anthony Braxton’s 12 Comp (Zim) this week. Rather than savoring each of the 12 concerts in the new set, I elected to plow through all 638 minutes of the recordings from 2017 in three days. My approach may have devalued the music, but it elevated even the most mundane aspects of my daily life. The work of the decorated genius demands- and merits- attentive listening. Yet I experienced it amid the footsteps of joggers, the thrum of kitchen appliances, the chatter of tree-dwelling creatures and the rumble of street traffic. I felt consecrated by the merger of hallowed and commonplace sounds.
As someone who traveled 500 miles to attend a Braxton concert in 2018, I realize I’m an atypical listener. Even so, it’s amazing how some of his most challenging music is transformed into semi-easy listening after just a few hours. My life partner didn’t once complain about the continual onslaught. She may share my sense that the spectral sounds are divinely inspired. The interstellar chamber music documented on 12 Comp (Zim) is a self-contained universe. Akin to an alien life form derived from unknown biological building blocks, Braxton’s drummer-less band exists apart from established Earth-bound categories.
The sonic wavelengths created by a core group that includes an accordionist, a pair of harpists and a tuba player operates within a system of recondite rules outside the realms of classical, jazz and popular music. Figuratively and literally, it’s a lot. I would be content spending the remainder of 2021 decoding 12 Comp (Zim). Corresponding video documentation would aid in the analysis. Yet Quartet (Standards) 2020, an even bigger box of Braxton with a very different set of collaborators, was also released this month. The Braxton binge is just beginning.