With Wilco on hiatus, Nels Cline has been making the most of his so-called downtime. The guitarist is currently prepping for a tour with his Consentrik Quartet, which just released its self-titled debut on Blue Note. The album revels in the swinging, grooving, unpredictable (but always tasteful) chemistry between Cline, sax player Ingrid Laubrock, bassist Chris Lightcap and drummer Tom Rainey. It’s also an impressive showcase for the sort of versatility not as readily apparent in Cline’s more restrained work with Wilco.
MAGNET’s Hobart Rowland checked in with Cline earlier this month.
How did you link up with the amazing players in the Consentrik Quartet?
My association with drummer extraordinaire Tom Rainey started maybe 20 years ago when I formed an improvising trio with him and accordionist/electronic musician Andrea Parkins, which released the recordings in the early aughts. I’d been a fan of his playing for some time—he’s played with practically everybody—and always felt we had strong chemistry. I still feel that way. I can’t recall how I met Chris Lightcap, but it may have been through our mutual producer/author friend David Breskin. We connect on both jazz and rock levels, as he’s remarkable on both acoustic and electric bass and is a superb composer and bandleader.
A few years ago, I started a trio with Chris and Tom. We played a few times in New York City and once in Japan, but it was heavy on cover songs and had a somewhat different aesthetic than Consentrik. It did lead me to play with them at the Stone in Brooklyn when John Zorn had that going in an art gallery in Crown Heights. The second of my two nights there, I invited Ingrid, Tom’s amazing wife, to join us for a night of all-improvised music—and it was lovely. I’d heard Ingrid on recordings, live with the duo she and Tom have done for years, and with the Mary Halvorson Octet, among others. She’s also a formidable composer. After that night at the Stone, I guess I started wondering … Everyone plays so beautifully, and they’re wonderful human beings.
What role did Philadelphia’s Ars Nova Workshop play?
Mark Christman, who heads up Ars Nova, saw a grant come across his desk that required a composer to create and perform music for a quartet—and he thought of me. Initially, I believe he was thinking of my band with Julian Lage called the Nels Cline 4. I explained that Julian was on his own glorious path playing his own music, and that the amount of playing we’d done together was, in light of his phenomenal career and abilities, miraculous. I couldn’t ask him to do more. I told Mark about my new quartet idea, and he basically said, “Great, just write something about what you want to do and why.” I did, and I got the grant. And here we are.
You’ve described this new LP as a love letter to the Brooklyn improvised music scene. Tell us more about that scene.
Hmm … I think another writer came up with that idea. But I certainly love the vitality and virtuosity I perceive in Brooklyn, and I have so many friends there who inspire me. Of course, the New York City area has been famous in this regard for decades—and for a good reason. The number of creative and skilled musicians living and working there is huge, and the possibility of playing and collaborating is always present. This said, one of the most wonderful things about playing music is that it holds out the possibility of playing with folks from all over. Good music can be found almost anywhere, and it’s a privilege to try to play it.
How did the pandemic shape the music on Consentrik Quartet?
After I got that grant … boom, the pandemic. On the block where we lived in Brooklyn, there was a fire station and a police station, and things were really getting gnarly. A close friend entreated my wife and me to leave our crowded building and come upstate for a while to a rural area with small dairy farms and the like. Upon arriving at a rather odd spot heavy with snow in the woods near Davenport, N.Y., we were suddenly in a realm of almost pure stillness. It’s where I wrote “Time Of No Sirens,” which should be self-explanatory. “The 23” is the number of a county highway we often found ourselves on. “House Of Steam” refers to how, during this freezing time, the windows in the kitchen would always steam up. Musically, I feel this piece—as well as “Allende” and “The Bag”—could’ve been written anywhere at almost any point in my life, as long as I was thinking about these specific musicians.
“Satomi” is for our dear friend Satomi Matsuzaki, and it’s a tribute to her strength and kindness and seemingly inexhaustible support. The ebullient first part is sort of a musical portrait of her in the remarkable band she plays and sings in called Deerhoof. The second, poignant part is a reflection of my concern for her during the pandemic as she had to deal with very heavy family stuff in Japan—certainly an outgrowth of the pandemic. The rest of the songs on the record were written post-pandemic, but we stayed in rural upstate New York.
In what ways has your Blue Note output over the years carried over into your work with Wilco?
Interesting question. I think they live in pretty separate worlds, actually. My records are solely instrumental, and I guess they are “jazz” records. Jeff Tweedy’s songs are about 95-percent words and music, which is great because he’s a true poet and a great communicator. As an improviser who tries to play songs, the act of playing is, in many ways, the same for me in both worlds—though a live Wilco show is certainly more of a “show.” It’s generally big and more of a spectacle.
I’m just trying to play coherently in every musical situation—to use my imagination and whatever else I can bring to bear on the proceedings. I guess it’s all one big, swirling sonic stew to me, with every note, gesture and utterance connected to all the others, despite perceived differences in genre or milieu. The guitar is quite naturally a kind of shuttle diplomat, traversing various musical realms with relative ease. It may seem odd to operate in worlds that seem somewhat dissimilar. But I guess for me, it’s natural.
See the Consentrik Quartet live.
