Veggie

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Soulful, mysterious and sometimes surpassingly strange, Veggie is a musical hybrid that holds the listener's attention from start to finish. The common denominator throughout is Arve Heniksen's masterful trumpet work and, to a slightly lesser extent, Iain Bellamy's keening saxophones. But three of the four musicians in the Food quartet double on samplers, and from the sound of things, drummer Thomas Stronen spends as much time with the sampler as with his kit. Bassist Mats Eilertsen is discreet to the point of invisibility on many tracks (or perhaps processed beyond recognition), but he and Heniksen are involved in a superb duet on "veg" - just trumpet, bass and some subtle percussive jingling. Here, Heniksen's expressive minor key slurs and lonesome cries sound very much like Miles Davis' solo work on Sketches of Spain's flamenco-inspired "Solea."

The CD opens, though, with the inscrutably titled "tofu" - with Food going for the jugular (or the vegetarian equivalent). Never has the humble curd been presented so aggressively; never has it sounded so dangerous. Ominous drones are overtaken by percussive clatter and whistling oscillators, then squeals and howls of distorted, swooping feedback - all of which ends precipitously, without warning. But now that the group has the listener's attention, the music settles down on the next piece, "eat," into something much closer to Jon Hassell's gently probing Fourth World experiments, with Heniksen and Bellamy coiling sinuously around each others lines, punctuated by Stronen's electronically generated chimes and rattles. The previously mentioned "veg," is even more laid back and lyrical, and it gives over to "chickpea," which features a quietly percolating sequencer rhythm over which sax and trumpet extemporize. The cyclical trance percussion provides a minimalist ambience worthy of vintage Terry Riley, and on this track and several others, the lyrical combinations of soprano sax, trumpet and electronics also hints at the ambient extremes of the early Miles Davis electric band circa In a Silent Way.

The final piece, "mushroom," is the set's tour de force. At close to ten minutes, it is the longest track on the CD, and also has the greatest dynamic range. It is sustained throughout by a brooding, two-note synth pattern to which are added ominous electronic buzzing, vocal muttering, assorted percussive crackles and thumps, and then Bellamy's wailing saxophone. The sax temporarily recedes, replaced by some rather incredible overtone singing from trumpeter Heniksen, whose gut wrenching moans and howls sound for all the world like some grizzled Sami shaman in a state of altered consciousness. (Hence, perhaps, the title "mushroom.") As the shaman departs, he and Bellamy's sax wail in unison, and then trumpet and sax conduct a moody but restrained dialogue until the piece comes to a quiet close. Extraordinary stuff, and a fitting end to a great recording.