Word: unreality
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...scenario for an underground comic book, the story would sound unreal: a U.S. company widely reviled in Central America as an exploiter of plantation laborers runs into a rising tide of Third World nationalism. Workers turn intransigent, and profits slump. Then a secretary interrupts a board meeting in Boston with news that an unknown buyer has cornered a huge block of the stock. He turns out to be an ex-rabbinical student who ousts the old management and transforms the company into an empire of steers, root-beer stands and ice-cream parlors. South of the border, he speeds...
DECEPTION" aside, the album falls into two loose suites. Side one attempts an historical statement, but it's a vague vision. "Snow in San Anselmo" is cemented in a real experience, but almost unreal in its rarity. It is a picture, a series of strung together images, missions, and massage parlors, pancake houses, and waitresses, barren and dull. The rhythm section plods its way through a descending progression, only to break into an uptempo jazz styled passage: walking bass, spiralling saxophone solo blended into the overall mix, piano chords cementing the whole, the Oakland Symphony Orchestra Chorus offering incongruous styles...
...Sheets," and the more recent "Listen to the Lion," but enjoys the virtue of accessibility. Anybody can get close to the cool jazz tempo with its prominent flutes and deliberate lack of structure, thanks to Rich Schlosser's wonderfully slipshod drumming. Gary Mallaber's vibes add to that unreal quality. Labes' piano struggles to cement the song and fails, yet remains as coloring. Platania's noodling and inconsistency work perfectly here. This is a song of instants, like the vibes and wah-wah fusion for a haunting vibrato under the single word "dream," or Schlosser's cymbal crash...
...real alcoholic crying for help. But because he is Alan Severance, who, he says, is suffering from severe delusions, Recovery poses a new turn of the proverbial screw. The novel projects itself so far into Berryman's personal reality that you are never sure if Severance isn't some unreal phantom of his self-deception...
...Unreal. In February, Coleman went on a leave, telling his plans to nobody except his oldest son. Neither his trustees nor his secretary knew where he was going. Indeed, he hardly knew himself. He went to Atlanta and landed a job at $2.75 an hour digging ditches for sewers and water lines. It was exhausting work-"How many times," he asked himself, "had I read of men in their fifties dying while shoveling snow?"-but he stuck to it for two weeks. Then he had to quit in order to attend a meeting of the Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia...