Where is the bass? This question pops up at one point in the elaborate liner notes adorning the triple live box set The Bikini Tapes by scandinavian powerhouse Atomic. The writer of the notes must have misplaced his glasses, or his hearing aid, cause the bass player in question is most definitely there. He´s always where he should be: everywhere, even when absent. Quintet is the title of his first release with a group in his own name, not counting the daring solo double bass outing on Sofa records. And the name of this supreme being (yes) is Ingebrigt Håker Flaten.
We won't dive into the wonderous lake that is Norwegian Jazz, but
let's just put it into words: the bass belong to Ingebrigt. Since the
first serious sightings of him in the mid-90s, he has put his earthy
thump into the music performed live or in the studio, with famed
players like (in no particular order) Dave Liebman, Joe Lovano, Raoul
Bjørkenheim, Jon Christensen, Nils Petter Molvær, John Scofield, Yusef
Lateef, Bugge Wesseltoft, Joe McPhee, Tony Oxley, Mats Gustafson, Tore
Brunborg, Joshua Redman, Axel Dørner, Paul Lytton, Ken Vandermark,
Chris Potter, the list goes on. Of his steady gigs we have already
noted Atomic, but there is also the powerfully rockin´ The Thing,
School Days, Free Fall, and any constellation you may care to dream of.
This quintet was born out of Ingebrigt receiving the highly desired
accolade Vitalprisen 2004. It gave him some well-earned cash, but also
a date on the following years Jazz festival at Kongsberg. Playing with
an enourmously varied assortment of bands and musicians, he decided he
wanted to put all of his musical inspiration into one band: his own.
And that is Quintet of which this title speaks. Mainly performing his
own compositions, but as you can see, and HEAR on this disk: a range
from Charlie Haden to Marvin Gaye, performed with zest and fervour. And
with an edge; within the Quintet on this album you find the talented
youngster Klaus Ellerhusen Holm on varius saxes, swedish tumbler
Fredrik Rundquist on drums, the improv/noise-wunderkid outta Stavanger,
Anders Hana on free form guitar. And to put some kick into the
recordings: Ola Kvernberg fiddling about in style, a left-turn from
this acclaimed string swing master.
Ingebrigt Håker Flaten Quintet brings the funk into the free bag,
and the pomp into the pit. And now Ingebrigt brings it to Chicago,
where he currently lives. The new live lineup keeps Kvernberg, but adds
the explicitly talented Jeff Parker (Tortoise), Dave Rempis (Vandermark 5) and Frank Rosaly (Rob Mazureks Mandarin Movie). His music is
in the best of hands.
Ingebrigt Håker Flaten has influenced the Norwegian music scene for more than a decade, and has been on the road for
more than 250 days a year, thus becoming one of the main exporters of Norwegian culture. He’s one of the many we
are proud of, and one who springs to mind when foreign music journalists ask: What’s the secret behind the unique sound of Norwegian music?
The first time I saw and heard Ingebrigt, he looked like a character from a Norwegian folk tale by Asbjørnsen & Moe. Longish, blonde hair, a big smile and cunning, squinting eyes: An Espen Askeladd out to find the perfect beat with both lunch pack and courage to walk on until he’d reached his goal. The band was The Source and Ingebrigt was still a jazz student in Trondheim. I still remember the vivid contrast between his wholesome looks and the thundering, almost sinister force that exploded as man and instrument became one. Already as a young student, Ingebrigt had developed that heavy and characteristic Flaten beat (a phrase coined by bass playing icon and master of jive” Bjørnar Andresen, rip).
Like David with his sling, he was the little man who could work wonders with his instrument. From then on, he has put his stamp on bands like Element, Atomic, The Thing, Bugge Wesseltoft s New Conception of Jazz, Black Beauty, Schooldays ... He has also performed on his own. I still list the first time I saw him
playing solo as one of the most profound musical moments of my life. Ingebrigt Håker Flaten on stage, a packed venue and total silence. The crowd was on its toes, almost shouting: Jump, jump, jump! Ingebrigt visualised the dare itself, he struck the lowest string, grabbed the tuning peg and tweaked away. The crowd gasped, would he make it? He tackle the bass, he tamed it and had the crowd in the palm of his hand. I wasnt thinking about other bass players or jazz
legends, I was thinking about Johnny Cash.
The greatest musicians in the world take you into their dreams and create a space where anything can happen, where you as a listener can take part. Ingebrigt Håker Flaten is one of them. Just as I have wished that I was Miles Davis, Prince or James Brown, many times I have wished that I was Ingebrigt Håker Flaten, especially when The Thing does its explosive
version of James Blood Ulmers BabyTalk. I wish it was me.
With his own quintet, he creates a musical universe, embedding all his musical experience. If anything should be labelled fusion, it is, above all, the music on this record. Fusion, but also friction. The music tilts and balances. It s
as if all the sources of inspiration lie scattered along the road like mud puddles, quagmires and deep pitfalls. Like a proud troop leader, he guides his musicians on. They try to keep their balance, stagger, snap twigs, slide along
on slippery, mossy logs, stumble, but never fall. It s a balancing act, and in that critical moment when you draw your breath and forget to let it back out, you realise that they are smiling, certain that they will reach the other side,
they re only looking for excitement along the way. I try to think of someone else who thrive on that same excitement, and I come up with: Henry Threadgill, Robert Wyatt and Ornette Coleman.
The music is funky, wild, vulnerable, beautiful, but most of all alluring in all its inaccessibil ity. The sound is strange and unfamiliar. I recognise the words but not the language. I am drawn to the sound, but sometimes pushed away. Loving rejections, welcome in and piss off all in the same tune. There’s an attractive and visual mysticism to the music, not narcissism (or suicidal tendencies), but more like the vigorous and burlesque curiousness of masters like David Lynch, Fredricco Fellini or Francis Bacon. I have to return once I’ve left it, not really knowing why. Perhaps it s because I need to find out exactly what happens when Ola Kvernberg and Anders Hana fight for a note, when fiddle and guitar melt into one and vanish into Klaus Holms persistent howl. What is it that suddenly makes me snap and cry out: Yeah! , only to ask myself: Was that me? Maybe it s because I picture Fredrik Rundkvist as the Obelix of jazz, and that he fell into Elvin Jones soup as a young boy and
therefore has an everlasting energy, he can roll and rumble forever his band brothers stand on his shoulders and shoot out into frequent face to face encounters with the roaring crowd. Maybe it s because I hear Ingebrigt s excited
humming, and I know that when Ingebrigt hums, well, then he’s left the ground, his sweat pours and his entire body exceeds its boundaries. Or maybe its just because I wish it was me, standing there with that bass, leading one of the best bands in the world.
Where is the bass? This question pops up at one point in the elaborate liner notes adorning the triple live box set The Bikini Tapes by scandinavian powerhouse Atomic. The writer of the notes must have misplaced his glasses, or his hearing aid, cause the bass player in question is most definitely there. He´s always where he should be: everywhere, even when absent. Quintet is the title of his first release with a group in his own name, not counting the daring solo double bass outing on Sofa records. And the name of this supreme being (yes) is Ingebrigt Håker Flaten.
