LONG ARMS 980101.

KENNY MILLIONS/OTOMO YOSHIHIDE,
WITHOUT KURYOKHIN,

LONG ARMS 99021.

The late Sergey Kuryokhin strikes me as having been something of a contradiction in terms. He used his high-power classical chops to skewer showy, "Flight of the Bumblebee" pianism at the same time that he was actually engaging in it. It's hard to hear his bombastic, nearly 40-minute solo improv, "Nobody Nose" on (1) without occasionally flashing on the head-flailing of a Horowitz or Paderewski. You figure that even if Kuryokhin's not thinking "nobody else in the world can do this" as he tosses off some dazzling arpeggiation, certainly the audience must be. This solo has clearly been informed by the phase-shifting minimalism of Reich and Glass, but these composers would probably have been forced to use a mid-size ensemble to accomplish what Kuryokhin manages with two hands. He doesn't stick with the minimalists, though. He sprays out updated Scarlatti, boogie-woogie, Rachmaninov, Broadwayisms, you name it. He often seems to be joshing, but there's no question that he's consciously taking a star turn. His use of repetition has the thick maximalism of Keith Tippett, but Kuryokhin is a more melodic/romantic performer. They're both virtuosos, but Kuryokhin somehow seems more of a showman: would Tippett skip off into impossible variations on something akin to "The Man in the Flying Trapeze"? Kuryokhin switches from Prokofievian motives or neo-Baroque sewing machine riffs to circus ditties or showtunes with the speed of a Fieisher cartoon updated to allow for hyperdrive. I find his stuff more technically impressive than musically satisfying (just too many flourishes for my taste), but it's undeniably inventive and spirited. When he's joined by the avant-garde vocalist/drummer David Moss, the two men settle into some slower-paced silliness. There are throat drones, duck and chimp chirping and, in general, a good deal of well-performed modernism. Moss can imitate vocal styles with nearly the breadth with which Kuryokhin can apply funhouse mirrors to every use of the keyboard instrument since the beginning of time: so, no one should be surprised if it seems like the Moscow audience was treated to brief guest appearances by Rosemary Clooney, Enrico Caruso, Sinead O'Connor, and De La Soul. Moss is quite an inventive drummer, too, and he has with him a goodly bundle of cheesy noisemakers. For all their talent, though, the material on this recording leans more toward the clever (sometimes even the hysterically funny) than toward the beautiful or deeply moving. But if wit-plus-virtuosity is your thing, it would be hard to do much better than Tea for Two.
There's not as much burlesque on the highly industrial (2), but you do get a couple of guys hollering out high volume profanities and grunting along with basic rock riffs like a Belushi-influenced aerobics instructor. (There's obviously some other funny stuff that had to be seen to be appreciated: the audience absolutely howls on a couple of occasions when there's nothing at all going on in the auditory world.) Otomo has some wonderful factory noise samples in his quiver, and Millions/Mashlak often joins in threateningly with low, buzzing drones. Several of the atmospheres are nicely disturbing. Millions goes off on a serious-minded clarinet adventure on "Live 1" while Otomo delivers landscapes that include a spray of piano keys, snake hisses, deep sensuous voices, and Zappaesque electronics. There's some wild west saloon piano along with high-speed radio psychosis on "Live & Remix 2" and more dark clarinet on "Live & Remix 3." "Live & Remix 4" is loud, dense, and mostly annoying, as is the lengthy cover of "Those Were the Days" on "Live 2." At times I would like to have heard more fast-moving sax lines over Otomo's well-chosen back- and foregrounds, but Millions displays a curious reticence on Without Kuryokhin. It's the first music I've heard since some old, second-tier Weather Report performances that could be described as a "reverse sax concerto": an acoustic horn player provides backup to electronics and, in this case, turntables. It's often enjoyable, but it sure isn't the sort of thing Sergey Kuryokhin would have participated in as an acoustic instrumentalist. No one ever wondered who the front man was when that demonic master fired it up. I wonder if he's still wowing them, now at a venue where, at last, every one of his rapid fire allusions will be fully appreciated.