FCS North
FCS North
Pacifico Records

CD Review by Reed Jackson

Some pictures defy even a thousand words. A deck packed with drunk teenagers abruptly collapsing into nighttime mud, six girls simultaneously urinating over scattered shrubbery awash in moonlight, the lazy swirl of a ceiling fan in a room that's being consumed by fire; these are occurrences which bring the verbal and descriptive faculties grinding to a sudden and baffled halt. The mind struggles to encompass such images in an envelope of words capable of expressing the combined surreality, violence, absurdity and emotion of the events, but ultimately a glassy, shell-shocked silence or empty gesture are the inevitable results.

FCS North recognize such moments exist in the lives of everyone, and their word-free songs attempt to convey the startling flash when those instants indelibly impress themselves in the brain. Not that their songs embody specific emotions, personal experience, or definite events. Instead the fluid dynamics of this Seattle trio mesh into a protean tableau of ever-changing atmospheres. The band will lay down a mannered groove, all empty space and echoing keyboards, only to introduce claustrophobic syncopation or ass-bustin' rhythms a millisecond later. And what's more, the band accomplishes such shifts so seamlessly that one can't pin down exactly when the song mutated. Like an early morning dream, the structure of FCS North songs exists as an infinitely malleable object.

It's a willingness to experiment rarely seen in jazz outfits (and FCS North remains primarily a jazz band,) most of whom still view the diluting of jazz's pure waters with electronic and rock elements as the worst sort of moral affront, and hence become limited by their own prejudices. FCS North also avoid the pitfalls of the avant-jazz and fusion circles, in that they strictly adhere to a code of melodic economy and pragmatic restraint. Every sequence of a song forms a necessary part of the whole, no single sample or bass line excessive or out of place. Even in the midst of moments of improvisational abandon, FCS North remain conscious not to let the songs get too out of hand. It's a wonderful quality, especially when ears still quiver from the coke-fueled cacophony of Miles Davis' eighties period. Harnessing the open-ended avenues of experimental jazz while retaining integrity and keeping things tight and consonant. FCS North might be the most accessible thing to happen to jazz in a long time.

Whether connecting with the force of a runaway shopping cart, or subtly waterbrushing a subdued scene, FCS North, with their evocative and transformative tones, imbue all the formerly incommunicable aspects of life, funny, unbelievable, sexy or sad, with a new and effective voice. "In Expression of the Inexpressible," indeed.

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