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| Magnus Öström, Esbjörn Svensson, Dan Berglund Photo by Jim Rakete courtesy ACT |
Like "Leukocyte" (2009), which Svensson was around to finalize, and which came out of the same series of recordings made in a Sydney studio when the band was on a brief break from touring, "301" is not a collection of scraps or outtakes. This is the e.s.t. we know and love, the trio that makes us think and feel, groove and raise our fists in the air.
“301” begins with Svensson solo on “Behind the Stars,” a single
note alternating with, then overlapping simple chords. Bach-ish and chiming, it
blossoms into a meditation. We’re reminded that Svensson sang when he played,
and that he was a master of the soft touch and soft pedal. We hear a bit of
bassist Dan Berglund, a few arco notes that open the door so “Behind the Stars”
can merge smoothly into “Inner City, City Lights,” a lengthy jam of fuzz, squeaks,
drones, feedback, a continuous, choir-like looping ahhh, and rumbling bass that settles into a groove on which
Svensson’s piano can dance. Where “Behind the Stars” was pensive, “Inner City, City Lights” is dark, the ahhh shifting from the sound of surprise to the sound of despair.
“The Left Lane,” the second-longest piece on the album (clocking in at 13:36), is straight-ahead piano jazz as e.s.t. played it,
spotlighting Svensson the improviser, quick-fingered and full of ideas, ending
with a lengthy solo by Berglund (is there anyone who sounds like Berglund?) and
drummer Magnus Öström’s airy brushes. Play this for the person who says, “I
thought e.s.t. was a rock band.” They started as a jazz band and stayed a jazz
band as they added other music to their repertoire.
“Houston, The 5th” is a work of machine dreams, pure
electronicity, sound without rhythm or melody. Especially following “The
Left Lane,” it’s e.s.t. being e.s.t. And then, without a break, we’re back with
Svensson’s poetic piano on “Three Falling Free Part 1.” Like “Behind the
Stars,” this track is a thing of beauty, Svensson’s delicate keyboard work exquisitely
accompanied by the two friends with whom he collaborated, recorded, played, and
traveled for much of his life. Like The Bad Plus, with whom they have often been compared, e.s.t. was a band and an entity. Lacking Svensson, Berglund, or Öström,
it wasn’t e.s.t., which is why the band was over when Svensson died.
“Three Falling Free Part 1” gives way, after a brief pause,
to “Three Falling Free Part 2,” and here, for the first time on “301,” we hear the
power, endurance, and heat of Öström’s drums. Until now, Öström has been in the
background or in trio; for more than 14 glorious minutes, he leads a furious
charge of signature e.s.t., never letting up or slowing down, joined by
Svensson and Berglund at their biggest and baddest, fuzzed and buzzed by maestro
Ake Linton, the sound engineer with whom the band always worked and who returned to mix and master “301.” All that’s missing from this track is the
stadium and the lightshow.
The skippy, static-filled fade of “Three Falling Free Part
2” precedes the final track, the hushed and wistful “The Childhood Dream.”
Berglund’s bass steps softly, Svensson’s piano enters like a gentleman caller, and Öström
adds hand drums in this poignant and tender ballad. Truly, “301” is framed in
tenderness. It packs a lot of bang into the middle, but begins and ends with
a whisper. I like that. It helps me remember Svensson’s kind, intelligent face,
and his smile, and the way he leaned into the piano, getting close to the keys.
Is “301” e.s.t.'s best record ever, as some critics are saying?
I don’t know and I don’t really care. Honestly, I like all of their albums.
Starting in 1993 with “When Everyone Has Gone,” there are 14, including two
live recordings. “301” is a logical next step in the evolution of a great band. That it’s the
last step should not color how we hear or respond to it, except to regret there
won’t be more.
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