Polar Bear is a London-based quintet led by the Scottish percussionist and composer Sebastian Rochford. Many of the best composers are often percussionists, and Rochford is in good company in joining many of my favorite bandleaders and composers: Steve Reich, Sasu Ripatti, Art Blakey. Something about filling the role of the drummer gives one a particularly useful compositional ear. Rochford’s drumming is clearly jazz-influenced, but his versatility is never in question as he flawlessly incorporates a wide variety of styles into his playing.

Our readers might think that post-rock is a meaningless umbrella term. Well, let’s take a look at contemporary jazz. What unites the music of John Zorn, Jerome Sabbagh, Jon Hassel, Kneebody, Colin Stetson, Aaron Parks, Jaga Jazzist, and Wynton Marsalis? Talk about empty signifiers. But sure, there is a certain tradition of improvisation, similar instrumentation, solo band leaders, and so on, but this is also the 21st century, and fragmentation of styles is the à la mode. All this is a roundabout way of saying that Polar Bear are essentially a ‘jazz’ group, but that this isn’t saying much. The group consists of two tenor saxophones, a double bass, a drummer, and the inimitable Leafcutter John doing whatever it is that he does. Perhaps best known for his field-recordings/found-sound work, in this case his role apparently means mandolin, guitar (?), electronics, and samples. One can’t really always tell what the sources of the noises one hears are, but it really doesn’t matter, does it? Acousmatics, and all that. The production is skilled, but, with the exception of John’s field-recordings, has the rawness of a group of virtuosic players playing together live in a room.

The opening bar with its bright guitar chords seems to suggest an indie band, until, that is, the horns come screaming in. Each of the twelve tracks on Peepers, the bands first record the Leaf Label, develops a captivating melody, with the saxes playing counterpoint off each other, occasionally almost hocketing the melody, which gives it a really interesting effect since their timbre is similar despite their markedly different styles. The rhythm section is top-notch, varying up each song and keeping the album refreshingly dynamic. The guitar, when featured, is generally just bouncing a rhythm against which the saxes can explore interesting harmonic territory. The rest of Leafcutter John’s contributions, I’m assuming, keep the quintet from sounding like anyone else. “Drunken Pharoah,” for instance, features some of John’s best work, with mundane noises and crashes lurching, creating a tension of give and take with the rhythm, seemingly trying to pull back the staccato notes squealing from the horns. This syncopated rhythm also allows bassist Tom Herbert the freedom to explore in ways the more melodic tracks don’t allow. Though there are some slower paced and moodier tunes, the album has a generally upbeat feeling, borderline ecstatic at times, with melodies that sometimes evoke 60s era garage rock. “A New Morning Will Come” vaguely recalls Tortoise’s most recent work., and I hear the occasional Do Make Say Think refence channeled in little moments like the end of “Hope Every Day Is a Happy New Year.”

The vinyl version closes with “Finding Our Feet,” which is perhaps the most ‘out there’ of the compositions on the album. It seems that Leafcutter John takes centrestage here, on a meandering piece that builds a somewhat disquieting atmosphere out of the human voice, steered by the firm-handed rudder of Rochford’s percussion. The horns’ role in this piece is understated, but the band adeptly navigates uncertain waters to calmer shores. The CD version ends with “All Here,” arguably a more suitable closer, allowing the whole band to seemingly unwind, not going out with a band, but also not ending on a somewhat bizarre note either.

There are few feelings like listening to a band one’s never heard of and being completely blown away. I really love getting records like this, so I come to the record with no expectations. It is rare that I’ll instantly rush out and buy a record on vinyl, particularly from an artist I’m not already familiar with, but Peepers is that sort of record. (The last time I was so excited about a new artist was the first time I heard Slow Six.) I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but somehow I missed the last three Polar Bear LPs, beginning with their 2004 debut, Dim Lit. Peepers may not be the shape of jazz to come, but comes highly recommended for aficionados of the whole spectrum of jazz and instrumental rock.

Originally published by The Silent Ballet in 2010