Name: Angus Fairbairn aka Alabaster DePlume
Nationality: British
Occupation: Musician, saxophonist, spoken word poet, composer, activist
Current release: Alabaster DePlume's Gold is out via International Anthem. He is also one of the contributors to Beth Orton's new album Weather Alive.

If you enjoyed this interview with Alabaster DePlume and would like to know more about his work, visit him on Instagram, Facebook, and twitter.

For an interview with one of his collaborators, read our Danalogue interview.



When did you first start getting interested in musical improvisation?

Around 2008, playing on other peoples’ music, I would sometimes be booked to perform with them with little or no time to prepare. I noticed that this was my favourite way to play – because it meant that they had faith in me, to come up with something I personally created in response to them.

It made me think that maybe other people would also enjoy it if I put my faith in them – and encouraged them to bring their own voice in response to my creativity. That this would be more personal. This led me towards more improvised methods.

Which artists, approaches, albums or performances involving prominent use of improvisation captured your imagination in the beginning?

Early on I would visit Matt & Phreds in Manchester, to see local jazz players do things that I found baffling. I didn’t understand what was so exciting about them.

Later I listened to Thelonious Monk’s "Japanese Folk Song", and was able to hear the composition within the improvisation, the notes that were there even when no-one was playing them.



Focusing on improvisation can be an incisive transition. Aside from musical considerations, there can also be personal motivations for looking for alternatives. Was this the case for you, and if so, in which way?

In order to create a setting of support, empathy and inclusion, and hopefully to support people to be more seen and recognised, one thing I can do is to actively support their creative voices on stage, by responding to and supporting the sounds they contribute using my instrument.

What, would you say, are the key ideas behind your approach to improvisation? Do you see yourself as part of a tradition or historic lineage?

One of the things I tell my colleagues in a show or recording it, “we didn’t just bring someone, we brought you – show me what that means; if in doubt, yes”.

The key then might be personal interaction and inclusion, which acts both as a method and a purpose.

What was your own learning curve / creative development like when it comes to improvisation - what were challenges and breakthroughs?

When working with adults with learning difficulties in Manchester, we used to run music sessions together, of groups of up to 30. This involved the use of games, and some specific methods to support the players to make a sound that is in tune, and of unified dynamics, and that involved listening to one-another – fundamentally these methods were focused on supporting (not limiting) innate human expression and joy.

These sessions from my days as a support worker were one of the best breakthroughs for me as an artist.

Tell me about your instrument and/or tools, please. How would you describe the relationship with it? What are its most important qualities and how do they influence the musical results and your own performance?

With the voice (and words) I can connect the music to the audience, and deliver a conclusion or direction to the improvised music. I can embody a thrill and passion using the voice.

With the saxophone I can encourage my musicians, by mimicking that they’re playing, or making a sound that comes from underneath what they’re playing, and rises, helping them to be buoyant. I can also deliver melodies or pleasant hooks that give organic compositions structure.
 
Can you talk about a work, event or performance in your career that's particularly dear to you? Why does it feel special to you? When, why and how did you start working on it, what were some of the motivations and ideas behind it?

On the 27th May 2012, we launched my first album Copernicus, at Antwerp Mansion in Manchester. Colleagues and friends came from around the country to celebrate it, and everyone was involved in some way in the art installation, film and music.



I had begun the creation of that album purely to enjoy creativity using my own methods, with no aspirations to sell or promote it, and I had completed it as an expression of positivity in response to a situation in my life that I found painful.

This event was my first live presentation, and experiment in semi-improvised development of material with musicians performing in-the-round facing each other.

How do you feel your sense of identity influences your collaborations? Do you feel as though you are able to express yourself more fully in solo mode or, conversely, through the interaction with other musicians? Are you “gaining” or “sacrificing” something in a collaboration?

Since we talk and behave differently depending on who is in the room with us, similarly we will create differently depending on who is there. It seems to me we are liberated to different parts of ourselves, given the context of different individuals. I believe less in the idea of ‘people’ and more in the idea of ‘what is between people’.

I love to compose in isolation, but a group of people, responding to one-another with authentic feeling in a unique moment, can create things that I never ever could have planned. And this setting demands a courage of me that I love to embody in this world.

Derek Bailey defined improvising as the search for material which is endlessly transformable. Regardless of whether or not you agree with his perspective, what kind of materials have turned to be particularly transformable and stimulating for you?

The thrill of when people meet for the first time, and enjoy each other, and want to know more about each other, and when they do this through the act of responding to each others’ creative voices.

If this is a material, then it’s especially transformable, unknowable, and stimulating to me.

When you're improvising, does it actually feel like you're inventing something on the spot – or are you inventively re-arranging patterns from preparations, practise or previous performances?

It doesn’t feel like inventing something, it feels more like getting out of the way. It feels like someone wants to pass through the door – any thoughts or concern about ‘myself’ or ‘what I’m doing’ is like standing in the way of that person. The song is true (whatever I do), and the song wants to come through. Allow it to. The great thing wants to happen – let us allow it to happen.

In the show I bring material – songs and tunes and poems. They’re available to us in case they’re useful. They’re like snacks at a party – it’s nice that they’re there, but the main thing is the people and how they interact.

To you, are there rules in improvisation? If so, what kind of rules are these?

There will be rules, but these will be unique to each setting and group of people.

When I’m asked ‘how do you do the show’, I say ‘I don’t know’ – because it depends who is there. If I knew how to do it (i.e.. what the rules are) then it wouldn’t matter who was there. They could be anyone.

I want to make a show where it matters who is there. I want to be always in a setting where it matters who is there. This is one way I can see to work on empathy.

In a live situation, decisions between creatives often work without words. How does this process work – and how does it change your performance compared to a solo performance?

Similarly, the way this works depends on who is involved, and where we are. Between a group of people playing, a pace and dynamic structure is reached, according to what those people are feeling.

When I’m performing solo, that pace and dynamic movement is decided between myself and the audience. I have more freedom to play with and change these things when I’m the only musician – but I have more scope when I’m involved in the sounds that a group is making together.

There are many descriptions of the ideal state of mind for being creative. What is it like for you? In which way is it different between your solo work and collaborations?

Different states are probably ideal for different settings and purposes.

Recently when touring, for example, we sometimes found ourselves short of sleep. Being very tired can offer a truth and tenderness that can’t be accessed when we’re better rested, so long as it is welcome with the right kind of care.

How do you see the relationship between sound, space and performance and what are some of your strategies and approaches of working with them?

Entering a performance space, I speak to the building.

This might sound funny, but it helps me to know I am there, and hopefully to become more present and able to respond to it. I feel the floor under my feet. I speak with the team who work there, and enjoy appreciating them. I take time to connect with them and enjoy my role as a guest. Before we perform, I look out to the audience and remember that I love them.

Space dictates the sound and influences the performance, but the performance is made of people, and from a human perspective the people make the space what it is.

In a way, improvisations remind us of the transitory nature of life. What, do you feel, can music and improvisation express and reveal about life and death?

We get one moment in this life – it’s the one that we are in. We’ve learned to concern ourselves with obsessions about thought structures and worries concerning things that are not actually here, now.

Improvised music flourishes when we are present with those we joined by in the moment. In this way we accept death, in the act of accepting and embodying life, during the only moment we get to live: this one.