Apartheid ranks highly in the vast and unforgivable inventory of Twentieth-century crimes against humanity. Countless people suffered and died under its racialist yoke. Societal repercussions are still felt today. One of the few solaces extant is the art that arose out of and in direct response to its nearly half-century as official policy. Saxophonist Dudu Pukwana and a handful of his countrymen expatriated to Europe and in so doing encountered like-minded improvisers throughout the continent thirsty for collaboration. The creative cross-pollination that ensued created a wealth of projects and performances. Thankfully, some of those encounters took place in the presence of recording equipment and found places in posterity. Yi Yole is one such artifact teaming Pukwana with Dutch improvisers Han Bennink and Misha Mengelberg.

Originally released on the ICP imprint in 1978 and now reissued in a faithful gatefold CD facsimile by Corbett vs. Dempsey the album delivers on the promise of both its participants and packaging. Bennink was at a stage when practically any and all instruments were fair game for his irreverent, but prowess-laden style of improvisation. Besides his usual drum kit, he also holds court ably on clarinet, viola, and trombone. Mengelberg sticks to his signature pan-idiomatic piano, matching his countryman for unpredictability while also manning recording duties. Each player contributes a composition beginning with Pukwana’s title piece, which erupts in a collision of keyboard and tortured viola dissonance soon enhanced by the composer’s glossolalic alto tempered later by an almost nursery rhyme-like rondo. 

The controlled raucousness carries over into Bennink’s “The King of Easle is Called Easle,” a piece that pivots off another circular motif, this time forwarded on Mengelberg’s domino-like block chords, pedal-weighted for extra drama. A trap door opens into a bluesy duet with Pukwana’s vibrato-heavy reed and the two men volley between restraint and ebullience. Bennink remains remarkably behaved for the duration, waiting for a full six minutes before fully entering the fray on garrulous trombone. The resulting polyamorous polyphony echoes AACM ancient-to-the-future sensibilities unconsciously or by intent. A side flip gives over entirely to Mengelberg’s “Silopobock,” which may or may not be a wordplay on the surname of a certain German counterpart. Bennink is in unapologetic clatter mode with a detour in unhinged clarinet and the piece justifies its eighteen-minute-plus exegesis with unbridled contributions from all three musicians.

Derek Taylor