Chelsea McBride's Socialist Night School: Aftermath
Chelsea McBride

Chelsea McBride's follow-up to her 2017 Socialist Night School debut, The Twilight Fall, excels on so many levels, it's hard to know where to begin. The command the Toronto-based composer, conductor, and saxophonist demonstrates in her writing and orchestration shows a remarkable maturity for someone whose career began but a few short years ago. She's accomplished much in that time, however: Aftermath is her sixth release, with three (two albums and an EP) credited to the Socialist Night School and three (two EPs and one full-length) to her jazz-pop outfit Chelsea and the Cityscape.

Sonically and thematically ambitious, Aftermath, the majority of which she composed during a 2017 residency in Banff, advances on The Twilight Fall with a world view seasoned by experience. Conflict in its many guises is central, from the political to the personal. As intimated by its cover image, Aftermath is darker than its predecessor in its grappling with serious issues, but it's neither depressing nor dispiriting; if anything, the album's ultimate effect is inspirational. Its message is that change is possible, though it can't happen without action, and consequently Aftermath serves an imperative in accentuating the need for personal responsibility if such change is to materialize. It is, in McBride's own words, “a call to action” as well as “an ode to and an antidote for times of division—times such as these.”

At nineteen members (including the leader on tenor sax), Socialist Night School gives McBride a broad palette from which to draw, and she exploits fully the possibilities offered. The ensemble boasts six woodwind players, eight horns, a pianist, guitarist, bassist, drummer, and vocalist. Horns and woodwinds engage in glorious polyphony throughout, the sonic world that evidently blossomed at Banff rendered into striking physical form on the recording's ten tracks. Her compositions advance through multiple episodes, each part logically growing out of the one preceding it and key and mood changes reflecting dynamic development. Her handling of counterpoint and arrangement is sophisticated, and solos are also thoughtfully integrated into the structures and relate meaningfully to the piece in question. To illustrate, consider how organically the bluesy dialogue between McBride's tenor and Aidan Sibley's trombone builds during the extended solo section in the opening “Revolution Blues,” or how clearly the wail of Alison Young's tenor sax conveys angst in “Say You Love Me.” Notice also the expert pacing trumpeter Tom Upjohn brings to his far-reaching turn in “Ballad of the Arboghast” and the elegant and ultimately rousing solo pianist Chris Bruder contributes to “The Void Becomes You.”

One noticeable difference between the group's two albums is the greater amount of singing on the new one. While Alex Samaras appeared on a handful of pieces on the first, the follow-up includes him on all but one, a move that turns the album into something of a vocal-based song cycle. Thankfully, it's not a cause for concern: his singing is more effective on the new album than on the earlier set, and he brings a versatility to his performances that McBride's writing demands: he's a veritable Mephistopheles on “House On Fire,” for example, whereas “Porcelain” sees him crooning in saloon singer mode. Elsewhere, his restrained delivery complements the material without overpowering it.

As mentioned, the political and the personal intersect on the album. Lest anyone think reverberations from the 2016 US presidential election stopped at that country's borders, McBride's “Revolution Blues” indicates otherwise. A sardonic ode to capitalism, “House On Fire” riffs on greed, profit, and environmental exploitation with theatrical flamboyance, the tune delivering its wry message like some modern-day Weill-Brecht polemic. Openly addressing her own experiences with mental illness, McBride explores bipolar disorder in “Fly By Night” and “Niagara,” the frenetic former focusing on the manic side and the latter the comedown with all the struggles that entails. (Consistent with the album's tone, while the lyrics in “Niagara” could be interpreted as referencing its famous falls as a metaphor for the crushing weight of depression, the track's music conveys a sense of liberation and quiet uplift.) The sole instrumental, “The Righteous and the Wicked,” derives its muscular thrust from a drum'n'bass-styled groove courtesy of bassist Steven Falk and drummer Geoff Bruce.

Another aspect that elevates Aftermath is the emotional resonance in McBride's writing, which comes through vividly in the set's vulnerable pieces, “Say You Love Me,” “The Void Becomes You,” “Niagara,” and “Love is on the Line.” McBride's imbued these ballad-like settings with powerful melodies that make them extremely moving. It's hard to imagine anyone not being affected by the melancholy of the stately “Say You Love Me” (“But when you leave / Say you love me”), the gently soaring melodies that lift “The Void Becomes You,” or the disarmingly beautiful melodic progressions in “Niagara” (“Oh, Niagara / Fall for me / Run to the distant sea ...”). The hymn-like “Love is on the Line” makes for a gorgeous closer, with a lovely vocal augmented by David Riddel's acoustic guitar and a magnificent ensemble performance. McBride's artistry is perhaps never more evident than on this heartfelt outro. As credible as The Twilight Fall is, Aftermath represents a formidable progression. A recording to savour from beginning to end, the seventy-four-minute collection impresses so much it's hard not to contemplate the heights she might scale in the years to come.

November 2019