In the third volume of his Overseas project, Norwegian bassist Eivind Opsvik carries on his own idiosyncratic musical path. That’s not to say it’s weird, per se, it’s just different, the man has a compositional style that sets him apart. The basic sound might best be describes as jazz, but he takes it places far and wide. The opening cut on Overseas Volume III is titled, “Neil,” an homage to Neil Young’s Harvest album, but beyond an expansive feel, it doesn’t really follow in that work’s footsteps. There’s more of a free and easy jazz feel, textured with a bit of old-school country influence.
Right when you’re getting in the home spun groove of Neil, Opsvik dials it down a notch or three on Everseas, a minimalist piece you might compare to some of David Sylvian’s most stripped down works. This track is the lowlight of the disc for me, as there’s nothing much to grab on to, and at nine minutes, it seems to stretch on and on into that cold distance. Fortunately, Silver comes out with a quavering pedal steel guitar opening to return the album to a more familiar, less disconcerting path.
The best track on the disc might well be Ginger Rogers, in which the first half consists of the keyboardist playing a languid series of ascending and descending patterns to represent the dancing grace of the titular character under a sublime veil of horns, and barely there percussion. The keys break out in the second half in flights of fancy, the percussion comes more to the fore, Opsvik chimes in on bass occasionally. There’s a hint of tension, an intimation of classical music within the jazz structure, and the whole is just a delight to nod along to. Below the whole sequence, the original keys melody is repeating itself, slowly reasserting itself until it takes back control at the end.
This comfortable groove also doesn’t last, as Opsvik unleashes Breath of Bark on the listener, with discordant horns scraping their nails across a chalkboard in an oddly endearing matter. The mood is becalmed by a Whiff of Wood, which returns to the minimalist theme. This time around, Opsvik gives you a few notes to hold on to, chiming in with his bass to anchor the moody instrumentation.
The finale comes in the form of the 15 minute Lull of Lumber, a track that largely sticks to the closest approximation of traditional jazz in its first half, before giving over to more minimalist noodling in its midsection. The final turn of the wheel is a good one, though, as Opsvik unleashes his cool jazz instincts to weave a hip, layered vibe to close out the album. The track as a whole is a fitting end to a disc that has its fair share of interesting moments, as well as a few that might well put you to sleep. In balance, though, the interesting wins out, and the disc as a whole is well worth the attention it demands.
