When I sat down to start writing this review I made a stark realisation: I’m not qualified at all to do this.
I have next to no knowledge about Sri Lanka (percussionist Ray Pereira‘s motherland), very limited knowledge about African and Afro-Cuban percussion (Ray Pereira’s musical discipline), let alone Afro-Lancan drumming (a practice Ray has developed, coining the term.) I do know one thing, though: I know what I like, what inspires me, what excites me, and what brings me joy — and Ray Pereira’s music (in any setting I’ve heard him play) does exactly that. As for The Mouth, the band he is co-leading with saxophonist Julien Wilson, it does so much more.
First things first: The Mouth is one of the greatest, most badass names for a band I’ve ever encountered.
It stems, apparently, from Pereira and Wilson’s previous collaboration, in the Tooth and Tongue collective, featuring Juan Carlos Allende, and a number of other percussionists. The wordplay is obvious (tooth + tongue = mouth, get it?) and it is also a reference to a saying about how teeth and tongue are what make us articulate (or something like that, my memory fails me) — basically, a saying about the significance of collaboration, in order to achieve anything.
So, The Mouth started off as a condensed version of Tooth and Tongue, but it has evolved into an entity of its own, thanks to a monthly residency at Bar Oussou in Brunswick, allowing the group to work on their material, test ideas, more importantly, find an audience.
Let’s get the conclusion out of the way now: The Mouth is easily one of the best live acts in Melbourne at the moment, a must-see (or rather, must-experience) performance, pretty much like The Rookies’ regular Wednesday gigs, Michelle Nicolle’s Thursday gigs, John Montessante’s (also) Thursday thing, Bohjass Mondays at 303, Paul Williamson’s monthly performances at the Rainbow Hotel, or one of the Jazz Party legendary Monday residences.
Pereira and Wilson are the pillars of the band, bringing in their vast combined experience and a wide array of musical references and influences.
Ray Pereira is an undisputed master of percussion, with deep knowledge of African (and particularly West-African) drumming and rhythmologies, and his Afro-Lankan practice is more than just wordplay; it stems from meticulous research and exploration — geographical, cultural, and esoteric, spiritual and psychological. He lays out one intricate groove after the other, blending and mixing them together, as he leads the group through fire-hot melodies.
It’s been a (long) while since I last thought of music in Apollonian and Dionysian terms, but if Pereira here represents the Dionysian element (and make no mistake, this is definitely Dionysian music), then it falls on Julien Wilson to play the Apollonian part. He plays it perfectly, even when you can almost see flames coming out of his tenor or soprano sax. If you listen to The Mouth with eyes closed (or through a recording — which is hopefully coming soon) you would be excused to describe Wilson’s presence as shamanic.
Julien Wilson has always been a remarkable player with a sound simultaneously robust and soft, which allows him to tell a myriad of stories and express a myriad of ideas.
He is easily one of the finest horn players of his (our) generation, and he keeps getting better and better with age, adding layers over layers of feelings and meaning to his playing. So let me rephrase that word I hate – ‘shamanic’ – by saying that if there’s any wisdom in his playing, as he counteracts the wall of rhythm coming out of Pereira’s corner, it comes from lived experience, which is equally important as chops, if not much more.
However, it is the least experienced members of the band that matter most here — because the Mouth is an intergenerational collaboration, Pereira and Wilson’s gravitas balanced by three young stars: guitarist Robbie Bellchamber, bassist Ashleigh Howell, and drummer Quinn Knight.
When I mentioned to Ray that really love how Quinn’s playing complements his own, he said: “of course; he’s been my student since he was very little — he knows my rhythm.” That concept of rhythm as a marker of identity has stayed with me, and it has informed the way I listen to all music, but what matters here is how it explains the connection and interaction between Pereira and Knight. Yes, they are the teacher and student, the master and apprentice, but on stage, they are equals, they take turns shifting gears, being the yin to each other’s yang. Pereira is assertive, dominant, ferocious, and humorous; Knight is swift, light, spacey, fast and fluttering. Together they create a fusillade of beats, weaving intricate rhythms into a strong musical fabric.
In a similar manner, Robbie Bellchamber shares melodic and harmonic duties with Wilson, and proves to be his equal on any level. Bellchamber is one of these extraordinary talents that come out once or twice in a generation, a quiet genius whose anassuming stage persona ambushes the audience: once his fingers touch the strings, you have no option other than to surrender to the entities born out of his playing, to the worlds he creates, to the stories he tells.
In the middle of this musical cyclone created by these four forces of nature, sits Ashleigh Howell, her calm, composed presence playing the part of the eye in the towering thunderstorm that is The Mouth.
A bassist with a strong sound, that seems to be getting stronger, louder, and clearer every time I’ve seen her perform, she lays down the grooves that set the pathway for everyone, connecting all the pieces of the puzzle. To quote The Big Lebowski (and I’ve never thought I would get there as a writer), her playing is the rug that brings the room together.
That’s my cue to stop writing here. I have one last thing to say, tough: go see The Mouth, first chance you get. Follow the lead of all these people, gathering once a month in a small room in Brunswick, letting go, dancing, and enjoying life late at night. You won’t regret it.
