Artist Bio
“It’s a chord we’re trying to strike,” says bassist Michael Bowie of Siné Qua Non. Indeed, the
Washington, D.C.-based quintet doesn’t so much overstep labels as draw connections through
them. These connections are not forced, but are illuminated by virtue of their always having been
there. It’s more about blending than transcending.
Bowie—also the group’s bandleader and main composer—grew up embedded in music. His
parents were both classically trained musicians and started him on piano at an early age.
Subsequent flirtations with clarinet and trumpet left a void that could only be filled by something
“deeper.” His first real schooling in this regard came not through instruction but through
listening. After growing up on a steady diet of Stanley Clark, Chick Corea, and Al Jarreau, it was
George Benson who gave him a truer sense of things. “George taught me many lessons before I
even got into music,” recalls Bowie, who cites the guitarist for cluing him in on the importance
of phrasing and of the need for development of a voice as it pertains to pitch. While in college,
he received the National Endowment for the Arts Award in Jazz Study, under the auspices of
which he trained with greats Keter Betts and Calvin Jones, both of whom got the music under the
fingers...and in the soul. Thus prepared, Bowie hopped onto the Merry-Go-Round that is the
New York City jazz scene and auditioned for Betty Carter. With this his career began, and before
long he found himself on stage and in the studio with Carter, Sarah Vaughan, Abdullah Ibrahim,
The Harper Brothers, and Michel Camilo, among many others.
Somewhere in this formative swirl, Bowie encountered the playing of bassist Larry
Graham. His feet were already taking him through the door before he hardly knew it was
open: “It’s the frequency, what the bass is able to communicate, and what’s demanded
from the player in that particular chair, it fit my personality.” Of that chair, Bowie makes
no qualms. It’s a commanding position to inhabit. Yet he makes it egalitarian, allowing
every musician’s voice and curiosity to shine. The end effect is really a beginning, a
building of community that is central to Siné Qua Non’s message. On this point, Bowie
notes, “That’s what started this whole thing for me. This group, and my position within it,
has so little to do with simply playing music. In a community people have certain roles,
and each of those roles matters. As a composer-bandleader I could be dictatorial, but
that’s not the way it happens in a thriving community. I’m a humanist at heart. What
compels me is to utilize the gift I’ve been given to tell a larger story. That’s what I want
to convey to the world through the music, through my pen, through the band’s action and
involvement in bringing a sense of hope and unity. That’s the only reason I began doing
this.”
Ultimately, then, the band’s sonic activities reflect not a genre, but a way of life—a music
of the world, for the world, by the world.
Album Summary
Siné Qua Non is a chemical compound waiting to react through your speakers, and there’s no
better way to step into the group’s laboratory than through the doorway of Simple Pleasures. The
fearless quintet’s debut album crystallizes much of the live energies it has been honing since its
inception, and achieves this through an admixture of elemental forces. The virtuosity required to
pull this off as organically as Siné Qua Non does is no small feat. The band members are the
music, and each brings his unique spin on the interpretive possibilities, all the while driven by
high intelligence and curiosity. At the fore is Victor Provost, one of the world’s reigning steel
pannists, who navigates seemingly impossible chromatics with a swift and peerless tone. Multireedist Lyle Link epitomizes the group’s adventuresome spirit, and is just as comfortable playing
composed lines as he is deviating from them. Drummer Mark Prince’s intuition bears out in a
method of design that takes you exactly where the music is supposed to take you. Likewise,
percussionist Sam Turner plays from the heart and makes the music shine even brighter.
Provost gets introductory duties in “Trouble in Easton (Xeno Trilogy Part II),” betraying
nothing to the unsuspecting listener of the jagged funk about to drop. Only with the
rhythm section’s entrance does the overall shape become abundantly clear. So, too, the
level of energy that spins its invitation so soundly. Those unstoppable mallets spark highoctane reactivity all around, as they also do in the follow-up track, “Enfance.” Here the
band proves its democratic approach, evoking more imagery than one can possibly shake
an ear at in one sitting. Link’s sopranism is decidedly prominent here, Provost providing
astute melodic relief all the while.
Siné Qua Non’s tactility is at once sharp and thematically rounded. This is especially true
in “Fragile,” which despite the implications of its title epitomizes the album’s structural
integrity. The bassing is forward-thinking, setting off a narratively developed steel drum
solo and soaring reed work. Such sparks ignite a transmigration, jumping from body to
body with the charge of an electrical storm. It is in this diasporic spirit that “Azulejos”
pays tribute to the Moorish and Arab history of Spain. This setting of intimate, vivid
interplay leads straight into the “Beautiful Land” trilogy, which is the album’s golden
heart. Written in memory of South African pianist Bheki Mseleku, it bookends the vocal
interlude “Qumba” (written by Mseleku’s nephew, Duke Bantu X) with the vocalese of
Gina Mirenda, who imparts a Return to Forever flavor to the proceedings.
The meticulousness of the writing stands out in the album’s latter half. Whether Link’s
gorgeous flute and Turner’s conga action in “La Danza Misteriosa,” the introspective
sensitivity of “Preludio Triston,” or the effervescence of the title track, there is a sense of
aliveness that permeates. The latter turns solid into liquid, flowing into the kicker that
ends the album strong. “Mastermind” is a hot jam that abounds in urban crosscurrents.
An affirmative jump into the pool of identity, it boasts the rapping of wordsmith (and
noted hoofer) Leo Manzari. It’s a call to action, and a sobering reminder that no matter
how much we accomplish in this life, simple pleasures matter above all. In that spirit,
Siné Qua Non does what it feels, and what it feels is real.