This second full-length from composer Joy Guidry came as quite a revelation, as I was definitely not expecting to have my head blown off by a gospel-inspired jazz album by a bassoonist this year (or really any year, if I am being honest). There were some subtle clues beforehand, however, as Guidry got serious about practicing radical acceptance in the wake of the Radical Acceptance album and decided to celebrate the power of community in a big way with its follow up. As alluded to by the title, religion is a big part of that community, as Guidry grew up deeply immersed in gospel during her childhood in Texas, but Joy also found a welcoming place in other communities as a trans avant-garde jazz artist and Amen captures the ecstatic nexus where all of the important people and influences in Guidry's life collide. To paraphrase an old saying, it takes a village to make an album this wonderful and joyous, but a talented ensemble needs a band leader with a bold vision in order to reach its full potential and that is a role in which Guidry truly excels. Of course, there are also some lovely solo bassoon pieces throughout the album, but they are unavoidably eclipsed by the deliriously rapturous highs of killer ensemble pieces like "Angels" and "Members Don't Get Weary."
This album is accurately described as "a major step up" in Guidry's "ability to fully realize and embody a sound and concept." That evolution is most striking with the "rousing, rafter-splitting spiritual jazz and gospel" side of Joy's artistry, but those seismic gospel supernovas are interspersed with pieces in a more "ambient" vein, which gives the album an unusual yet surprisingly effective dynamic trajectory. In keeping with the theme of "effective dynamic trajectory," the album's first few pieces are devoted to more quiet and meditative solo performances. I am quite fond of the second piece in particular ("It's Okay To Let Me Go"), as its smeared and bleary textures weave a sublime and gently hallucinatory strain of ambient best described as a tropical space jazz reverie. That reverie comes to an explosive end, however, as Guidry samples a fiery speech from Pastor E. Dewey Smith before plunging into the first of the album's wild centerpieces, "Members Don't Get Weary," which feels more like an ecstatic eruption of elemental force than it does a song. I believe Jillian Grace handles the lead vocals and she gamely belts out the repurposed spiritual like her fucking life depends on it over a roiling backdrop that resembles a New Orleans-style big band trying their hand at volcanic free jazz. While I am extremely hesitant to compare anyone to Nina Simone, I will say that if I had attended a Simone gig and it concluded with anything like "Members Don't Get Weary," I would have staggered out of the venue feeling like I had just experienced the greatest performance of my life. Admittedly, that hypothetical outcome probably would have happened even without anything like "Members Don't Get Weary" happening, but that does not make it any less of a Simone-worthy supernova.
There is not much that could reasonably follow such a piece, so Guidry wisely cools things down with another shimmering and tranquil dreamscape ("Day By Day") before unleashing the next bombshell tour de force. At first, "Angels" is a wonderfully swinging and soulful call-and-response a capella piece, but it then unexpectedly transforms into a bluesy twist on Bill Evans-style piano jazz before the vocalists make a rousing return for a final act that feels like some kind of rapturous jazz parade. I did not think anything could top the white-hot intensity of "Members Don't Get Weary," but "Angels" impressively manages that improbable feat by adding a strong groove and one hell of a hook to the mix. If this is what marching to heaven would be like, I may need to strongly reconsider my faithlessness.
Notably, the album ends with a piece named "Revelations 7:16-17," which provides thematically appropriate symmetry with the opening "Psalm 138:7." As Pastor Dewey presciently noted elsewhere on the album, we pick and choose the scriptures we want to use and I am personally choosing to believe that the album opens with a nod to community ("though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life") and ends with an announcement that I have just finished listening to quite an incredible and life-affirming album ("never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst"). In my case, my hunger and thirst were satiated almost entirely by "Members Don't Get Weary" and "Angels," but fans of ECM-style jazz will likely find this album to be an even more substantial feast than I did.
