By Jon Garelick

A particular guttural sequence of phrases from accordionist Ted Reichman suggested a musical cadence, and I felt myself respond with the jazz fan’s involuntary noise of appreciation: “Unh!”

Point01 Percent, with Ted Reichman and Lautaro Mantilla, and Blink, Lilypad, July 8

Ted Reichman and Lautaro Mantilla performing at Lilypad. Photo: Jon Garelick

The duo of Ted Reichman and Lautaro Mantilla are nominally an accordionist and a guitarist, respectively. But the sounds they made at the Lilypad Tuesday night often sounded nothing like what we’ve come to expect from either of those instruments.

Reichman’s résumé includes stints with Anthony Braxton and John Hollenbeck’s Claudia Quintet as well as more than a decade on the faculty of New England Conservatory. Mantilla was trained as a classical guitarist in Bogotá’s Pontificia Universidad Javeriana and also teaches at NEC, where he earned a PhD in composition.

At the Lilypad, as part of the Point01 Percent residency program, the two faced each other across the stage — Mantilla bespectacled and bearded, in a tan ball cap, black T-shirt, tan pants, and high lace-up white boots; Reichman, with mustache and glasses, in blue collared shirt and jeans. Mantilla began by emitting scratched-out and squeezed-out sounds that barked and yelped, urged on by his body English — pivoting and bending at the waist while his feet worked pedals and oscillating electronics filled the air, created by Reichman’s kit of pedals and a black box on the table next to him.

It got louder. Reichman joined Mantilla with bursts of accordion sounds, sometimes holding several keys down with his open palm, creating a kind of grainy chromatic wash, responding to Mantilla’s barking cries with a repeated rhythmic pattern, and then, from somewhere, a repeated alarm-horn sound. The agitated musical dialogue increased in intensity. The short phrases from Mantilla took on the cadences of speech, with Reichman offering an array of tonal replies. Something was going on. But what?

There was a melodic line of single notes from Reichman, and then some little birdie trills as the dynamic shifted down. A particular guttural sequence of phrases from Reichman suggested a musical cadence, and I felt myself respond with the jazz fan’s involuntary noise of appreciation: “Unh!”

There were bell-like oscillations, loud, then quieter, then Mantilla striking his strings with what looked like a long-handled Tootsie Pop with a green candy on the tip. He banged the strings with the Tootsie Pop, then drew it across the body of the guitar to create a sweet, low moan. (After the set, Mantilla told me the Tootsie Pop was a very small drumstick designed for timpani — and expensive, about $45.)

Mantilla continued with his short phrases, sounds that fluctuated quickly in volume, “woooONH!” Whether he was doing this with his pedals, I couldn’t tell. Sometimes he seemed not to be playing the guitar at all — at least not the strings with his fingers. (I changed seats to get a better look, but the results were inconclusive.)

The music settled down to some soft guitar arpeggios and faded to silence. It had been about a half-hour of music. There was enthusiastic applause. Reichman looked up and smiled. “Should we transition?” he asked Point01 organizer Eric Rosenthal, at the back of the room. “Keep going!” Rosenthal answered.

The duo played for about another 15 minutes, with more regular rhythmic patterns (you could actually count 4/4 for brief sequences), and in a generally more reflective mood. Reichman even assayed a vaguely Eastern European folk dance sequence at one point. Mantilla brought out another device, a short metal stick, to strike his strings. There were bell-like sounds, a rhythmically sounded gong, and then a hard stop in unison. The two players looked at each other and laughed.

I was unable to stay for the entire second set — Jorrit Dijkstra’s long-running project Blink. But I did get a taste of a couple of Dijkstra’s very Ornette-sounding compositions — a nice angular folk-like melody, a piece based on a short incantatory passage that recalled Coleman’s “Dancing in Your Head,” and one lovely melody like nothing I’d heard anywhere. It suggested a calypso but wasn’t. Sections of free improvisation were cued in and out of the compositions by Dijkstra’s conducting.

The band has an early Ornette Prime Time setup: Dijkstra’s alto saxophone, two guitars (Eric Hofbauer and Gabe Boyarin), bass (Nathan McBride), and drums (Rosenthal). Rosenthal had announced earlier that the two guitars were tuned “two-and-a-half steps apart.” Maybe that accounted for the harmolodic feel of the whole thing, which maintained a kind of clear-toned transparency despite the free-jazz cross talk. (The guitars played clean lines and chords with minimal distortion or effects.)

Dijkstra said that the show had been planned as a record-release event, but the discs from the manufacturer were not ready. I look forward to hearing it.

Jon Garelick can be reached at garelickjon@gmail.com