December 2015
I showed up at the
gig in Somerville and ran into Curt Newton and Jerry Deupree. It always
is wonderful to see Curt, and on those rare occasions when I run into Jerry it
is an emotional reunion. Much of what he
does now is outside the realm of my pursuits, and I lament that fact (even
though I love that he pursues what he loves).
As Jerry and I talked, the subject of percussion dynamics came up. I mentioned that too few jazz (and other)
percussionists have respect for the full spectrum of the dynamics, particularly
the lower end of the dynamic range. I
mentioned that Joe Hunt is my favorite cocktail drummer. And Jerry enthusiastically took off,
discussing his passion for quiet drumming.
He talked about the wonderful challenge of playing drums on a music and
poetry gig in which the evolving time/rhythms would be clear to the audience
and yet the poet could be heard clearly above the percussion. He talked about performing in an alt-rock
band with quiet/subtle drums that could be heard in the context of the noise
(but still have everyone in the band and audience happy with the music). How can you not love Jerry Deupree? Jerry
showed up before his gig to catch what he could of the Pocket Aces gig. The last time I wrote about the Pocket Aces--Eric
Hofbauer, Aaron Darrell, and Curt Newton--I celebrated the trio realizing what
I’d hoped it would become. These guys
returned to the Café at Somerville Arts at the Armory 12/11, and I was more
than interested to discover what they would do.
The good news is that the trio picked up where it was the last time I
witnessed its music and continued to push the composed and the free elements of
the group’s music. For example
(apparently spontaneously), Eric might nod to any band mate to signify that the
person is to play the head as an intro to bring in the other two
musicians. If Curt gets the nod, he does
the honors (full of beautiful melody) while Eric and Aaron admire his work and,
at the appropriate instant, jump into the fray, inspired. Most of the charts Eric has put together
consist of originals and compositions written by jazz masters. So it was something of a surprise when on the
spur of the moment Eric chose a seasonal favorite to close out the evening. But the selection and execution of that piece
is instructive regarding the freedom that is inherent in the band’s approach to
performance of composed material. Eric soloed the composition before the rest of the trio
entered. He was into a repeat of the
melody and an audience member gasped with glee when she finally realized that
Eric was playing a Christmas favorite.
The response was as authentic as the introductory performance
itself. No gimmicks. Just melodies held up to the different kinds
of light for pleasurable examination.
And, almost as an aesthetic balance, the free playing in this group is
“contained,” disciplined in the most constructive manner. Oh there are wild and woolly moments, but
much of the free investigation is focussed on the amazing branch of the tree
rather than the whole forest. Solid stuff. And it
fills an empty space in the jazz spectrum.
The Pocket Aces demonstrates just how important filling that space with
sonic art truly is…
The instrumentation
of String Theory 12/15 was two violins, two cellos, acoustic bass, and
percussion/reeds. It was a first-time
venture for the group--Clara Kababian, Mimi Rabson, Jane Wang, Glynis Lomon,
Anthony Leva, and Dave Peck--and it needed time to
get the kinks out during the first set of the all improvisation evening. Although some of the musicians had worked
together before, during this set of music the people had to work out balance
and other sonic relationships. In this
regard there were two main challenges, the non-string component (particularly
reeds) and the use of electric amplification.
There was no problem with Dave’s performance. It is just that I believe the string players
would have had an easier time of it to sort things out if the group were
strings exclusively. The fact that all
of the strings were amplified at least to some degree seems to have made
finding the volume balance more difficult.
In fact, in terms of volume, the bass never “competed” successfully with
the other strings. Nevertheless, it was
a group of pros, and there was a very real aesthetic connection before the set
was over. It makes one anticipate future
String Theory gigs. Also, even though it
was not the dream duo gig that I’ve been looking for from Glynis and Jane, it
was a real treat to catch the two of them perform together once again (this
time on cellos), quite a fine rarity.
The second set at the Lily Pad was the acoustic set. The volume
level of the first set generally was quite high and “electronic” sounding. The second set, offering music from the
current version of Leap of Faith, featured four acoustic instruments--two
reeds, percussion, and the combination of voice and Aquasonics or amplified
cello articulated by Dave Peck, Steve Norton, Yuri Zbitnov,
and Glynis Lomon respectively. Of course the experience was different from
that of the first set in terms of acoustics.
But, and this should be no surprise, Leap of Faith hit the ground
running. Three of the band members go
back together for decades, and Steve is comfortable in this environment
now. The current group, a fine
modification of the earlier incarnations of the 1990s, is a solid example of
what a band committed to completely improvised music can be. Catching the band in action, it is almost
possible to see that the band works
well. Glynis sings, bows the Aquasonic,
and attacks the cello as if she were meant
to be on this gig. PEK wanders from one
to myriad other instruments to select his sonics, and he interjects with
purposeful timing, emphatically. Steve
plays not as many instruments as PEK (probably nobody does), but he selects
carefully and talks to Glynis instrumentally.
Yuri is the band’s narrator, constantly choosing the “stick” and
instrument that will explain the epic story that is going on before us. Nice gig, even though I caught only two of
the three sets. Fortunately I expect
these folks to return…
Various kinds of
Minimalism were the rage in so-called classical music during the second half of
the twentieth century. Minimalist
composers often claim major influence from John Cage, but a number of the
composers of the first half of the century paved the way (if not usually
intentionally). Minimalism rooted in the
work of Cage and others has faced two primary problems. The first is that burden of every classical
form and genre--terrible composers. But
monotonously boring music is not the result of bad composition alone. The works of such wonderful minimalists as Satie,
Cage, and Feldman too often have been decimated by terrible performances. Feldman in particular suffers from
performances by apparently competent and enthusiastic musicians who have no
idea what the music is supposed to sound like.
For example, listen to Feldman solo piano works performed by John Tilbury or Steffen Schleiermacher
as a benchmark. Then listen and discover
how confused most other performers of Feldman’s music are. This brief discussion of the more than bumpy
road of Minimalism in the classical world is relevant to new music in the jazz
world. Oddly, Minimalism as a popular
“new” form has arrived somewhat late to the post-Ayler jazz world. But the problems encountered in the classical
world seem to have carried over to the jazz world. I have not mentioned this problem before
because--until recently--jazz Minimalism (with rare exceptions) has not really
caught on in the Boston area. I have been fairly happy
about the fact that Boston may be the only major center of jazz in the U.S. in which Minimalism has not caught on. In general I believe the lack of Minimalism
here has been a good thing. Minimalist
jazz--however “hip” its practitioners may be--generally has been as disastrous
as classical Minimalism (if not worse).
It is in this context that I write about the Minimalism of Luther
Gray. I will not pretend to discuss it
thoroughly in this Journal
entry. But given the “hip” and boring
context he is working in, something should be said. Luther showed up 12/10 at the Outpost with
Allan Chase, Steve Lantner, and a handful of charts,
Minimalist charts. You know, angular,
jagged, spare lines that on the surface cause one to recall, “On the page it
looked nothing. The
beginning simple, almost comic. Just a pulse,” to quote Salieri’s
introduction to a score by Mozart in the film version of Amadeus. In other
words, superficially the Luther Gray charts seem to be quite similar to those
composed by other post-Ayler musicians who create Minimalist jazz vehicles,
boring examples of such vehicles.
Listening to the music 12/10 I was struck by the question, “Why are all the other post-Ayler Minimalists creating boring
music, but Luther makes it work?” The
simple answer, of course, is that Luther is a brilliant musician who is working
in a trio with exceptional musicians.
However, even though that statement is correct, it is not really
useful. It is sort of like asking the
question, “When I jump into the river, why do I get wet?” Saying that the water in the river creates a
sensation of wetness is factually valid, but it does not get to the heart of
the experience. I’m not suggesting that
my thoughts expressed here will clarify the existential experience of wetness
or why the Luther Gray charts performed 12/10 by the trio worked superbly. But I need to try to say something about the
nature of the group’s successful performance.
I believe the purpose of the
charts is one of the keys to success.
The charts are not merely composed lines that set a foundation upon
which improvisation is created. As far
as Luther’s scores are concerned, before any musician pursues an improvisatory
outing based on the chart, he is expected to confront and reveal the chart itself in ways that are not explicit in the notes
on the page. For example, at one point
the trio was about to play a piece that Steve never had performed with the
group before. On his own in preparation
for the gig, Steve had practiced performing the work. On the gig, as the trio set up the charts to
pursue the music and Luther described what he was looking for, Steve mentioned
that he had wasted his time preparing to perform the work for the gig. He was joking. No doubt the preparation was useful. But it was merely a chart starting point for the improvisatory realization of the chart in
performance. The charts are malleable in
infinite ways. And, of course, there is
improvisation “independent” of the charts but grounded in them. As a result, the creative possibilities for
musicians while playing the composed music and
while soaring in compositionally inspired improvisations are limitless. That fact means the responsibilities of the
musicians in performance are extraordinary.
If this stuff is going to work, Luther can’t get by with people who are
merely great readers because playing the “heads” is a starting point for really playing the heads. Also, he can’t get by with people who excel
specifically as improvisors because grappling with those heads both accurately and creatively is an essential foundation to understanding what path is
most effective in pursuing the open improvisation. This is impossible stuff. Impossibly stunning. To return to oversimplifying (in the context
of what I have just written), what we need for Post-Ayler jazz Minimalism to
work is a “chart buster” who knows how to create challenging charts but who
articulates clearly the need to transform those charts into living sonics. But that is not enough. The chart buster needs to bring to the gig
rare musicians such as Steve Lantner and Allan Chase
who understand what is needed and revel in the challenge. And on 12/10 revel they did. Maybe there is a future for Minimalist jazz…
On a break during
the 12/10 gig Allan Chase demonstrated a fine technique for avoiding the “Sheet
Music Shuffle.” It is so simple and so
effective that I do not know why the technique is not taught in every Music
Performance 101 course. And yet, no one
in the audience or the band (other than Allan) ever had learned the
technique. Allan claimed he had learned
it from another musician not that many years ago. All of us have witnessed the problem. Many band leaders do not use predetermined
set lists. As a result, a common sight
on gigs that use charts is band members shuffling through a pile of sheet music
to find the right chart. The shuffle can
be prevented effectively by using the technique demonstrated by Allan. Start by setting up the charts in a single
pile vertically on the music stand so that the composition title is at the top
of each chart. Take the first chart and
turn it ninety degrees so that the chart rests on the “shelf” of the music
stand with the composition title perpendicular to the music stand shelf. Take the second chart, turn it ninety
degrees, and place it in front of the first chart so that the entire first
chart is covered, except for the
title on the first chart. At this point
in the process the first two charts are resting horizontally on the music stand
with the titles of both charts visible.
Continue the process with the third chart so that the first three charts
are resting horizontally on the music stand with the titles of all three charts
visible. Continue the process with the
rest of the charts. For example, if you
have ten charts that may be used during a set, when you have completed the
process all ten charts are resting horizontally on the music stand with the
titles of all ten charts visible. It
would make the process more effective if the ten charts are sequenced
alphabetically (or in some other functional order). So, when the band leader calls for “The Dipsy Doodle,” you look down and it is staring at you right
between “Can’t We Be Friends?” and “Fools Rush In.” You grab the chart for “The Dipsy Doodle” and set it up vertically on the music
stand. Now you are relaxed and ready to
play, waiting while you watch everyone else in the band do the “Sheet Music
Shuffle”…
Construction
Party--an annual reunion for Dave Rempis with Forbes
Graham, Pandelis Karayorgis,
Nate McBride, and Luther Gray--landed at the Lily Pad
12/23, and it was a type of party before, during, and after two sets of
improvised music. The evening of sonics
was a bit strange. There were periods
when soloists were left hanging. Usually
one or more musicians were “supporting” the soloist, but it was as if they were
not hearing him. All of that was
exacerbated by the running commentary of two men in the audience throughout
almost the entire evening. I cannot remember
such rudeness at a post-Ayler gig in an awfully long time. Perhaps ever. The effect was the loss of some sonic detail
from the stage. And it was particularly
problematic during the quieter passages.
Even puzzled looks from band members were insufficient to shut them
up. Nevertheless, most of what was
happening onstage was happening. Each
musician had at least one particularly engaging solo. Luther was magnificent all night, and
sections of interplay between Dave and Forbes were quite fine. In short, fans have much to look forward to
next December. The year-long wait is not
a good thing, but it is worth it.
Especially, if there is no play by play commentary from the audience…
I’ve started reading
the late Robert Craft’s last book, Stravinsky
- Discoveries and Memories. In a
discussion of Les Noces,
Craft makes the point that the philosophical basis of the work is the writing
of theologian Gregory of Nyssa, an influence on both Stravinsky and Catherine
the Great. To elucidate his point Craft
quotes the philosopher, offering one of the most succinct and meaningful
comments about the value of art that I’ve ever encountered: “Every desire
ceases with the possession of its object except the desire for beauty. It is beauty alone that the insolence of
satiety cannot touch.”
Jim Hobbs showed up
in a somewhat disheveled Santa costume 12/19, bringing to mind Dan Aykroyd’s party-crashing Santa in Trading Places. But that was
just one of many seasonal/seasoned statements by Jim and the rest of the quintet--leader
Kit Demos, Eric Rosenthal, Jeff Platz, and Pandelis Karayorgis--at the
Outpost. Pandelis
spent most of the first part of the first set being silent. Apparently he wanted to enjoy/not disturb the
amazing music happening around him. In
addition, he spent much of the evening in judicious assessments, choosing
moments to comment/support with lightning bolt piano attacks and in-your-face
chromatic clusters/fury runs in solo spots.
Engaging solo spots. He pushed back--as anyone would have to, given
the improvisatory brilliance of the rest of the band (even in compositional
sections). Sometimes it is difficult to
follow what is going on in a band this good.
On the one hand you have the humor and fireworks of Jeff Platz, offering some of the best guitar work I’ve heard
from him. And fortunately I’ve heard a
lot of his work. Eric hears
everything. The result is that you--as a
listener--do not know what he is going to do (whether he is working a chart or
pushing a solo), but you’d better pay attention. The other result--the more important one--is
that band members have the freedom of knowing that they can go anywhere and
Eric will have their backs. And then
there is Santa Hobbs, finding lost chords, lost tones. Breaking your heart with
beauty and earth-shaking presence.
So what is the story on this night regarding the leader of the Dark Matter Series cornucopia of
brilliant music/musicians? Well, at one
point he took out his hair comb and used it to do a pizzicato bit on the
acoustic bass. And that moment is as
clarifying as any moment of the evening.
It was a comb strumming four strings on the bass. In the hands of almost any other bassist I
can think of, that moment would have been a gimmick (which probably is why I
cannot recall someone else doing it).
But whatever devices Kit uses--acoustic or electronic--they always are
used in the pursuit of great sonic art.
My goodness, how wonderfully and consistently he succeeds in his
musicianship and in dark-er ensemble matters. We truly are the lucky ones…
The evening set at
the Lily Pad ended with a version of Charlie Parker’s “Blues for Alice.”
It’s a gig-ending practice of Charlie Kohlhase’s that I’ve witnessed
several times during recent months. The
piece is a terrific bebop classic. On
12/22 it was performed by Charlie and duo partner Eric Hofbauer in E-flat. That fact is of consequence. Charlie has made certain that at least one of
his performances every month during 2015 conclude with “Blues for Alice”--each offering of the work in a different
key. What a wonderful idea, walking
through the “keys” using “Blues for Alice.” No
doubt it is something Charlie Parker would chuckle about, a practice that he
shedded over for years before he and the other
pioneers--Monk, Gillespie, and Tinney among
them--turned the world upside-down with what became known as bebop. All of us lucky folks in the audience got the
rare opportunity to witness Boston area jazz giants from two different generations “locking horns” in the
most beautifully constructive way.
Perhaps significantly (a bow to profound roots?) they opened and closed
the evening with blues material.
Everything between was all over the place literally (including the Middle East) and metaphorically (original compositions,
free jazz, and borrowed snippets from other people, such as the revered John
Tchicai). As fine as the composed and
spontaneous vehicles were, it was the hand-in-glove music the two men created
that made the evening special. Their
play evolved into profound “conversation,” not the conventional duo
conversation, but something more. Something transcendent.
Listening and looking around at the attentive faces in the audience, I
came upon a thought that stayed with me for most of the single-set performance:
The best gift of the season for all in attendance would be to have a magic
switch next to the light switch in the living room at home. Flip the magic switch and a panel in the wall
opens to reveal the Kohlhase-Hofbauer Duo performing this music and more like
it. For most jazz fans there are the
fantasies of seeing Billie with Basie or the Monk tenure at the Five Spot or
(fill in the blank). I am among such
jazz fans. But I am lucky enough to know
when in person I encounter a blues sandwich such as this that I also am living the fantasy…
This month’s Journal is a bit slimmer than
usual. Holiday parties with family and friends both locally
and out of state kept me out of the clubs for much of the month. And there is
no doubt that one of the highlights of the month for me was several days in New York, particularly to witness the new production
of Berg’s Lulu at the Met. All the praise of the performances that I’ve
read about certainly is warranted regarding my experience. The William Kentridge
staging is terrific, and Marlis Petersen’s title role
performance is the best Lulu I’ve ever witnessed by her or any other
vocalist/actress. But I did more than
that. MOMA has a remarkable double bill
retrospective of Jackson Pollack and the sculpture of Pablo Picasso. I saw each exhibit twice. The Pollack is as fine an exhibit of his work
as you are likely to encounter during the next couple decades. The amazing thing about it is that it
consists of MOMA holdings exclusively. And, yes, the last gallery of the
chronological exhibit includes Ornette’s Free Jazz album art work, White Light. The Picasso sculpture is a wonderful
complement to the Picasso & the
Camera exhibit at the Gagosian Gallery (on West 21st Street) a year ago.
Going through the MOMA Picasso exhibit I was reminded of the fact that
Picasso’s encounter with African ritual masks caused his cubist
breakthrough. It is a famous example of
the need for the confluence of people from different ethnicities/cultures for
the constructive evolution of art. But
it’s not just art that suffers without that connection. An opinion piece by three MIT grad students
in the 11/12 issue of The Tech
decries the fact that one-time post-graduate OPT visa extensions are threatened
by--surprise surprise--a union of techies who are
just as good at self-inflicting wounds as the Musicians Union (e.g., see the
October 2014 Journal coverage of the
visit here by The Ex). The essay says in
part, “This extension… was recently challenged in court by the Washington
Alliance of Technology Workers, and this August, the District Court for the District of Columbia vacated the STEM OPT Extension on the
grounds of procedural deficiency. The
court order is set to take effect in February 2016.” In other words, foreign-born graduate
students at MIT are looking at their future contributions to the welfare of the
U.S. being cut off because the leaders of the
Alliance of Technology Workers cannot think of a constructive way to better the
lives of its membership. Our government
continues to fail its citizens because it sets up barriers to ship off and keep
out the best and the brightest in both the arts and the sciences. While we panic and close our doors to
Syrians, Latinos, and artists even from Europe, we are shutting the doors on our future, a
future that no longer will enjoy the riches of all the world’s cultures…
As concert director
Eric Hofbauer mentioned in his introductory remarks
11/15 in Killian Hall, the celebration of the musical life of Garrison Fewell to a great extent would be various permutations of
Garrison’s evolving ensemble, the Variable Density Sound Orchestra. Throughout the single set of music, ensembles
would range in size from trio to big band.
For example, the concert opened with the Pocket Aces (Eric Hofbauer, Aaron Darrell, and Curt Newton) performing some
of Garrison’s earliest recorded work.
Then Charlie Kohlhase and Dan Rosenthal joined
the trio to perform “X-Ray Vision,” causing an ensemble morph from three to
five and moving Garrison’s music chronologically into the 21st century. This fine music was followed by a septet
offering the best performances of composed/arranged music of the concert. The superb sonics occurred to a great extent
because of the diversity of the musical personalities on display. There is no way anyone could imagine Forbes
Graham and Dan Rosenthal taking a similar solo.
Or Charlie Kohlhase and Todd Brunel as mirror images.
And the rhythm section--Eric, Curt, and Kit Demos--gelled perfectly,
perhaps to some extent because these guys do not jam together every week. Whatever the reason for the band’s
exceptional chemistry, I’d love to see the septet become a working band,
performing Garrison’s music with a mix of new charts. At this point in the afternoon the chronology
offered two examples of music featuring some of Garrison’s free band
mates. I believe that Eric Hofbauer, Forbes Graham, and Glynis Lomon
never had performed together before, but they certainly did in Killian
Hall. It was touch and go a bit when one of Glynis’ Aquasonics
had a mind of its own, but that merely added a spice of surprise to the
chowder. The mix of straight and free
musicians continued with a quartet--Steve Fell, Todd Brunel,
Kit Demos, and Luther Gray. Kit and
Luther provided the irresistible engine room and guitar and clarinet delivered
the wonderful “noise.” The final blowout
of the concert featured everyone who had performed on previous sets. The selection, Garrison’s “Ayleristic,” was the perfect choice. It was a joyous howl to the moon that no
doubt Albert Ayler would have approved of.
And it proved to be a wonderful sonic farewell to all in attendance from
the composer and his terrific musician friends…
Anyone interested in
making a donation to the scholarship fund established in Garrison Fewell’s name can do so by going to the Berklee
Scholarship Fund site where anyone can direct a contribution to the Garrison Fewell Scholarship Fund
The quintet was one of
those “musicians from different planets” groups that Kit Demos loves to
surround himself with--Charlie Kohlhase, Jeff Platz, Junko Fujiwara, and Laurence Cook. The first set opened with the poetic
narratives of Peter Epipoulio and the writings of his
students, much of it quite poignant (and humorous). The track record of the musicians in
different contexts suggested that this would be an unpredictable but exciting
evening of music 11/29 at the Outpost.
Most of the music of the first set was a “space is the place” offering
but not of the Sun Ra variety. Ethereal
sounds and silence reigned for that time, as band members basked in a sonic
reunion of sorts. But the interpersonal
connections at the beginning of the second (and final) set were more explosive,
something closer to a hurricane--perhaps a Charles Gayle. Obviously these monsters in sound can go
anywhere, and they almost did go just about anywhere in sound, time, and
structure. Initially the guitar and
saxophone (BS or TS) acted as the front line, and the percussion and strings
danced in support. But at some point
(I’m speculating) Kit determined that the cello and bass were falling into a
too similar pizzicato bass support role.
So for a brief period he took out his electric bass, leaving the cello
to carry acoustic support while Jeff and he had a guitar conversation. It
worked quite well. But all of
it--including Charlie’s avant sax explorations and
Laurence’s percussive surprises--kept evolving into an engaging array of almost
visual soundscapes. These kinds of
performance developments consistently draw me to the music of Kit Demos and his
friends. Some music works better than
other music, but--as in the case of this evening--the consistent quality of pursuit keeps me
returning. Wonderful musicians creating,
lifting me off the anchored ground…
Writer, jazz fan, fount of information and insight, and curmudgeon Chris Rich died 11/10 in New Hampshire, according to Rob Chalfen, “after having
checked himself out of Mt Auburn Hospital.” He had been there for about a month with “numerous conditions including stomach rupture, kidney failure & liver
cancer.” I first encountered Chris through the remarkable impact he and Joe Morris had on the adventuresome booking policies of local jazz clubs during the mid-1980s, most notably Charlie’s Tap. Later, after Chris moved to the West coast (Seattle, if my memory is correct) we continued to write to each other about
the history of jazz in Boston. At one point we had a
difference of opinion (the specifics of which are somewhat vague to me now). Our communication stopped. When he returned to the Boston area and I heard of that return, I assumed he continued to have what I perceived to be animosity towards me. I ran into him outside the Outpost just before a gig. He greeted me warmly (as warmly as he was capable of), and we picked up our musings about jazz. As people who knew him always seemed to discover, he was generous with his knowledge and to good purpose. I found his commentaries on the ways of the internet to be sound and useful. As I mentioned in the original introduction to the essay, Recording Jazz: A Questionable Practice?, he did not enjoy live jazz but preferred listening to jazz records. One of the negative outcomes of that preference is that I had fewer and fewer opportunities to meet him at the Outpost (even though he lived over the gallery). I thought it would be intrusive to knock on his door. And now he’s gone. But I think my experience with him is instructive. He certainly was crusty but ultimately kind-hearted. I never heard
of him being vengeful or nasty. For me
he was a porcupine with a loving heart.
There are more extensive commentaries on other internet sites. Among them are Steve Provizer’s comments at Brilliant Corners, Rob Chalfen’s words on his Outpost site, and the Facebook page devoted to the memory of Chris
Rich…
I received word that the Act III Restaurant closed on 10/30. Fans of the jazz venue knew that it was struggling. Those fans owe Gwenn Vivian many thanks. She made a go of it with three different jazz clubs in the Acton-Littleton area. So far there is no word about a potential jazz club in that part of suburbia...
October 2015
Mat Maneri brought
together companions in music 10/14 at NEC’s Williams Hall to offer a
celebration in sound. The first half of
the evening served as the last stop on his duo tour of the U.S. with Lucian Ban. Ban is a pianist with primarily Romantic
aesthetics. As I grow older my
aesthetics become farther and farther removed from Romanticism--in any art
form. My reaction to Ban’s playing is
aesthetic, not qualitative. For example,
I find it painful to listen to the music of Brahms, but I remain confident of
the quality of that music. So Lucian
Ban’s piano work presented aesthetic obstacles for me, but the musicianship and
rapport of the two of them was significant.
I am not surprised by the praise, the breathless commentaries about
their performances on the tour. The duo
format continued in the second half of the concert, but Mat performed with four
other musicians. The
first duo of the second half featured music from the Magic Mountain project that Tanya Kalmanovitch
and Mat are working on. One might
expect that a microtonal viola duo would come across as somewhat bland, lacking
in sufficient contrast. Nevertheless,
the improvisations worked well. The
“conversation” was quite informative, quite natural. It might be said that the second duo of the
half featured something of a historic event--two major improvisors performing
alone, together. Joe Morris probably is
the most important jazz guitarist of his generation, and Mat undoubtedly is the
most significant jazz violinist/violist (either) of his generation. The result was the most impressive music of
the evening. The youngster of the
evening, clarinetist Zoe Christiansen, joined Mat
next for what to some extent seemed like channeling father and son Maneri duos
of yore. Fortunately, Ms. Christiansen
has her own sound. So it turned out not
spooky at all. Just
fine. Because Sonja Maneri has
such affection for “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless
Child,” I expected to hear that spiritual performed in her duet with Mat. It was Mat’s sonic wisdom that caused him to
push his mother (initially unwillingly) to perform “He Never Said a Mumblin’ Word.” Good
choice. Moving
results. Cheers all around. The evening, filled with diverse music of
high quality, served to demonstrate that Mat Maneri is one of the rare giants
of new jazz in the twenty-first century…
Friends of musicians
(including musicians themselves) continue to celebrate the lives of important
jazz musicians who have passed on in recent months. Apparently the poster for the 9/17 Guitar
Department celebration of Garrison Fewell has been signed by faculty members,
framed, and mounted outside Garrison’s faculty office at Berklee. Regarding Ray Santisi,
this month I received word from Patricia Adams that there is a plaque “that now
hangs outside room 1307 at Berklee’s student dormitory in Ray’s name.”
The Steve Lantner
Quintet that performed superbly 10/27 at the Outpost really is the best-known
version of the Steve Lantner Quartet--Steve, Allan Chase, Joe Morris, and
Luther Gray--joined by longtime Lantner partner, Forbes Graham. There were two sets of music operating at the
same qualitative level as all Steve Lantner ensembles covered in this Journal over the years. That statement sounds somewhat
matter-of-fact, a bit ho-hum. However,
the substance is anything but. Anyone
reading this Journal regularly knows
that a Steve Lantner gig is one of those jazz rarities in any city--a sure
thing. If you show up to one of Steve’s
gigs, you know that the music will be the very definition of quality
improvisation. It is music filled with
knock-your-socks-off adventures, surprises.
And so it was 10/27. The one
difference in this instance was that Allan and Forbes spontaneously decided to
“talk” to each other in some sort of duo concertino fashion with greater
frequency than usual. Their
conversational improvisations were among the evening’s highlights. On the other hand, the entire evening
consisted of two whole sets of highlights.
A fine time.
And it was good to see a larger than usual and thoroughly appreciative
audience at the Outpost…
The 10/10 issue of
NEC’s student newspaper, The Penguin,
includes an essay by composition student Julian Pozniak
titled “I Care If You Listen.” Those of
you who are into twentieth and twenty-first century classical music may realize
already that the title of the essay implies a tribute of sorts to the famously
mislabeled Milton Babbitt essay, “Who Cares if You Listen?” (rather
than Babbitt’s original title, “The Composer as Specialist”). In the student newspaper essay Mr. Pozniak makes the case for the significant and healthy difference between historical performance (e.g., playing Bach and Beethoven)
and performance of recent/contemporary works (i.e., bringing “new possibilities
and realities into form”). The
writer--as a composer--obviously has much more in common with more recent
composers such as Babbitt and Cage (among those he names) than the historical composers. Writing as a composer, Mr. Pozniak obviously has a bias rooted in a type of
self-interest. Nevertheless his point is
well taken. As a fan of so-called
classical music, I share his desire to be exposed to challenging new music,
whether it is jazz or classical music.
It is no small matter that a student at NEC should bring up the subject
of new composed music in a student publication.
For several decades (particularly when Gunther
Schuller was at the helm) NEC stood almost alone
among music schools and conservatories in the Boston area (programming at
Wellesley by Martin Brody and at Harvard by Mario Davidovsky
being the most notable exceptions) in championing new composed music and--more
important--requiring students to perform that challenging music. For example, it was no surprise that Longy celebrated its 100th anniversary by performing music composed on or near 1915 but failed to include works by the most ear-stretching composers of the day--such as the Futurists, the Second Viennese School, Stravinsky, Bartók, Varèse, and
more. And today NEC’s programming no
longer is as adventuresome as it used to be.
Just pick up an NEC concert schedule from twenty-five or forty years ago
and compare it to the programming of the past few years. Even with the efforts of Stephen Drury,
today’s programming generally is devoid of challenging recent music…
Somewhere in the
middle of a wonderful single-set gig 10/8 at the Outpost Laurence Cook dropped
a drumstick. He bent over to retrieve
the stick, but it found an elusive resting spot. He used the other stick to move the
misbehaving stick. It danced and
wandered around, apparently difficult to get hold of. Pianist Pandelis Karayorgis had been standing
to the side of the rest of the audience, no doubt to get a different viewing
angle on the proceedings. He saw his
opportunity to help, walked to the bandstand, grabbed the drumstick, and handed
it to Laurence. He turned to return to
his viewing place in the audience and hesitated. With a look of horror in his face he said, “I
just realized. That might be part of the
performance.” He returned to his spot in
the audience, obviously concerned about his “mistake.” It was a perfect Laurence Moment. Dry humor
pervades Laurence’s everyday persona and his art. Anyone who knows him reasonably well does not
even try to discern the line between the life and the art. And so we’ll never quite know Laurence’s
intentions with the unruly drumstick. If
Pandelis had held himself in check, the resolution of the moment would have
been something else. But the resolution with Pandelis’
intervention is of no less significance than what might have happened. In
either case, the audience is confronted with questions, resonant
ambiguities. As people in the audience
grapple with questions of theater and everyday life as well as music and
everyday life, the total sonic experience of the evening takes on a greater
expanse of meaning. The drumstick event
was only one of many different kinds of events throughout the evening. After all, the focus of the evening for the
duo of Luther Gray and Laurence Cook was sonic art (however that sonic art
might be enhanced by non-sonic factors).
As I watched and heard them work 10/8, the thought struck me that there
were no young drum students in the audience to learn and be inspired by
creative music operating at a level beyond the classroom, beyond recordings,
beyond books. It was a lost opportunity
for young people of tomorrow’s music.
First, drum duos for a whole evening are relatively rare, and what
Laurence and Luther were doing was beyond rare, truly unique. But equally important, the range and
character of what they did was astonishing.
There were moments of all-out percussive torrents. But it was not some over-the-top drum battle
or “shouting match” in those moments.
Rather, they served as some ancient Greek chorus emphatically bringing
us the busy and eloquent message of the fate of Oedipus. Most of the rest of the evening’s drum work
took place at the somewhat lower part of the dynamic range. It is common for jazz duos (particularly
those involving similar instruments) to pursue some type of musical
dialogue. In the hands of the better
musicians, this conversational approach often works quite well. There was a little of that sort of music to
be heard 10/8 at the Outpost. One such
fine moment involved Luther dusting cymbals lightly with brushes while Laurence
found almost inaudible “chimes” using sticks on cymbals. Quite fine stuff. Most of the time the sounds
coming from the “stage” were in the middle of the dynamic range, perfect for a
dialogue. But there was no
conversation going on. It was something
else, something elusive. Then, on one of
Laurence’s forays at the white keys of the piano with soft mallets, it hit me. Cage. Cage-Cunningham. John Cage and Merce
Cunningham, the extraordinary music-and-dance partners, created art that did
not intentionally interact. The music
and the dance occurred simultaneously but not interactively. The results were brilliant. And that’s what was happening most of the
time 10/8 between Laurence and Luther. Sort of. For jazz
musicians the concept that two musicians could play together without
interacting makes no sense. And yet
that’s what seemed to be happening
between Laurence and Luther. Picture
yourself looking out a second floor window onto Commonwealth Avenue in downtown Boston.
Hundreds of people are walking up and down the street, a skateboarder
zips by, a man sweeps the steps to his home, and you can imagine all kinds of
activity outside your window. All the
events you see make up a ballet of life. Quite beautiful. And yet, all the people and other “actors” in
the scene are not interacting intentionally.
But they are acting simultaneously.
In the hands of the genius of Cage or Cunningham the results are
exhilarating art. Such art happened 10/8
at the Outpost. Most of the time
Laurence and Luther were playing individual
solos that had nothing to do with
each other. The solos were simultaneous
but not connected intentionally. It was
like watching two separate gigs at the same time. But somehow--and this is the kicker--those
two unconnected solo pursuits came
together more beautifully than the most intentionally connected music. I thought of harmolodics but rejected the
idea. The duo played as if each
percussionist were ignoring the other, and the results
were astonishing. Maybe the
intention--if there was one--was to try to be deaf. It was that
beautifully disorienting. Sort of like
the disorienting possibilities of a skittish drumstick…
On 10/31 I received
word that Archie Shepp has been designated a 2016
National Endowment for the Arts Jazz Masters Award recipient. A major influence as a Massachusetts-based
teacher and worldwide performer, Archie Shepp has
been a Boston area fan favorite for many decades. He will receive a $25,000 cash award and
participate in the award ceremony on 4/4/16 in collaboration with the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. A free concert honoring the 2016 NEA Jazz
Masters will take place 4/4/16 at the Kennedy Center’s Concert Hall….
The Ex is not a jazz
band. The music might be described as
in-your-face alternative rock. But the
searching and the use of improvisation as an essential means of exploring sonic
realities are common to the best in jazz performance and what the Ex brings to
the stage. Close to a dozen jazz
musicians and fans were in the audience of more than two hundred people at
Great Scott in Allston on 10/25 to catch the Ex and longtime friend Ken
Vandermark in concert. The music was
terrific. Although the quartet--Andy
Moor, Terrie Hessels, Katherina
Bornefeld, and Arnold de Boer--has developed a
sizeable fan base over its more than three decades of existence, its audiences
(as in the case of ear-stretching jazz) are not as large as those who show up
for the more commercial bands. Because
it is a touring band, the musicians run into many of the same problems that
European-based jazz musicians (or those based anywhere outside the U.S.) encounter when they visit here. Several times in this Journal I have discussed the role of the Musicians Union in pushing
the U.S. Government to restrict entry of foreign musicians into the U.S. (e.g.,
see the November 2014 Journal for a
discussion of the absurd problems that the Waclaw Zimpel Quartet ran into on their U.S. tour). As many stories as I’ve heard about U.S.
immigration barriers to touring foreign musicians in the U.S., the Ex revealed
to me a tactic that I was not familiar with.
It’s a remarkable (unbelievable?) financial Catch-22. Even with Dutch subsidies, the financial
burdens of band travel in the U.S. (for any band anywhere) is such that the Ex
had themselves booked exclusively in clubs that would offer them
guarantees. Because of that arrangement
the U.S. Government knew exactly how much money the four musicians plus Ken
Vandermark would make during the U.S. tour.
The Federal response was to issue Social Security cards to the four
European musicians. I’m not making this
up. I was under the impression that only
residents of the U.S. could be issued Social Security cards.
But that was only the beginning.
The purpose of issuing the cards was to make sure that each of the band
members would have Social Security taxes taken from the guarantee at each
performance venue. Are you still
following this? It gets even more
unbelievable. As a result of the Social
Security tax deductions, the band is projected to complete the tour several
thousand dollars short of what the group anticipated. In other words, the Ex would return to Europe owing money rather than making money. But there is more to the Catch-22 sequence of
events. It turns out that the Federal
Government is not empowered to withdraw Social Security taxes from the income
of touring foreign musicians (not a great surprise, after all). The issuing of Social Security cards to non-residents
strikes one as probably illegal. After
all, do we want to provide Social Security retirement benefits to people who
never lived here? So the situation is
that the Social Security Administration is not supposed to deduct Social
Security taxes from the income of touring foreign musicians--but they keep
doing it anyway. Given that the deducted
taxes do not belong to the Federal Government, one would expect the Social
Security Administration to cancel or return the deducted taxes. But it doesn’t quite work that way. The touring foreign musicians have to apply
for the return of the unwarranted taxes.
You know what that means: a pile of paperwork requiring fluency in the language
of bureaucrats. As you may surmise, it
is unlikely for a touring musician to have the time and legal knowledge to fill
out the paperwork. In other words, there
is a good chance in the case of most touring foreign musicians that the Federal
Government will get to keep the ill-gotten deductions. As it turns out, the Ex found a tax
professional (in Florida, of all places) who for a fee will fulfill the paperwork
requirements. In effect, the band
decided to give up $1,500.00 to the tax professional rather than lose all the
deducted money. So what we have is a
situation in which touring foreign musicians with income guarantees get stuck
paying unwarranted Social Security taxes or paying a tax expert for the return
of most of the money that they should have received in the first place. Either way, the touring musicians encounter
unnecessary financial burdens because of absurd immigration procedures. Such a wonderful disincentive to visit and
perform in the U.S. is a Musicians Union fantasy come true: Foreign musicians stay home
and both local music fans and musicians in the U.S. are poorer for it…
For all the
promotional talk about Boston being a cultural center, Boston and Cambridge are cities with very little public art, once
you walk away from local college and university campuses. Yes, the MBTA and the state made some advances
with the One Percent rule (requiring allocation of funds for public art
whenever public construction was initiated).
Local “poverty”--perhaps more spiritual than financial--zapped those
funds. So the cities on the Charles have
been pretty dismal aesthetically for a couple decades. But there have been signs that maybe somebody
with influence really cares. This year
we have had that delightful web of light down on the Rose Kennedy
Greenway. And this month you can look up
in the air at the Hancock Building. No
it’s not Superman. It’s even better than
that. It’s art.
Boston area jazz
fans are particularly fortunate because year in and out we can witness
outstanding Boston-based jazz big bands.
Sustaining large ensembles over a span of years is an astonishing
achievement for all people involved. The
economic challenges are near impossible.
Add to that fact the number of musicians involved in each band, all of
whom have evolving personal goals, and it is a wonder that any of those
ensembles--some of which are several decades old--continue to pursue the big
band muse. But even more wonderful for
the serious jazz fan is the fact that many of these large ensembles have
distinct musical personalities. For
example, the Aardvark Jazz Orchestra is the all-inclusive political activist
big band, scolding our intellectual/spiritual sloth while offering an eclectic
(in the best sense of the term) mix of music that includes everything from
ancient classics to completely improvised sonic searches. The large groups of Greg Hopkins offer
history lessons to help listeners understand his own fine arrangements, lessons
with charts that evoke the accomplishments of Miles Davis’ Nonet
and the subsequent “cool school” of Boston and California. The Makanda Project is devoted to
celebrating--most frequently in black Boston--the music of Makanda Ken McIntyre
by performing the hundreds of unrecorded
compositions of the Boston native.
Bathysphere pursues post-Ayler music.
And the list continues. One of the most engaging big bands of that list is the Jazz
Composers Alliance Orchestra, Darrell Katz’ wonderful passion. The brilliant (and not easy to sustain for
more than three decades) idea is that the band offers new works by a growing
catalogue of big-band-loving composers.
The 10/18 JCAO event at the Cambridge YMCA Theater presented the work of
five different composers/arrangers--Norm Zocher, Mimi
Rabson, Bob Pilkington, David Harris (who also
sat in on trombone on one Darrell Katz work), and Music Director Darrell Katz. The other important characteristic of JCAO
programming is that--although quality music is pursued--there apparently is no
limit on style, genre, or instrumental challenges for the charts selected. Therefore, the substantial single set of
music included everything from works rooted in the blues (Zocher)
to an investigation of layers and textures in sound (Pilkington) to music
influenced by science fiction (Rabson) to more and
more possibilities. The commitment of
the musicians to the creative ideals of the JCAO is central to the long-term
success of the outfit. Some of the band
members have been involved in the project for decades. The 10/18 ensemble included Hiro Honshuku (flute/EWI), Lance
Van Lenten (alto sax), Greg Floor (alto sax), Phil Scarff
(tenor sax), Melanie Howell Brooks (baritone sax), Forbes Graham (trumpet),
Jeff Perry (trumpet), Doug Olsen (trumpet), Jim Mosher (french
horn), Bob Pilkington (trombone), Jason Camelio
(trombone), Bill Lowe (tuba), Helen Sherrah-Davies
(violin), Mina Cho (piano), Norm Zocher,
(guitar), Vessala Stoyanova
(vibes), Brittany Karlson (bass), Royal Hartigan (drums), Gilbert Mansour
(percussion), and Rebecca Shrimpton (voice). The section work and solos were--without
exception--offered at the highest musical level. No doubt the extraordinary work by band
members had something to do with the passing of poet Paula Tatarunis. On several pieces (some not listed in the
program) vocalist Rebecca Shrimpton recited or sang
the poetry of Paula Tatarunis, all within fine
musical contexts. It never was mentioned
specifically during the concert, but it was obvious from the demeanor and
performances of all involved that the 10/18 concert was a celebration of Paula Tatarunis. It was a
great gift to all in attendance. As fine
and convincing as JCAO performances have been over the decades, this
performance--from the beginning to the last note--was the most successful, the
most compelling I’ve ever witnessed…
In June I caught
Paul Lytton and Mat Maneri performing an improvised
duo set at this year’s Okka Fest in Milwaukee. It was one of the best sets of music I have
witnessed all year. But the quality of
that set really was no surprise. Mat is
one of the finest improvisors alive, and I’ve been floored by Paul’s work for
many decades. Readers of this Journal
over the past few years are very much aware of Nate
Wooley’s prowess as a giant among new trumpet improvisors. Joe Morris does not like to play guitar in
Boston (perhaps believing his bass playing is some kind of sufficient insult to
“unresponsive” Bostonians).
Nevertheless, no book about the history of jazz guitar can be written
without including a hefty bit of information about Joe and his guitar work. And, if a big enough name will show up in the
Boston area to perform with him, Joe will bring out his guitar and
perform. Three giants showed up
(including guitar) at the Lily Pad 10/29 and offered a puzzlingly disappointing
first set of music. Paul and Nate have performed together successfully countless
times. Joe knows their work thoroughly
and has shared the stage with either/both of them many times. So the disconnected sounds certainly were a
puzzle. Back in the days of the giant mainstream/bebop
players, it was not unusual to catch a less-than-terrific “warm up” first
set. But that pattern is fairly unusual
in post-Ayler jazz. Usually either the
music is good all evening or bad all evening.
On those rare occasions in which there is a weak set, it is likely to
show up at any point in the evening. So
here we were at the Lily Pad--focussing on the music of Paul Lytton, Nate Wooley, and Joe
Morris (with guitar)--and the music of the first set was not happening. Oh, there was plenty of technique. Even plenty of ideas. Just not much music. The trio was playing as if it were under
water. I was not alone in that
view. A friend at the end of the gig
said that he did a rough count of people in the audience during the first set
(“about 42”) and the second set (“about 26”).
But the folks who left at the half made a mistake. Apparently someone drained the pool on stage
during the break. The trio we expected
to show up began to play and--perhaps to some extent due to a brief stretch of
high-intensity snare work by Paul--communicated, feeding and anticipating. Plenty of ears and
substantial sounds all around.
Thank you, gentlemen, for the second set. All is right with the world…
Stanley Charles
Swann III, founder of the Lowell Jazz Day Camp, died 10/31. He was a jazz drummer who settled in the
Lowell area and developed the two-week Jazz Camp program in 2010, and it
continues each summer, having provided music training for aspirants of all ages
by such notable musician-teachers as Paul Combs, Semenya
McCord, Frank Wilkins, and Mr. Swann himself.
Contributions in Stanley Swann’s memory may be made to the Lowell Jazz
Day Camp, c/o Lowell
Community Charter Public School, 206 Jackson St., Lowell, MA 01852…
The Pocket Aces
realized! I found that thought returning
to my brain during the trio’s 10/16 single-set performance at Arts at the
Armory, Somerville: “Tonight the Pocket Aces are
realized.” A couple months ago I
misinterpreted an Eric Hofbauer comment and came to the conclusion that the
trio had folded its tent. I was terribly
disappointed. The group was very good,
but it had not yet realized its interactive potential. And what the group was achieving was unique,
I believed. Perhaps it’s born into his
nature or it evolved within him naturally, but Eric Hofbauer chooses to walk
that impossible line between mainstream jazz and free jazz. I say “impossible” because even the best jazz
musicians offer mixed results when they try to work with both forms
simultaneously. There are some post-Ayler
musicians who offer straight
interpretations of standards with some success.
One of the more successful attempts includes Cecil Taylor’s performances
of standards on the early Transition Records recordings. And there are some mainstream players who
jump into moments of free music without embarrassing themselves. But I’m unaware of anyone other than Eric
whose natural intention is to walk the line between
both musics. He’s been pursuing that
impossible path for quite a while. His
most successful attempt--until now--was the final version of his Infrared Band. That band consistently over the years was
outstanding, regardless of what Eric’s intentions were. With the current trio performance 10/16 Eric
and his partners--adventuresome young bassist Aaron Darrell and veteran
percussionist Curt Newton--have taken the music a step beyond the achievements
of the Infrared Band. The Pocket Aces
walk the line between mainstream and free jazz while constructively making that
line unclear. They dance on that fuzzy
line and leap to one side of it or the other without falling--even though they
are dancing on air/ear. Whether they
perform freely or within the architecture of composition/arrangement, the focus
is improvisation as the very heart of jazz.
For example, apparently one of Eric’s favorite recordings is Louis
Armstrong’s performance of Joe Oliver’s classic, “West End Blues.” For several years Eric has performed the
work--“improvised” intro and all--as a solo vehicle and with various
ensembles. On 10/16 he and his band
mates took the work to decidedly new places.
The guitarist opened by taking Armstrong’s improvised intro through a
carnival hall of mirrors, transforming the time and placement of notes. The complete trio continued the malleable
dance. At times the work bordered on the
unrecognizable--but only for the sake of constructive adventure. It was a “West End Blues” I’d never heard
before. I imagine Louis would have been
puzzled by it. Nevertheless, here’s the
point: the performance took place for much of the time on the free side of the
line, but there never really was any question that they were digging into
Armstrong and Oliver’s “West End Blues” with the sheer joy of a great love for
the work. Such things are possible
because of Eric’s musical vision and artistic resources. A major part of those resources consists of
Curt and Aaron. The two of them reveled
in this music thoroughly while soloing and during sections of improvised
support--and at an unprecedented level for this trio. On 10/16 evening I caught the Pocket Aces
realized, a trio of extraordinary ears and action…
It began at 8 p.m. “jazz time” (i.e., a few minutes after 8),
but everything else about the tribute to Garrison Fewell 9/17 was pretty close
to Swiss clock work. The credit goes to
Guitar Department Assistant Chair Kim Perlak, who
organized the Berklee event. Given the
potential chaos of presenting a major portion of Berklee guitar faculty in the
eleven sets of music and the problem of sets lacking instrumental variety, the
presentation of the music was one of the most creative aspects of the
evening. Instrumental variety was
enhanced by judicial placement of Allan Chase’s alto sax in the second set and
the variety offered by Rich Greenblatt, Ron Mahdi, Jerry Seeco, and Larry
Finn in the tenth set. Another fine
production element is the fact that the program booklet for the evening was
almost completely accurate. There were a
few last-minute or on-the-spot changes in programming, but the changes were not
problematic. For example, Norm Zocher replaced “Donna Lee” with a composition that he
wrote in tribute to Garrison. The music
generally was outstanding, something that occasionally is lacking in such
events, even when world-class musicians are involved. Two factors seemed to be central to the
musical success of the evening. The
first element was the diversity of music presented--everything from pop
standards to bebop to Buddhist chant to blues and more. That diversity provided the audience with an
engaging range of musical experiences and offered an insightful celebration of
Garrison’s openness to such diverse forms.
The second factor was the authentic seriousness of purpose the musicians
brought to the event. There was little
or no self promotion. These people
walked on stage to play the best music they could--in celebration of Garrison
Fewell. And we who were present--an SRO
house at both the orchestra and balcony levels--were fortunate to be able to
share such a superb tribute…
Here is an image of
the poster for the 9/17 Garrison Fewell tribute at Friend Hall, Boston.
Here is an image of
the program booklet listing of performances for the 9/17 tribute to Garrison
Fewell.
There’s a wonderful
tradition nationally (e.g., New York’s Cedar Bar) and internationally (e.g.,
classical opera when dancing was not illegal) of mixed media arts
encounters. Boston--particularly in new music performances--has
had a fine history of mixed media presentations. During the past several decades we have had
mixed media events of note including terrific improvisors performing with everyone
from Adrienne Hawkins to Dr. T to Nancy Ostrovsky and
on and on. Many of these inter-media
encounters have been remarkable for both the diversity of sensory experience
and the superb quality of content. Such
events--occasionally incorporating three or more artistic endeavors (e.g.,
music, dance, painting, poetry, film, and more)--tend to feature music with one
of two general types of activity. The
first type--the most common and generally most successful--involves improvised
activity. An example of this type of
artistic integration is dancers Joan Green and Bonita Weisman performing with
Glynis Lomon and Syd Smart. The other inter-media activity of note
involves predetermined artistic activity and improvised music. An example of this type of artistic integration
is Robert Pinsky trading “lines” with George
Garzone. I witnessed a successful
example of the latter type of integration 9/24 at MIT’s Bartos
Theatre. The performance included new
music monsters Luther Gray (the leader), Allan Chase, and Jim Hobbs. If you’ve been paying attention during the
past few years, you know that the music provided by this trio is sufficient for
a terrific sonic experience. But there
was another in-your-face experience happening.
It is difficult in writing about the event not to focus on the fact that
Luther created the big-screen animations to accompany the music. So let’s try to ignore Luther and focus on
the mixed media event. Fans of Luther
Gray as a band leader no doubt found themselves reveling in a set of familiar
Luther Gray originals, presented beautifully by three of the most compelling
musicians performing anywhere. In back
of them, filling the screen were abstract animations. The animations were partially or completely
ostinato/repetitious. But the animations
for each piece varied considerably. For
example, one of the animations featured an intentionally humorous
“skateboarder” that morphed into a variety of abstract situations. In other words, the ultimate impact of even
this figurative animation was the power of abstraction. As was the performance of
the trio. It should be mentioned
that this multimedia performance is part of the Ampersand series at MIT, the
presentation of musicians who add “stellar visual elements to their
performances.” Fred Allen, host of
WMBR-FM’s Sound Principles show, is
the man who makes it happen (along with some terrific production people)…
Not long after the
MIT multi-media performance, the Longy School of Music offered its own
sound-sight presentation in the afternoon of 9/26. This event also featured programmed visual
material, in this case the Charlie Chaplin classic, The Tramp. The silent film
was scheduled to be accompanied by the improvising duo of Charlie Kohlhase and
Angel Subero.
But no doubt the adventure was so engaging that Peter Cassino and Jesse Mills made it a foursome. The film began and Peter Cassino
and Jesse Mills tentatively entered the inter-media fray. This film primarily is a timeless example of
physical comedy at its finest. This was
no time for their minimalist improvisation.
But the relevance of the sonics improved with the addition of Charlie
Kohlhase and Angel Subero to the party. The quartet metaphorically began to dance,
and the terpsichorean sounds worked well with the pratfalls and Chaplin magic. The bonus was Angel Subero’s
apparent awareness of the great circus trombone tradition. And he used that knowledge superbly
throughout the rest of the film. This Journal is about jazz, but it is
difficult to walk away from the experience without mentioning the visual
component of the presentation. Charlie
Chaplin was a master of physical comedy, and The Tramp is filled with examples of his
mastery. One hundred years ago it was
Chaplin’s breakthrough film. And here in
Pickman Hall people throughout the audience laughed
spontaneously at slapstick comedy to whom all physical
comics since then--the Marx Brothers, even Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard, Jerry Lewis, Dick VanDyke, and everyone after--owe a debt of gratitude. But what really affected me about the
audience was a child whose hysterical laughter rose
above the reaction of all the others, demonstrating how truly timeless such
comedic art is…
For some reason, a
lot of jazz musicians in the Boston area are big fans of craft beer, turning their
noses up at the mention of any “major brand” beer. I was on a mini vacation in Western Massachusetts for a few days and came across the sign
below on 9/3 in Lee. No doubt it will bring
a smile to some craft beer fans.
There were people in
the audience living in or visiting Massachusetts from London, England and Ontario, Canada. Such
facts cause me to mute my complaints about driving to Littleton from Boston’s western suburbs. These folks showed up 9/16 at Act III for the
music. They were obviously well-traveled
and enthusiastic fans. They knew they
were in the presence of the real deal, reveling in the sounds, offering
thoughtful requests, and remaining until after the last notes of the evening
faded. I always look forward to
performances by Paul Broadnax and Peter Kontrimas, but it is an even better
experience when knowledgeable music fans encounter the music of Paul and Peter
for the first time. It is the sound of
surprise realized in its most joyous context.
And, as surprising as it is to experience, the music of the duo seems to
get even better with each hearing.
Therefore it is with some distress that I write that the weekly
Broadnax-Kontrimas Duo gigs at Act III in Littleton are finished. Given the economic challenges faced by the
venue (as discussed here several times before), the lack of funds to support
the Wednesday evening gigs is no surprise.
But the loss of those regular performances is real. Paul and Peter continue to perform in Malden
and Sudbury, but those gigs are not weekly, and there is an edge for the
musicians and an evolving continuity to be experienced by fans that come only
from week in and week out live music…
The second part of
the concert 9/26 in a room off the sanctuary at Harvard-Epworth Church featured
the entire Dave Bryant group--Dave (electric keyboards), Tom Hall, Neil
Leonard, Gabriel Solomon, Jeff Song, Jacob William, Curt Newton, and Eric
Rosenthal--performing Dave’s original compositions and Ornette
Coleman’s “Long Time No See” (in tribute to the composer). The reverberant acoustics gave the band the
roar of a subway, an overwhelming wall of sound. Nevertheless, detail came forth from the roar, the leader’s prodding electric melodies and the fine
interplay and solos of Tom Hall and Neil Leonard. Through it all the percussion duo lit up the
stage with brilliant detail and superb communication. The roiling drive created much of the time by
Eric and Curt brought to mind the Free
Jazz dancing of Billy Higgins and Ed Blackwell. Jacob was a rock throughout. The first part of the concert took place in
the church sanctuary, a perfect place for acoustic music. And the acoustic piano came across just fine
in a sextet of Dave, Gabriel Solomon, Jeff Song, Jacob William, Curt Newton,
and Eric Rosenthal. The drummers brought
minimal equipment into the sanctuary, offering wonderfully transparent support,
very much in synch with Jacob. The fine
acoustics offered Gabriel and Jeff their best opportunity to shine, and they
did. Their work here was among the
highlights of the evening. But what
stays with me as much as anything from the experience is the piano work of Dave
Bryant. His wonderful command of the
instrument--both technically and musically--brought home the fact that his
performances on the acoustic piano are far too rare…
Gone are fundraisers for students in Boston area jazz education programs and the
legendary annual Barbecue, but memories of the Boston Jazz Society live
on. Like so many jazz
support groups born in the 1970s, the Boston Jazz Society several years ago
shut down its operations. JazzBoston was born in 2005 with, among other objectives,
to serve as an umbrella group for the existing jazz support groups. Today the umbrella is the jazz support group, and such fine organizations as the Jazz Coalition,
Studio Red Top, the Friends of Great Black Music, and the Boston Jazz Society
exist only as memories of jazz support activism. Founding President of the Boston Jazz Society
Ed Henderson decided to give New England
jazz fans something more than memories.
On 9/24 I received an announcement from Lauren Judge on behalf of the
Boston Jazz Society that the organization’s historical documents have been
given to an academic institution in Massachusetts. Ed
Henderson has given the organization’s archives to the University of Massachusetts Amherst Libraries. The
collection of posters, photographs, recordings, videos, and other documents
will be made available to researchers through the UMass
Libraries along with the Libraries’ other jazz archive holdings…
The 9/18 performance
at Church of the Advent Library opened with the Pingrey-Plsek
Duo. I love the idea of musicians from
different aesthetic planets coming together because of a shared passion for
discovery and making substantive
music together. And that’s what Randy Pingrey and Tom Plsek did
9/18. Earlier in the day I had been
listening to a recording of Monteverdi’s Orfeo in which a character, Echo,
sings and the vocal is followed by an instrumental solo echo. Often the staging of that event involves a
substantial physical separation between the vocal and the instrumental
echo--for dramatic purposes. The opening
trombone statement 9/18 involved a twenty-first century re-thinking of the same
concept with Tom Plsek in the library of the church
offering a sonic idea with a Randy Pingrey response
employing the full acoustics of the church sanctuary. This give and take continued, employing great
trombone ideas and dramatically
different environmental acoustics to great effect. The result was of such impact that I could
have left the venue completely satisfied for the evening. But the evening was not done. They continued with a fine variety of duo
dances, the final one bringing Randy back to the central “echo” church. But this time there was no sonic ping-pong
effect. Their trombone conversation was
one of two very different trombones (because of quite different sonic contexts)
exploiting the music of the
church. A truly fine
set. The second group of the
evening, Tyto Alba, offered the music of Matt Samolis, Thadd Comstock, Ryan
McGuire, and Dei Xhrist. The nature of the group--almost inevitably
because of the “instrumental” and personality factors--is a vocalist with
backup band. We’re not talking about
Ella with a trio or even Blondie, but the vocalist definitely is out
front. So I guess this is a good time to
say that this is the first time I have caught Dei Xhrist
(I’m guessing that’s not her birth name) fully realized. In previous “electronic” realizations, she
often (because of lousy sonic engineering) is only intermittently audible, and
she apparently loves negligible lighting and drapes to hide her presence and
voice as much as possible. These
electronic antics are something of a puzzle.
Is she trying to be mysterious
in some kind of camp way? She certainly
is no wilting flower, too shy to expose herself, if the 9/18 gig is any
indication. She was anything but
mysterious, and a surprisingly substantial person of both voice and
theater. Acoustic obviously is her
métier. But it was a quartet. She was able to dance so convincingly because
she had three perfect band mates. Matt Samolis is not exclusively the wonderful producer of
ear-stretching gigs. He also is
a--mostly self-taught--flute player of some impact. I have enjoyed his performances for at least
a couple decades, and I’m tempted to say that I heard Matt’s best flute on
9/18. Can’t beat that. Thadd Comstock
plays a rock role in the
quartet. He’s the foundation. Silence his guitar anywhere in the middle of
this group offering and the experience crumbles. But, as I mentioned to him after the set, I
love the lightning bolts he throws into the mix during the set. At least since the 1990s Ryan McGuire has
been offering us creative acoustic bass music.
Unfortunately I have not witnessed much of his music during the past
decade. I hope that gap in my listening
experience is due to some communications screw up rather than the possibility
that he has not been performing frequently around here. As he demonstrated on 9/18, he is a special
musician who knows how to make fine musicians on stage with him sound even
better. And the word better applies to the entire
evening. Matt Samolis’
Advent Library Series continues to be one of the most important music series
anywhere in the Boston area. The programming always is
thoughtful and often eclectic in the best sense of the term. Even with all that, I cannot recall a better
evening of Advent Library music than what I encountered on 9/18. Matt just keeps getting better at what he
does. And we in the audience are the
lucky ones…
August 2015
The Steve Lantner
Quartet raises the question of how do
some band leaders do it? The “it” is
a matter of extraordinary quality and durability. Truly high quality jazz and related
improvised music is rare in most major cities in the U.S. and abroad.
And ensembles that perform the music and stay together for more than a
couple years also are quite rare.
Quality and durability are separate factors. Sometimes an ensemble of extraordinary
quality--such as Jim Hobbs’ Heliopolis ensembles--shines brightly for a few
performances and (to the loss of all listeners lucky enough to witness the
band) disappears from the horizon. Today
that’s a common occurrence. Audiences seldom
throughout history are attracted to greatness.
Unfortunately, the times we live in are worse than most in that
regard. And then there is
durability. Even the most “populist”
jazz band (however one might define that) is unlikely to endure for more than a
few years. Yes, there are the Kenny Gs
and Wynton Marsalises. However, that kind of popularity in the jazz
realm is quite unusual. But the
combination of BOTH quality and durability is extremely unusual. There are the world-famous giants such as
Cecil Taylor and Han Bennink, but such people--because of a deaf world--are disappearing. No.
The Steve Lantner Quartet is not filling large halls (even though it
should be). Nevertheless it is of
extraordinary quality, and (in various incarnations) it has endured for more
than a decade. Two of the current band
members--Luther Gray and the band leader--have been in the quartet since the
best-known early version of the ensemble.
Over time, because of a variety of factors (other
professional responsibilities being perhaps the most common), some band members
show up only occasionally. Long
time band regulars such as Joe Morris and (the until recently active) Allan
Chase occasionally show up--and shake things up in constructive ways. However, during the most recent several
months, as in the case of the exhilarating session 8/25 at the Outpost, the
piano and drums push the envelope with the brilliant sonics of Jim Hobbs and
Forbes Graham. Regardless of the
personnel changes, the quality of the evolving music never falters. It seems that the pianist/leader attracts the
best musicians who in turn mutually inspire the best performances. It sounds like an old formula. So simple. Right. You try to make that happen. Go ahead.
Meanwhile, as you stumble, drop in to the Outpost for one of the
quartet’s superb outings and be inspired…
From time to time I
mention the healing power of the arts in general or music specifically,
especially in terms of spiritual health or attitude. Recently with greater frequency I have read
in magazine articles about the healing power of music for people with
Alzheimer’s disease. Therefore it is no
surprise that the summer issue of AARP
Bulletin (p. 30) contains an article by Mary Ellen Geist
titled “The Healing Power of Music.” The
article offers an overview of the status of Alzheimer’s research and examples
of how music alleviates the pain of Alzheimer’s patients. The bad news is that more than twenty new
drugs have failed to treat Alzheimer’s effectively during the past decade. However, according to researcher Jane Flinn, people with Alzheimer’s who regularly sang
demonstrated dramatically sharper mental acuity during a four month testing
period. Other evidence is encouraging
also. So get plenty of sleep and
exercise. Eat healthy food. And crank up the Betty Carter…
The Wolverine Jazz
Band showed up at the Costin Room of the Framingham
Public Library 8/13 to a full house. It
was not quite the complete Wolverine
Jazz Band. The ensemble performed
without piano or drums (even though the library has a serviceable piano). Band members have done this before, and it
was interesting to witness how they called upon Jimmy Mazzy’s
banjo and Rick MacWilliams’ tuba to make up the
difference. I doubt that jazz fans in
the audience (unfamiliar with the full septet alignment) would have thought to
question the quintet presentation. The
band--also including John Clark (leader/clarinet), Jeff Hughes (trumpet), and
Tom Boates (trombone)--showed why they are one of the
most successful trad outfits in the U.S. These
guys seem to be booked almost constantly here and elsewhere in the U.S. The
popularity is significant particularly as suburban venues in the Boston area seem to be drying up. The Sherborn Inn is gone and the Colonial
Inn, formerly an anchor of traditional jazz in western suburbia, offers a
monthly schedule consisting of almost entirely pop and folk music. But the Wolverines continue to prevail. Having attended the 8/13 gig I can see to
some extent why these men succeed. There
are questions about the authenticity
of live trad music in the twenty-first century. After all, the original Wolverines and their
fellow travelers hit the peak of their art and success almost a century
ago. All that two-beat stuff was
becoming passé by the early 1930s. Today
some of us wince when we catch music students trying to play bebop. And those kids are only sixty-five years
behind the times. So there is at least
the fundamental question of what a twenty-first century trad
musician is trying to do. Because jazz
of any type at its core is about improvisation, mere mimicry of the recordings
of Bix and Bechet would be
counter-productive. Because no one who
breathed the same air as a teenage Louis or Tram is playing jazz today, authentic trad
jazz--cooked in the broth of Kitty Hawk,
the invasion of Cuba, and World War One--cannot be realized. I suspect that, although there are many
opinions about the nature of authenticity, the most obvious reason for the
existence of the twenty-first century Wolverines is that the members of the band
love the ancient recordings of two-beat
jazz and they love to play trad music, authentic or
not. So we heard tributes to Jelly Roll
Morton (with a startlingly spot on Morton vocal by Jimmy Mazzy)
and Bunny Berigan (with echoes of the famous swing
era solo but played in a trad context). All of it performed joyously. At some point the only question that came to
mind was who had the most fun, the guys
in the band or the full house of music fans? Another way to look at it is that trad jazz today is thought of as “good time music.” If that is the case, one would be
hard-pressed to discover a band more trad than the
twenty-first century version of the Wolverine Jazz Band…
A new quartet had a
gig 8/27 at the Outpost. Led by Eric
Hofbauer and Dan Rosenthal, the Hofbauer-Rosenthal Quartet--including the fine
rhythm section of Aaron Darrell and Austin McMahon--features original charts
(some so recent that the ink possibly still was wet) featuring “ancient”
architecture (even predictable solo sequences and breaks) as a ground for
potentially rough-hewn, exciting detail.
The charts recall the wonderful combos led by Serge Chaloff, Shelly Manne, and other monsters of the 1950s. But in the twenty-first century, relying
entirely on what was new in 1958 is not enough.
And so the key for this band is in the details. It pursues the transformative details. The challenge is enormous--that line between
celebrating history and pushing the envelope.
There is a good deal of significance in the fact that Eric is one of the
band leaders. His now-defunct Infrared
Band danced on that line better than any band I’m familiar with. It was a great joy witnessing over the years
the band take on more and more difficult/challenging charts and nail the
details while exploiting both the details and the architecture in put-up-or-shut-up
solo opportunities. The current quartet
is not operating at that level. Such
remarkable developments never are overnight affairs. The lack of polish (time in the trenches
really) was most evident during the first half of the evening. Even the composed material came across to
some extent as mechanical. Ironically,
after the gig Eric explained that some of the lack of spontaneity was due to
new charts and the fact that bassist Aaron Darrell had not seen much of that
material before. I use the word
“ironically” because the interplay between Aaron and Eric pretty much carried
the day during that earlier part of the gig.
I suspect that the intimate (i.e., trio) setting of the recently
deceased Pocket Aces (including both Eric and Aaron) had much to do with their
ability to thrive in a somewhat shaky context.
But there is more good news.
During the final three or four works performed, the entire quartet began
to come together with the more familiar material, but--perhaps more
important--working together better, hearing better, reveling in the jagged
edges of the detail. Discovering. These are superb musicians. If they want to go for broke over the long
haul, we in the audience will be the big winners…
We tend to think of
sound as a resource for creating joy.
Bach, Ayler, Sly Stone, Louis, Ornette… You get the idea. But apparently our personal property and
identity information is there for the taking through the use of non-joyous
sounds. According to a Joseph Menn 8/5 Reuters article, “U.S. researchers show computers can be hijacked
to send data as sound waves,” researchers have discovered that criminals (or
perhaps everyday elected officials) now have “the ability to hijack standard
equipment inside computers, printers and millions of other devices in order to
send information out of an office through sound waves.” The article describes the nefarious
procedure, stating that the “attack program takes control of the physical
prongs on general-purpose input/output circuits and vibrates them at a
frequency of the researchers’ choosing, which can be audible or not. The vibrations can be picked up with an am
radio antenna a short distance away.” So
what happens if Jim Hobbs plays his alto sax near the affected device,
blanketing the device’s vibrations with the sounds of innovative beauty? I guess the question is: Can the profound beauty of true art defeat the products of shallow egos? Let’s hope so…
July
2015
The Allan Chase Trio
offered a fine single set of music 7/15 at the Lily Pad, a mix of jazz nuggets
(mostly Giuffre) and originals with some Allan Chase material penned during his
formative years in Arizona. Italian Fabio Pirozzolo resides in the Boston area and fit beautifully within the conversational group. Most of the time he focussed on his wooden
hand percussion box (an instrument I had not seen in performance in more than a
decade) and cymbals. Rarely he played percussion with a second foot pedal. He saved the bongos for the last couple
pieces of the set. The effect was
something like a fine cocktail kit but with more pop to it. It was a sound
that worked well with the intimacy of the ensemble. That intimacy and spare instrumentation were
perfect for “allowing” the audience to hear the contributions of each musician
to the ensemble and the solo space. It
is difficult to imagine a more productive group if your goal is to hear what
Allan and Bruno Råberg have to say. And
that’s why I showed up. But the reality within the experience was even better
than the expectation…
Amazing signs
continue to pop up everywhere. This time
such a sign appeared on a door of an entrance to the Natick Mall. I went shopping there 7/13 and discovered that
part of the shopping center had lost its electricity. The sign reproduced below caused at least a
couple double takes because of unusual wording.
I never had seen a shopping mall written about as if it were a soda
machine. Also, it remains a puzzle as to
why anyone would want to thank the management for the inconvenience.
There are different kinds of crazy. The one I prefer is
the creative person who is the proverbial “crazy like a fox.” That’s the kind of crazy Kit Demos is. He is
an interplanetary alchemist who has the dangerous idea of taking musicians from
different music planets--sometimes out of the European classical composition
tradition and sometimes out of post-Ayler jazz realm--and putting them in the
same space probe. This is a very risky
proposition. Just because someone is a
terrific improvisor from Jupiter does not mean necessarily that the sonic
emissary will have productive onstage interactions with a titan from Titan. And not every combination Kit has put
together has lit up the solar system. But. Kit has an exceptional ability to bring together people of significantly different musical dialects and cause superior discourse to take place. A perfect example of that alchemy took place
7/25 at the Outpost during Kit’s monthly Dark Matter Series offering. He calls the sessions Dark Matter--I’m
speculating--possibly because dark matter in the universe superficially is
invisible to us, even though it is the primary mass of the universe. So we have “invisible” gigs that the average
guy knows nothing about, but the music on the gigs--by important
measurements--is quite weighty. Along
with those factors, I’m sure the name of the series has something to do with
the “incongruity” of the ensemble lineups.
You know, those wonderful musicians from
different spheres who never perform
together. So, yes, some of the people in
the quartet had performed together before (but generally infrequently) with one
or more of the band members. But this
was the first time that all four musicians had performed together on a
gig. That fact in some ways is not a
surprise, but it also is a kind of wonderment.
Think about it. Here we have four
longtime celebrated improvisors--Kit Demos, Charlie Kohlhase, Kevin Frenette, and Eric Rosenthal--on the 7/25 gig, and they had not shared the stage as a unit
before. And I was lucky enough to
witness what happened when they came together.
The music of the group evolved throughout the two sets, initially as a
somewhat introspective chamber group, producing music of the intellect and soul
that I would have been more than happy to experience for the entire
evening. But these gentlemen are
searchers. And so the music evolved
throughout the evening, working its way through a catalogue of adventuresome possibi;ities. The final work was in the realm of the ecstatic. And why not? It is difficult to imagine a more fitting way
to celebrate the end of such an exceptional evening of music. Each musician found himself pursuing
different ways to articulate who he was in this “alien” context, and all of
them were up to the task, making the total experience far more engaging and
surprising even than perhaps a more “predictable” gig of superb quality. Thanks are due to everyone involved,
especially to alchemist Kit Demos…
Carla DeLellis, owner of Johnny
D’s, announced 7/19 that the venue would close before the end of February
2016. It’s been a couple years since
jazz has been a part of the regular evening bookings there, but the Saturday
and Sunday jazz brunches continue. Even
so, the number of substantial jazz musicians who have performed in the club--Fred Lonberg-Holm, Raphé
Malik, Jamaaladeen Tacuma,
Eric Hofbauer, Tim Daisy, John Tchicai,
Jeff Galindo, Dennis Warren, Charlie Kohlhase, Raqib Hassan, Garrison Fewell, and many more--is noteworthy. The good news is that the owner claims she is
closing the venue for personal reasons rather than purely economic ones. In some quarters that’s barter-speak for, “We
want truly competitive bids so we can make some money on the place.” But other evidence suggests that there are
plans to turn the venue into something less attractive to music fans. Let’s hope that music will win. The down-front seating of Johnny D’s is among
the best in the Boston area. An intelligent transition to a new creative
owner could be good news for fans of live music. Maybe even live jazz…
Paul Broadnax was born in 1926. Do the math.
It is long past time for him to rest on his laurels or “mail it
in.” But that is not what is happening
to him or his young decades-long
partner, Peter Kontrimas. By some
standards, I came to his performances relatively recently. I first encountered his music in the 1980s
and have been a frequent audience member for more than two decades. And I can say that what these two gentlemen
are doing on their gigs recently--and most specifically on 7/22 at Act III in Littleton--is
astonishing. I’ve hinted at some kinds
of breakthroughs artistically for this duo in recent journal entries, but the
quality of what they are doing keeps surprising listeners--not merely me but
other longtime fans as well. And, as the
evening progressed, the sonic challenges progressed. I was taken by Peter Kontrimas’ solos
and--maybe to an even greater degree--by his support work. He was reaching down and bringing up chords
and lines I’d never heard from him before.
Wonderful stuff. On a break I asked him about the difference
musically in what he was doing with the acoustic bass. Modestly he “blamed” Paul, claiming that Paul
kept coming up with such an unexpected variety of notes and chords that Peter
constantly had to make creative
adjustments. I believe that to some
extent it’s a “chicken or egg” situation.
You know. One of the men “creates
trouble” and the other musician is pushed to respond creatively, and that
creative response creates trouble. And
so on. Of course, this wonderful cycle
can occur only if the musicians are of the top shelf and have other profound
qualities to call upon. On 7/22 I heard
Paul play an unusually large number of wrong
notes. Some of those notes truly
were mistakes. Every musician makes them
(or he’s not really pushing himself).
The typical creative musician’s response is to hide the mistake with a
pattern of notes that makes the mistake sound as if it were the note that was
intended in the first place. What was
astonishing about the true mistakes Paul made is that Paul made no apparent
attempt to hide the mistake. I had the perception
that he embraced the mistake as an opportunity to exploit it aesthetically. So Paul took us on a brief adventure that
superficially had nothing to do with the tune initially--i.e., a mistake--and
brought us to new territory and a new insight into a jazz standard. You can imagine how wonderful the intentional mistakes were. And Peter was there the whole time to react
and prod and create (all at the same time).
The duo was an evolving, growing force as the evening progressed. Audience head nods early in the evening
became head-shaking during the second/final set. Near the final set’s close the duo pursued
Rodgers and Hart’s wonderful “Dancing on the Ceiling.” The composition presents its own peculiar
challenges for improvisors. But those
challenges were not sufficient for Paul and Peter. During his improvised piano solo, as Paul dug
into the music he was sharing with Richard Rodgers, it became almost impossible
at times to figure out where he was taking things. Peter had to take care of both the chord
cycle and the unknown sonic landscape that Paul was painting. And he did so beautifully. But we mere mortals in the audience had to
grapple with the sequence of profound surprises as best we could. Some people may have been a bit lost at times,
but all of them quite apparently were solidly hooked. On more than one occasion during that solo I
could hear several people breathe in and hold their breaths--just as I was
doing. There was no boisterous yelping
or hip banter. It was a group of people
caught in the moment of inexplicable beauty and relishing the magnificent bewilderment. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a
subtle yet palpable and pervasive reaction from an audience before. Our exemplary jazz musicians keep improving
over the years, but gradually the improvements become incremental rather than
dramatic. Over the decades the growth of
the Broadnax-Kontrimas Duo has been incremental. But during this year--perhaps in preparation
for Paul’s ninetieth birthday next January--their music has exploded in
unpredictable and wonderful ways. I look
forward to more extraordinary sonic fireworks…
The twice monthly publication of The Improper Bostonian is not to be anticipated with excitement if
you are a jazz fan (or if you are interested in substantive culture of any
type). Nevertheless, I was alerted to
something significant about the jazz
category this year in the annual (and annoyingly shallow and pretentious) “Boston’s
Best” feature.
Much to my amazement the jazz venue the magazine picked as this year’s
best is Wally’s. Wally’s? It’s actually a jazz club (much of the time)
with decades of credibility in its reputation.
No doubt whoever came up with the suggestion will be fired. But wait.
Maybe there is hope for the glossy celebration of shiny objects. Curious because of the references to Wally’s,
I picked up the 7/22 issue. I came
across the Alexandra Cavallo article on the early
music group, L’Academie, and was tempted to write a
note of apology to the editor (until I looked at the rest of the sparkly
rag). Cavallo’s
“A different Kind of Lullaby” (p.8) is a--pause for emphasis--thoughtful
article on the healing power of music and the remarkable work of Leslie Kwan
and like-minded L’Academie ensemble mates. What they do is terrific. But the great secret (because our culture
ignores art) is that great art--sonic or otherwise--has the power to heal a
truly open public…
Early in the first set with fine Luther Gray support Steve
Lantner developed some fascinating permutations of a brief staccato line. Forbes Graham and Jim Hobbs sat quietly,
absorbing what was happening.
Then--almost gingerly--Forbes developed his own complementary pattern,
gradually pushing harder until the lines were equal conversational
partners. A bit later Jim entered. He went somewhere else with his alto sax, not
confounding what the trio was doing but calling up the memory of some Hodges
ballad perhaps, using the soaring line to hold up for inspection the facets of
color offered by Steve, Forbes, and Luther.
And this was just the beginning of the evening. Sometimes something extraordinary happens,
and the word gets out. That’s what
seemed to be happening here. It was a
larger than usual audience at the Outpost 7/29, larger than one sees typically
at gigs that feature ear-stretching music.
It makes one who loves great music wonder if perhaps people really are
learning how to hear. Since the end of
the 1990s there has been much evidence that the general public--and not merely
in the U.S.--has
become deaf, blind, and brain dead. At
this performance I was impressed less by the numbers of people than the hushed
attention of the audience. These folks
were listening, and they picked the right band to listen to. The band tackled a wide variety of directions
musically, and it would be useless to attempt an assessment of the solos of each of these musicians. The instruments were different and the
musical personalities are different. And
all of it was top shelf. Do you really
sit around and assess the quality of the soloists in the Boss Tenors or the
Tough Tenors? No. You just sit back and be
very, very thankful. And those guys in
those sessions were playing the same instruments. Luther vs. Hobbs? The mere question gets in the way of the
music created by these special agents of sonic art. Junko Fujiwara sat in for a terrific piece
during the second set. She has been
musically invisible recently, as far as challenging improvised music is
concerned. Much of her time has been
taken up with other obligations, such as teaching and local productions of
Broadway musicals. I know what you are
thinking. That’s the kind of thing that
kills improvising chops. True. But something funny must be going on with
her. Maybe in her spare time she’s
practicing improvising to a Cecil CD. Or
something like that.
No question. Her performance exhibited
super shops. But technique is only a
means, not an end. She was all over the
place on the cello, playing stuff that really mattered. I have nothing against Mary Poppins, but what Junko was doing
7/28 was really fine. I hope Junko
Fujiwara decides to devote more of her life to the important challenge of
improvised art. It would be a waste for
her not to. After all, her performance
7/28 was the best I’d ever heard from her.
What a shame to throw it away merely to make a living. I joke of course. The quartet--among those who choose to create
sonic art without financial compensation--concluded the evening with a brief
“sign off” that left the audience with a final musical silence, maybe to let us
know just how deafening that silence can be…
A.C. Nielsen has
been tracking the media preferences of the public for many decades. What was the most popular TV show in July of
1955? A.C. Nielsen is the organization
that would tell you. And today Nielsen is telling us that there is good news
for Charlie Kohlhase and other radio hosts.
Apparently good old-fashioned radio reaches more adults than any of the
other media. Only 70 percent of adults
use smart phones in a given week, but 93 percent of adults listen to am/fm
radio. Also TV is hanging in there
pretty well with 87 percent. It seems
that we live in a neo-Victorian world in which the only thing keeping record
shops alive is the popularity of LPs…
Garrison Fewell died
7/5 in his home, where he chose to be at the end. That’s what he did in his life. He made very strong choices. But those choices--the ones I witnessed or
experienced personally--never were ego-driven, it’s-all-about-me choices. They were the
let’s-make-music-through-the-roof choices or (typically over food and/or wine)
let’s-examine-life’s-central-meaning choices.
I’ve never witnessed anyone approach death--over more than a two-year
span--the way Garrison did. He and his
wife Emy by example have humbled me. And the wonderful guitarist participated in
some of my most treasured moments of live music (and recordings). Since his passing hundreds of family members,
fans, and friends have expressed their loss and thanks, most profoundly perhaps
at the celebration of his life 7/19 at the Buddhist SGI Community Center in Boston. Garrison
Fewell remains with me…
Garrison Fewell and
Eric Hofbauer finally got together 6/9 at the Outpost, and an attentive
audience of regulars and used-to-be-regulars showed up to catch the
long-overdue event. Both guitarists had
been caught up in a variety of “business” and sonic activities that kept them
from the important work of making music together--as only they can. With great sadness I mention that the
wonderful duo effort turned out to be Garrison’s last. They chose to “re-do” the music on their Lady of Khartoum recording, all of the
tracks in sequence. It is one of my
favorite recordings, so intimate, so personal.
On this evening the musicians offered relevant stories about the session
and the journeys that inspired the music.
Each spoke--mostly Garrison, a remarkable accomplishment considering
Eric’s penchant for taking on the role of gig raconteur (and effectively
so). Naturally I listened to the
recording the next day, and my perceptions at the gig were reinforced. The single set of music and the recording were
identical and completely different. Each
“tune” on the gig was rooted in the “tune” on the CD, in the same spirit and
often with the same/similar details. But
the actual experience of each--the recording and the in-person performance--was
dramatically different. And that is how
it should be. The art
of surprise. Thank you Garrison
and Eric for a demonstration of the jazz continuum and how central evolution is
to its nature. And for
an outstanding evening of music…
I was away for a few
days early in the month. Part of the
trip was the 6/5-7 Okka Fest 7 in Milwaukee. I
mention that fact because three of the featured artists on the festival have Boston area roots--Dave Rempis
(Wellesley), Peter Evans (Weston), and Mat Maneri (Natick & Framingham). It
was a good experience for me to see old friends among musicians and music fans
(some of whom I hadn’t seen in more than a decade) and to make new friends.
There were many very good moments throughout the seventeen sets of music, but
the sets including work by Mat were consistently of very high quality. Among such efforts was a 6/7 quartet
including Paul Lytton, Ingebrigt
Håker Flaten, and Helen Gillet. His 6/5
solo/duo performance with Paul Lytton at the Palm
Tavern certainly was among the top two or three sets of music of the entire
festival. Really fine stuff…
Mark McGrain, veteran of early Leap of Faith campaigns, could
not make the 6/16 gig at the Lily Pad.
He was scheduled to join Glynis Lomon, PEK (AKA Dave Peck), and Syd Smart for the reunion of the “original” Leap of Faith
to present the first set of LOF music.
It was everyone’s good fortune that David Harris could make the gig to
fill the brass chair in the group instead.
David told me that his free improvisation chops are a bit rusty, but he
sounded just fine on the bandstand, making terrific musical decisions,
particularly on trombone. Syd Smart is a Boston area treasure. It must make anyone performing with him feel
awfully secure knowing that, no matter what chances the musician takes, Syd will be there to catch and--if necessary--repair the
decision. But poor judgment is not
something Syd has to repair with long-term,
telepathic partners such as Glynis and PEK.
Dave Peck has been on a hiatus of sorts for quite a while. His sea legs are returning, and he’s getting
to the point where he can dance on the bowsprit. The improvisatory leap for Dave even from the
immediately preceding gig is significant.
Welcome back indeed. Worth
checking out is a fine brief history of Leap of Faith written by Dave that fans
may enjoy. You can find it at the LOF web site. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard Glynis sound
better--and for the whole evening. For
me she has always been some sort of free improvisation ideal--unselfconscious,
unfettered. It isn’t a matter of a
specific act involving the sounds on a specific instrument (cello, voice, aquasonic) or even the flawless choice of which one to
employ in the moment. It’s just that, at
her best (which is remarkably common) the listener does not have the “luxury”
of making judgments about such things.
The wise listener puts aside judgment and simply revels in
listening. Glynis Lomon and Fred Lonberg-Holm are my two favorite improvising cellists. Recently I had the pleasure of witnessing
Fred perform over a three-day period at the Okka Fest
in Milwaukee.
Although I had had the experience before, the thought that I would love
to catch Fred and Glynis perform as a duo was more persistent than ever. I had the same thought again 6/16 throughout
both sets. What I find compelling about
each of them--and the idea of the duo--is that each “forces” the listener to
suspend judgment because the improvisation is so captivating and because what
each of them does with and “around” the cello is so different. And complementary. The odds against that special duo happening
are substantial. But I dream. Thank you, Fred. Thank you, Glynis. Glynis and PEK are half of the new Leap of Faith. That fact means the new incarnation has a
very good chance of succeeding. But the
other half is pretty substantial. I’ve
loved Yuri Zbitnov’s percussion for decades--even in
groups that I was not fond of. Also he
has made significant contributions over the years to performances by people on
stage at the 6/16 gig. And more than
once I witnessed Yuri save the day for Raqib Hassan when disaster landed on a gig by the wonderful
disciple of Sun Ra and John Coltrane.
After all, one of the great skills of Raqib
was people. Yuri changed his tools a little bit from the
previous “new” LOF gig. He brought his
own trap set “pieces” with him this time to make sure (I’m speculating here)
that he would have a fuller range of percussion resources--ethnic resources and
more conventional--to insure that he could bring it all to the party. And he did.
Steve Norton is the “new guy on the block” for Leap of Faith. I say that only because Steve’s music world
and that of the veteran members of LOF operate on different improvisatory music
planes. I’ve witnessed Steve “making
trouble” in a variety of challenging contexts since the mid-1980s. On the surface, working with LOF may be his
biggest challenge because the improvisatory terrain is so different from what
he’s used to. But this fine music
ultimately is not about surface, and Steve is growing into what must be a
somewhat daunting role quite smoothly.
So smoothly that people in the audience 6/16 probably did not know what
I’m referring to. To state the case
briefly, the “new” LOF performance 6/16 was even better than the fine previous
performance. Encore…
On 6/11 we lost Ornette Coleman, one of the true giants of the jazz
continuum. I had witnessed performances
of the master a number of times. But I
never had met and talked with him until February 14, 1992 as a result of receiving an invitation from
Prime Time keyboardist Dave Bryant for my wife and me to be his guest at a
concert in Pittsburgh. I
was in the Mid-West at the time, and a trip to that city was not a difficult
one. Happily I agreed to be there. It turned out to be even better than I
imagined. I witnessed both the
rehearsal/sound check and public performance of Prime Time. And there was a remarkable bonus. After the performance the sponsoring
organization took the Prime Time musicians—and a few lucky guests--to a local
restaurant for dinner. I mention the
dinner because it was there that I first got an opportunity to talk with Ornette Coleman. Two
moments relevant to the dinner stand out for me. The first occurred just before we ate. It was a short walk from the concert hall to
the dinner. As we entered the restaurant
and walked to the private room in the back of the main dining area, the general
public stopped eating, arose, and offered a standing ovation for Ornette Coleman.
Neither before nor since have I witnessed such
a celebration for any artist. During the
dinner Ornette realized that I had spent most of my
adult life in the Boston area. That caused him to offer
a tribute to the genius of Lowell Davidson and recall to a hushed table events
that took place at the funeral of the much younger musician less than two years
previously. These kinds of memories of Ornette and his student/band mate, Dave Bryant, jolted me
into the realization that I could offer no better commentary on the passing of
the master musician than to include some relevant words from Dave. I emailed a request for comment, and
fortunately he responded with what follows:
When Stu asked me to submit a few words for
his blog, I thought of his admirably persistent
Boston-area focus, and began recalling a few of Ornette’s Boston
connections. I first approached him for lessons when he played at Berklee,
where I was a student, in December 1981. (Guitarist Bern Nix
is another Berklee alumni.) I’d been encouraged by my piano teacher Bruce
Thomas, who had played in Ornette’s “White House” rehearsal band.
When I first met Ornette,
he told me, “The only two piano players I like are Cecil Taylor and Lowell
Davidson.” He enthused about Lowell’s
brilliant intellect and his roots in the church. I’m reminded of [drummer]
Bobby Ward’s story about how after he and Lowell saw Ornette
and Don Cherry play in Boston for
the first time, they went out and bought a baritone saxophone and a pocket
trumpet and learned the tunes. There were giants in those days! It’s well known
that Ornette came to Boston for
Lowell’s
funeral, and I remember him recounting Lowell’s
mother’s moving eulogy several times.
He called me up once to say he was planning
to come to town to visit [filmmaker] Shirley Clarke, who was in a nursing home
at the time. I was anxious to return his hospitality by offering to put him up
at our place, but I think I scared him off when I suggested we could stay up
all night listening to records …
I haven’t even mentioned his historic stay at
the Lenox School,
his association with Gunther Schuller,
his honorary degrees from NEC and Berklee, or the fact that Prime Time drummer
James Kamal Jones is another current fixture of the
local scene. But I’m particularly grateful that the hospitality of Ornette and others allowed me to be in the band while
living in Boston.
The privilege and adventure of staying at his place was an education in itself.
Sometimes after rehearsal, we’d go over to a little Pakistani steam table restaurant
on 9th Avenue and
solve the world’s problems at two in the morning. I knew I was the luckiest
person on earth then, and I know it now.
Thank you, Dave.
Music director John Kordalewski announced early in the single set of music
that, because the band was performing at the Jazz and Blues Festival in Somerville’s Powderhouse Park 6/20, the Makanda Project would perform only blues-rooted
McIntyre compositions. The idea made a
lot of sense, but the challenge for the pianist/leader must have been considerable. A set filled with nothing but “bluesy”
compositions can get tired pretty fast.
It is to John Kordalewski’s credit how skillfully
he selected and sequenced the material.
His advantage is that he was selecting from among compositions by the
brilliant Makanda Ken McIntyre. The section work and improvisatory excellence of band members no doubt made the effort a bit easier. I was looking and listening as Jerry Sabatini and Phil Grenadier (two of my favorite trumpet players) took solos, and it struck me that
it would be worth it to show up just to hear these two brass men create music
on the spot. I could have reveled in
that and stopped with that thought. But
there was the rhythm section. John Kordalewski, John Lockwood, and Yoron Israel have worked at the core of this band for so long that everyone else cannot help but be
locked in. And the “everyone else”
includes the Bill Lowe-Kuumba Frank Lacy trombones
and a large, aesthetically varied reed section of such venerable names as Kurtis Rivers, Joe Ford, Arni Cheatham, Sean Berry, and Charlie Kohlhase. Most of the current band members have been with the ensemble from the beginning (2005) or very close to it. Anyone with ears and eyes can sense both the commitment and joy of performance here. The Makanda Project is a true Boston music treasure. The only disappointment was the failure of the generally fine sound system to capture effectively one of the band’s great assets. Diane Richardson’s fine solo work was quite audible. But apparently the person operating the sound board was not aware that Diane Richardson’s voice is employed quite brilliantly as a section horn. I saw her singing those lines but heard
virtually none of them. Fortunately we
have a chance to hear the whole band
again in July…
During a few days in
Newport this month I came across the nonsequitur of
a sign shown below. It’s probably a
great tune title
.
.
The Driff Festival returned to the Lily Pad 6/19 & 20, and
for the first time it was a two-evening affair including eight sets of music
followed each night with DJ offerings by Boston jazz icon and jazz radio host
Charlie Kohlhase. Among the celebrated attractions were guests Tony Malaby, Jeb Bishop, Taylor Ho Bynum, and Rakalam
Bob Moses and two versions of the large ensemble, Bathysphere, including guests
Seth Meicht, Taylor Ho Bynum, Jeb
Bishop, Tony Malaby, and Katherine Young performing
with regulars Forbes Graham, Dan Rosenthal, Jeff Galindo, Josiah Reibstein, Jorrit Dijkstra, Charlie Kohlhase, Pandelis
Karayorgis, Nate McBride, Jef
Charland, Andrew Neumann, and Luther Gray on
Friday. The same band minus Jeff Galindo
and Katherine Young closed out the evening on 6/20. The festival offered several surprises, one of the better ones was the opening set of
6/20. I have witnessed a setup of two
percussionists with one or two acoustic basses before, and the instrumentation
is ugly. Even with top-shelf musicians,
in the case of completely improvised music the problems of coordinating
balance, timbre, line, and discourse roles are considerable. Well, Nate McBride,
Jef Charland, Luther Gray,
and Eric Rosenthal were ready. The
result was perhaps the highlight of the entire festival. On the other hand, Bathysphere was a surprise
in that it was something of a disappointment.
Early incarnations of the big band led me to believe that this outfit
would become an up-to-the-minute ensemble based on architectural principles
developed by Ellington, Evans, and other great band leaders. By that I refer to the practice of incorporating
arrangements that pursue two general goals: 1) creating ensemble sounds that
are challenging and engaging to the ear and 2) most important, using the ensemble to create contexts for the
soloists, contexts that will enhance and inspire improvisation at its highest
level. The great band leaders even
associated specific arrangements or portions of arrangements with specific
soloists. For example, try to imagine an
Ellington performance of “Day Dream” without Johnny Hodges. Years after the passing of Duke Ellington the
Ellington-inspired Herb Pomeroy dropped “Moment’s Notice” from his big band
repertoire when Dick Johnson left the band.
Such “functionality” in arrangement is not a minor matter. It really came home to me on the first night
of the festival when trombone solos by Jeb and Jeff
soared so wonderfully above the band.
The dearth of individual solos throughout that set and throughout the
closing set 6/20 (including the same arrangements in a different sequence)
created a palpable void aesthetically.
After all, I came to the festival with the assumption that I was
attending a festival of jazz and other improvised music. There is no way that I would mention my
reaction to the two performances if it were a matter of just another popular
“jazz” band. But Jorrit and Pandelis are
substantial musicians who time and again have demonstrated that they have a
special talent for celebrating the art of the improvisor. Even giants stumble. But not for long. The other surprise I want to mention here is
certainly positive for those of us in the audience but also something of a
puzzle. One of the better sets of music
at the festival was the quartet that performed on the second set 6/19 and
included Taylor Ho Bynum, Jeb Bishop, Pandelis
Karayorgis, and Nate McBride. At one point early in the set of music the
group performed “Razor Lip,” a Jeb Bishop composition
that that composer performed with his own group at the Okka
Festival earlier in the month. I do not
have a satisfactory answer for it, but the performance of the work at the Driff Festival was far more convincing than the one at the Okka Festival. Not
even close. I have no clear
understanding of why the qualitative difference is so obvious. But there is no question in my mind that the
quality of the musicians involved--Jeb being one of
the giants in both cases--had something to do with it. And so the Driff
Festival is bigger and generally more like a “festival.” There is merit to the idea of mixing guests
and local musicians on the festival. The
“outsider” guests--some terrific and some musically boring--understandably help
draw the crowds. However, given the
extraordinary quality of musicians in the Boston area, I would have liked to have seen more
of the extra time created by the festival’s expansion devoted to our own
talent. But I suspect that I’m not as
practical as Jorrit and Pandelis. The
most important point about this year’s festival is that, by almost any measure,
the 2015 version of the Driff Festival was a fine
success…
Gunther Schuller died on
6/21. He was the most innovative of all
NEC presidents during the past seventy-five years and possibly of all
time. Of most direct importance to local
jazz fans, he brought jazz to the school, making it a “respectable” music in
the generally sleepy and supercilious world of conservatory activity. Even so, it was decades later before
Juilliard woke up to the music. His two
volumes of essays about the history of jazz recordings (Early Jazz of 1969 and The
Swing Era of 1989) are standard references.
His sons Ed and George are highly-regarded jazz musicians. Not surprisingly, there is a solid Allan Kozinn obituary
in the New York Times…
The trio at the
Outpost was not what we expected. Bummer (tongue in cheek, of course). One of the great joys of living in the Boston area is that we get a chance--on
occasion--to catch Steve Lantner, Allan Chase, and Luther Gray land in the same
venue and make music together. That’s
what happened 6/23. But what really
happened was four sets of verbal art alternating with
stratospheric music. Chitchat from the
stage on a gig typically is some form of treading water/recovery for the musicians. I get it and (like most audience members)
deal with it. But Steve Lantner gigs are
another matter. For one thing--in this
case at least--the three musicians are singularly different raconteurs. Luther, the dry jokester, calls up off-kilter
realities from his youth. Allan, the
desert fox, conjures invariably informative tales from Arizona and the left coast. And then there’s Steve with improbable (but
real) tales about music school days with Aimee Mann and then the wilds of Essex, Massachusetts. The result is something akin
to their three instruments--each quite different characteristically--working
off each other to add salt, pull a leg, inform, and laugh as they remember the
past and cope with/celebrate the present.
Much of the verbal art centered on the wildlife of Steve’s homesteader experiences. On this occasion weasels--particularly
stoats--were the focus of his dissertations.
Although wildlife was central to the discussion onstage, the range of
subjects was quite interplanetary. For
example, no subject occupied all three musicians more than the down-to-earth
problem of radon poisoning. I almost
forgot. (Not really.) The alternate sets of music were amazing
also. But you know that. Let me try to encapsulate the two sets of
music as simply as I can. During the
previous three weeks I had witnessed (for me at least) countless sets of music
including two fine music festivals. But
nothing I encountered was any better than the music 6/23 of the Raconteur Trio…
May 2015
The first set was a
special kind of celebration of continuity.
The New Language Collaborative has been performing for many years with
connections going back to Boston and Bennington in the 1970s (and perhaps earlier). But Glynis Lomon, Eric Zinman, and Syd Smart were in the Lily Pad this month to continue the
story a chapter at a time. Over the
years these improvisors have been writing a sonic novel/history for all of us
to savor and think about. The new
chapter 5/5 featured Syd in pain from an injury ignoring the pain to give his partners
the inspired commentary and crucial support they fed off. That process alone was exhilarating to those
who knew about the pain and those didn’t.
That’s part of the beauty of sonic art at its highest level. If you are open, you will find joy, no matter
what you bring to it. Eric contributed
ideas more chordally-oriented than usual, making this
chapter occasionally denser sonically than on some other occasions. Glynis, center
stage, in many ways carried the story line with vocal sonics,
aquasonics, and cello eloquence that fans show up to
revel in. So this chapter of the ongoing
book had segments/paragraphs that were sometimes short and sometimes
extensive. But--most important--audience
members witnessed a new chapter in what is a substantial volume. As in the case of your favorite book, one
hopes this collaboration has no final page.
The second set was a kind of rebirth, difficult but promising. Those of us who remember Leap of Faith of the
1990s (when the group was rearranging the furniture in the Zeitgeist on
Broadway) remember one of the most compelling ensembles of that decade. And here the gang was back in 2015 at the
Lily Pad in a new, transformed version of the group. My initial reaction to the two dozen (?) reed
instruments scattered across the front and right-hand side of the stage was to
tell Steve Norton, “It looks like a Rayburn Music fire sale.” Perhaps only reed players in the Boston area could get the joke, but Steve certainly
did, offering a brief “Get ‘em while they’re hot”
sales pitch in response. Humor aside,
the overwhelming image of instruments was relevant to the proceedings in a
number of ways. But mostly it signaled
the fact that the “old” Leap of Faith and the new Leap of Faith are different
ensembles. The most obvious difference
generally is instrumentation. The most
common quartet version of the “old” band included a trombone, which has been
replaced by reeds. The
new band--Glynis Lomon,
Dave Peck (AKA PEK), Yuri Zbitnov, and Steve
Norton--features bowed instruments, percussion, and two reeds. The effect sometimes can be a bit reed-heavy,
but I found band members working out the balance throughout the set. But perhaps the greatest difference (beside
the trombone to reed replacement) is the evolution of the original band
members. Generally each has grown in a
broad musical sense but also in more easily measurable ways. Yuri’s percussion in the group from the 1990s
was generally recognizable as a “conventional” drum kit. Although he used some “drum shop” equipment
5/5, most of his equipment seemed to be an array of ethnic bells, bars, and gongs with hardly a snare in sight. In fact, at one point he moved over to Syd’s trap set to take advantage of the more traditional
jazz sonics.
And all the time what he created supported what was going on in front of
him, a cushion filled with superb, often pointillist sonic commentary. Glynis has
broadened her pallet also with greater use of vocal tones and the introduction
since those first Leap of Faith outings of her performances on the aquasonic. The cello
remains her most stunning musical voice, but now she has an expanded set of
contextual/partnering voices. PEK always
had a fascination with different members of the reed family. But the array of reeds (and percussion toys)
displayed at the Lily pad was over the top--and just what PEK wants to work
with. At the end of the set I asked PEK
what the instrument that looked like a tarogato
was. “A tarogato,”
he said. A tarogato? Nobody
makes them anymore. He told me that it
was made in Hungary, and he got it online. That’s the kind of collection he has. And he had left several instruments at
home. Later he explained that he sees
such a great array as a single instrument with enormous sonic
possibilities. So the 2015 version of
Leap of Faith is quite different from that of the 1990s, even with Steve being
the only “new guy” in the band. It’s a
tour de force that has yet to work out where it is going. It should be fun to try keeping up with the
band. You will have a chance to take a
peek in June when members of the 1990s Leap of Faith share sets with the 2015
version. There was a third set 5/5 when all
members of the New Language Collaborative and Leap of Faith jammed together. Judicious sonic art prevented a train wreck,
and brilliant moments of ensemble/solo transparency happened. The only problem occurred at the end of the
set when, in spite of valiant efforts by Syd, several
band members chose not to let the music end…
As readers of this Journal know, I have a strong aesthetic
connection to post-Ayler jazz at its best. In addition, I share the frustration of fans
and musicians regarding the lack of constructive support for the newer forms of
jazz on the part of “jazz” festivals, slick music magazines, and “support”
organizations. One common complaint
among deaf contemporaries of such
musicians as Thelonious Monk, Cecil Taylor, and the
current younger crop of sonic artists is that they don’t know how to play or
that they have “no technique.” Recently
I was flipping through an old issue of Smithsonian
and came across an article about Vincent van Gogh by Paul Trachtman. At one point Trachtman
discusses van Gogh’s developing technique (January 2009, p. 71). Trachtman says,
“Although he knew he needed the utmost technical skill, he confessed to an
artist friend that he aimed to paint with such ‘expressive force’ that people
would say, ‘I have no
technique.’” The comment is just more
evidence of the degree to which the visual and sonic arts are connected…
When it comes to the
most important treasures in life, such as the arts, nothing happens until
someone makes it happen. One of the
great things about living in the Boston area is that we have such someones making sure that the exhilarating challenge of art continues to happen and to grow. Among the truly creative musicians that we get a chance to catch with some frequency Kit Demos also is one of the make-it-happen people. Each month he makes the journey from Maine to produce his terrific Dark Matter Series, each event featuring a mix of recurring and guest musicians often exploring ideas about composition as improvisational contexts. But Kit also is one of the better improvising musicians in town. So it was no surprise 5/23 when the music offered by this particular Dark Matter ensemble was completely improvised. Originally the group scheduled for the 5/23 gig at the Outpost was to include a front line of two clarinets and trumpet. But a last-minute problem resulted in a
two-clarinet front line instead (with Todd Brunel
focussing on the bass clarinet for the entire
evening). As fine as Glen Dickson and
Todd are as individual improvisors, what I enjoyed most about their work on this
evening was the spontaneous interplay between them, listening, chattering,
voicing together. Fine. Just think how long it has
been since you witnessed two clarinets carrying on truly joyous conversations
within an ensemble--and without hogging the spotlight. There was a third horn also, Garrison Fewell’s guitar. I
think he played more guitar than I’ve heard from him in months--by almost any
measure. For example, the musicians were
so enthusiastic that the single set of music went on for almost two hours. And Garrison was actively in the mix for most
of that. The “more guitar” also was
evident in the range of contributions offered,
everything from minimalist clicks and clangs to to
sustained finger lightning on the strings.
My attention often moved in the direction of Gary Fieldman. I have no idea how many straight-ahead and
“out” gigs over the past couple of decades I have witnessed with Gary on drums.
Many. As
I sat there 5/23 it hit me that I’ve never caught Gary performing below a very good quality level. Never. That’s
astonishing. I would have trouble coming
up with even a short list of jazz musicians from here or anywhere that I can
say that about. And again on 5/23 Gary made everything happening around him
better. For reasons that I’m not clear
about the Boston area has an unusually high number of
world-class jazz bass players. And I
believe the per capita figure particularly for post-Ayler
world-class bass players in Boston must be greater than any city including New York. The
combined population of Boston and Cambridge is slightly above a million. Does New York really have eight times as many William
Parker (one of New York’s finest) caliber or Jacob William (one of Boston’s finest) caliber bass players as the Boston area?
If so, they are hiding very well.
I’d be interested in someone, for example, sending me a list of even the
top ten Apple post-Ayler bass players. Maybe I’ll be surprised. I thought of all that as I watched and heard
the gimmick-free Kit Demos use a small baton, bow, and human fingers to pursue
the sonic possibilities of the acoustic bass.
Time and again he astonishes with unassuming but brilliant technique and
even more brilliant music. It was an
evening to be thankful for. I’ve seen
countless giants since my elementary school years (when I would come home from
school and watch wonderful Ellingtonians perform on
television each week day afternoon). I
am especially lucky because now I am old enough to know just how lucky I
am. Right now…
It’s difficult to understand
the coming devastation if you never have been to the Tonto National Forest in Arizona. It
is the site of deeply affecting archeological ruins, the sacred land of the
once-flourishing Hohokam people and more recent
Apaches. The terrain’s living and
geological beauty are an epitome of the visual glory
of the West. Attached to (hidden in?)
the bipartisan Defense Authorization Act, is the U.S. Government’s swapping of
four square miles of the Tonto National Forest for
“equivalent” land to be named later on behalf of the Rio Tinto
and BHP Billiton mining companies. Several news articles have pointed out the
legal and ethical problems (the lack of equivalence guarantees, the irony of
swap promoter Senator “anti-earmarks” Jeff Flake, and the lack of a full NEPA
review) in the bill. But it may be best
to state the problem simply. The U.S.
Government is “swapping” some of the most remarkable public land for land that
cannot be as valuable by any ethical and moral measure. Think of it this way: Let’s swap four square
miles of New
Hampshire’s
Presidential Range for four square miles of land that includes the Mall of
America. Unfortunately the whole thing
snuck right past us, even though the usually staid Science (12/19/14) tried a last minute attempt to garner support to kill the landmark earmark…
In some ways James Merenda is a puzzle.
It’s not just people writing about jazz, such as myself, who might find
him problematic. I guess, if you want to
take his side of the story, you’d say, “Some very limited people just want to
pigeon-hole him.” Maybe I’m guilty, but isn’t it nice to have some idea what to expect when you show up to a jazz gig? Is it too much to expect the extraordinary Paul Lovens when you show up to a Paul Lovens gig? Maybe
that’s unfair because James Merenda does show up to a
James Merenda gig as James Merenda--on any gig. But the bands keep becoming something quite unpredictable. I first got knocked out by the alto saxophonist when he was pursuing the Charles Mingus repertoire.
I’m not big on repertory bands.
For me re-do is no-no. But his
passion for Mingus was so focussed,
so legitimate--not your typical Boston-New York intellectual exercise--that I fell in love with those bands (in spite of myself).
To mention James Merenda’s Mingus
bands and the Mingus ghost bands (even the ones that
claim not to be) in the same sentence is a profound insult to James Merenda. You get the idea. I loved that band, and then a few years ago James created Ticklejuice. No more Mingus. Another listening
adjustment. Ticklejuice
has no more to do with Mingus than Gesualdo has to do with
Stravinsky. Until you discover that
there is a link. And so there is a link
between the “Mingus” James Merenda
and the “Ticklejuice” James Merenda. But what about the “early” Ticklejuice and the 5/29 Ticklejuice? After all, the early “dance party” Ticklejuice is not the same band/charts that showed up 5/29
at the Outpost. The same passion was
there and most of the same musicians were involved. But the “old” Ticklejuice
was about the energy/party of the moment.
The 5/29 music was more about sociological and cultural roots, even to a
great extent biographical. And so the
energy of the dance has been replaced with more thoughtful energy of the story, James Merenda’s
story as told by the Ticklejuice Theater
Company--James, Tom Duprey, David Hawthorne, Vanessa Morris, Jon Dreyer, and Miki Matsuki. How fine it is that so many of these people have performed with him for so long.
Wherever James takes the band, they know where they are going. Jon is rock solid, bar after bar. And he knows how to use what the drums are
feeding. Tom Duprey has become the consummate ensemble trumpet player. I can’t imagine an ensemble of any size, mainstream or otherwise, not being enhanced by his work. And his solo chops impress more than ever. Vanessa Morris over the last five years has grown more than any member of the band.
A lot of it has to do with what seems to be soaring confidence. She takes more risks, good risks. So band members get shocks and jolts in
support, chords and lines that challenge band members to reach higher, and they
do. When she improvises, there is no
holding back on lyrical chromaticism, ear-opening
joy. David Hawthorne took advantage of
the range of the music to demonstrate just how remarkable his solo work in any
form can be. You want urban B-flat? Hooky pop? In your face jazz? He’s pretty much scary no matter what context you put him in. One would expect at least some of the two zillion Boston area guitar students to show up
just to get a status report. Watching
Miki Matsuki work through the rhythmically varied and
tricky terrain, I thought about Sabby Lewis’ comments
regarding a young Alan Dawson’s first experiences in a show band. Until approximately mid-century it was common
for jazz big bands to accompany shows or revues, as was typical at the Cotton
Club and Small’s in the 1920s and 1930s. Sabby’s bands supported those kinds of acts, particularly in New York. The drummer in such situations was important to keep the performance momentum going. Also, the drum part was very tricky and near impossible to sight read. Enter the young Alan Dawson who never had backed up such a show before in his life. Sabby
gave his new drummer a quick lesson in the basics of show band percussion, went
over the score with him, and gave him advice on what to do if Alan got lost
during the performance. Alan survived
and became one of the world’s great jazz percussionists. I thought of all that 5/29 when I saw
Miki--as cool as a stroll down the street--work through James’ varied and bumpy
charts with superb articulation and inspiring band support. And there was no need for a press roll. Terrific stuff. No doubt her long tenure with James Merenda has
something to do with it. But mostly it
is the result of a few lessons with Alan Dawson (and subsequent studies with Alan Dawson student Bob Gullotti) and a lot of hard work. And then there’s
James himself. The
puzzle. But what he keeps doing
is not a puzzle that I want to solve. I
just want to show up and listen…
Piano in Bryant Park
in New
York
is up and running at lunch time (12:30-2:30) again this year. So, if you are in the vicinity of the New
York Public Library this summer for lunch, you can catch a range of people
offering mostly solo jazz piano at the East end of the park. You have missed Armen
Donelian, Terry Waldo, and
Bertha Hope who performed there in May, but a host of others are scheduled
…
Two young ladies
entered the Lily Pad 5/7 in the middle of the first set of music by the Melissa
Kassel-Tom Zicarelli
Group. One of the women is a student of Bruno Råberg.
The other was carrying a three-month-old child. As the music played, the mother and child
danced to the fine sounds. I thought how
lucky the infant was to hear live
such wonderful sounds. A variety of
research has demonstrated that opening a child’s ears during the first three
months of life is the most important time for such activity. And I’m sure that music programs in
elementary schools help also. The group
that the listening trio and others were witnessing included Melissa Kassel, Tom Zicarelli, Jeff
Galindo, Bruno Råberg, and Nat Mugavero. Jeff is
the most recent addition to the ensemble, and what he brings to the music is
outstanding. His supporting lines and
joyously aggressive solos are so convincing that one might believe the material
performed was his own. Most of the
compositions were written by Melissa and Tom, but there were
exceptions. At the suggestion of Nat (a Boston area favorite who was having an especially
fine evening with the kit), Melissa sang the swing era hit, “This is
Always.” Given the historical reference,
I found myself thinking of Frank Sinatra in the Tommy Dorsey band and how much
Dorsey knew about singing and breathing.
Those musical conversations came to mind as I heard the great trombone
support for Melissa’s vocal and the subsequent eloquent trombone solo. Of course, this group is a real band with
great support all around. It was a joy
to catch the intense focus of Bruno’s student who no doubt was taking
lessons. But it is always a good idea to
keep focussed on Bruno’s playing, even if you are not
a student of bass performance. After
years of paying attention, I remain unable to quantify what it is that causes
him to come up with the decisions he does, that ability to make any band--no
matter the style--work better. Tom Zicarelli always impresses, but if he’s ever soloed any
better than he did 5/7 I never have heard it.
A final word about Kassel-Zicarelli decision
making is in order. There are some
wonderful arrangement changes to perennial Kassel-Zicarelli
compositions--primarily rhythmic--that have been made. It was quite noticeable, even on the first
two pieces of the evening. On the
“happier” pieces the tempo has been picked up and even the time signatures modified
so that, when Melissa sings about joy,
there is an exhilarating bounce to the word…
April 2015
It was a special
night, the official opening of a brand new jazz venue northwest of Boston. The
Act III Jazz Café is the latest incarnation of what used to be called the Acton
Jazz Café. Many challenges lie ahead for
club operator Gwenn Vivian. The setting of the venue is far more
convenient to people living near the northern half of Rte. 495 than to the
denser population living inside Rte. 128.
The room can seat fewer than thirty people, not what one would define as
a critical mass for an economically successful jazz club. If that is not enough, while the Act III Jazz
Café is in its infancy and requires a good deal of hands-on executive
attention, Gwenn Vivian is in the process of opening
a larger venue in Lowell. Just how serious (or not)
these obstacles are will be revealed with time.
But for now the venue basks in the glow of celebratory optimism. And no celebration could be better than
offering Acton Jazz Café/Act III Jazz Café pillars Paul Broadnax and Peter
Kontrimas. They performed to a full
house 4/1 that included many long-time friends of the duo. Paul was in good voice and the two of them
gave the appreciative audience all it could ask for. I have witnessed the music of Paul and Peter
countless times, but I witnessed something 4/1 that I’d never seen
before--harmolodic mainstream jazz (or at least harmolodic essence within
mainstream jazz). It became most
pronounced during the last set of the evening.
I was paying close attention to their work (as I always do because of
the rewards), and something I could not get my head around kept jumping out at
me. I think I had trouble realizing what
was going on because experience told me that it just didn’t make sense. When a small group of mainstream musicians
works together, the standard improvisational situation is that one of the
musicians improvises and the rest of the group offers support. So typically in such a duo as Paul and
Peter’s, one of the musicians takes a solo and the other person offers support,
playing harmonic lines, chords, or runs that enhance and perhaps prod or
challenge the improvisor. Selection of
support notes is very important and sometimes strikingly beautiful. But the support person does not offer a fully
realized melodic improvisation while the “primary” improvisation is taking
place. The assumption is that the second
improvisation would undercut the first one.
But, as we know from post-Ayler improvisation, it is possible to have
both members of a duo improvising and supporting at the same time. Usually such things do not just happen. Students work at it a while before they get
it right. But 4/1 at the Act III Jazz
Café I saw and heard Peter Kontrimas move his support line into an independent improvised melody that also
superbly supported Peter’s solo. In turn
Paul did the same during Peter’s solos.
The experience was jaw-droppingly
beautiful. After the gig I talked about
the experience with Paul. He claimed
that he was completely unaware of anything like that going on. I’m guessing that the decades of experience
these two musicians share just took that form for a few tunes on a “foolish”
April evening. No doubt--if he had been
present--Maestro Coleman would have smiled…
This Journal in previous months has presented
the idea that eight is the magic number, as far as ensemble size is
concerned. Septets are on the cusp of
being a big band and sometimes swing between combo impact and big band
richness. But when an ensemble grows to
eight musicians, a big band swell seems to take over the aesthetics. It is not clear to me whether that big band
ensemble work is inevitable or it is so seductive that band leaders cannot
avoid the “sound.” Almost inevitably Boston jazz pioneer Sabby Lewis comes to mind in
that context. He and fellow arranger
Jerry Heffron tackled a practical problem and created the proto-cool ensemble,
the swing era equivalent of the Birth of
the Cool “big band sound” with limited resources more than a decade before
the Miles Davis recordings, the Boston-based Charlie Mariano Octet, and what
eventually became known as the west coast “cool school.” The practical problem was two-fold. First, the Savoy Café, where Sabby managed to
obtain booking, had a “stage area” so small that only a few musicians could set
up to perform. Second--and historically
most important--there was no space for singers, dancers, other entertainers, or
any space for people in the audience to use for dancing. In 2015 it is difficult to comprehend what
I’ve just written. Try to understand
that up to (and even during) World War II, clubs in which jazz was
performed--such as the Black and White Club in Boston or the Cotton Club in New
York--were entertainment venues. There
may have been a few musicians or wacko jazz fans huddled near the bandstand to
catch every note, but the vast majority of paying customers were there to dance
to great dance music or witness a great show backed by a jazz band (as in the
case of the “show” scenes in the 1929 historically important--if not completely
accurate--Ellington band film short known as Black and Tan). In the late
1930s Sabby Lewis was faced with a club situation in which he had to attract an
audience with a small ensemble and no stage entertainment and no public dance
floor. He came to the rather remarkable
conclusion that he had to have ensemble arrangements that were so engaging that
the public would show up to catch the band.
I realize the idea that music alone (no theatrics, no costumes, no twerking) would be sufficiently attractive that it would
draw the general public is such an absurd concept during our early twenty-first
century that it is more than difficult to comprehend. But that is exactly what he and Jerry Heffron
did. They employed seven
instrumentalists and one vocalist to execute arrangements that drew packed
houses at the Savoy Café (including eventually a Harvard student named John F.
Kennedy). A bit later the band--now at
eight pieces--went to New York and destroyed the much more famous and much larger Tiny Bradshaw big
band on a double bill. No doubt there
were many devices the arrangers used to make the Sabby Lewis band attractive,
but one of the more significant is the voicings they used to make the small
ensemble “sound” larger, the same types of voicings found in the Davis and
Mariano recordings and later “cool school” sessions. Now return to the early twenty-first
century. The challenges are broadly the
same: no matter how brilliant your music is, you still have to eat. But the details are different. Audiences are so deaf (and blind, if we are to
consider all the art forms) that doing a solo gig seems to be the only way in
which to limit the economic damage to significant jazz artists. And yet we find ourselves confronted with
some of the most compelling musicians anywhere on the planet showing up 4/16 at
the Outpost to push the combo into the eight-piece big band version of the
Charlie Kohlhase Explorers Club. Does
the “eight” turn the music into something big
automatically, or is it a group intention? For Sabby the big band impact of his septet
and octet was intentional. But in the
case of the Explorers octet I just don’t know.
I’m not confident that asking Charlie about it would result in a
definitive answer. Certainly there is
the intention of exploiting the possibilities of eight musicians. But, beyond that, I’m not sure whether even
the musicians ponder such a question.
Nevertheless, the results are there.
As in the case of Charlie’s previous Octet outing at the same location 10/16/14, the ensemble work and solos were
terrific. The big difference is that the
4/16 version of the band was brass-heavy with three members of that family
played by Daniel Rosenthal, Jeff Galindo, and Josiah Reibstein. The term “brass-heavy” is descriptive rather
than a complaint. What the difference
meant is that Charlie (playing the only reeds) could exploit through charts and
spontaneous leadership the beauty of trio family ensemble work. The result is that these two recent octet
bands--with only a single difference in instrumentation--were equally superb
but markedly different sonic experiences.
As wonderful as the conversation between the reeds and the brass were,
one enthusiastically might show up 4/16 only for the fine percussion section
(Pandelis Karayorgis and Curt Newton) or string section (Eric Hofbauer and
Aaron Darrell). More and more it seems
that the best musicians in town go out of their way to perform with the best
musicians in town. This octet is a
perfect example of outstanding musicians pursuing the joy of outstanding music…
Billie Holiday was
inducted into the Apollo Theater Walk of Fame 4/6, just one day before the
hundredth anniversary of her birth. Such
an honor probably is as noteworthy as any in this time of “celebrations” marked
by glittery but empty words. Holiday did sing at that storied Harlem entertainment palace more than a dozen
times. The tributes are many, including
Sony’s just-released Centennial
Collection (for those of you who do not have most of her famous recordings
memorized). Mentioning her now causes my
thoughts to turn to Jim Mendes, a black media pioneer in the 1950s who played jazz recordings evenings on a white radio station
in Rhode
Island. There were a few black radio stations around
telling the world about Rhythm and Blues, but those stations were so small and
economically strapped that they had to shut down at sundown. Jim Mendes played jazz recordings at
night. One night he announced that
Billie Holiday had died. That was just
yesterday--when I was very young…
Glynis Lomon is one
of my favorite improvising musicians. I
had the opportunity to witness her fine work in two different duos two days in
a row. As I think about the concept,
mentioning those concerts must make any reader think, “Oh, no! Double redundancy.” Although I would be happy to catch Glynis in
any exactly the same duo two days in a row, the concerts on 4/17 and 4/18 were
dramatically different (if equally compelling).
The first performance was a current incarnation of a fine poetry-jazz
tradition that perhaps reached its greatest popularity in the 1950s. My favorite recorded document of such
material is Blues and Haikus, in
which Jack Kerouac’s distinctive “haikus” inspired equally brief improvised
responses from (alternately) Al Cohn and Zoot
Sims. The late Lou Kannenstine’s
Boxholder Records catalogue includes a few
poetry-jazz efforts of note from more recent decades. Even more recent successful performances of
that type in the Boston area have involved former Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky
reading with improvisations from such musicians as Stan Strickland and Rakalam Bob Moses.
Unlike the Kerouac poetry-with-jazz documents, the performance by Ron Goba and Glynis Lomon presented a ten-part single,
extensive poem interspersed with improvised cello and aquasonic
sounds. The differences in psychological
tone, poem length, and language manipulation were significant. But shared elements--evocative imagery, the
almost never overlapping alternation of words and sounds at more or less
regular intervals, and the compelling risk-taking--transcended the
decades. I am happy to be able to hear
Kerouac, Sims, and Cohn at my whim. But
it gives me pause to know that the “Armory/Abbey” poetics of words and music
will not be repeated--in any form. It’s
a one-and-done work. The next Glynis Lomon
duo performance occurred at Dyno Records 4/18 in Newburyport with Garrison Fewell. The offering was quite different from that of
the previous day, most obviously because the presentation was completely
improvised and completely music. But it
had echoes of the past as well. One year
ago Glynis and Garrison performed as a duo at the same location, and that was
superb, memorable. Although the idea of
comparing the 2014 and 2015 performances is obvious to me now, no such thoughts
entered my mind 4/18 as I listened to the duo.
Of course, remembering detail of an improvised music performance without
aid (a recording?) would be quite difficult.
But I believe the important points about the two performances are
quality and continuity. In other words,
does it really matter which performance was better? When music is this fine (quality) and the two
musicians get together a year later and pick up where they left off
(continuity), that’s more than enough for me.
There was other music in Newburyport 4/18, and Glynis and Garrison stayed around
at the record shop to see and hear a different duo, Charlie Kohlhase and Jef Charland, work its way
through mostly Kohlhase compositions.
There is a special kind of challenge posed by limited forces--most
obviously solo and duo--that pushes musicians to call up the sparest (i.e.,
least BS-prone) resources, and that was evident
here. There were no flourishes or any
type of non-essential sonics going on.
It was all stripped down, simply beautiful music. At the very end of the performance Charlie
brought forth one more piece. It was a
bebop composition not by him and not by John Tchicai. There was nothing post-Ayler about it. In fact, it was the same bebop piece, “Blues
for Alice,” that he has closed each of the last three
Charlie Kohlhase gigs I have witnessed.
It was beautiful and somehow reassuring in its ancient solidity. We--of a
certain age and older--have bebop in our blood.
One cannot help wonder why, at the end of a performance of post-Ayler
reaching, a major force on the scene keeps returning--not merely to Charlie
Parker but--specifically to that composition.
I have no answer, even as I love the work and Charlie’s apparent
fascination with it. I suspect Charlie
would have no “satisfactory” answer either…
On this site I had
posted the gig as a quartet. The four
musicians I listed did show up. But I
was wrong. The band turned out to be the
Steve Lantner Quintet. So it was not what I expected, but
fortunately any group Steve shows up with will be outstanding. There were no flaws in the “rhythm
section.” Joe Morris and Luther Gray
have performed together with some frequency for more than a decade. As Steve Lantner fans know, Luther is Steve’s
regular drummer. So right away, anyone in attendance at the
Outpost 4/28 knew that the piano, bass, and drums were going to be really
locked in. And they were. The trio would have been terrific all by
itself. But it had special inspiration
in the front line. Forbes Graham and Jim
Hobbs are extraordinary post-Ayler musicians.
Witnessing either of them solo in the context of the trio’s wonderful
busy-ness is more than worth the price of admission (even if the price of
admission were greater). But there were
moments--far too brief--when Jim and Forbes engaged in heated (but not
antagonistic) sonic conversation and the ceiling caught fire. Steve shows up in town with such friends as
these usually only once per month. And
such events always are among the most compelling of any month…
Fifteen musicians
would make up a relatively modest big band during the swing era. But, if you take the time to contemplate
ensemble numbers in the larger post-Ayler bands, you find that few of those
bands call upon much outside the range of eight to twelve musicians. Go ahead, count up all the post-Ayler large
ensembles that have persevered for more than two years. How many exceed a dozen members? The ICP and Barry Guy large groups seldom
exceed ten. Even the Peter Brötzmann Tentet--although it usually consisted of more than ten musicians--only
occasionally reached thirteen members.
Therefore the recent performances by Pandelis
Karayorgis and Jorrit Dijkstra’s Bathysphere
are exceptional in a number of ways but most obviously for the band’s size--15
strong. And strong is the right word.
The energy was obvious even before the first set began 4/12 at the Lily
Pad. Band members joked, caught up with
each other’s travails, and ultimately looked to the stage--with joy. One of the qualities of this band is the
musical diversity of the band members.
Each of them has different fish on the skillet. For example, Matt Langley raved about the
southeastern New
Hampshire
scene that he’s involved in, partly with young lions tackling mainstream big
band charts with relish. There was a
quiet comment from Jerry Sabatini about his
investigation of the ancient cornetto. And beyond. All of it rich with the
love of music. And all of it
offered by extraordinary musicians who--without exception--know the meaning of
ensemble support and improvisation that reach to the roots and the
stratosphere. The big fifteen are
working with the charts of Pandelis and Jorrit.
It is difficult to overstate just how brilliant the arrangements
are. Jorrit’s charts made me think that
arranging for big bands is what Mr. Dijkstra was born for. For example, the first set opened with a
Jorrit Dijkstra chart that put the spotlight first on the tuba. In other circumstances such a choice might be
seen as either audacious or pretentious.
Not so here. It’s just a fine
example of a solid arranger knowing his personnel. Josiah Reibstein
did what he does--fill the room with brilliant tuba ideas. It lifted the stage and set the whole band
rip-roaring through the evening’s initial setting of the bar. It was a high bar, and time and again the
charts, the ensemble work, and the improvisations soared over that bar (while
saluting it). Pandelis, the other
arranger, is a genius (as almost every fan of the music must know by now). His first chart of the evening gave the
opening salvo to the electronics, and everything that followed--including
spontaneous section
decision-making--was acoustically electric.
In hindsight as I think of the evening I want to offer praise to the
soloists, but I’m hampered. Some
musicians offered what I believe to be the best solos by them that I’d ever
heard. But to pick out individuals would
be to mislead. What strikes me about the
improvisations is the consistent quality of those forays. My impression is that the charts were so fine
and the improvisations were of such a high quality--a quality that never
faltered--that each musician felt the necessity (not the stress) to offer
profundity. Was the two-set gig
flawless? Of course
not. The lack of rehearsal time
caught up with the band in the second set.
There was in-the-moment scampering on the part of arrangers and the
troubling sound of band members treading water.
But even those missteps were fascinating and sometimes compelling
because of the heroics of band members who held their place or offered solid
slabs to stand on and keep moving the big machine forward. The other flaw was the inevitable problem of
just how many solos can occur in a band of fifteen soloists. So, if you hoped for several fine improvisations by Jeff Galindo or Luther Gray, forget
it. But the evening was filled with superb solos. And the section work alone was sufficient
reason to show up. Terrific
stuff. Appropriately at this
point I list the names of the wonderful musicians who created such sonic joy:
Jerry Sabatini, Randy Pingrey,
Kelly Roberge, Matt Langley, Forbes Graham, Dan
Rosenthal, Jeff Galindo, Pandelis
Karayorgis, Jorrit Dijkstra, Josiah Reibstein,
Charlie Kohlhase, Jef Charland,
Nate
McBride, Andrew Neumann, and Luther Gray…
There was no bass on the 3/17 gig at the Lily Pad. Instead Forbes Graham showed up to complete
the quartet that included Jorrit Dijkstra, Pandelis Karayorgis, and Kresten
Osgood. It was not really a
substitution. More a reconfiguration of
the ensemble. I had not caught Kresten
Osgood in action before and found his dismissal of the charts during a pre-gig
group prep interesting. He looked over
the charts briefly and explained that he wanted to hear the heads and
improvisations and react to them in the instant. It’s a challenging concept, particularly with
charts, but during the performance there were very few sonic bubbles. He did hear and anticipate quite well, often
playing the heads in synch with the others--and emphatically. I never saw him refer to the charts. He plays “larger than life” and with a sense
of humor. His strongest suit seems to be
chatting during improvised sections
of music in which he successfully prodded some outstanding comp and solo work
from the other band members. I don’t
think Kresten Osgood ever was completely on the same page as the other
musicians (who play frequently together).
It was not so much a matter of an outsider crashing the party as a
fundamental difference in aesthetics.
But--most important--the experience of the slightly off-kilter event
apparently was engaging for the audience and a healthy jolt for the four people
on stage. Before the gig I asked Kresten Osgood whether or not he had any
visa troubles when he tried to get into the U.S. “No. I
have dual citizenship,” he said. In
other words, the way to get around absurd roadblocks created and enforced by
the Musicians Union and immigration officials is to obtain dual citizenship. (Of course, I’m just joking
sarcastically. But boy it is frustrating
to try to cope with inane bureaucracy.).
And then there’s so-called meta data…
I was driving home
from some shopping 3/3 just before another snow storm hit (only three inches,
hardly significant compared with recent storms, but annoying nevertheless) and
noticed a snow shovel planted in a snow mound along the road. Hanging from the handle of the shovel was a
white flag of surrender. At such times a
sense of humor is a powerful thing…
I’ve been to the Café at the Arts at the Armory, and the
second experience reinforces my feelings about the place I had during my first
visit: Good quality food and beverages.
Great sight lines. Better than
average (according to everyone I talked with after the event) acoustics. And, at least in the case of jazz, some
pretty impressive music. The 3/6 gig at
the Café featured the Pocket Aces, my second encounter with them. The music on both occasions was undeniably of
high quality. The trio--Eric Hofbauer,
Aaron Darrell, and Curt Newton--consists of impressive improvisors. What threw me on this occasion was the
consistently pensive even introspective nature of the music. It is not as if the quality of the music ever
flagged, but neither did the introspection.
I don’t know the extent to which the members of the band were aware of
the subdued nature of the single-set evening.
Eric referred to one piece as being minimalist, but it was no more spare
and “quiet” than the other material. Curt
occasionally brought forth percussive flourishes, as if to push at least a
change in dynamics. And there were times
when Aaron’s attempts to create energy did succeed temporarily in changing the
musical direction. I guess my written
reaction here to the 3/6 music is a bit stronger than pure accuracy
warrants. And I would have walked away
with a very different reaction if the set had been preceded by a statement that
the performance would consist of a set of variations in tribute to Morton
Feldman. But, without such a cue, the
consistent direction of the music (not really calling to mind Tilbury or
Feldman explicitly) left me somewhat puzzled.
These are musicians of such great variety, resources. I did not expect more qualitatively, but I
did expect them to cover something approaching the range of possibilities that
they are capable of. After all, the vast
creative reach of these musicians is one of the primary reasons I show up to
revel in the surprise. That’s all the
more reason to show up to the next Pocket Aces gig…
Empty House Cooperative--David Michael Curry, Matt Azevedo,
Jonah Sachs, and Thalia Zedek--opened the three sets of music 3/14 with fairly
loud, evolving ensemble sound sculpture.
There were ambient elements to the music, but the well-placed, lumbering
detail would not let those elements carry the day. Band members employ an array of electronic
equipment--simple to complex--and even call upon “conventional” instruments to
realize the group’s sonic vision. Really
nice stuff. Pared down instrumentation
and dry humor took the stage for the second set of Music at Washington Street
when Matt Samolis offered improvised flute and vocal sounds on top of Steve
Norton’s reed-driven composition. The
set offered a fine example of how to mix improvisation and predetermined architecture
convincingly. Forbes Graham is somewhat
nutty (in a good way). He brought us
Wild May, which includes the leader and the superb trio of Kevin Frenette, Ryan
McGuire, & Luther Gray to help him tackle three extremely different groups
of compositions by Raqib Hassan, Earle Brown, and Forbes himself. Think about it. The Raqib Hassan works are inspired mostly by
Sun Ra charts. The Earle Brown excerpt
from the 1954 work Folio and 4 Systems
(specifically in this case 4 Systems)
is a mostly graphic piece with some conventional elements. And then there was the Forbes Graham
composition, typically another example of music in which Forbes apparently
tries to drag musicians outside their comfort zones. Got that?
OK. Now explain why all of it
sounded like it came out of the mouth of the same quartet monster. It was simply Wild May music…
OK, so it wasn’t the exact configuration of musicians I was
expecting. No percussion. Brass instead. But, as in all things improvisatory, it is
not the specific instrumentation so much as the improvisors. And these
musicians--Steve Lantner, Allan Chase, and Forbes Graham--were the right guys
3/24 at the Outpost. The music brought
to mind a sometimes wonderful concept from the 1950s known as “chamber music
jazz” or “chamber jazz.” That music was
characterized by percussion (if there was any at all) that featured particular
focus on mallets and brushes rather than exclusively sticks and an
“intellectual” surface often associated with twentieth century so-called
Western Classical Music. The word
“surface” is intended as descriptive rather than pejorative. For example, some of the best “chamber jazz”
of the 1950s was produced by such fine creative musicians as Mel Powell and
Chico Hamilton. Younger improvisors and
fans will find perhaps a more meaningful example of that music from the 1960s
in the Jimmy Giuffre Trio (with Paul Bley and Steve Swallow). At the Outpost there were no drums and not
even a bass. Just three “horns” playing
improvised chamber music--a music that ran the gamut from pointillism to underwater-slow
whole notes to call and response to glorious paired voices and more. There were constant shifts among the solo,
duo, and trio instrumentation. All to
fine effect. Even laying out was as
dramatic a decision as a sonic attack.
Sometimes a piece was concluded simply when the entire trio decided in
the same instant to lay out. The evening
provided chamber jazz as superb as one ever is likely to witness. As superb as imaginable--chamber or
otherwise…
I was lucky enough
to attend the sold out lecture by Laurie Anderson 3/26 in Paine
Hall. She used “Six Things That I Know”
as an organizing device for a bombardment of memories and ideas that was so
dense and full of intellectual fireworks that at about the time the lecture was
scheduled to stop for a brief Q&A session she admitted to getting through
about a third of the planned material--and then she continued talking. All of these comments are in no way a
complaint, merely descriptive. She used
often humorous and otherwise effective projected images throughout her
comments, but the most riveting force in front of the audience remained Laurie
Anderson. Verbal images and ideas
provoked this witness’ brain and heart consistently throughout the talk. Her Buddhist references and joyous take on life
and work brought to mind transformations in the life and music of guitarist
Garrison Fewell. Her gregarious,
positive energy brought to mind Terrie Hessels of The Ex. I would love to be a witness to the two of
them sitting at a table, breaking bread, and talking. I’m certain soon both of them would be
levitating--literally. Two take-aways
may be instructive. During the Q&A session someone in the
audience asked her “With only a finite amount of time” to tackle projects, how
does she choose the projects she pursues?
Anderson began by pointing out that she does not see
time as finite. “It is infinite,” she
proclaimed (in her most joyous Buddhist voice).
Then she offered her criterion (the “secret” of everything, really): “I
choose projects that I believe will make me happy.” She explained that such a choice may not
always travel in a direction that she expects, but using anticipated happiness
as the primary criterion always leads to the best discoveries and surprises. Further, she stated, she is not clear how or
why, but choices rooted in happiness inevitably come to fruition. The money and other resources
materialize. That’s powerful stuff for
anyone to ponder. At the same time it is
important to note that resources are more likely to come to a person who has
the intelligence, integrity, and work ethic of Laurie Anderson. At one point in the lecture she discussed her
use of electronic equipment in performance.
She explained that in such instances she always incorporates some form
of choreography to compensate for the static nature of electronics. Watching someone onstage use a laptop is
“like watching someone ironing,” she said.
Amen…
Many years ago in a galaxy far away (i.e., the 1980s at the
Willow Jazz Club in Somerville) I
fell in love with the drum work of Chris Bowman, the thunder-maker of a trio
called Shock Exchange. I think the last
time I saw him was around 1990 when he had settled down somewhere in New
York City, making high-quality audio engineering
setups for recording studios. I’ve
missed his playing all these years. He
continued to play drums and has returned to the Boston
area several times. Unfortunately for me
something always kept me from making the gigs--until 3/18 at the Outpost when
former Shock Exchange leader Dave Bryant brought Chris to work with the
keyboardist, bassist Jacob William, and alto saxophonist Jim Hobbs. The music started and I found myself
transported to the brilliant trio music of many gigs at the Willow. It was the way Chris interacted with and propelled
the other three musicians that reminded me of those days. But those were different times, and the four
musicians are different--either evolved “differently” or completely different
humans. Along with Chris’ attack on the
kit, there is the harmolodic compatibility.
Jacob has demonstrated time and again that he is fluent in all music
languages, and Dave and Jim certainly are among the top harmolodic musicians in
the Boston area. And Chris may be my favorite harmolodic
drummer of all. I sometimes have
wondered why Ornette never absconded with Chris while the percussionist was a
member of Shock Exchange. Maybe it was
because Chris was and is too provocative, too demanding. By that I mean, if you are going to play with
Chris, you had better bring it with you or go packing. I don’t suggest that any of this is
negative. It’s just that Chris shows up
expecting to create with other people the most amazing music imaginable, and he
comes to shower his band mates with as much percussive joy as he can muster. So, yes, that can be a bit intimidating--but
only for those who have no business onstage in the first place. No problem 3/18. It was Dave’s gig, so he ran the show. Jacob thrived under the tutelage of Anthony
Braxton. And Jim eats Bessemer
furnace harmolodic shards for breakfast.
In other words, these guys fed off the sounds from the drum kit and
seemed to grow “physically” in the process.
Lesser men would have withered, but--in the best moments--Dave, Jacob,
and Jim fed the very fire right back to the drummer. It was one of those nights in which
frequently there were moments when I did not know at which musician to point my
eyes for the best view of the sonic wonder…
This web site is about music, but sometimes everyday reality
sticks its nose right into one’s search for joy and beauty. Politics “as usual” these days in its
incredible incarnations is such a nose.
There were Democrats and Republicans in my family as I grew up. They had their political philosophies and
fairly strong beliefs, but they did not demonize the other party or the other
candidates. Certainly the Democrats
wanted Adlai Stevenson to be elected President and were convinced that Ike
would not take America
in the right direction. The Republicans
were more than suspicious of Stevenson’s “socialist” leanings and thought that
the former general would be the right man to help define America’s
post war (both World and Korean) status.
There were arguments, ridicule, and even jokes (for example, Mort Sahl
asked, with Dulles out traveling in Europe, who would be
running the country?). But I never
remember Republicans in the family suggesting that Stevenson was “an imminent
threat” to the United States. Nor did I ever hear Democrats in the family
refer to Eisenhower as “an imminent threat” to the United
States.
Such accusation would be beyond belief.
Only a wacko such as McCarthy could say anything that inane. But this is twenty-first century America. Reuters
published a news item 3/30 by Roberta Rampton that summarized the results of a
Reuters/Ipsos online poll designed to gather attitudes of Republicans and
Democrats about each other. According
to the poll results, 34 percent of Republicans ranked President Obama as “an
imminent threat” to the United States,
apparently more dangerous than Putin (25 percent) and Assad (23 percent). Before the Democrats reading this begin
sneering about off-the-wall Republicans, they should consider that the data
suggests large numbers of people from both parties are off-the-wall. The poll results state that 27 percent of
Republicans believe the Democratic Party is “an imminent threat” to the United
States and that 22 percent of Democrats
believe the Republican Party is “an imminent threat” to the United
States.
If it didn’t matter, the upcoming campaign insanity would be funny to
watch. But it does matter…
Paul Broadnax and Peter Kontrimas had another of their fine
occasional brunch outings 3/22 at Bullfinch’s.
They were in high spirits after a sold out gig at Scullers 3/18 with
Cass McKinley. Paul in particular
continues to amaze, offering free lessons in improvisational substance to
anyone wise enough to listen. And the
regulars were at the brunch to catch the hand-in-glove duo in action. Always a pleasure. Paul and Peter brought some other good news
with them. It seems that Gwenn Vivian
and her Act III jazz forces were successful in presenting their case to the
State House authorities. In effect, the
restaurant/club received a state-level variance
allowing them to open Act III as a jazz venue in Littleton. There still are details to take care of, but
they are (or at least should be) relatively minor. Current plans include opening the venue
officially on 4/1 (no fooling) with Paul and Peter to kick things off. From that point on the duo would continue
performing weekly every Wednesday.
That’s a fine hope. Let’s hope it
works out that way…
Jorrit Dijkstra was a substitute for the ailing (but
mending) Jeff Platz in the group that Kit Demos brought to the Outpost
3/28. But us wasn’t some kind of ad hoc
gesture functionally. For example, the
remainder of the quartet--Pandelis
Karayorgis and Eric Rosenthal--performs frequently and consistently with
Jorrit. The result is that the
music--which opened with a completely improvised “warm up” work--had more in
common with great friends meeting over lunch than some heady intellectual
assignment. Most of the evening focussed
on original charts which were savored by the band mates for the music’s challenges--occasionally
with head scratching--but always exploited for their intrinsic improvisational
possibilities. While I’m on the subject
of improvisation, I should say something about Kit Demos as a
soloist. Fortunately we Bostonians are
particularly fortunate in the technical quality and improvisational quality of
our bassists. I’ll put up our top ten
post-Ayler bassists against those of any city anywhere. One of the most compelling improvisors among
the best in the Boston area is Kit
Demos. There is a tradition in clubs and
other venues throughout the U.S.
that when a bassist takes a solo, it is time for people in the audience to talk
among themselves. Anyone stupid enough
to talk (or do anything but listen) during a Kit Demos solo is missing out on
improvisatory brilliance. He consistently
amazes both technically and improvisationally.
That’s a significant achievement for any musician performing on any
instrument. But for a musician who plays
bass--the instrument that became a substitute for tuba and later an “any note
will do” novelty in big bands and finally the solo you are supposed to talk
over--such wonderful improvisations are both compelling and hopeful (in that
people may finally listen to bass solos alertly). But Kit played with composers and performers
who are monsters in their own right.
Over the years I’ve raved about each of them--from Jorrit’s great alto
work to Pandelis’ keyboard genius to
Eric’s brilliantly malleable energy--but how terrific it was to see and hear
them sit down to lunch and talk about music with music…
Last month in the Journal I commented that the big snow
storms were late in arriving. The snow
gremlins must have heard me because the last days of January and virtually all
of February have been brutal. Like many
people in the Boston area from the Atlantic Ocean to Worcester (and beyond) I became convinced that I would
spend the rest of my life shoveling snow.
It was during a brief respite in all the mess that I found myself 2/7 in
the Green Room in Somerville. The Green Room is the smallest
jazz venue among those of the important Cambridge-Somerville creative music
options. A count of the house suggests
that capacity is just under thirty people. That number does not seem large. But, as a far as new creative music is
concerned, thirty people is a solid turnout for local
musicians. What is significant in that
regard as far as the Green Room is concerned, all twenty-two gigs at the venue
so far have been either a full house or close to it. OK, at least half the gigs could be described
as mainstream. But all the gigs I’ve
caught there have been post-Ayler or otherwise pushing the music beyond the
mainstream. Almost every gig I’ve
witnessed has had a full house. Such was
the case 2/7 when I caught the Andy Voelker Trio
there. The makeup of the audience for
these post-Ayler gigs is significant.
First, there is a handful of regulars, such as
myself. The second component of the
audience is local musicians, more than a half dozen on this occasion. Again, such support is common on Boston area gigs, and we should celebrate that
fact. The third (and in some ways the
most significant) component of the audience is people I’ve never seen
before--or at least only at the Green Room.
These are open-minded witnesses who are curious enough to discover some
sonic adventures that they are unfamiliar with.
And they listen. My only
explanation for that group of people being there is the hard work of producer
Mark Redmond. Applause. The gig 2/7 featured Andy Voelker,
Jef Charland, and Luther
Gray--all among my favorite musicians.
So the somewhat unformed/cautious (?) work at the beginning of the first
set was a surprise. But the cobwebs (if
that is what they were) disappeared, and the three of them took us on a
wonderful journey through classics, original charts (mostly), and terrific
free-form adventures. I mentioned the
musicians in the audience. The fine team
of Yuka Hamano and Joe Hunt was among them.
Joe sat in to open the second set with “Beautiful Love,” a classic
associated with Joe’s former boss, Bill Evans.
Of course, there was no piano on the gig. Perhaps it was appropriate. The band’s sax and bass and Joe Hunt were quite
fine. The trio of Andy, Jef, and Luther performed for the rest of the evening,
taking the still near-full house to challenging and engaging places. They closed with a tribute to Ornette Coleman.
Because it was a tribute, the band sounded nothing like any of Ornette’s
bands specifically. For example, Luther
pulled off the fine trick of evoking the spirit of Ed Blackwell without
mimicking him. And that’s the way the
music of the evening was--all Andy, Jef, and
Luther. More than enough…
While doing some
research on early twentieth century band leader Leo Reisman (see The Major Contributors) I came across a
1928 Boston Symphony Orchestra program booklet for February 17 through 24 of
that year. That booklet holds more
weight than BSO program booklets of recent years. For one thing it contains a promo piece about
a 2/19 concert at Symphony Hall by Leo Reisman and his Orchestra, and on
another page a list of the actual program itself. There are several works of significance on
the bill, but one in particular stands out.
It is “Aunt Hagar’s Blues” featuring a solo by Johnny Dunn. Dunn, although eventually he was overshadowed
by Louis Armstrong, was the first major jazz trumpet soloist. In 1928 he still was highly regarded and well
known in jazz circles. His performance
with the Reisman Orchestra at Symphony Hall apparently was a musical
success. But what echoes loudest from
the event historically is that some indignant Bostonians stood up and walked
out of the concert because a black man was performing with a white
orchestra. It should be pointed out that
there were mixed-race bands in Boston during the first quarter of the twentieth
century (and even in the nineteenth century).
The Boston Symphony Orchestra performances listed in the same program
for February 17, 18, 24, and 25 also are significant historically. The music on the 17th and 18th
featured Béla Bartók at the piano in a performance of his Piano Concerto (1926), and the music on the 24th and 25th
featured the American premiere of Stravinsky’s Oedipus Rex (1927), both
programmed and conducted by Serge Koussevitzky.
In other words, in February 1928 the BSO performed works written in 1926
and 1927 by two of the world’s greatest composers. Boston would not witness its world-famous
orchestra perform consistently such new works by major composers until the
brief tenure of James Levine, a man inspired by Serge Koussevitzky. And so the BSO program from February 1928
gives us pause. On the one hand it
offers documentation of an event suggesting that we have made some progress as
a city racially (if not enough). On the
other hand the booklet is evidence of how retrograde the programming of the
orchestra is today and how deaf the audiences apparently have become…
from BSO
program for February 17-24, 1928
How wonderful it is
to witness Dave Bryant playing an acoustic piano. A really high quality
acoustic piano. Such an
event--due to the lack of genuinely fine pianos in most venues--is rare. So we in attendance at Pickman
Hall 2/13 were quite fortunate. Of
course, a good deal of the good fortune was due to the work of Bruno Råberg and
Jerry Leake who completed the well-connected
trio. There was much thought and work
that went into the performance, including rehearsal time. The tunes and instrumental responsibilities
were worked out before the event. But
the harmolodic nature of the communication and the musical capabilities of each
musician insured that the performance was quite open in terms of how each
musician would handle both support and out-front improvisation. Dave hardly could have done better than to
select Bruno as the bassist. It is not
merely his track record with Jerry but his fearlessness as a contributing
partner. Consistently all evening Bruno
knew where the detail of the music
was going and how to offer comment most effectively as all the detail came together. Jerry and Dave had not worked together
before. It would have been an easier
path if Jerry had exploited the non-Western percussion to emulate the work of
Dave’s old friend, Badal Roy. But wisely Jerry performed beautifully in his
own musical language for instruments of the Indian and African continents. In fact, among the highlights of the evening
was his handiwork on the frame drums. As
a final note about a fine evening of music, I applaud the fact that Dave
apparently gave serious thought to programming.
Not enough band leaders seem to give sufficient thought to the content
and sequence of music throughout a set or evening. In this case, Dave offered three of his own
compositions interspersed with works by (in sequence) Ornette
Coleman, Thelonious Monk, and Duke Ellington.
The relationship among those composers and the fact that group probed
farther back in time with each work offered a thought-provoking trip as a
balance to Dave’s more personal offerings.
And the acoustic piano was nice, too.
The whole evening, in fact…
Individual character
seems to have little to do with chosen occupation. A person can be a holy man, an insurance
salesman, a carpenter, or virtually anything and do so with character. Therefore it may be worthwhile to note the
passing of college basketball coach Dean Smith.
Corruption in college athletics is something of a disease. But that does not stop the truly successful coaches. There is perhaps no better example of
character in sports than Dean Smith, and the media in obituaries generally
recognized his contributions to the sport through his mentoring of hundreds of
young athletes and his courage in his fight against racism. One fine example of such journalism is found
in The Week (2/20, p. 43) which
concluded its obituary with a quote from Dean Smith. When he was asked if he was proud of his
civil rights record, Dean Smith said, “You should never be proud of doing the
right thing. You should just do the
right thing.”…
We live in a retro
world right now. When
the public obsession is everything from Steampunk to
architecture with skeletal interiors recalling Victorian aesthetics to
entertainment that focusses on obsolete niceties of English society of more
than a hundred years ago and vampire fantasies. The list could go on. But nothing in the music world echoes the
past more than the growing public attraction to LP recordings. Eighty percent of LP manufacturing equipment
in the U.S. was scrapped during the 1980s and 1990s. Not so in Eastern Europe. GZ
Media in Czechoslovakia is the world’s largest manufacturer of LPs,
producing vinyl for everyone from small indie labels
to Sony. According to the 2/9 Business Week, GZ Media is going strong
and the future is bright; during the past year vinyl record sales in the U.S.
were up more than 50%. Now if they could
just get rid of the pops, ticks, and other surface noise on the big disks,
they’d really sound better than CDs. But
I suspect that vinyl fans just don’t care about that. What might be a good thing is to emphasize
how old school live music is. Then
people might put down the noisy grooves and discover that live music actually
sounds more real. Real. I wonder if the public is ready for that…
Garrison Fewell was
recounting a couple visits he made to Washington, D.C. He told band members and the
audience at the Outpost 2/12 that he was arrested and jailed with thousands of
other people at a peace rally there in 1971.
On his next visit to D.C. he was booked at the jazz club in the
Smithsonian Institution. He concluded by
saying, “In 1971 they threw me in jail.
On my next visit they provided a rhythm section.” The tone was light but the subject matter was
serious. The music of the
evening--provided by Garrison, Steve Fell, and Luther Gray--was wide-ranging
but retained its pensive aura throughout the evening. There was much to pense about personally,
meteorologically, and internationally.
Every note--every sound--throughout the evening was abstract, free form
music devoid of anything approaching a familiar “tune.” But all of it was moving, profoundly
beautiful. At the end of it all the band
members agreed to play one more piece.
As a signal of finality, Garrison removed his shoes. “No more boots on the ground,” he said
without a smile. The final piece of the
evening was energetic. Emphatic…
From time to time I
complain about our country’s immigration policies, particularly as they apply
to visas for visiting musicians.
However, recent performances by the BSO raise related but perhaps
unclear questions about those policies.
The popular guest conductor Vladimir Jurowski
was scheduled to conduct an evening of music with the BSO at Symphony Hall this
month, but visa problems caused the management to come up with last minute
replacements for him. The Boston
Globe’s Jeremy Eichler noted that the orchestra’s audiences had
experienced “more than their fair share of conductor cancellations… But a work visa issue?” The cause of the “bureaucratic travel problems”
was somewhat vague. Eichler
even suggests that the visa problems may have been generated out of Russia.
Whether the problems came out of our immigration folks or Russia’s, when
a significant musician of some international fame can’t get a visa to perform
here, perhaps the main question might be which set of bureaucrats are the most
screwed up. Of course, if the
international artist had been a creative improvisor, we never would have read
about it in the Globe…
What a wonderful antidote to the snow/cold
blues in the Boston area! After a few weeks with two to three feet of snow and much higher in drifts still on the ground (and growing) and record low temperatures day after day, the wonderful septet version of the Charlie Kohlhase Explorers Club showed
up at the Lily Pad 2/25 and saved my day.
Things were upbeat before the gig with chat and banter, including the
statement that the brass section (Jerry Sabatini, Jeff Galindo, and Josiah Reibstein) was so much more impressive than the reed section (i.e., Charlie). The top shelf rhythm section consisted of
Pandelis Karayorgis, Aaron Darrell (who is going on a tour of the Mid-West with Charlie in March), and Curt Newton. When the group started playing the charts
(all by Charlie, Pandelis, and Allan Chase), the heart of the evening revealed
itself. Even though all these folks
perform regularly around town, it was obvious that each musician was
enthusiastic to re-unite with this combination of people. By now in any context Curt and Aaron are
completely locked in. But the twist on
things is that this group (as band members pointed out several times during the
evening) has a “bass section.” As much
as Josiah and Aaron excel as soloists, what seemed to grab people’s attention
(both onstage and off) is the sound and connection between the bass and tuba performing as a single instrument. This component of the band is quite special. How rare it is to hear the sound of tuba and acoustic bass in unison. At the same time it causes one to ponder the
earliest days of jazz when (depending on the context) a musician would be
responsible for playing either the tuba or the bass. But even then it must have been quite rare to
hear both bass and tuba simultaneously in a band. It is such things as the “bass section,” the
rhythm section, and the charts that make this septet so engaging for the
audience and inspiring to the musicians.
But I don’t think all of this would happen if it were not for the
leadership and the improvisors. Charlie brings it all together and pushes it
forward. And the
improvisors. There are so many
depressing stories over the decades regarding the “fact” that Boston’s jazz musicians are great technicians and readers but they can’t improvise convincingly. I think there have been specific
instances/people for which the claim is valid.
We have seen musicians here (and elsewhere) whose improvisational
potential has been schooled to death. But here we are in the twenty-first century, and I’ll put Boston’s best post-Ayler improvisors up against the best from New York or any other major jazz center. This septet is a fine example of why I make that claim…
The Massachusetts
Senate 2/5 paid tribute to Robert Guillemin, better
known to virtually every resident of eastern Massachusetts as Sidewalk Sam. He died 1/26 at age 75. He first encountered sidewalk art in Paris.
Years later outside an exhibition of his works at the ICA on Boylston Street he created his first street art.
Sam believed in sharing art with all people and used his public presence
to support a range of cultural and political causes. Sam set an example for all of us as a citizen
and as an artist who eschewed elitism on behalf of human connection. Several articles about his life and
accomplishments can be found in print and electronic news media including both
an obituary and a photo essay in the Boston
Globe online…
January 2015
January is a new
month for a New Year. With it we
received a new jazz ensemble performing in a “new” venue. The Pocket Aces is a new jazz trio consisting
of musicians with very familiar faces--Eric Hofbauer, Aaron Darrell, and Curt
Newton. In fact, the three of them had
been on stage in a variety of configurations often enough together that I asked
them to confirm that they never had had a gig exclusively as a trio. What I liked most about Pocket Aces is that
it really is an active trio. The common trio presentation of front man with
bass and drums backup can work well and has done so since the earliest days of
jazz trios. However, over time the bass
and drums have taken on a greater role in the ensemble statement. The evolution has been so pervasive and
convincing that now people such as myself anticipate a greater role for bass
and drums in any trio’s musical trajectory.
Therefore, as one can imagine, I found the shifting front line of Pocket Aces to be central to the trio’s
effectiveness. Sometimes Curt carried
the main theme. Sometimes the bass line
was front and center. But to the careful
listener it did not matter where the sounds were moving to or from. The joy is that this group forces the
listener to expect surprises. And all of
this happened in an engaging way such that even audience members who apparently
were not avid jazz fans were drawn to the sonic activity on stage. Like much of Eric’s music, the compositions
were straight ahead (mostly jazz classics), but the charts pushed the
chord-based tunes all over the place. Often to unexpected corners and vistas. The venue also is new (but really
“new”). The Center for the Arts at the
Armory in Somerville is housed in a turn-of-the-century building
looking like a small fort that was moved to Highland Avenue from North Africa. Pretty amazing. The
facility includes a performance hall and a café. The 1/11 Pocket Aces gig took place in the
café, which has satisfactory acoustics and a capacity similar to that of the Lily
Pad or the Outpost. Other features
include tables, reasonably comfortable chairs, food, and drinks. Apparently the bakery is on-site. Also, it is not a small matter that the
musicians seemed quite happy in their dealings with the Armory performance
booking personnel. It seems that the
café is available for a variety of booking dates, but I was particularly glad
to attend a Sunday afternoon gig which might be an incentive for parents to
bring along children to give them a chance to witness sounds made by living
humans. In a similar way, it was good on
1/11 to see walk-ins who did not know about the gig and discovered just how
fine this trio is. Indeed…
I will try to give
some context to Al Bendich’s passing on 1/5. When I was in junior high school the big band
music and small group jazz domination of the radio airwaves (where all the
important music was heard in those days) was being challenged by R&B and
Bill Haley (e.g., “Rock Around the Clock” c.1955). Communism, for many intellectuals and artists
during the 1930s the liberal antidote to out-of-control and powerful capitalist
enterprise, had become the political anathema of not just McCarthy Republicans
but also middle America. The
Cuban Missile Crisis was still a few years into the future. It was an uptight America, seeing threats from language and action
lurking around every corner and down every dark alley. Into this era of paranoia (not enough
different from our own) arose a group of thinkers and artists that became known
as the Beats. Not particularly political
by nature (and some of them devoutly apolitical), several of them became
embroiled in some of the most important First Amendment trials since the
nation’s founding. Three of the more
significant judicial findings involved Howl,
Naked Lunch, and the onstage
monologues of Lenny Bruce. Lawyer Al Bendich was not directly involved in the defense of William
Burroughs and his Naked Lunch, a book
banned in Boston but legally repealed with help from Allen
Ginsberg and Norman Mailer. But Bendich broke some crucial ground with the “trials” of
Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and Lenny
Bruce. Al Bendich
was hard-working and brilliant. Just two
years out of law school he sealed the victory for publisher/poet Lawrence
Ferlinghetti with his defense brief on behalf of Howl which was so compelling that the conservative judge quoted it
in his ruling. A few years later Bendich successfully determined the jury instructions in a
Lenny Bruce obscenity case and used those instructions on his way to getting an
acquittal for Bruce, the only acquittal Bruce received among his four obscenity
trials. It is inspiring to read about
courage, intelligence, and integrity at a time when our everyday communications
are amplified (through humming birds in the garden that aren’t humming birds
and boundless metadata) and our voices are silent (e.g., who would have the
courage today to produce a film with content comparable to Blazing Saddles?). You can
find out more about Al Bendich in his New York Times obituary and elsewhere…
There have been
three gigs at the Alternate Space in Watertown. Not
surprisingly, because Ken Vandermark’s brother Rob has produced each of those
gigs, all events have involved music performed by the reed player. On the one hand, it is possible to say that
Rob creates such a fine musical environment (including free beverages,
sandwiches, and sinful desserts) to compensate for the factory environment. But I don’t buy that idea. The Seven factory is
where people create two-wheel dreams.
That’s a pretty good context in which to create sonic art. The fine setting is a bonus for those who
show up to catch the music. And show up
they do. The folks at the Ken
Vandermark-Nate Wooley gig 1/9 came from three camps
mostly. Once again there were bike fans
who heard about the gig (some of them returning), post-Ayler jazz gig regulars, and Boston area musicians. The latter give one pause. Other cities with reasonably good jazz scenes
too often include post-Ayler musicians who do not seem to understand that the
pie is so small that clannish petty bickering and back-stabbing result in no
winners. New York is the major example of that phenomenon, but
unfortunately the city of five boroughs is not alone. In fact, I have the disturbing feeling that
right now (and I hope it is a temporary phenomenon) Boston is the only major jazz center in the U.S. in which such petty activity is not the
rule. So the 1/9 gig was just one more
Boston area gig in which local musicians showed up to catch the music of other
searchers--regardless of whether the searchers were local or visiting. The music itself was extraordinarily challenging. The brief first two sets consisted of solo
trumpet and solo reeds. Even if the
musicians are doing the Great American
Songbook (which these guys weren’t), the challenge is much greater for both
musician and audience than if an ensemble is doing the tunes. I’m not sure whom to praise more, the
focussed and attentive people in the audience or the musicians. Maybe it’s a bias toward creativity, but I’m
going to side with the musicians. A
major part of the reason is the first set of solo music offered by Nate Wooley. I’m not
in the habit of letting technique get in the way of focussing on the music (or
lack thereof). But I had a tough time
with Nate. He
opened his set with a combination of multiphonic
drone and a linear primary statement that was breathtaking. I was so distracted by the amazing sonic
experience that I had to recalculate my sensors to register the fact that all
of the sonic experience was not possible without circular breathing. And that was just the beginning of the set. So I bolstered by ears and brain and heard
the man making music. Not easy. But there it was. Later in conversation I heard of his high
regard for Greg Kelley (and the undr quartet) and
Forbes Graham. Greg recently has gone to
the left coast. But
how fine it would be to hear an evening of Messrs. Wooley and Graham making
music together. Nate said he would love to pursue such an adventure. If and when it happens, I hope I’m
there. The second set was all reeds
(clarinet, tenor sax, and baritone sax).
Ken interspersed engaging commentary and emotionally engaging music that
called up both history and techniques of our time. The third set was the only one that employed
charts, both originals and classics (primarily from the Bobby Bradford-John
Carter repertoire). For someone such as myself the evening had a terrific balance between the first
two sets of unbounded searching and then bringing all that pursuit into a
charted context. Given the size and
makeup of the audience at the Alternate Space, a lot of us had a chance to hear
both the 2014 duo and the one in 2015.
And the remarkable progress…
Jazz musicians and
jazz venues are inextricably interconnected.
Sometimes the venue is less than ideal, such as the subways and the
streets. I remember walking in New York one afternoon in the middle-1980s and seeing
Denis Charles (he was Dennis in those
days) packing up his drums from a gig in front of the Ed Sullivan Theater. I told him that I was sorry I missed the gig,
and we talked. He told me about a gig
featuring Ed Blackwell (whom he adored), Jim Pepper, and Don Cherry that
evening. So I missed a gig in a less
than ideal “venue” but got connected to a terrific gig in a jazz club. Ideal or not, we fans and musicians need the
jazz venues. This commentary is a
lead-in to the ongoing saga of Gwenn Vivian and her
mission to keep a jazz club going northwest of Boston.
After booking two clubs in Acton and running out of luck there last year, her
current project is to make Act III in Littleton fly.
The main obstacle for her is the set of state fire codes. The situation is complex and difficult, and a
positive outcome is in no way certain.
For the time being she has been putting together a series of temporary
permits to book one or two gigs per month.
As I write this edition of the Journal
there is mention of the Jazz Café on the Act III restaurant web site, but the
site tells us that no gigs are scheduled.
So, at best, things are confusing.
I visited Act III for the first time 1/21 to catch Paul Broadnax and
Peter Kontrimas there. The first thing one notices
is that the room is relatively small. It
is a dining area with table seating for about twenty-five people. Most tables have good
to excellent views of the musicians. A
duo is a pretty near perfect ensemble for the intimate space (although more
musicians could have been accommodated).
The piano is a baby (not a full grand), but the sound is good. No one in the audience could complain with
justification about the acoustics for the bass and piano. In fact, the sound system on this evening was
better than I’d ever heard at Bullfinch’s or either of the two Acton clubs.
The sound was helpful when Peter was featured in his signature arco performance of Ave
Maria. It drew such notice that
there even were comments about the appropriateness (or lack thereof) of such a
piece on a jazz gig. No one mentioned
it, but all one had to do was call up the recording of Monk’s arrangement of
another Monk’s hymn, Abide with Me, for a solid case. And hearing the piano sound better than I had
heard in recent memory at a Paul Broadnax gig was a special treat. I could hear the detail of every key stroke,
revealing to an even greater extent not just the quality of Paul’s performance
but the authenticity of his piano
work. Musicians who have entered the
on-stage jazz world during the past few decades know of bebop and mainstream
performance primarily through book study and listening to recordings. Paul became active on the Boston jazz scene when swing era musicians were
performing everywhere (usually in combos) and bebop was fresh out of the
oven. A good friend of singer Joe
Williams, Paul performed with a wide range of people and wrote arrangements for
(among others) Sabby Lewis and Count Basie. He was playing music when Earl Hines was in
the DNA of musicians his age, when Erroll Garner was
headlining on 52nd Street, and when the locked-hands melody line was
the rage (even before George Shearing was famous). In other words, when a relative “youngster”
employs techniques or ideas from these contributions, the result tends to be
mimicry--or worse. When Paul employs a
moving rhythmic tremolo or causes the right hand to lag slightly, or has both
hands dance as precision partners, there is no mimicry and seldom an explicit
tribute. All those activities are just
part of the inevitable Paul Broadnax package produced out of that “ancient”
time. How wonderful that at least in one
instance 1/21 the right venue and the right musicians came together to offer
something in the realm of wonder…
It was a cold
night. The heated air conditioning in
the car on the way to Methuen was not enough to keep the moisture in the breath of the two
passengers and myself from grabbing onto and freezing on the car’s
windows. The windshield defroster worked
but no other air system components. We
had dinner at the club, and the room was still cold by the time we finished the
meal. By 7:45 the Sahara Club started to heat up. By the time the band began playing 1/6 for
the full house I could take my winter jacket off. As the band played on, the temperature and
everything else became irrelevant. The
foundation of the quartet--Marshall Wood and Jim Gwin--knew
the other men for decades and the material as clearly as the paths in an
ancient and familiar park. The front
line consisted of Mike Monaghan and leader Gray Sargent. I had not caught Mike performing in several
years. Aside from a bunch of peek-a-boo
gigs that you don’t find out about until after they are over, the only Mike
Monaghan gigs that people are likely to hear about on some kind of consistent
basis are his Boston Pops jazz combo gigs.
Not being enamored of the Pops (although I respect what they do), I
hardly ever witness Mike play anymore.
So the 1/6 gig was a treat. When
you don’t see a person perform in a long time, you tend to enter the experience
not knowing what to expect. No need for
concern in this case. Mike Monaghan’s
playing was solid, so solid that it brought to mind one of countless times I
caught him in performance with the Herb Pomeroy Big Band. It was a performance at City Hall Plaza about
thirty years ago, and I arrived late to the gig. As I climbed the stairs of the Green Line
station I could hear the band--and a distinctive tenor solo. It filled me with joy to know that I had met
Mike Monaghan on the stairs even before I got to the gig. My thanks to Mike for his fine work with Herb
and for bringing me joy on 1/6. For
those of us who remember and cherish the now-departed great swing and bop
giants, there is no living guitarist who plays such compelling music that also
evokes the aesthetic of those giants so convincingly as Gray Sargent. Even though
he was born in the middle of the twentieth century (and therefore starting life
with an authenticity deficit), Gray
learned at the knees of and performed with the giants during his crucial
development years. Illinois Jacquet,
Dave McKenna, Slam Stewart, Benny Carter, Buddy Tate, Milt Hinton, and on and
on--all of them left some of their musical journey within Gray. And he carries that wonderful sonic journey forward
with creative grace and beauty…
It is winter, and by
the end of January one expects to have experienced at least a couple storms of
more than a foot of snow. It has been a
bit colder than usual, but we’ve had hardly any snow. Maybe that’s why the plowing operations in
the Boston area were so poor 1/24. Perhaps the crews were out of practice. Apparently the plows were effective on that
evening in Cambridge. The
streets were in good enough shape that (according to Rob Chalfen)
there was a full house at the Outpost to catch the visiting trio. Those of us west of Rte. 128 had no such
luck. When I left my house to go to the McPhee-Levin-Corsano gig there were perhaps six inches of snow on the
ground. It was snowing fairly hard but
was scheduled to stop within an hour. Just a wimpy storm.
My street was a mess, but that was not a surprise. I was surprised to discover that the other
roads were in bad shape. I told myself
to hang in there because the main roads would be OK. But Rte. 20--even in Weston--was not OK. I convinced myself that Rte. 128 would be
OK. It wasn’t. I (and most other drivers) traveled at less
that 30 miles per hour, and only that fast because traffic was light. The challenge was similar to conditions that
I’d experienced in the middle of storms of two feet of snow or more. I used the Rte. 2 exit as a way to make a
U-turn. It took me far too long to
realize that continuing was a stupid idea.
The anticipation of great music can do that to people. I made it home and alive and happy to
be. But, of course, I feel awful about
missing the trio in Cambridge...
Jacob William’s Para
Quintet is one of the most amazing jazz ensembles performing anywhere in the
world. I thought I’d start with that
statement. That’s both a negative
statement about “working” jazz ensembles internationally and a positive
statement about a band that would be amazing even if the jazz world were in
better shape. The world shares a solid
number of great post-Ayler improvisors, but there are not very many great
working bands in that realm. Even some
of the revered long-term outfits have become too comfortable or too tired or
too bored. The fact that, particularly
in other major jazz cities in the U.S., a combination of music cliques and
production politics is hamstringing new jazz developments in general and
therefore undercutting creativity at the ensemble level specifically is at the
core of a set of relevant problems. I
hasten to add that some individuals and (more relevant) ensembles prevail over
these challenges. For example, one of
the most durable of the truly extraordinary groups is AMM. Messrs. Prévost and
Tilbury should give other musicians lessons on how to
survive differences in philosophy and personality. Their latest work is as breathtaking as
ever. But they are an exception. The decay is almost palpable. Fortunately, I live in a city of several
post-Ayler outfits that share none of those burdens. When the Explorers show up, there are no cob
webs. The same is true for the Steve Lantner groups. And on and on. We
have a cornucopia of Extraordinary in the Boston area.
So, when I talk about the Para Quintet, I’m talking about the crème de
la crème. If you are among the best
post-Ayler bands in the Boston area, you are among the best in the world. Because each member of the Para
Quintet--Jacob William, Forbes Graham, Jim Hobbs, Steve Lantner,
and Luther Gray--is such a strong musical individual, the group has the
capacity--in fact the tendency--to morph into different “groups,” depending on
environmental factors such as venue personality, audience reaction, room
acoustics, and more. Also, the state of
mind or even temporary aesthetic orientation of one or more group members can
have an impact on which “group” is performing.
For example, the ensemble 1/31 at the Outpost spontaneously “decided”
that it would consist of a rhythm section supporting the two front horns (as
opposed to operating as five equal
partners) for most of the evening. At
the same time the arrangement was anything but conventional. One or both horns might be playing up a
storm, and the piano, bass, and drums would be supporting that effort. But the members of the rhythm section would
be supporting and challenging each other as intensely as they supported the
front line. As a result of a pushing and
evolving rhythm section, Forbes and Jim quite independently offered up two
completely different musical perspectives in each of the two pieces of the
first set. One piece gave us a realm
devoted to trumpet of mesmerizing lyrical staccato melodies of endless variety
and something of a lesson in free architecture in the second piece. Jim heard a different lyrical voice somewhere
in the air and brought forth what was among the most beautiful, searing alto
playing I’ve ever heard. In the second
work of the set his horn spoke another language, guttural, perhaps that of a
Prussian officer barking orders in the middle of a fierce military
encounter. And so it went. All the while the rhythm section kept
changing contexts, taking on a character all its own, rising up off the floor
and rocking slowly to accommodate a Steve Lantner
solo or some dance carried out by Jacob and Luther. Separate from the horns but essential to the
horns. And vice versa. I was thankful for the intermission. One must recover from music so beautiful, so
powerful. But I was there for the second
set. Knowing that more of the same was
to come (even though it could not possibly be the same), it is unfathomable
that anyone could leave. Leave? As I write this in repose, that evening of
improvised music remains with me. It
does not allow me to leave…
Previous
incarnations of the Charlie Kohlhase Explorers Club as an ensemble larger than
the more typical quartet or quintet have been discussed in this Journal before (e.g., October of
2014). The positive comments about those
performances certainly apply to the 1/15 septet gig featuring Charlie, Allan
Chase, Daniel Rosenthal, Josiah Reibstein, Pandelis
Karayorgis, Aaron Darrell, and Curt Newton at the Outpost. The evolving personnel presents
no significant obstacles, in this case partially because the challenge
presented by the absence of fine previous contributors was taken up by the
commitment and musicianship of the guest reed player. The big plus is that the “replacement” was
Allan Chase. His witty,
historically-rooted commentary might be sufficient reason to enjoy his presence
at such an event. But his superb
musicianship (most obvious in his negotiation of the charts) and his
thoughtfully provocative solos were the most meaningful aspect of his
presence. Allan is one of those talented
and industrious musicians on the cusp who revels in both the last stages of
bebop/mainstream and the post-Ayler scene.
In other words, you can drop him in the middle of anything and he can
make it work. There aren’t very many
such wonderful musicians around. And
those skills worked perfectly 1/15 on a gig in which there was music that would
connect perfectly with bebop fans along with other material that pushed the
envelope. As in previous cases with
these musicians, the music came from and went to an amazing array of
places. The “older” compositions came
from disparate sources including Sun Ra and John Tchicai. Most of the rest of the material was written
by band members such as Pandelis Karayorgis and the leader himself. All of it from different
places and different aesthetic perspectives. But all of it was performed with
understanding and commitment. Maybe that
diversity of charts and the success in performance are due to the fact that all
the musicians are from different planets, they are so compelling in their work,
and they commit to each other. That’s
about as good as music gets…