June 20, 2005
Jazz Fest Diary, Days Eight & Nine
Day Eight
I missed the early shows because I had to pick Kari up from the airport, and by the time I got downtown at around 9PM, there was no parking to be found. This was bewildering to me as it was raining cats and dogs, but it was definitely a good sign for the jazz festival. I was told later that the Eastman Theater was packed for the Madeleine Peyroux/Chris Botti show.
After trudging through the rain from my half-mile-away parking space, I met up with Seth and we headed over to Montage to get a seat and eat some wings before the Jacob Anderskov Trio came onstage. Maybe the rain had soured my mood, or maybe my attention was starting to flag after a week full of jazz, but I couldn't stick with Anderskov through a full set. This is not meant as a pejorative, but his music was just too "experimental" to me. There was nothing I could latch on to in the free-ranging improvisations and continuously shifting rhythm.
So we took off, which was fine by me, since it gave me a chance to get to the Crowne Plaza in time to get a seat at the bar for the nightly jam session. As an aside, I can't emphasize enough the importance of actually getting a seat in any of the venues. Almost every show I attended was standing-room-only and the nightly jam session was no exception. The place was regularly packed with those waiting to see which of the day's performers will show up to sit in with the band. Meanwhile, this anticipation is fed by the regular stream of hopeful musicians lurking about with their instruments hoping to get a chance to play.
Day Nine
Even though I got in line almost forty minutes early, I was forced to sit in the very back row of Kilbourn Hall. No matter. John Scofield rocked the house with tunes old and new. With just bass and drums backing him up, Scofield was best when he got just a touch funky, although his rendition of Ray Charles' "You Don't Know Me" was truly beautiful. Although he played a fairly short set, I didn't really mind; the seats in the otherwise lavishly furnished Kilbourn Hall were apparently designed for a Depression-era public. I had to seat myself one cheek at a time as the armrests didn't provide enough clearance for my not-really-all-that-ample hips. An aisle seat is really only a minor improvement.
I stretched my legs by heading over to the outdoor stage on Gibbs St., where the French-bistro ambiance provided by Lumière was betrayed by the pulled pork BBQ sandwich I consumed (only one sloppy drip landed on my linen trousers, a clear indication that I did not apply enough BBQ sauce). After admiring the bass, gypsy guitar, and accordion (a well-played accordion is beautiful, a poorly-played accordion is obnoxious) of the locally-based group, I sauntered over to the festival tent trying to beat the crowd to the 8:30 show.
On occasion a front man is overshadowed by his backup band. At first, I thought that this was the case with Dave Pietro and Banda Brazil. I felt that the band was stifled by Pietro's somewhat stiff playing, only displaying some fine prowess during the solos. But then in the middle of one of his solos, Pietro seemed to loosen up, finally settling into the backup band's groove. Just as things started swinging, I took off to continue my final night's whirlwind tour over on the second free outdoor stage.
Bypassing the crowd lingering around Lumière's stage, I cut down Chesnut and landed smack in the middle of the crowd gathering for Derek Trucks. And this was one of the most interesting sights of the festival. All week, I had taken note of the jazz fan uniform. Yes, there was the occasional Primus t-shirt or bowling shirt among the crowd, but for the most part, jazz concert-goers prefer an ensemble of polo shirt or floral Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and boat shoes with occasional addition of a baseball cap, panama hat, straw porkpie, or backwards-facing "beret" (more accurately known as a touring or driver's cap).
Other regular festival-goers easily identified by attire (and the ubiquitous jazz pass badge dangling from their necks) were spread around the edges of the crowd, the core of which consisted mainly of typically funky (in terms of dress and odor), ragtag, and relaxed jam band fans. Trucks' other gig is playing slide guitar for the Allman Brothers and his more regular fans turned out in force for the free weekend show. So I dove deep into the crowd, tropical shirt and all, and had a blast bouncing to the band's bluesy rhythm. At one point, Trucks tipped his hat to the jazz fans with a smoking rendition of "My Favorite Things," then it was right back to the funky, pulsing, blues.
As much fun as Trucks was, I figured that I should finish the week at the jam session, so I split early hoping to get a good seat at the Crowne Plaza. It must be becoming clear that the Jazz Fest is really just a search for good seats from venue to venue, but alas, I was too late. I arrived while the band was in their first song, and there were no seats to be had. But I made do, finding a good place to stand and soaking up the last few notes of the festival.
The highlight of the session occurred before any other guests had been called up on stage. Playing one of his favorite Kenny Dorham tunes, "Asiatic Rays," the band offered a tribute to their friend and local jazz musician Bob Stata, who passed away last Tuesday.
I can't think of a more touching way to end the week.
June 17, 2005
Jazz Fest Diary, Day Seven
Took the night off again. Installed software. Paid bills.
June 16, 2005
Jazz Fest Diary, Day Six
Day Six
Tonight's shows cleared up a few things about the Jazz festival that had been lingering in the back of my mind. I had been pondering what makes one performance better than another. After five days of the festival I feel like I'm running out of superlatives to use when describing the acts I've seen; It's getting crowded on those top couple of rungs. Also, I notice that I tend to prefer the harder-edged performances over the more straightforward ones, which leaves me thinking that I'm somehow missing some nuance in the quieter music.
This feeling nagged at me as I stood listening to Karl-Martin Almqvist and his quartet. Here was a solid band, playing straight-ahead Coltrane-flavored jazz, and while they were certainly no slouches, the music just didn't grab me. All the ingredients seemed to be there, but I couldn't help feeling that there was just something missing.
Moving to the festival tent to hear the Shuffle Demons, I discovered one of the necessary ingredients. This was the ingredient missing from the Pete Carney/Orange Alert performance the other night: fun. Here was a band who entered by walking through the crowd playing a funky saxophone riff wearing suits that looked as if they had been designed by Keith Haring while being held at gunpoint and whose original tunes include "Puker," "Funkin' Pumpkin'," and "Get Out of My House, Roach." The music wasn't sophisticated, but it was fun. Seth and I barely tore ourselves away just before the end of the set to head on over to the Montage to see the Lew Tabackin Trio.
And good thing we did. We got there in time to grab a couple of the last remaining seats and settled in to hear some of the sweetest, most sincere music of the festival. It was here that I discovered the ingredient missing from the Almqvist performance: passion. Boris Kozlov on bass and Mark Taylor on drums were not overly flashy. They were certainly accomplished and more mature and subtle than most. And Tabackin, especially on flute, was the most soulful, sensitive musician I have seen so far at this festival.
June 15, 2005
Jazz Fest Diary, Day Five
Took the night off. Watched "West Wing" reruns.
June 14, 2005
Jazz Fest Diary, Day Four
Day Four
So all day, WGMC had been warning those who wanted to see The Bad Plus, to get in line early. I passed the warning on to Seth and Ted (who was driving up from PA to see the show), then scrambled around to get in line early. And even thought there were still a handful of empty seats (like, maybe five), getting in line early paid off with some seats in which we could stretch our legs as we settled in for the show.
And what a show! Jeff Spevak conjures up a pretty hilarious image in his review of the show:
If the Rochester International Jazz Festival continues to book acts like the Bad Plus, an appropriate new logo might depict Chuck Mangione running out of a theater with his head on fire.
Right from the get-go, Dave King was going bananas on the drums with bassist Reid Anderson providing a solid foundation and pianist Ethan Iverson amply filling the sonic space between the two. The set was made up almost entirely of new compositions that seem to be spinning off into even more exciting, experimental territory than what exists on their previous recordings. I was wondering when they would get to one of their famous (or infamous) covers of popular songs. It came near the very end of the set when some manic interplay slowly resolved into the triumphant chorus of Queen's "We Are The Champions." They get no argument from me.
Heads still buzzing, we made our way over to Milestones to catch the end of the set by the band led by Chicago saxophonist and turn-table-spinner Pete Carney, which is listed in the RIJF guidebook as "Orange Alert," although it's still unclear to me whether that's the band's name or just the name of Carney's debut recording. Anyway, our take was, either pick the saxophone or the turn-table, don't try to do both. The band was playing some pretty solid, straight-up funk with splashes of jazz and hip-hop thrown in, which after The Bad Plus, seemed just a tad too pedestrian to us.
So, after grabbing dinner at Golden Port Dim Sum and bidding farewell to Ted for the evening, I headed over to the festival tent to hear Alex Torres y Su Orquestra. If smoking-hot salsa and merengue is your thing, these guys are something to behold. Explosively entertaining, they play with as much energy as anything else you're likely to see at the RIJF. But maybe I was starting to get jazzed out after four straight days, but I could only stay for a few songs before hitting the road and ultimately my bed.
June 13, 2005
Jazz Fest Diary, Day Three
Day Three
Just back from the Sunday night shows and all I can muster by way of summary is, "Holy crap!"
Tonight was the night I didn't care so much about. No "must-sees" on my list, I was open to anything, and, man, did we stumble into it.
Just this afternoon (yesterday afternoon actually, it's now after midnight) I figured out that David Weiss of the David Weiss Sextet also played in last night's Night of the Cookers. So Seth (who's getting lots of links from me this week) and I decided to check out his group at the recently-back-in-business Montage Grill (although their website doesn't seem to be open for business yet). And lucky for us, Craig Handy (playing alto sax tonight) and bassist Dwayne Burno were also doing double duty as part of the sextet. The group played a set of Weiss compositions, which combined with Handy's formidable presence, made for a truly enjoyable performance.
After feasting our ears on Weiss' old-school jazz, Seth and I ventured back toward Gibbs St. to grab a bite to eat and to also check out a couple of Dov Hammer tunes at the free stage. Hammer, along with a couple buddies, cranked out some decent harmonica/guitar/slide-guitar blues for the people. But Seth and I were in search of more jazzy fare. So by 8:15, despite the sweltering weather conditions, we started waiting in line to catch Paradigm Shift in the big tent, but we were turned away due to the tent already being filled to capacity.
And again, how lucky for us. This allowed us to grab some prime seating at Milestones for the Willem Breuker Kollektif. About whom, all I can say is, again, "Holy crap!" They were truly amazing. Take one part George Clinton, one part circus music, one part Coltrane, one part...forget it. Here's a better description than what I can come up with:
The Kollektief's approach combines jazz and 'serious' (i.e. classical) music with many popular genres, from marching band and circus music to latin dance steps and music for film and theatre. The result is both humorous and surprising, full of false stops and starts, clean breaks, sudden shifts in musical mood, and above all, a fine sense of irony. At any given moment, the Kollektief can be churning out hot jazz, European Style, and the next moment they're tearing through a classical repertory with all the irreverence of Spike Jones.
A jazz version of Spike Jones. There. That's an excellent six-word summary. This is a band that can have an audience laughing and crying almost at will. Truly a complex and remarkable group.
June 12, 2005
Jazz Fest Diary, Days One & Two
Day One
After reading the New Yorker profile of Sonny Rollins (only an interview with Stanley Crouch is available online) I expected one of two Sonny Rollinses to show up: either the timid, calypso-playing, keep-the-people-happy Sonny Rollins or the come-hell-or-high-water, blow-the-doors-off-the-joint Sonny Rollins.
Thank goodness Rollins #2 showed up. His first solo must have lasted twenty minutes. There can be very few musicians capable of playing with such vigor after spending more than five decades in the business. He lived up to best of my expectations.
So that's the strange thing about expectations. As amazing as Rollins was, I came away from the Sex Mob show exhilarated, which I chalk up partially to the more intimate venue, but mostly to my lower expectations. I had heard a Sex Mob track on internet radio a couple of years ago called "Not Bolweevil," which was fun enough, but is totally unrepresentative of the energetic, grooving, funkified jazz that is the Sex Mob's staple.
So then Bob Sneider's jam session was also amazing per usual, although I was disappointed that Rollins didn't show up to sit in with the band (a long shot, I know).
Day Two
With no "must-sees" on my list for Saturday night, I took a chance on the Steve Turre Quartet. And I'm glad I did. I'm not normally a big fan of the trombone as a jazz instrument but Turre has made me reconsider. Also, his rhythm section was terrific, particularly the piano player (I coudn't catch his name) who absolutely smoked through a solo on a cuban-flavored number late in the set. But then Turre blew the crowd away by playing on his collection of seashells to close out the set. I know, it sounds a little Zamfir-like or something, but honestly, he was jamming on those shells.
With a light rain falling, Seth and I bypassed the outdooor venue in favor of Josh Irving in the big tent. Unfortunately, as great as he and his band sounded, it was just too hot in the tent to stay through more than a couple of tunes before we evacuted in favor of the cooler climes of the line waiting for the 10PM show of Night of the Cookers.
The band Night of the Cookers takes its name from the legendary album Night of the Cookers, which featured Freddie Hubbard and Lee Morgan in some epic horn-dueling. Two of that original cast anchored this incarnation, James Spaulding on alto sax and Pete La Roca on drums. They were joined by Jeremy Pelt and David Weiss on trumpet, tenor saxophonist Craig Handy, piano-player Harold Mabern, and bassist Dwayne Burno. And despite some issues with the sound system, yes, they were cooking.