It must be Christmas

Sally observed it wasn’t jazz, but Handel’s Messiah well deserves a post on CJ. The Canberra Choral Society performed it again this year at St Christopher’s Cathedral, the cream brick Catholic cathedral at Manuka. We went to the first of two performances and it was an immensely satisfying experience. The Cathedral is not my favourite building around town, the acoustics were heavy with reverb that made for a loud but somewhat mushy sound and there was frequent traffic noise and Harley splutter outside on Canberra Avenue, but nonetheless this was a treat. It was the long performance with the full 3 Acts, verging on 3 hours with the interval. I thought this was a daring choice and all praise is due. This was my first Messiah (a late starter) but I was glad to hear one where the three parts, dealing with the Birth, Passion and Aftermath, were present, and the familiar arias and the exultant Hallelujah Chorus were in their right places. It was long but the time passed like a breeze. I was impressed by the stamina of both performance and audience. Pews are not the most comfy places to spend three hours, and I noticed the audience stirring but it was uncomplaining and stood for the famed Hallelujah Chorus, as people apparently have since King George 2. I expected that we would be too casual for that these days, but no. It was a pleasant surprise. And the applause was deafening at the end, so the effort was much appreciated.

It was a small orchestra with a light presence that was sometimes overshadowed when the voices took flight. But it had a lovely courtly baroque tone that benefited from the reverb. Clear, fat trumpet ringing through (beautifully resonant and very different from a jazz trumpet tone), bassoon or oboe evident at other times, the strings fairly restrained with 7 violins, 2 violas, 2 cellos and a double bass. Organ and a harpsichord that presumably played the original a basso continuo part. The choir was 21 sopranos, 30 altos, 10 tenors, 14 basses and there were arias and recitatives for SATB - Rebecca Collins (soprano), Christina Wilson (mezzosoprano), Christopher Saunders (tenor) and Stephen Barnett (bass) - and the whole was directed and conducted by Peter Pocock.

What glorious, exultant, dignified, elegant, rational music it is! Lines echoed by passing between voices and on to instruments; big and joyous interval jumps, and shapely lines. Apparently Handel is famous for word-painting where the melody mimics the meaning of the lyrics, so lines rise to mountains and fall to valleys, and “crooked” alternates crookedly between B to C#. I heard a unison bass and bassoon line that surprised and amused me. But always the neat cadences to confirm dignity at the end of scenes. I enjoyed it immensely, and the final applause was long and enthusiastic, seemingly beyond the expectations by the performers. In the end, I felt the words were strangely other-worldly (no-one much chats about exalted valleys, easy yokes or feeding flocks these days or even walking in darkness) but the rational baroque music fits well enough with modern rationality in architecture and politics and economics. We left with high spirits and much joy to take on the Christmas season. Truly a fabulous outing, so thanks in spades to my neighbour Trish and the rest of the performers. BTW, ArtSound were recording the Saturday night performance, so keep you ears tuned for the replay.

Ambassadors

Miroslav Bukovsky and his quartet played the Bruschetta Café on Thursday night. This is a sublime band: the most subtle and virtuosic of the recent students with the mature master and new compositions all round. From the first tune, I thought story-telling. The musical structure was not complex, but the playing was exquisite and pensive. I thought Film Noir with dark alleys and the unkempt, self-damning detective. Think Charlie Haden and Quartet West: purposeful and restrained, precise but with humanity and humility. This was deep, demanding, concert material. The attention level was pretty good in the space, but it was also a restaurant and some people were presumably there for other purposes. Fair enough, and their chatting was mostly curbed by the attention lavished by others in attendance or by one or other of the stunning solos. And the solos were fabulous. Ed positively overwhelmed the space as he developed from the lightest of taps to the most intense of percussive extravagance. Miro dropped eminently tuneful little turns of phrase or descended into long and sharp scalar runs that weaved though dissonances and ended at unexpected places. Luke was muscular in volume for his jaggedy lines, richly extended chords and mobile dissonances. Bill was the great listener, waiting for the muse and then explosive with fast runs, always with honey smooth tonality and long sustain and accurate intonation. No-one standing on anyone’s toes; no interruptions; close listening and huge dynamics. Miro has obvious influences from Miles so no surprise when I heard suggestions of Sketches of Spain in some passages. And I thought later Miles while listening to Luke’s piano a times, but he’s broader in conception than just this one style. To me, this was chamber jazz, meaning intimate and perfect for this audience, but not the French polished form that people often use this term for (here I think MJQ). This had depth of soul and passion, despite the perfection of the presentation and the clarity of intention. This band has recently toured interstate and we may get a CD out of them at some stage. Good, because they are excellent ambassadors. This really is music at the highest level of the local scene, and we are blessed to be able to hear them, and doubly so in such intimate surroundings. Excellent, profound music, and thanks.

BTW, the Bruschetta Café is a new University of Canberra venue which seems to have good support from the University. It promises to stage some prominent acts in a nice concert environment over the coming year. UCAN does lots of interesting musical things: community choirs and orchestras and the like. And the price, at least for Miro last night and for Eric Ajaye’s Vertical a month or so ago, was unbeatable: free. Well worth your support, and perhaps a pre-concert dinner.

Miroslav Bukovsky (trumpet) played with Luke Sweeting (piano), Bill Williams (bass) and Ed Rodrigues (drums).

Out of the studio

Reuben Lewis and his Quintet performed two sets at the Front the other night, supported by the Andy Campbell Quartet. It wasn’t the busiest night, but it was very satisfying, showcasing the different styles of original music composed by Reuben and Andy.

Andy played first. They played one set of five tunes of richly changing time signatures that obviously demanded careful counting and care with the charts. Other Andy confirmed that it wasn’t an easy read, and the band wasn’t overly practised so it was a challenge. But they are competent players and the performance was satisfying. These were good solid and loud rock-influenced feels, with solid, hard-hitting drums from Aiden and that characteristic rich syncopation on electric bass by Chris. I guess that the melodies were composed first and that they defined the time signatures and chords rather than the other way around. I expect that’s how ballads are written, and it’s probably how you end up with tunes like Andy’s that count 5/4, 6/4 and 4/4 all in the same chart. I enjoyed both the Andies when they soloed. A year or more back, I heard Andy C as a bit jagged and disconnected in some of his solos, but now he’s developed this into clever twists of phrasing that deliver pleasantly unexpected lines. Andy B has a different approach, as would a pianist: sometimes chordal; sometimes harmonically substituted; often a different use of intervals. I especially liked his playing with sequences that he would repeat in different keys and pitches. I caught the titles for the last two tunes, and that evoked some interest for me. The penultimate was called “Pool party” and was written for one, but it was a particularly cool event. I heard it more as a laid back easy-going tryst rather than a lively, splashy affair, and I guess that’s what that pool party was like. The last was Belco, obviously from Belconnen, the area that Andy apparently grew up in. This was gentle and hinted of lullaby, or even of Hawaii and Arthur Lyman (perhaps from the heavy tremolo on the guitar). It wasn’t a Belco that I recognise, but then I’ve never lived there. But that’s of no importance, and I enjoyed the set.

Reuben played second. The band has spent time over recent weeks preparing then tracking a CD which they plan to mix and master over coming weeks and release in February. So we could expect a well rehearsed and settled band, and we got it. I really liked these two sets from the first sounds of front line horn harmonies: Reuben on cornet and Max on tenor. For this band, the times were more settled and the melodies more classically clear. After the first set, I chatted with students who identified the style with European jazz, but I heard post-bop moving to cool from the fifties and some well informed mature jazz-following mates agreed. I also heard hints of the crystalline but luscious nature of CTI records of the 70s and without residual schmaltz. Suffice to say, I very much enjoyed it. Steady rhythms of ska/reggae through solid swings and sambas and then to some more ambient, expressionist styles in the second set, and a fully composed short tune to finish called “Get well soon”. All steady and thoughtful stuff. Lovely interweaving or sometimes parallel harmonies up front, and even some unison lines from other combinations, like wah-ed nylon strung guitar and tenor. Well considered solos that didn’t shout speed or virtuosity, but moved you through emotions with well-picked intervals and phrasings. There were some tonalities, too, that I noticed were different: Reuben playing cornet mostly in preference to trumpet (not so harsh a tone, but retaining an edge that the flugelhorn discards in favour of mellifluousness), and Matt’s very unusual amplified nylon-strung guitar with its thumpier sound that worked well in the rhythm section with Chris’s thumpy acoustic bass. Aiden was again on drums, but this was more the jazz style, with brushes and swing times and jazz accents. We even heard a few simultaneous solos from the horns, a style that is occasionally revived by modern players. This band first played at Jazz Uncovered in April and they caught my ears then. They are more developed and settled now. The music is gentle and tuneful, and it’s played with soft, acoustic sounds. It was a great gig, and I’m looking forward to hear how Reuben and mates preserve it for posterity on CD. Very well done.

Andy Campbell (guitar) led a quartet with Andy Butler (piano), Chris Pound (bass) and Aiden Lowe (drums). Reuben Lewis (cornet, trumpet) led a quintet with Max Williams (tenor), Matt Lustri (guitar), Chris Pound (bass) and Aiden Lowe (drums).

For polite company?

Robot Sex Dolls came to Earth at the Front on Sunday. I didn’t know of the band, but a mention of “influences of 70s Miles, electronica and the conceptual improvisation approaches of Ornette Coleman and Cecil Taylor” had me hot under the collar. So I did some research, and it was illuminating, although not just about the band itself. That’s a digression for late night and a few drinks (and it’s further evidence that the Japanese love gadgets) so back to the Front.

RSD is a trio of sax, keyboards and drums that is often supplemented with bass. On their CD, it’s Cameron Undy. At the Front, it was our local Chris Pound. They are from Adelaide and the product of a lengthy residency with an invitation to be challenging. And they certainly are challenging in some of the more out tunes and especially with the runner that finished the gig with ecstatic cacophony. But there’s also a strong groove component with jazz-rock and dub and reggae feels. The charts were mostly one liners, and the all-important grooves were often set with a piano left hand before being taken over by bassist Chris P who was new to the music. The melodies were sometimes simple, sometimes recurrent, and merged into soaring soprano and tenor plays from Chris S that twisted freely and satisfyingly through alternative harmonies. Richard’s keys were big, busy, other-wordly adventures. A local keyboard mate heard Rhodes and Wurlitzer tones but admitted to not picking up on all the effects from the Nord keyboard. He suggested flanger, and there was definitely tremolo and perhaps a ring modulator and I guess other delay-based effects. But it was his playing that was really extreme, with hands flailing over the keys and, on the other hand, an organ-like approach that hinted of sustained (organ) rather than percussive (piano) sounds. So when I heard organ it was not unexpected because Richard often plays Hammond.

The soloing was wonderfully out and challenging, but (as a rhythm section player, I can say this) there’s no band without the groove, and I loved the combination of drums and bass. Gilli would set a groove and hold with rock-like precision, looking around with sunnies and drummer-cool. At one stage, I realised the band was essentially playing rock music, but as it should be played: with solidity and strength and with well-chosen fills and contrasting rhythms as only a trained player can do. In the context, Chris P was a wonder. He was just sitting in, but his playing was strong and apt and easily deserving of the recognition he was getting from the band: syncopating with complexity and inventiveness through grooves and solos with a delicious bassy thud. It was a stunningly capable performance. Looking back and over the ecstasy and soaring solos, I think variety. The reggae and dub and rock and jazz-rock were there (one tune successfully channelled Bitches Brew-era Miles) but also a few ballads, with their more involved melodies and restrained soloing. One was written for the Bali bombings: Richard knows the father of one lost son. Another was written for a lost love, and looking out the window, seeing a young bloke performing on a skateboard, I thought of human males as the performers as females sit and chat. Interesting, but another diversion … as were the (pant, pant) Japanese gadgets.

This was powerful music with no room for slackers but with a sense of enjoyment and ecstasy. Involved and complex and heads-down music that was sometimes harsh but with a positive, humane feel. Just confirmed when you saw Chris S frequently smiling at the strength of the groove or the ebullience of the solos. Catch them if you can.

Robot Sex Dolls were Richard Coates (keyboards and programming), Gilli Atkinson (drums) and Chris Soole (soprano, tenor saxes). Chris Pound (bass) sat in for the gig.

Double header: set 2

John reappeared with the band he got together to perform his compositions for his recent Recital at the Jazz School. They had performed for the recital, and presented one ArtSound Friday Night Live (which I sadly missed), and this was their one gig. But what an gig! I always love the complexity of interwoven written horn lines. Here, the bell-like clarity of two trombones and trumpet/flugelhorn rang through, with Jo Lloyd’s impassioned alto fills. Wonderful, goodebumps material, this. Then time for solos all round. I noticed the diverse guitar styles, at least in solos: Andy’s rapid lines; Matt’s minimalist explorations. Raf especially commented on their accompaniment; I missed most behind the horns but noticed some single note counterpoint that was fascinating. Raf was involved and entertaining as he inevitably is, with slap and solos on his Yamaha. Grey did another minimal but melodic solo, accompanied by unison voice. Jo always excites, and was no less here, sounding increasingly professional in style and comprehension. Rob’s solo was melodic and rich; Valdis’ was more simple but strong and emphatic. Bari always reminds me of Mingus bands, and I enjoyed Tom’s solo. John was leading so more out front, the smiling leader, again more outspoken in this context than in the Boys. They played a version of Freddie Freeloader, but otherwise it was originals with lush front line harmonies ringing with the clarity of brass over a range of changing rhythms and grooves – funk, rock, jazz, 12/8, 6/4, well varied. There was some intonation that wasn’t perfect, but this is not a regularly performing band and the music is not trivial or constant. But it was was vibrant, alive, informed music. Truly impressive stuff.

Three By 3 was led by John Milton (drums) and played charts compased and arranaged by him. The rest of the band was Jonty Hall (trumpet), Joe Lloyd (alto saxophone), Rob Lee (trombone), Valdis Thomann (trombone), Tom Fell (baritone sax), Matt Lustri and Andy Campbell (guitars), Grey Milton (piano, vocals) and Rafael Jerjen (bass).

Double header: set 1

The Front is a strange and unique place. It’s the centre of a little artistic and bohemian-cum-indie community that’s quite unusual in modern Australia, at least given the places I inhabit or am aware of. There’s music of all sorts, ages of all sorts, costumes of all sorts, arts and theatre and cabaret. There’s a constant chatter, there are sketchers and drinkers and listeners. You feel you are part of the show at the Front, and it’s exciting and friendly. Last night’s show was a double header and a great night out. Just two sets, but varied and new.

Gerry and the Boys opened for the first set. Garry is Gerry Gardiner, one time bassist for Johnny O’Keefe’s DeeJays and a stalwart of early Cnaberra jazz clubs. And his history was evident in his playing: a nice awareness of blues and standards lines, with fitting chromatics and a sense of dynamics. His bass also had stories: an old Boosey & Hawkes from the 1940s, blond, ply, ex-Army band, that he’s found with shards of glass poking through one hole in the back, and a broken neck. But it played OK. The Boys were Dirk, Graham and John of As Famous as the Moon, a sweet, melodious outfit that does standards like a dream when in flight. They played Blues, My little suede shoes, Well you needn’t, Softly. Standard stuff, but some laid back walks and lovely, capable solos.

Gerry and the Boys were Gerry Gardiner (bass), Dirk Zeylmans (tenor saxophone), Graham Monger (guitar) and John Milton (drums). BTW, excuse splitting this post, but Blogger has imposed new limits of tags, so no choice.

Paris

“Sorry but I'm in Paris at the moment.” That’s the coolest reason I’ve ever given for turning down a gig. But last week Dirk made another offer that I couldn’t refuse and I had a great time. Just Dirk, Graham and me – tenor, guitar, bass. But we got some solid swings and decent latins going, we enjoyed some long and slightly indulgent solos, and we had a chatty loud audience that was having a good time and let us have our head, so all was well. It was a Real Book repertoire. I was impressed that Graham jumped at one of my favourites, that lovely if syrupy ballad, Out of nowhere. And I enjoyed playing a Charlie Parker’s Blues for Alice that falls constantly through 2-5s in various chromatic changes. I played my double bass, but also took the opportunity to bring out the old Maton fretless which has sat in the cupboard for years and deserved the outing. Graham had his toneful semi-acoustic Gibson and old Fender amp, and Dirk’s horn was shiny and no doubt slick and perfectly set up. The melodies flowed easily and the communication was simple and effective with the slightest of glances. As it should be. Excuse the indulgent entry but the night deserved it: a gig that was very much enjoyed. Thanks to Dirk and Graham.

Eric Pozza (bass) sat in with Dirk Zeylmans (tenor) and Graham Monger (guitar).

Jazz narratives of nationhood

It was a different jazz experience when I heard Bruce Johnson present his lecture on jazz in Australia and its relationship to film over the first half of the 20th Century. The talk was one of a three lecture series by Bruce. The Canberra talk was entitled Jazz & Australia: Bridging the gap on screen. My summary of Bruce’s presentation is this.

Australia was a masculine place in its early days, with its ethos determined by the bush and male strength and perseverance. Jazz was more feminine, a product of an urban environment, a component in the decline of Western civilisation. Think drunken jazz parties and jazz as an ecstatic dance form in silent films. This association with dance as primarily a feminine art was threatening to the honest labour of the bush. As films added sound and industrialisation was promoted in Australia between the world wars, jazz came to be legitimised within the narratives of a more urban nationhood. Interestingly, this parallelled the building of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, representing a link between the industrialised south shore and the more rural north shore. Well before the time of Dingo, Ralf de Heer’s 1991 outback film featuring Miles Davis, jazz had taken on a musical seriousness in the popular consciousness, become the music of modernity and found a synergy with the bush. Bruce showed snippets of early films featuring jazz bands (The cheaters, Showgirl’s lunch, Squatter’s daughter) to display the early view of jazz as wanton and depraved and to confirm the modernising thesis. These snippets are always amusing to our eyes, and they got a few chuckles. As did the song called “Can’t sleep in the movies anymore” referring to the new-fangled talking movies. And the poster for a lost film, Can a girl propose, which was obviously indicative of early feminism and a changing society.

We heard plenty of interesting bits of trivia. The first jazz concert in Australia was a theatre burlesque affair, sometime around 1918. The first jazz festival held anywhere was staged in Australia, and it was so successful that it ran for an extra week. Jazz parties were a form of indulgent, bohemian affairs at the time. As an ex-librarian, I was particularly interested to hear that the State Library of South Australia has a unique collection of 80 shelf metres of sheet music to accompany silent films, from the archives of the now demolished State Theatre in Sydney. It is perhaps the only collection of its type in the world, and is particularly valuable as each piece of music has a date and place of performance, so it could be linked to a film being presented in a town on a certain date. Another fascinating snippet was about a ban against black/foreign (?) musicians performing in Australia that stood until Louis Armstrong visited in the 1950s. (See John Sharpe's corrections below). The ban followed a promiscuous visit early in the century that was busted by the police. Apparently the Musicians’ Union combined with the forces of propriety and intolerance to oust that band and establish the regulations to prevent further visits. All interesting, and a very different form of jazz outing from the other gigs that get reported here.

Corrections

Thanks to John Sharpe for his email with the corrections copied below. John is the author of our local history of jazz and obviously a far better historian than me. John’s book is A cool capital : the Canberra jazz scene, 1925-2005 / John Sharpe. http://shop.nla.gov.au/product_info.php?products_id=3708 Eric

There was a discussion about race relations in jazz in Australia. Mention was made about the sex, drugs and jazz scandal at the time of the first African-American jazz band to visit Australia in 1928 - Sonny Clay’s Plantation Band (this is covered in my book ‘A Cool Capital, pages 19-22). It’s interesting that Ivy Anderson, later to sing with the Duke Ellington Orchestra was in that band (dancing in photo). Someone said (not Bruce) that visits to Australia by black jazz musicians were then banned until Louis Armstrong came out in the 1950s. Not so. Rex Stewart, ex Duke Ellington trumpet player came to Australia and toured with Graeme Bell in 1949 (see photo).

This was opposed by the Australian Musicians Union which eventually reluctantly agreed that Rex could play near but not with the band. He had to appear as a soloist and at all times had to stand at least 60 centimetres in front of any accompanying orchestra (see photo). This visit is covered in Graeme’s autobiography pages 126-34.

While in Australia Rex also recorded with some of our then leading modernists, including Frank Smith, Don Andrews, Bruce Clarke and Don Banks (Australian Jazz on Record 1925-80 – Jack Mitchell, page 197).

Old guardians

It’s a pleasure when the old guard returns. Last night it was Michael Coggins at Trinity. Michael’s a guitarist, ex-Jazz School and now in Sydney. He led a trio with Simon Milman and Mark Sutton. The set started with what seemed like original, mostly groove-based tunes with moderately complex overlying melodies, although later he was playing some standards charts. I noticed from the start a comfortable and confident style, mixing unhurried melodies with chordal fills, all at ease and unpressured. The structures were simple, at least for the groove tunes, but they came with interesting melodies overlaid. He felt eminently unfussed in playing them, displaying a competence that I enjoyed. Mostly it was a clean and unaffected standard jazz tone that he used, but there was also a descent into a rocky, overdriven sound and playing to match, and this was lively and well received.

The band worked well, too, and I’m sure this was related to Michael’s composed leadership. The easy going and quiet starts left lots of room to grow the volume and intensity, which was another benefit of such a composed approach. Simon fitted the bill with steady and reliable bass accompaniment. I noticed this especially on a tune that I counted as 10/4, where he held the line mostly unchanged. This can be easier said than done, and is often lauded by sidekicks if less so by less-informed listeners. The bass player’s role can be thus. His solos were interesting. I heard them as modal explorations, modifying 8th note lines by starting from different notes of the scale. Again, controlled but exploratory. Mark was more outspoken, and I felt the drumming was amongst the most memorable I’ve heard from him. The bass/guitar ostinato and grooves obviously suited and he played with precision and constant innovation: rolls collapsing into skins, rhythms cutting across grooves, accents constantly shifting and colours moving, and a unity that was clear over the solo. Great solos that had me in awe, and were obviously well received by the audience.

Michael Coggins (guitar) led a trio with Simon Milman (bass) and Mark Sutton (drums) at Trinity.

Perfected pitch

A female singing mate who I met at the Michelle Nicole gig wondered if Michelle had perfect pitch. I’d noticed just how pitch perfect she was, from the deepest growls to the highest of soprano tones. It was exquisite how she’d jump through fifths or octaves to these sky-high pitches, and still, to my ear, be spot on pitch. And it’s true, she did start tunes with no accompaniment, and they were on pitch when the backing band entered, so I guess she did have pp. It was not the only pleasure on the night. Michelle was playing with a trio that she’s long known, and the interaction and close responsiveness showed throughout the night. Lovely, intuitive responses; dynamics that moved instantly; tunes moving up and under and through the chords, led by Michelle or another player, but always sweet and accurate.

The tunes were also a joy. Singers add a special touch that instrumentalists can’t, given the stories they can tell and their use of language, which is perhaps the defining attribute of humanity. As I write, the songs seem corny, but they are mostly well known and Michelle gave them a rare humanity and personality. There will never be another you; You made me love you, I didn’t want to do it (sung in film by a teenage Judy Garland to a photo of Clark Gable); Dearly beloved; Hey you, you with the stars in your eyes; When you’re in love, it’s the loveliest night of the year; So in love; Lover. Standards from the early days that we might scoff at. They are certainly innocent, but there’s truth and wry humour there too. A new one on me was There’s a small hotel, which Michelle introduced as “risqué in its day”. I’m sure it was, but it was simple and open and a touching statement of desire. Subtle yet knowing and not at all in-your-face as we’d be now. There were a few jazz tunes, too. A surprisingly lyrical ballad by Ornette Coleman (?). I wondered if I’d heard this right; I didn’t catch the title just the name. I now think it was Lonely woman, a Horace Silver ballad that Ornette's famous for performing. And a Tadd Dameron tune called If you could see me now.

Back to the playing. Michelle was perfectly pitched and timed, involved, accurate. The band was similarly in touch, similarly accurate. Geoff toyed with volume and very moderate effects, but otherwise just played so stylishly and aptly, fast at times, but never brash. Ronny was similarly in touch and light and understated. I had trouble hearing Tom, with a soft tone and not the best mix, but he too was connected and restrained and took a nice solo or two. So, fabulous singing and a wonderfully in-touch band, and simple and touching tunes. A great night.

BTW, I should also mention the venue. Michelle played at The Q: the Queanbeyan Performing Arts Centre. It’s new, comfortable and capable, and easy to access and park. Something like our own Street Theatre. They had had a launch of the theatrical calendar for 2010 before the concert, and it’s looking busy and interesting. I wish them luck. And special thanks for the gratis tickets they gave me for this show. I wasn’t expecting to go, but enjoyed it immensely when I did.

Michelle Nicolle (vocals) was backed by Geoff Hughes (guitar), Tom Lee (bass) and Ronny Farella (drums) at the Q.

Organic developments

It was a steamier style for Matt Thompson’s Organ Trio at the Trinity than I had previously heard at Moruya. Matt is not one to play screeds of notes or flourishes. It’s much more the deep, elusive interval or harmony that defines his approach to my ears, at least in the couple of outfits that I’ve seen him play with. At Moruya, his Organ Trio was particularly sparse. But Trinity’s a noisy venue, and there was a large group of people partying last night. Perhaps this brought out just a little of the mongrel in the trio.

I caught the first set. I think it was Wayne Shorter to start then another favourite melody, but I didn’t recall the titles. Then a lumbering organ blues and ballad Georgia and Softly as a morning sunrise. I heard it as hotter than previous outings, but there were still moody, floating passages that sat waiting for crepuscular melodies. Early on, I noticed a satisfyingly solid swing from John, rich with precise accents and snaps and rolls, which harkened to the hotter outing. But always there was Matt defining the cool, holding back on careless ebullience. Max is a good choice for such an outfit. He’s thoughtful and considered, working the chords steadily and comfortable with considerable dissonance. He plays faster and longer lines as the solo progresses, but they have an inevitability that speaks of solo development. But Matt is the master of the calm and considered. This is theory parsed to the n-th degree. The sparsest of lines, the most minimal of solos, the most tangential of intervals, but there’s hidden harmony that beguiles as you settle in. Melodies that weave through the structure, often distant or perpendicular, as they resolve to the tune that you knew was always there but shadowed in the minimalist soundscape. It’s elusive and inscrutable and a bit baffling. But it’s not unknowable and I’m still coming to grips with it. This is a mature player with a developed and personal style that doesn’t divulge its secrets lightly. Quite a challenge, not least to me.

Matt Thompson (keyboards) led his Organ Trio with Max Williams (tenor) and John Wilton (drums) at Trinity.

Kind of blue

Miroslav Bukovsky and mates presented a tribute to Miles a few months ago. I missed because I was overseas, so I was happy to see that it was to be reprised at the Alliance Francaise. The tribute was called Kind of Blue, but it was more a celebration of the late-50s Miles by one of his many admirers, Miro. They played all the tracks from Kind of blue, with occasional transcriptions and the addition of intros as on the album. But they also played three tunes from the Louis Malle film, L’Ascenseur pour l’echafaud, and a tune called MDD (Miles Dewey Davis) that Miro had written on the day Miles died, along with Milestones, that early modal piece from Miles’ hard-bop, pre-cool era. And very satisfying it was, too.

Most of the tunes from KoB have become jazz standards, and we hear them regularly when jazzers are blowing: So what, Freddie Freeloader and All blues. Blue in green is less common, as is Flamenco sketches. These later are lovely, pensive pieces with Bill Evans harmonies and both were a joy. It was nice to remember that even the common tunes were actually fairly slow and cool in the originals, while they are often now performed up-tempo and with verve. The horns up front were lovely, with those simple, stark but effective melodies to start each of these minimally composed numbers. The soloing was good by all throughout. John’s powerhouse tone and showers of notes and a bible of substitutions. Miro with his Harmon mute for the gentler numbers, or rapidly running the changes with blaring trumpet volume. Sebastian more bluesy then dissolving into dissonant lines and honks and interval studies. Joe Lloyd ever the emotional, passionate downhill run across the whole range of the alto. The rhythm section was another batch of local stars. Luke’s comping was imaginative and responsive and leading but also understated. Ed was the sharp and precise across the dynamic range, constantly changing tones and sounds on his kit with different sticks of mallets or brushes. Hannah was regular and solid throughout long, fast hard-bop walks, up into thumb positions and down to the low E-string. The rhythm section soloed with panache, too. Hannah’s solos were well-formed little gems that were especially memorable on the gentle pieces like Blue in green . Ed’s solos were also short, but strong and clear in intent. Luke’s were rich plays with harmonies as only a pianist can do, right hand working busily up and down the keyboard.

The three tunes from L’Ascenseur pour l’echafaud were new to me. Miles extended a visit to Paris and recorded the soundtrack for this film for release in 1959. Three tunes: the first was a classic, plaintive Miles melody with Harmon mute. The second was a rolling swing. The third was a fast swing, light and slightly unstable, careening, which appeared in the film behind a car chase. The final tune of the night was aN elegy to Miles by Miro. A lovely tune played with feeling and sometimes funereal drums from Ed. So, a satisfying night. A few transcriptions, but mostly original playing influenced by the master from this masterful period of the last 1950s. Much enjoyed.

Miroslav Bukovsky (trumpet) led a band with Joe Lloyd (alto sax), Sebastian McIntosh (tenor sax), Luke Sweeting (piano), Hannah James (bass) and Ed Rodriguez (drums). John Mackey (tenor sax) appeared as “+1”.

Brendan finally

It was the Wine, Roses & all that Jazz festival weekend in Canberra where the local wineries book bands and everyone tours around for tastings. It was a gloriously sunny and warm day, and I chose the Brendan Drake Trio at Lambert Vineyards. I’ve known Brendan for many years but not heard him sing for ages. Brendan leads on vocals, somewhere in the baritone/tenor range, I’d guess. But such lovely tunes, the standards of the jazz era: The very thought of you, Angel eyes, Let’s fall in love, Lullaby of Birdland, Stardust, How deep is the ocean. All these tunes we know, with the words and seldom performed introductions that we don’t. And Brendan has a sense of that timing that Sinatra is famous for. It’s seldom that you hear male jazz vocals, and after today, I’m convinced it’s a shame. I loved his timing, but also the long and jagged intervals which seem to me the essence of this style. The deep voice, obviously deeper than the women, that makes those intervals ring with luxuriance. Brendan’s offsiders were stalwarts of the local scene that I’ve featured here often: James Luke and Paul dal Broi. The warmth was lovely as was the Pinot noir, but it was also Paul’s blissfully cool but richly and intelligently substituted playing that had me delighted. Bass doesn’t support the same level of harmonic adventurousness, but James played plenty of solos along with maintaining a rock-solid feel throughout. These are both capable players with stable grooves and flowing walks. What better for a Sunday afternoon at a winery? There was a sit-in too. One of Brendan’s ex-students, Alexa Miller, was there with a party group, and got up to sing Fever. The day was like that – eminently pleasant. And for those out of town, look at the scenery from the deck of the winery and drool.

Brendan Drake (vocals) led a trio with James Luke (bass) and Paul dal Broi (piano) at the Lambert Vineyard for Canberra’s annual Wine Roses and All that Jazz Festival. Alexa Miller sat in for one tune.

350th birthday? Not jazz!

Thanks to Purcell for his fine, dignified music. Thanks to the Canberra Choral Society for a wonderful performance last night for Purcell’s 350th Birthday at the Llewellyn Hall. And thanks to ArtSound for the tix I won during the afternoon radiothon. We’d been thinking of attending, but in the end it was the prize that got us there and I’m so glad we went.

I love choral music, but this was not Beethoven or Orff or even Bach. It was a night of a little baroque orchestra with a wonderful, moderately sized choral group. The music is superbly dignified. I continually imagined myself in castles and palaces, or perhaps Westminster Abbey for the famed Funeral Music for Queen Mary. I noticed the music often moving in little phrases that were progressively mirrored by different voices or instruments, often rising in pitch, sometimes seemingly indefinitely. They were simple phrases, but of melodic purity. The brass rings true to the era, and the strings get a minor and much simpler role. The words are in English. I could pick some, banal to our ears: “Sound the trumpet”, “Strike the viol”; but also the heart-rending “Remember me” from Aeneas to her lost love, Dido.

These were Purcell masterpieces, apparently, starting with the Birthday ode for Queen Mary, through Te Deum, King Arthur, some songs, and Dido and Aeneas, to finish with the Funeral march for Queen Mary. There were six soloists. I particularly noted Tobias Cole (countertenor) for his strength and purpose of vision, and Karen Fitz-Gibbon (sporano) for her similar purpose, but also for that soaring, crisp voice. It was not all perfect, but this is an non-profit group presumably with amateur chorists, if not instrumentalists and soloists. I noticed some uncomfortable spots: soloists rushing or occasional uncomfortable harmonies in the orchestra or choral balance (common problem: too few men in choirs). And I didn’t like that baroque organ hiding the so-important brass. (The poor brass have a hard time in fine music: they are forever waiting to play in classical, and when they get their opportunity in baroque, they are hidden). But I was stunned by the beauty and clarity of purpose and we were taken back to another era that truly felt different. Just listen to the dolorous dignity of the drum processional for the Funeral March, and the pained majesty of following brass march to feel this splendour. Wonderful!

The Canberra Choral Society presented Purcell” a 350th birthday tribute at the Llewellyn Hall. Peter Pocock coducted; soloists were Sonia Anfiloff, Karen Fitz-Gibbon, Tobias Cole, David Yardley, David Mackay and Benjamin Connor. There was an orchestra of 25 and a choir of 71.

Heavy patter

The ArtSound Radiothon continued with a special edition of Friday Night Live featuring the Monsoon Trio. The name’s new, although the members are pretty well known to CJ: James LeFevre, Eric Ajaye and Chris Thwaite. James is a great front man, confidently calling for cash for support from subscribers, and there were some promises made during the concert. It verged on the challenging and unknown at times, and perhaps not the popular singalong standards that appear in a normal telethon (think variety stars) but that’s not the ArtSound way. But we like liked it in the control room, and the band had a great time. There were some standards in the first set and a bit more adventurousness in the second. The standards included Alone together and Stella, some from the master Monk, Friday the 13th and Misterioso, and the lovely Beatrice, which seems to have recently grown in popularity around Canberra. James provided his ode to CJ Dennis, Triantiwontigongolope, and they played Miroslav Bukovsky’s gloriously tuneful Wanderlust number, Delicatessence. I love the chord-free sound of a horn trio, and this was a good example, open and clear. You need strong players so the chordal structure remains clear, and Eric and James did that perfectly capably, and Chris rang the changes equally clearly. A nicely relaxed concert rather than tempestuous, with an open sound and a good mix of tunes, and for a good cause.

Monsoon Trio are James LeFevre (tenor), Eric Ajaye (bass) and Chris Thwaite (drums).

Radiothon

ArtSound lauched its Radiothon this weekend. Lounge suits were de rigueur, there were drinks and canapes and ArtSound’s patron and Viceregal consort, Michael Bryce, gave a few humourous words and formally opened the Radiothon.

Dave Rodriguez and Lachlan Coventry entertained in the background, and Tony Magee and Chris Deacon migrated to the Yamaha C6 grand in the studio for an impromptu concert. I hadn't heard Tony before, although he's well known around town. He's got an impressive memory. Firstly Gershwin and Cole Porter then on to Moonlight Sonata. The Beethoven was lovely romantic stuff, nicely played and not too protracted, and it was all pretty much on call. The Canberra Times social photographer, Lyn Mills, was also there and I managed a snap of she who is normally the other side of the lens.

Best of luck to ArtSound and their fund-raising. Feel free to ring and make a donation to a good cause or even just finally do the right thing and become a paying member. They do great work for jazz and all the arts in Canberra.

Vibes (Wangaratta 2009)

There are vibes around a few players at every festival. Linda Oh gained vibes during the festival, but Ari Hoenig and his offsider, Gilad Hekselman, arrived with them and didn’t disappoint. You could guess they’d be stars, given the support band as Australian heroes of their instruments, Jamie Oehlers and Sam Anning. I new the names but my jazz school mates were ecstatic in anticipation. Best soloist ever; best drummer. I could see from the start the best drummer, but I’m still considering the best soloist category for Gilad. But there’s no doubt these are guys at the highest levels. New Yorkers, both, of course. Ari is a powerhouse. He can set grooves that are confident and true to type: rock grooves, jazz grooves, funk grooves. These are not approximations, but the real thing: heavy and solid and determined, or light and lithe and delicate; whatever’s required, I’m convinced he can do. He communicates with his fellow players in a way that make you feel you are imposing on a relationship, it’s so true. I felt this with Gilad, where accents and changes of dynamics were instantaneous and perfectly in synch. Then those solos. He’d take a concept and dissect it in numerous, ever inventive ways, with the oddest of parts, perhaps 7 or 11 or just 8, and the cleverest of rudiments, but always with precision to die for and endlessly moving to the next. The precision showed up equally in dynamics. One minute, he’d worked up to intensity and rock punchiness, then from beat four to beat one it was ppp and the gentlest and most perfect of lullaby rhythms to put your baby to sleep by. His face expressed it all. Ever mobile and in touch with his fellow players and signalling one thing or another, or just observing. For Gilad and Ari observed, frequently, regularly, and you could see the result in their playing.

Gilad seemed firstly to me to be equally precise, but with a West Coast or ECM guitar clarity that I found too cool. And his early solos were tonal, fast but essentially folkish, I thought. My mates looked on in disbelief so I knew I had to think more on this. Through the next two concerts, there were solos that blew me away with complexity and speed and precision and alterations, so this was not just the simple melodies of folk, but I’m left still somehow unaffected. A master, of that there’s no doubt; but perhaps too cool, too precise. Strange, because I didn’t feel that with Ari.

The pair played with local heros, Jamie Oehlers and Sam Anning. Both are stars of the Australian jazz firmament. Jamie was flying up and down the octaves with mellifluous and lightly formed notes, and Sam was solid and in touch and capable in his soloing. But there seemed a disconnect somewhere, and I felt it in the last set when they played a blues. Gilad played a basic blues-guitar style, which was very different from a jazz blues. Think that folk simplicity that I’d heard on the first day. I thought, this is not a limitation of technique (none there!) but an exploration of style. Ari’s readiness to move styles – funk, blues, rock, jazz – fitted with this toying with styles. Jamie played his solo, and it remained in a jazz, post-Trane style. Gilad was playing these big, ugly chords in rabid contrast and I was wondering why. He probably hadn’t articulated it, but I thought these ugly intrusive chords were a demand to play the other, to put on a mask, to enter this ironic world of styles and fashions and relativities. Now, I’m not denying anyone’s capabilities here, but I felt here was a mismatch, and it was not around technique, but musical conception. On one side, the earnest modernism; on the other, the ironic post-modernism. Perhaps not conscious, in fact probably not conscious.

This evening before writing this piece, I looked at YouTube for a video of Ari. I found Ari and Gilad and a bassist, seemingly doing a workshop somewhere. The bassist was toying with his bass, spinning it, playing with it. Everything that an earnest jazz bassist doesn’t do. This was the giveaway to me. So, fabulous playing all around. Three eye-opening concerts, and drum solos to die for and to remember for posterity, and guitar lines that shred the octaves and harmonies. Similarly, sax solos of endless energy and capability. But essentially also a mismatch somewhere that limited the whole from being the great.

I’d like to hear what you think, if you were there… Just add your comments below.

Ari Hoenig (drums) led a quartet with Gilad Hekselman (guitar), Jamie Oehlers (tenor) and Sam Anning (bass).

Oh-zone (Wangaratta 2009)

Excuse the pun, but I couldn’t bring myself to not use it. It was unexpected, but I managed to catch New York-based Australian bassist, Linda Oh, three times this weekend. A concert at the Band Room at very short notice, and two gigs at Wangaratta. Thus Linda Oh x 3 = O3 = Ozone. We may have repaired the Ozone Layer, but Linda remains a challenge, although in the most intellectually and emotionally pleasing way. This woman leads a trio with rabid energy and a bass style that’s hugely busy and mobile and all over the fingerboard. It’s a stunning technique. It took few outings to understand better what she’s playing. On the first I thought I heard heavily altered scales, although a jazz school mate suggested it was more sedate arpeggios and modes. Listening again, there were tunes based on repeated descending chords, some diminished structures overlaid, multi-octave arpeggios and harmonics and runs and chromatic leading notes. But it was not just the tonalities but also the sheets of notes that thrilled. The frequent bass solos punctuated complex melodies over tonal centres, her left hand reaching to the dumpy thin high notes, right up to the double octave, frequently slashing at double time from deepest bass to the highest notes with control and pitch and astonishing speed.

Her melody offsider, trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire, seemed tame next to such an outspoken bass style, but it was a very satisfying contrast and he played with individuality and passion. His was a more tender, restrained style, but rich with a trumpet history and inflections that I think of as New Orleans, breathy interludes and squeezed notes, sustained intervallic exercises, thoughtful and careful. It was on edge, too, with little fluffs becoming part of the performance, so there was honesty there too. But then they were playing to a jazz school student crowd who they had the workshopped that afternoon, so they were amongst friends. All this was at a restrained volume, which I don’t expect for such music. The second gig to a festival audience less relaxed, more formal, and I felt it was stronger. The third was their last, and they seemed concentrated, but more comfortable, playing to an audience they knew and admired their playing. Linda’s trio was widely seen as a standout at this festival, with good reason. Drummer Tommy Crane was similarly thoughtful, head down and concentrating, rolls and cymbal patter and rhythms expressing the melodies and pushing the frantic business. He too seemed stronger in festival gigs, although brought back to a more earthy level by Charles Tolliver to fit his musical style. I heard the trio’s original music as busy and modern, perhaps harking to experiments of the sixties: difficult music with no space for laggards. I think Corea’s Now he sings… era with bassist Miroslav Vitous: the sound was similar, as is the busy bass. Not easy, but accessible with concentration.

I actually heard most of the band four times, but the pun was too good not to use. Linda Oh (bass) led a trio with Ambrose Akinmusire (trumpet) and Tommy Crane (drums) at the Band Room, ANU and twice at Wangaratta Jazz Festival. Linda and Tommy also played a quartet set with Charles Tolliver and Mike Nock, but see the Tolliver report for that one.

Ambience (Wangaratta 2009)

There were several performances that I would place in the free fringe at this year’s Wangaratta. Difficult, richly improvised, music lacking in obvious form, and with a tendency to extremes of volume at one end or the other, and long crescendos and sustained cacophonies. I hear ambient, but I think the practitioners name it otherwise. I think Necks, and there was something similar in Band of five names. What interested me was the thought that they were educating us to listen: taking sounds and making them art. Perhaps the clunking of strings on a guitar, or an odd mallet on skin, or air blown through a trumpet without forming a note. There were spots of wonderful technical capability too, although I imagine some of a festival audience wouldn’t have noted that. I was astounded by a wonderful extended trumpet passage that weaved through key centres at one stage, and drums that were heavy and steady as lead (I imagine from Simon Barker’s Korean influences) and some simpler but precise piano tinkling that was so, so bell-like, with a purity beyond any Rhodes sound I’ve heard before. This was Band of five names, oddly featuring just four players, although expanded from the original three.

The Australian Art Orchestra was in related territory, although I reckon there was more form written but none too obvious. Again, difficult and demanding music and played with a high level of seriousness. Again, featuring a trumpet tonality. Scott Tinkler led the Orchestra in an extended piece he calls Folk. Folk is dedicated to, and images, folks he knows, seemingly mainly the music scene. From the top we realised there were two drummers, two trumpeters, two guitarists, along with bass and piano: an uncommon line-up. I was taken by passages of piano and trumpet virtuosity. I found the sound effects hard to take at times, but perhaps they were required. Guitars with various effects and the introduction with trumpet played into water for that unique bubble mute tone. I jest, but this was serious. I loved Marc Hannaford’s modern classical piano stylings, and the comparison of the two trumpets was fascinating. Scott Tinkler and Phil Slater are both renowned Australian trumpeters, but they sound and play so differently. I was particularly stunned by Scott’s long and sinuous lines at one stage: endless and virtuosic. But it was a hard one for the punters and plenty didn’t manage the distance.

I just caught a few bars of another ambient concert by Fallingwater Trio. The Sax sang lyrically in the reverberant cathedral space while the guitar and bass held a 7/4 pattern. I didn’t give them time to stretch, and ambient needs time.

So three dreamy, ambient concerts. Demanding of a meditative poise on behalf of the listener. Worth the time if you can achieve that. And educational to boot!

Band of Five Names was Matt McMahon (keyboards), Phil Slater (trumpet), Carl Dewhurst (guitar) and Simon Barker (drums). For this performance, the Australian Art Orchestra comprised Scott Tinkler and Phil Slater (trumpets), Carl Dewhurst and Stephen Magnussen (guitars), Marc Hannaford (piano), Phillip Rex (bass), Simon Barker and Ken Edie (drums). Fallingwater Trio was Phil Bywater (saxophones), Elliot Folvig (guitar) and Dale Lindrea (bass guitar).

Tolliver (Wangaratta 2009)

Charles Tolliver is not a household name in jazz, but he’s a living connection to a great era of hard bop from the sixties, having played in small and larger ensembles with the likes of Jackie McLean and Max Roach. I’d heard a few albums of his, and enjoyed the infectious tunes and lively playing in the smaller bands, and the outspoken energy and thrills of the larger formats. Charles led the Jazzgroove Mothership Orchestra for two concerts of his music, then a small band for a final performance.

The big band concerts were brash and loud and exciting, as they should be. Charles presents quite a forceful personality as a leader, with incisive gestures and clear indications. The horns responded well and played admirably in ensemble. Charles likes the effect of high trumpet notes, so these were not easy charts. I found Evan Mannell a powerhouse on drums, playing wonderfully apt fills and pushing the energy levels. This music demands commitment and lively outlandish involvement, and Evan fitted the bill perfectly, even at the second performance which was early Saturday when he seemed a little the worse for the previous evening’s wear. I felt the piano and guitar were too cool and didn’t really work in this context. I couldn’t hear the bass. The horns seemed to be working hard on the solos, but the mix was such that we missed the effort, at least on the first night. It was better on the Saturday morning. So these were two worthy gigs, although with some problems for me.

Charles played a small ensemble set for his third performance. It was as much a blow as a performance. It wasn’t a particularly well rehearsed outfit and the charts were Tolliver originals but they were good musicians and they carried it off perfectly well. Charles again led the band with instructions all round, especially to drummer Tommy Crane who normally plays a more fluid, coloured style than hard-bop. Linda Oh blew everyone away with wonderful solos and eminent concentration, but eventually relaxed and had some chuckles with Charles. Mike Nock gave a modern, modal twist to the performance. It was outside the tradition, but it fitted well and was a revelation. I remembered several charts from Paper man, a small band album Charles recorded in 1968 with Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, Gary Bartz and Joe Chambers. Charles is not in his earliest days, and there was some struggling on the fast lines, but the performance still lifted the room and thrilled. These are certainly infectious tunes.

Charles Tolliver is a real link to hard bop in its prime, and was a pleasure to hear in the flesh. Charles Tolliver (trumpet) led the Jazzgroove Mothership Orchestra in two performances. He also led a small band with Mike Nock (piano), Linda Oh (bass) and Tommy Crane (drums).