From the top, these guys seemed something from beyond. They snaked through the awaiting audience in the foyer of the Street Theatre just 10 minutes before the gig, moving towards backstage. I was assured they’d been warming up throughout the day, but this was impressively nonchalant. Three snappy dressers: casual, with a beat mix of earth colours, fashionable glasses (they all three wore glasses) and slouching caps. Comfortable, with an air of intelligent commitment but hip alternatives. George Colligan’s bearded chin is fashionable these days, but did nothing but confirm a fifties, Krebsian reference. Don later chatted of the cartoon strip, L’il Abner and distant university romances, so reminiscences of the past, of the fifties, beatniks and even Maynard G, seem appropriate. 
The true masters of an art are in some ways, almost beyond comprehension in their statements, but in other ways they make it all seem simple and self-evident. I felt both these emotions with this trio. I could understand Don’s playing on various horns - he played mostly clarinet, a good dose of a very silver tenor sax, and one tune of a squeaking bass clarinet which he explained didn’t survive the long flight to Australia at all well. At base, as Megan observed, there were arpeggios and scales, taken to high levels of complexity. Of course it was, and it always is, but it was also investigatory and intelligently dissecting or even disinterring the harmonies to reveal fellow-travelling patterns and movements and sounds. This is not a field for simple, stated melodies, although melodies are there and rich. This is a walk in a field on a black night revealed under a searing light of knowledge and intelligence. I was particularly taken, or should I say dumbfounded (gobsmacked, to borrow that US-derived term now so popular), by George Colligan and his pianistic endeavours. I knew the name, and it’s well respected: for good reason. This was an avalanche of stylistic references and manual dexterity: an ability to establish a musical context and follow it without limitation of skills or intent. Again, intelligence comes to mind. These guys are educators, GC at Julliard, so they know their stuff. But they play it too. There’s reverence and expression of history here, but also interpretation and reinvigoration. This is not just replaying, but revisiting and renewing an older tradition, or perhaps it’s better to say these guys are part of a continuing history. The night was dubbed a tribute to Lester Young. Don spoke at one time about Lester Young making a link between instruments and voice, and this was his intention. So this was the nature of the tribute, but the palette was the history of jazz; far broader than just one man.
Back to George. His solos were an extravanza, and that’s where I most felt the evening take off. Rudy Royston played some delightful solos, played brushes often, intoned sensitively and sweetly on the drums, but the temperature really lifted in synch with George’s solos. This was intensity over a broad spectrum,white light on the crevices of the underlying tunes. Just two guys (remember, no bass) creating a storm.
So what of this? I just thought this must be New York: a competitive, busy place, a need to impress and a drawcard for capability. But I’ve heard other New Yorkers visiting here and elsewhere, and this was something else. There was a depth of history and respect, and a profundity of knowledge that you don’t encounter too often. Perhaps Wynton Marsalis when he visited, but I didn’t feel this intensity on that night. Admittedly, the Street Theatre is more intimate, but this was special. So off to NY? Not cheap! The guy next to us volunteered this would have been two sets, each individually charged, in a NY club. Big, city; big expense.
But Canberra had our visit, and it was both profound and a blast. And we gave it our standard treatment: a lovely theatre, an involved audience, and an ArtSound recording. Chris, when can we expect to revisit this fabulous night? I’m hanging out for more.
