Spot the difference

There was something amiss on stage when Sandy Evans' Sydney Women's Jazz Quintet played at the Gods: Jess wasn’t wearing black. Of course, there were numerous differences you could identify. I particularly noticed that bassist Karl had a clean shaven noggin. I only noticed that Karl was the one bloke in the band because of the band’s name. Apparently Zoe and Hannah couldn’t do it, so Karl filled the spot. It was nice to appreciate that women on a jazz stage no longer seemed a big deal. Just recently I noticed the imbalance of the sexes, but that was when the band was all blokes. It was different in the past. In the ‘70s, I remember being surprised to see a single woman instrumentalist on stage. We’ve clearly turned a corner (admittedly after 40 years), even if women still remain as singers and are instrumentally outnumbered. Julia would know that it will take a bit longer to reach the prime ministership.

But what of the gig? It was a lovely thing. Sandy is a monster saxist but also such an inviting host, so the vibe was both purposeful and friendly. Given our recent loss of Bernie McGann, this concert also a dedication. Geoff Page was Bernie’s biographer and introduced the gig with a poetry reading. Then we heard various McGann tunes amongst originals by Jess and Alex and Sandy. There was modern post-bop with complex heads, an interesting airy, harmonised arrangement with voice from Jess, plenty of worldly feels and an inevitable Monk tune. No surprise that Bernie liked Monk. I loved the grooves, especially Jess’ clean and choppy Tele chords and Karl’s vigourous bass. The time was rock solid. Several people mentioned how easy and steady were the feels. Alex’ solos were explicit in intent and melodic form; very nice. Sandy’s were clearly structured but more turgid, busy, passionate with some searing streams of, I guess, 16-th notes. Jodie blasted through with an incendiary solo at one stage which I hadn’t expected. Some tunes reminded me of Dave Holland with loping grooves and crisp piano-free accompaniment and the trombone/sax counterpoint. With three Jazz Rutherford award winners and Sandy and Karl, this was a serious and intelligent gig, but it was also earthy and entertaining.

The Sydney Women’s Jazz Quintet comprised Sandy Evans (tenor, soprano sax), Alex Silver (trombone), Jess Green (guitar), Karl Dunnicliff (bass, honorary female for the night) and Jodie Michael (drums).

Out of South Africa

Mark Ginsburg imposes a gentle, respectful ambience and his music is the same. I asked Geoff his impressions and he mentioned melody. I’d been thinking the same thing. This was musicianship respectful of composition. The tunes determined the playing, not the other way around. Nothing seemed superfluous. Mark himself had a beautifully rounded tone of both tenor and soprano sax. You could luxuriate in tone alone, but there was also just lovely melody and solos that spelt out more melody. This is lyricism. His band felt the same: quiet, purposeful. That’s not to say there were no burners. I could hear Coltrane in Outside in, which Mark wrote after a McCoy Tyner concert. Later in the night, he offered the choice of introspection or a burner and seemed to want to play the quieter tune. In the end, he played both and they both were luscious. His background is South African and Jewish. They are obvious influences. He spoke of growing up in Cape Town, of apartheid, of blacks playing in the wings with white musicians because it was illegal for them to play on the same stage together. He played South African standards and Abdullah Ibrahim / Dollar Brand. And his masters thesis was on influences of Jewish cantorial singing on jazz improvisation. So I heard the influences in melody, not harmony or rhythm (despite African drums) or colour. The others sat nicely with this. Greg Coffin comped with chords and filled niches with lively right hand fills. I heard e-piano sound and a melodic sense from the Corea songbook. His soloing was post-bop left hand chording, right hand sax-like lines, with that nice turn of melody but also with a readiness to dissolve the bars and lose the one. He was partnered in this by Andrew Gander who pushed the excitement level with busy snapping snare and chunky little rolls. I noticed both of them, at one time or other, leading away from the beat. Not lost, though. It’s exciting as long as you hold your nerve and your mind in check to sit back to the groove. They did, several times. The bass is important here. It’s like an inversion, so when others loosen up, the bass holds true and straight. When it’s happening, it feels like the quote “Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold”, but Karl Dunnicliff’s centre held. He was consistently strong and implicit, stating the tunes, holding a line. This is not to say uninteresting; it’s necessary and strong. When all was more together, with more time and space and less bewilderment, he took some relatively undemonstrative but expressive solos, especially as they warmed to the second half.

There aren’t too many venues for interesting modern jazz bands, and there are lots of bands, so this outfit doesn’t play often. It was obvious how they settled to be sharper and more together in the second half. It’s something only frequency of playing together can achieve. The result is happy musicians and audience after a gig and this was one. Such a respectful presence with lyrical music and avid playing. Great stuff.

Mark Ginsburg (tenor, soprano saxes) led a quartet at the Gods with Greg Coffin (piano), Karl Dunnicliff (bass) and Andrew Gander (drums).

Cantorial crossover

You get a clear feeling that a musical outing with Mark Ginsburg is serious and informed. He presented his quartet this week at the Gods. It was the last night of their tour, so the band was comfortable with the tunes and their interpretations and somewhat unleashed in their improvisations. Mark has been researching the links of Jewish cantoral singing and jazz improvisation for his Masters thesis at the Sydney Conservatorium. His recent album, Generations, and this concert are products of this research. You can hear the depth of the tradition that infected the young Mark as a singer in a synagogue choir. He’s got a passion for carefully built melody with a touch of middle Eastern scales and phrasing. Several of the tunes were actually from the Jewish liturgy, so presumably just reimagined for jazz quartet. His tone also spoke of awareness and presence. I particularly noticed it on his soprano that sounded so full and rounded, but his tenor was similarly smooth and big. Mark clearly displays a passion for the music and a seriousness in that passion.

The band was satisfyingly in tune with Mark’s approach. Karl Dunnicliff played some wonderfully fluent and capable solos that seemed to bounce through positions, but mostly he laid down steady ostinato lines against a busy and ever-rising drum accompaniment from Tim Firth. I was sitting near Tim, and was fascinated by a seemingly relaxed performance on a basic kit that twisted into complex or extended fills or grew to busy statements that fell so easily from his sticks. Drums seem to often lead the level of excitement in modern jazz, and I felt it here: slick and relaxed in technique, but busy and complex in effect. Greg Coffin’s piano provided a harmonic backing, but I mostly noticed him when he soloed. These were strong and inventive and varied solos, both in chordal flows and in right hand improvisational lines. I asked him later if melody or chords led his solos. I wasn’t surprised he said chords; I thought I could hear an adventureousness with harmony. The overall effect of the band was often a big and full, well stated melody or solo line out front, and a busy shower of rhythms and fill behind, even one spot where the rhythm section broke into cacophony with Mark out front bravely holding the melody. Metaphorically, it might have been Mark speaking of a religious or cultural permanence against a disintegrating world, but it could just as easily have just been an effective and involving musical statement.

A few other observations: Mark’s friendly and intimate patter (and South African accent); plenty of comfortable medium tempos; some very open solo opportunities for sax and piano and bass; an unrushed and pensive approach. And some lovely solid, steady swings towards the end of the night, including a blues by Abdullah Ibrahim = Dollar Brand (a nod to Brendan).

ArtSound was recording, so listen in for this concert sometime on Friday Night Live. Mark Ginsburg (soprano, tenor sax) led a quartet with Greg Coffin (piano), Karl Dunnicliff (bass) and Tim Firth (drums) in an exploration of the crossover of Jewish musical traditions and jazz improvisation.

Thinking Afro Blue

Afro Blue is a famous jazz tune which talks of Africa. I heard strains of it as I listened to Mosaic the other night at Hippo, but it doesn’t convey to me the complexity and richness that I was hearing. Judy Campbell’s Mosaic is a clear work of love, and the smiles and rapture of the front line make that obvious. Love of the richness of African culture, its drumming, its vocals and chants, and the lanky joyousness of sub-Saharan Africa … at least as I imagine it. I feel I know so little of Africa, other than sad stories of bad regimes or mad wars or starving villagers. There is so little else on our media that I was taken aback to hear a normal current affairs show dedicated to Africa on the BBC World Service recently. It suggested an Africa that was stronger, more educated, more positive than I’d thought. It’s embarrassing to be so ill-informed, but we are all products of our environment. (The same thought comes to me when I listen to ABC RN’s Awaye, which presents Australian Aboriginal society in a positive cultural light). In the meantime, at least we can respond to their music, and it’s an easy and entertaining step for jazz lovers.

Mosaic has a front line of three: Judy and Justine on vocals, and ex-South African Mark on saxes (tenor and soprano) and vocals. The three vocalists made for much of this joy. The voice is a sublime instrument. These three sang unison, or less commonly, harmonies on meaningful lyrics and tuneful melodies, sometimes with odd scales (at least some sounded Jewish) or rapid, jagged rhythmic passages. They also dropped into percussion of various types, especially Judy who played an array mbira, a tuned spring instrument that she played with challenging, counter-rhythmic timings. If the front line was a joy, then so much so was the rhythm section (we are talking Africa, after all). There was not a walk anywhere in sight, but strongly defining rich, deep bass notes from Karl, and some wonderfully fluent, talkative solos and long, long unison lines with piano or sax, behind vocals or other melodies. Greg, too, played some fabulous solos, moving freely through modal chords. He really was strong and satisfying in this style and the lines just flowed with joyous energy.

Then to the talking drummers: so they were. Tim Firth was wonderfully in form, playing in a style that fitted admirably within the African idiom. I pondered what study he’d done in African drumming, because it seemed convincing to me in its authenticity and a long way from standard jazz fours. I was stunned by some fills that mimicked the front line and wondered how well practiced were these guys, or was it written. And I was taken by a drum/percussion solo at the end of the night where parts was passed from Bandika to Tim, and the African rhythmic sense was maintained with aplomb. So to Bandika. He was on the other side of the stage, so I missed much of his complexity, but you could feel the loping rhythms and complex grooves of Africa, inherent and mirrored in the rest of the band and growing from the percussive richness. This is what makes for that rolling, danceable groove that we know from Africa. And the whole of the rhythm section just loped along with it. Bandika took a few solos, too, and you would not believe the volume from his djembe. Really, really loud and cutting, so Tim’s kit with sticks was left in abeyance. Were his fingers taped, like I seen on conga players? Nope; how tough must they be? Bandika also sang, and this was where I really heard another culture: fast, tangled lines of voice that sounded other worldly. Couldn’t be further from Madonna despite her adopted associated with Africa. But Bandika is a Kenyan master drummer, and this takes time and study, and the difference is inevitable, as well as fascinating.

This was intriguing and enlivening and human music, and I loved it. Give me more anytime. If world or folk festivals had more like this (and fewer Morris men and earnest singer-songwriters), you could expect to see me there. But for the meantime, I’ll just expect to hear it in jazz circles. OK by me.

Judy Campbell’s Mosaic comprises Judy Campbell (voice, array mbira and percussion), Mark Ginsburg (saxophones, voice, percussion), Justine Bradley (voice), Greg Coffin (piano), Karl Dunnicliff (bass), Bandika Ngao (percussion, voice) and Tim Firth (drums).

Symphonic to harmolodic

The last White Eagle offered another night of fabulous, but fascinatingly different performers. It’s almost de rigeur that the two sets are markedly different, and this night was perhaps the most extreme in this respect. The first set was the harmolodic.

Legedis Benz’s set featured a triptych of Ornette Coleman tunes (Peace warriors, WRN and a very stylised blues, Feet music), a Roscoe Mitchell number (Noonah), Zappa quotes and originals by all members. Needless to say, this was the challenging end of the spectrum. There were fast and furious unison lines throughout, and harmolodic invention abounding. Harmolodics? It’s the concept that underscores Ornette Coleman’s music. It’s somewhere east of free. We had a chat about it after the gig. Apparently it’s none too clear with anyone, but it seems to demand all players to perform as improvisers and to clear themselves from support roles, and for their melodic inventions to be free of limits of conventional harmony, melody and rhythm. Suffice to say, after furious intro melodies with rapidly changing keys and pretty indistinct tonal centres, the players perform free with no underlying key or even tonal centre. Challenging all round, but hugely satisfying (if done well).

LB comprises Jarrah Jones (guitar), Sam Young (drums) and Simon Milman (bass). Jarrah played like I’ve never seen him before: dischordant chords, sharp phrases, sustained atonal lines, bent notes and vibratoed chords, odd intervals, scraping strings. All short, sharp sounds. Oddly, I caught a snatch of the guitar tone from the Coupling theme at one stage. Sam was tight and played with a drum tone to die for. Perversely, he could be stunningly simple and clearly expressed, with solos that often dropped back to straight, sustained grooves, like an eye in the storm. Simon was unorthodox even in his choice of instrument: an amplified acoustic bass guitar. It imparted such a different tone, and surprisingly apt for this outing: acoustic, not rich, deep and woody like a double bass, but fatter, more middly, but still clearly acoustic. Interesting. Playing wise, Simon ran with the others, harmonically adventurous, freely moving over the fingerboard, sometimes playing with thumb and fingers in a softer slap style, but otherwise fingerstyle. Simon also introduced the music. There was a constant theme of nicer or nastier (which was even carried on in references later by Matt Baker later in the night). You couldn’t say any was “nice” in the sense of a beautiful ballad, but this was not the intention. This was extreme sport for musos and they carried if off fabulously. But I’m wondering where we’re likely to hear them again, given the demise of WE. Perhaps Moruya?

The Matt Baker Trio was literally the symphonic end of the night. The trio was Matt Baker (piano), Karl Dunnicliff (bass) and Dave Goodman (drums). Matt’s recently returned from Europe and his comments and compositions harked back to Switzerland. His latest album, “From an afternoon in the mountains”, has tunes like Les Dentes du Midi and Le Tour d’Epee as dedications to towns and mountains in this picture-card-perfect country. As for symphonic, there was talk of recording with a chamber orchestra, and a surprisingly successful performance of the main theme from the first movement of Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto. Matt talked of trying to record jazz in a classical style, but then performed classics in a jazz style. I was intrigued by the similarity of these harmonic movements to those of jazz. (Perhaps this was just his interpretation). There were some classical piano playing that jarred with my jazz sensibilities, but I found the piece surprisingly satisfying. This was a crossover that worked. Continuing the lyrical side of the night, there was even a beautiful composed piece with no improvisation. Otherwise, this was very competent, mainstream-modern jazz with hints Bill Evans and the like. Syncopations, close interactions, convincing rhythms and rolling solos. Matt played lots big sounds. I noticed plenty of block chords and patterned solos. Karl played great bass accompaniment; always rhythmically strong with a rich and clear tone. I particularly loved Dave’s drums on this outing. It was standard mainstream style-wise, but it displayed perfectly timed triplet feels, beautiful rimshot work, and more, and was generally a pure and accurate performance in the style. As an aside, Dave was telling me he’s studying for a PhD in jazz. Dr Goodman … very cool. A jazz PhD … would this be a first in Australia? I wondered if you could achieve a PhD in performance. His is not performance, but deals with changes in drum styles over the modern jazz era. So the night finished was a very satisfying but very different performance.

Deborah and Ian Pavletich, local musicians and studio owners.

Thanks to both the excellent bands for this last evening at the White Eagle. Vale! White Eagle.