Last schooldays

Given work, I don’t attend many recitals, but I got to Rohan Dasika’s classical, licenciate recital. He played Bach, Bottesini and an intriguing-sounding modern piece called Failing. The Bach was his Cello suite no.3 played in Gmaj (rather than the original Cmaj). The bass is large and unwieldy, its range is limited and the fingering limits how and what can be played, so it’s a different exercise and an obvious challenge. I didn’t envy Rohan chasing up and down the fingerboard, but it was a valid technical exercise and I enjoyed it although I found it harder to follow than it would have been on cello. The Bottesini was his Concerto no.2 for double bass in Amin and it was much more fitting to the instrument. Bottesini was a bass virtuoso and his works for the bass are key to the repertoire and apparently this is his key standard work for the bass. I seen several Bottesini clips on YouTube but never heard a live performance. This was much more apt for the instrument. Lyrical, effective use of the full range of the instrument, lots of harmonics and playing to the extremes of the fingerboard, rich tones down low and rising arpeggios and a nice interplay with the accompanying piano. The last piece was anything but out of place for Rohan’s recital. Tom Johnson’s Failing: a very difficult piece for solo string bass has the performer speaking while playing and talking about this very activity: easy at first, then getting harder; will he fail, or choose to fail and then essentially succeed; don’t all performances involve some failure. The accompanying music moved from lyrical to devilishly chromatic and the speaking moved from reading to improvised. Only Rohan will know where or how he failed (he certainly didn’t fall in a heap) but it suited his zany virtuosity. Great fun and much enjoyed. I have no idea how this performance would go over with examiners. The works were challenging. I noticed some technical slips and his face was variously mobile with pleasure and pain, but this was intriguing and engaging and entertaining and even humourous and for a solo double bass concert, I can only imagine that is exceptional. Well done, Rohan. Rohan Dasika (double bass) presented his third year recital. He was accompanied by Kylie Loveland (piano) for the Bottesini.

While in the building, I also caught the week-long lunchtime performance called Elevator #1. It’s percussion on a 36” concert bass drum in the lift at the Music School. I only heard the first few minutes and beats, written as crochet-rest-repeat, played with one mallet, then adding a second. The lift went up and down; the doors opened; visitors entered and left; it was loud. I was hearing the drum later, down a corridor, presumably when the lift door opened. I expect it’s a valid comment on the changes at the school (sounding all the world like a funeral procession at the start). I would like to hear the development over an hour, even over the week, but my ears wouldn’t be up to it. This is a small space and the big skin and beater is a loud combination. But it’s worthy and I’m glad I’ve seen it, if only for a few minutes and only in the earliest moments of musical development for that day. Austin Bucket composed and conceived the piece and William Jackson (percussion) performed it.

Trios

The Loft was in piano trio mode: Clare Dawson playing Herbie Hancock and Tate Sheridan playing his own music. Tate went second, but I’ll talk of him first. Enough said that I left in awe. I wasn’t the only one who had little to say after a stunningly mature student concert. Mature in concept, in composition, in improvisation. Tate is quiet on stage, respectful and deep in thought and interests, and these are expressed in his compositions as well as his respectful presence. Poetry, history and spirit all made an appearance, as well as influences and styles of some key pianists of influence.
I noted early his powered, adventurous, virtuosic playing. Classical in approach, chordal and full handed but with melody appearing in left or right hand, modal and symmetrical in improvisation, dynamic at both structural and improvisatory levels, expansive in use of the whole range of the keyboard and free with time as solo lines based on triplets or sixteenth or eighth notes rippled over extended phrases and plays with anticipations and delays. His Run don’t walk was influenced by Keith Jarrett’s ‘70s Cuban playing. His Onward onward was a ballad inspired by a poem from Walt Whitman’s Leaves of grass accompanying a recorded reading of the poem in Jason Moran style. His Please no questions was written to explore melody in two hands after hearing Brad Mehldau, with right and left hands playing a parallel melody an octave apart, then dropping into a heavily swung, straight ahead blues for solos, then ending with half time staccato unison passage and a return to the full time melody. Final hour, capturing the Mad Trapper recounts the longest chase on record, a chase of 250 miles after the bushranger, the Mad Trapper. This was a repeating 6x4 eighth-note passage sounding like steady pacing, with interspersed smashes and chords and accelerandos and rests and staccatos and a final, sudden stop as he’s presumably caught. Grace was slow: not religious but seeking and mellow and questioning. Speed dating was a head in three parts: sparing staccato right and left hand unaccompanied piano, then heavy, bluesy, syncopated groove, then swing, leading to solos and an end with the piano dissolving then returning to the head. An intriguing structure, even with swing solos. This was Tate’s night but his trio members deserve a mention. Max was playing a newly purchased, old German bass. Despite unknown strings but with strong hands, it sounded great. He is playing maturely these days, solid and reliable in accompaniment and expansive, full ranged, sometime playful in improv. James was obviously observant, watching Tate and exchanging glances with Max and well integrated with the tunes and with an idiomatic boomy kick drum. Suffice to say, this was a stunning outing and I was not the only one to leave the night with unusual quiet and respect.

Clare Dawson introduced the evening with a set of Herbie Hancock tunes. It means nothing to say these were interesting compositions. Jessica, a ballad with harmonically-enriched cycles. Some heavy loping swing in And what if I don’t. The melodically infectious Toys from Speak like a child. A grooving, smooth Calypso. The modal Eye of a hurricane from Maiden voyage. There was lots of ground covered here. I enjoyed Clare’s firm, even hard, touch, her use of repetition, her solid swing and bluesy hard bop chords and rolling arpeggios, her melodic sense. Max was again grooving in walks and sweet and expressive in solos and Luke was tempered and respectful in accompaniment.

The piano trio is a key format for modern jazz but it’s diverse in its character. I’ve seen three over recent days and enjoyed them all. Raf’s updated traditionalism; Clare’s respectful modernism; Tate’s stunning contemporary originality. All great pleasure and inspiration. Tate Sheridan (piano) led his trio with Max Alduca (bass) and James O’Donnell (drums) at the Loft. Clare Dawson (piano) introduced the night with her trio comprising Max Alduca (bass) and Luke Keanan-Brown (drums).

Titbits and topsyturvies

It’s intensely visual imagery and a joyous, accepting look at life in a small Welsh village. Under Milkwood is by Dylan Thomas. It’s famed, it’s studied, it’s filmed. DT wrote it in 1953 and it was first read in that year, and incidentally recorded at the first reading, with DT appearing as the First voice just two weeks before his death. It’s set in the village of Llareggub (read it backwards). It’s the story of umpteen people over one day, starting with their dreams and finishing with sunset at the end of the day. It was a radio play. Multiple characters are performed by seven actors so it’s a challenge to follow all the stories. I wonder if it might be easier to follow on radio. I was not the only one challenged. It demands concentration, but it’s funny, it’s tragic, it’s homely and accepting. These are odd characters but they speak to the depth and flimsy and tragedy and dreams of us all, although perhaps we’ve lost such lives in the rational and ordered days we now live. The seven did a wonderful job, seated in a row on stage, behind music stands with the text, voicing and acting the parts, mostly seated, occasionally standing or moving, sometimes singing. They were accompanied by a raft of children at times and several sound effects persons in true radio drama style, here in black with props and violin and piano. It’s delicious language that massages the lives of this odd crew through their typical day, if not ours. “It is spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent and the hunched, courters'-and-rabbits' wood limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboatbobbing sea” (opening line spoken by First Voice). Wow. I say nothing by saying that these are irksome but sympathetic stories of Captain Cat, Mog Edwards, Polly Garter, Nogood Boyo, Organ Morgan and the rest. This was delightful and humourous, demanding of concentration and wonderfully done by our local Wild Voices music theatre group. The seven core performers were Nick Byrne, Tobias Cole, Dene Kermond, Kate Hosking, Dianna Bixon, Zsuszi Soboslay and PJ Williams.

Giant steps are what we take

It’s the first line of the classic pop tune, Walking on the Moon by the Police, but with an obvious jazz reference. The Raf Jerjen Trio played Walking on the Moon and they didn’t play Giant steps. Raf’s swinging trio can seem somewhat out of time playing heavy, dug in swing like Ray Brown and NHOP while students are busily exploring the universe of rhythms and strange scales and Raf mentioned this. Maybe that apocryphal quote of Newton’s, that we stand on the shoulders of giants, is a better quote here. I clearly heard Bill Evans fluency and interplay and there was a raft of dissonance and Bill remains modern. This band recognises and values the past but it also had a modern awareness and a placement in history.

Raf’s bass was fat and growling and his playing was fast and supple and fluent. There were some stunningly fast runs in the low positions and lengthy thumb position scales but I was particularly taken by the lyricism of long intervals across strings through the middle of the neck. I’ve always admired Paul’s piano which I hear as deeply cool and personal but also as an intellectual treat of dissonance and changing harmony. Paul’s not forward in performance, but I find his piano is wonderfully expressive and inventive. Raf commented on Paul’s found harmonies. He also nicknamed Gary as the semitrailer, always ready to come on strong in the next bar. That was so right, and this format suited Gary to a tee, open, rhythmically clear and tonally precise and with an exuberant joy in unexpected explosiveness. This is a trio that spans the history of the jazz school. Raf formed the trio and is a recently graduated student; Paul studied there in the ‘80s, during the early years of the jazz school; Gary has taught at the School of Music for a decade or more. This was a unity of friends and long term colleagues, bouncing off each other in the best traditions of jazz. Raf volunteered their policy as “Swing hard and keep it real”. It’s an older conception but still profound and too good to be forgotten. This is music to bathe in.

So if not Giant steps, what did they play? Raf provided a few originals and Paul an original and several arrangements. They also played a few standards. All the things you are is ubiquitous and Wayne Shorter’s Black Nile and the Police have caché as modern and sophisticated. Bye Bye Blackbird and Raindrops keep falling on my head don’t, but they were also satisfying as vehicles for vibrant, responsive and often adventurous playing. These guys are each strong in their own right. They don’t need one another to lay out the tune or work their way through variations on it, but the totality is stronger than the sum of parts as they bounce off each other or explore paths in counterpoint. I particularly noticed Raf’s sophisticated job of laying down unexpected intervals and movements within the chordal structure while Paul was playing through a range of dissonances. Bass usually holds the structure together while the lead explores alternate harmonies. Raf did this but he didn’t resort to the obvious. Good. One original by Raf was a quirky number called Happy Ahmad. It aptly matched Ahmad Jamal’s playfulness with parts of light melodicism, bouncing swing and extended bass fills. Strange but effective. Another was a slow and sombre dedication to bassist George Mraz. Paul’s original was a dedication to his family. His arrangements that I know are of modern pop songs, and some have a degree of syrup (think Raindrops… or Tie a yellow ribbon round an old oak tree) but he moulds them as cool rhythms and worthy jazz vehicles. Paul’s Raindrops features a drop into Monk’s Well you needn’t. There’s quiet humour but also seriousness and cleverness here. It’s almost a throwback olden times to hear Bye Bye Blackbird, but when it’s played like this, it’s a treat. A growling bass in a swinging piano trio is a thing of wonder and just enhanced by stylish dissonance. I enjoyed this concert immensely. Raf Jerjen (bass) led his trio with Paul Dal Broi (piano) and Gary France (drums) at the CGS Gallery.

Of lair and laird

The U3A Recorder Orchestra comprises eight ranges of recorders but on this day they played seven: sopranino was not required. Recorders don’t have a strong sound. Wikipedia describes them as “remarkably clear and sweet, partly because of the lack of upper harmonics and predominance of odd harmonics” (Recorder, in Wikipedia, viewed 16 Nov 2012).
When they all played together in harmony, with a string of basses down to the strangely squared contrabass, they surprised me with a likeness to a pipe organ. But then, they form notes in much the same way. This orchestra is not professional, with players having lifelong or little experience, so the tone was occasionally strident and intonation was sometimes sacrificed to reading the dots, but they performed a lovely range of musics. These are mediaeval and renaissance instruments, so I wasn’t surprised by a string of 6 Renaissance dances by various composers. I was surprised by the suggestion of an active international recorder family, but I shouldn’t have been. The dancers were arranged by an Englishman; a later Irish suite was composed by Steve Marshall from the UK; this very orchestra had a fantasy written for them by another Brit, Steve Marshall. Otherwise, the music moved from older to newer. From the Renaissance through Palestrina, Mascagni, the original tune and the contemporary Irish Suite, to Berlioz’ magisterial Serenade for the Holy Family. They presented the Berlioz as their Christmas offering - the performance is in St Alban’s Anglican Church, after all. I enjoyed some of the later works, with more syncopation and orchestral pads and instrumental interplays and more expansive concepts, but I think I preferred the simplicity of the early music for these instruments. They sound strangely distant - think Robin Hood but not Errol Flynn - pure and simple, humble when playing Berlioz and contemporary and in the context of the overwhelming power of modern instruments, but proud in their own context of taverns and debauchery or halls and dignity and stateliness. That’s their place and they sound great there. One more of the universe of sounds that is music as we know it now. Margaret Wright conducted the U3A (University of the Third Age) Recorder Orchestra’s Chamber Ensemble at St Albans.

Visiting Africa

Matt Ottignon and his Ethio Groove project are playing just one part of the spectrum of African musics. Matt explained some of the background. Ethio Groove is a new development of Mulatu Astatke and that it first appeared in his compilation called Ethio Groove. Mulatu had studied jazz in London and performed with Latino musicians in New York before he returned to Ethiopia to develop his Ethio-jazz style. To generalist ears, it’s based in the rhythmically intense musics of Africa, but Matt also talked of local scales (Wikipedia says modal pentatonic with long intervals and not tempered – Music of Ethiopia, in Wikipedia, viewed 14 Nov 2012) and styles of singing and specific rhythms. It’s certainly infectious and danceable. Matt himself stood rocking side to side, and although the audience were seated, there were plenty of tapping feet and nodding heads. Our Euro-reticence seems so out of place when this music gets a head of steam. It’s cleverly played and the solos are interesting, but it’s primarily physical and probably best appreciated on your feet.
Matt with his wildly syncopated heads and call and response solos. Luke S on the organ, with growling solos and choppy comping. Brother Eden O laying repeating lines, often oddly spaced, on electric or double bass and Luke K-B holding steady on some devilish repeated but irregular beats. We were introduced to a rhythm from Tigré that crossed triplets with straight beats. Like jazz swing, this is something you learn to feel and it’s impossible to write. It’s like a language: you have to learn and it’s best learnt young. I could feel an underlying beat at heart-beat speed (120bpm) under most tunes, often four-to-the-floor on the 1-2-3-4, sometimes on 1-3 (I don’t think on the jazzy 2-4), but I tried to tap the bass lines a few times and it wasn’t in my vocabulary. Interesting that; understanding requires time and immersion, as does Matt’s rocking gait. It’s dancy so the immersion would be fun. Matt introduced the tunes and the performers, but it’s all Ethiopian to me. Other than one tune that was sung by two women with the Ethiopian Army Band. Or a mention of an 80-ish Ethiopian saxist playing punk in the Netherlands. Or when they took a turn sideways for some originals from Luke S and doubly so when they played a Pharoah Sanders tune that floated with bowed bass and piano arpeggios and cymbals and a rich and deep tenor tone. That was a change. But mostly it was the triplet feels and funky but stilted beats of Ethiopian groove and it was indulgent and immersive and physical. This is really music for the body and soul, even if the intellect if satisfied. Matt Ottignon (tenor) led his Ethio Groove project which comprised Eden Ottignon (electric, acoustic basses), Luke Sweeting (organ, piano) and Luke Keanan-Brown (drums)

From Paris via Bermagui

I sat back awed by Alex Stuart’s band. There was some seriously hot playing here on some complex charts with odd times and contorted melodies and chunky grooves and lots of time for speedy solos. I chatted to Brendan in the break and mentioned this. He said it was a pleasure to do a few gigs in a row, as this band has done. He’d got some mp3s and charts to prepare - as is normal practice - but often there’s just one gig, maybe two, and you are struggling with more complex pieces. This band had played twice at the Wangaratta Festival, as well as Bennett’s Lane in Melbourne and Zephyr’s at Bermagui, so the music was comfortable. It was clear with the settled grooves and the eyes that weren’t stuck in the music stands. And these are such good players and this was such a decent, unusually mature, audience. I guess it’s family and friends, as both Alex and Brendan studied here in Canberra. But all four have reputations and Julien and Ben are masters that would have brought in a few others. Suffice to say it was a hot band and one I was particularly looking forward to.

The grooves were wonderfully strong. Ben is all over them, occasionally laying a beat, but otherwise idiosyncratically laying counter-rhythms, strong and hard, sometimes moving around the beat, but always so strong and fluent and easy, and with a left foot unconventionally working an extra pedal striking a cymbal or whatever. Brendan was equally fluid but also stout and solid on bass. He’s got a wonderfully formed left hand, strong with first finger pointed, playing mostly in the lower registers, but straying to thumb positions and almost above the fingerboard for one solo. But it was his right hand, fingers and arms working, that mostly impressed me and that’s where the groove comes from. There were smiles from Ben and returned chuckles from Brendan showed they were having a good time. I’ve seen Julien in more restrained situations but this was anything but. I didn’t always catch his playing from where I was sitting (I’m told he was louder on the other side of the stage) but when I did he was quite softly toned but fast although not frantic and what seemed to be mostly tonal and reliably structured. This was lyrical but at speed: very nice. Alex led from the guitar with his own compositions. There were devilishly fast heads, often against changing times and bar lengths, leading to repeating grooves, sometimes in odd times. I think I counted a 12 and an 11 and a 9 but the band was fluid and barlines were treated with apt disrespect, so it was none too obvious and often difficult to count. I thought I heard Mahavishnu in some of Alex’s accompaniment and I thought of fusion, but the heads weren’t like that. The players were all strong and all led the others at times, but I could feel Alex leading often enough from his comping seat. I didn’t particularly hear Mahavishnu in his solos although they were sometimes rabidly fast (guitars usually are). I felt this was mature and idiosyncratic and stylistically developed playing. I felt an influence of rock in chunky chord solos and effective use of repetition, but also slinky jazz guitar and what I guess were various alt or Arabic scales in both solos and composition. And a soft but lengthy echo that showed itself at the end of solos. I particularly liked the way the band members would drop out: maybe just drums and guitar, or bass and sax, then come back in, one by one, with rising excitement. And the strength of these duos were remarkable! I was taken aback at one time when I realised just how strong was a groove that was just bass and tenor: stunning strength and independence of playing. Local altoist Matt Handel sat in for a few tunes, too, so the front line got fatter in melodies and there were solos to compare and a sax summit of the two horns.

I’d expected a good night and this was more mature and settled than I’d hoped for. What good players are these, and what an impressive and well practised outing. At this level, it just takes five gigs. I shouldn’t be surprised: these guys are good. Alex Stuart (guitar, compositions) is back from Paris for a visit and touring with Julien Wilson (tenor), Brendan Clarke (bass) and Ben Vanderwal (drums). Matt Handel (alto) sat in for several tunes.

Bawdy Chaucer

I had expected David Yardley and his male vocal quartet called Pocket Score Company to be on stage for the launch of his new CD, so I was taken aback when a stream of twenty of so singers entered from the back of the delightfully pure-sounding Wesley Music Centre singing away in bawdy, rowdy mediaeval style. The CD is a collection of songs from the era of Chaucer called New carols and songs for Chaucer’s pilgrims. As David explained, we still have the words of these songs, but we no longer have the music. So David wrote it, and it is grand. Those earthy, muscular sounds of mediaeval voices in full flight. Those dutiful, faithful sounds of mediaeval believers. Those bawdy, joyful sounds of them rousing in inns. Those half-understood sounds of olde English. All accompanied by naught but a bodhrán played with fingers. David walked us through the tunes, through the background, through his experiences studying with Tobias Cole and singing in Jesus College, Cambridge, as well as several Sydney choirs. The music is true to the era although not an attempt at recreation. The words are original, selected from The early English carols / Richard Leighton Greene (Oxford : Clarendon, 1935). We heard a selection. The first and last were sung in ambulation by the Pocket Score Co with visitors and the Canberra Youth Choir. They were a doomsday carol and a drinking song: suitable matters for walking. The others were sung by smaller groups of about 6 singers. They were two Christmas carols and a wartime/political carol. They were variously uplifting or bawdy but always lively with the immediate humanity of this era (as we imagine it). We all followed the ambulating singers out to purchase our CDs and imbibe mead and ale (brewed specially in a style of the era by the Baines Brewery). This was loud and proud music very convincingly sung, both live and on CD. I’m listening to it now. What a Canberra gem!

David Yardley (countertenor, composer) wrote sympathetic music to the original words of mediaeval songs for his new CD. He performed several at the CD’s launch at the Wesley Music Centre. Singers included the Pocket Score Company with David Yardley (countertenor), David Mackay (tenor), Paul Eldon (tenor) and Ian Blake (bass), some invited singers (that I can’t name) and the Canberra Youth Choir.

Raining other worlds

The rain had stopped when I left the Gods for Hippo and No Tango, Christina Fuch’s Cologne quartet that was associating with Melbourne’s Andrea Keller and touring Australia and playing the Wangaratta Festival. This band is far more immediate and less of the mind than the “never rains” Coolerators, although it’s not at all uninformed. This was odd time signatures, expressive and involving solos, earthy multicultural rhythms and inflections, emotional risings and recoveries. Christina led the band with soprano sax (and also bass clarinet) and this was very much in the modern jazz tradition: wailing, lyrical, expressive, sounding nothing other than sax to my ears. I came to hanker for her solos as the night wore on; they were so mellifluous and expressive and well skilled. This was expression with musical and emotional purpose and openhearted honesty. I preferred the soprano sax, but her skills on the bass clarinet were also very comfortable. It’s a demanding instrument and everyone complains of squeaks but I noticed none. The whole band was unified in expression: sometimes unison lines with horn and accordion or bass, plenty of unusually inventive and discordant playing from that polka-sweet-sounding accordion, sometimes chatter between instruments, very often baselined by an embroidered regularity of drums and moderately repetitive bass. The tones were mellifluous and embedded in the band sound and the arrangements moved with easy inevitability. They liked different time signatures. 11-10 was a title but also a count over descending chords that changed every 21 beats. Buddha was the Euro folk of accordion melded with bass, all defined as 3/4 by the entry of the drums. Another was in 10/16 and was a rhythm that Christina had borrowed from some Iraqi friends. I particularly noticed the drums here, wry with tuned skins then outgoing with rocky indulgence then joined by a mid-Eastern inflected soprano sax. Later, a heavy and slow 12/8; a gentle and full toned waltz dedicated to Christina’s 8 year old daughter; a nicely morphing bass against 7/4; finally a confusing but fascinating melange of polyrhythms held together by a reliable 3/4 on drums. I loved the soprano sax and the drums particularly spoke to me, but it was the way this band merged into a musically expressive whole that most impressed me. This was worldly and open-hearted music with exposed emotions and I enjoyed it immensely. Again, this didn’t feel like Australian music despite Australia’s multiculturalism. This is an expression of many cultures, but a product of one, shared with another. And what do we give in return? They may have complained about not seeing a kangaroo, but they’ve toured the Alice and that’s something unique. Great to see them. 

No Tango comprised Christina Fuchs (soprano sax, bass clarinet), Florian Stadler (accordion), Ulla Oster (bass) and Christoph Hillman (drums).

Being the Diva

Kate Hosking is Diva Sheila, the Eco Diva. The pic isn’t the Diva: it’s Kate as she relaxes after the show. Diva Sheila is slinky, sultry, in silky black dress. Who is the Diva? Well, although she’s the Eco Diva, she’s not just an eco warrior. She notes that earlier when she argues that we are all part of the environment and it’s part of us, when she recounts coughing in the industrial centre of Philip. Diva Sheila is an exploration of beliefs and philosophies, presumably Kate’s, in the context of the events in which they arose. It’s revealing and intimate, but it’s not embarrassing. It’s an invitation to think with Kate, to explore her experiences and her ethics, and to do it through some humour and some music, both original and covers. At the top, she argues for rationality in place of the “easy options” of prejudice (and who can argue with that) so there’s seriousness. Her later take on ignorance is more about what you know but don’t internalise. The example was racism and the musical expression was a profound take on Strange fruit sung with an accompaniment of sparse bass octaves. Likewise, she explores the experience of refugees, recounting weekly visits to a family in a Melbourne, separated from the father in Perth, an early teen son who absconds then voluntarily returns and eventually takes a heroin habit before the whole family is returned to their place of origin. It’s a hard story and powerful when you hear in personal recounting. But there’s bleak humour amongst devastation. “I’m here for indulgence” is one line, and recounting deportment classes and learning to walk in high heels was enlightening to me as a guy. Strange, this, but her talk of menstruation was less new to me than talk of high heels. It’s a strange, very public world we live in, that such intimacies are common parlance. BTW, the musical associations for high heels were Beyoncé and Bette Midler: that was fun. The show moved fast and I didn’t always catch the connections. I didn’t quite understand how Only 19, the Redgum song of an Australian soldier in Vietnam, fitted in, but I found it the most touching piece on the night. She goes on to explore intersex, prisons and cottontails. She jokes about her Slovenian experiences and the Balkan boys that she toured with in Europe. She sings a Slovenian love song and a lovely take on Mr Bojangles. She smirks and slinks and speaks directly and welcomes a responsive chuckle. She’s been a student of Eric Ajaye and I can see her right hand is strong and long fingered from bass-work as she accompanies her capable and nicely-intoned voice. I shouldn’t be surprised that acoustic bass and voice is so intimate and effective in a theatre setting, but I am. It worked a treat and she carried off the harmonic and rhythmic accompaniment role neatly and effectively. Finally she ends with Lou Reed’s Perfect day, repeating his line “You’re going to reap / just what you sow”. How apt. This was an intimate performance and thoughtful script from Kate Hosking (monologue, vocal, double bass) as Diva Sheila at Street 2.

Revisiting the ninth movement

It’s not right that bands should be so mature at 22. Movement 9 played jazz, not pop or rock. This is a complex art form, so how can Joe McEvilly compose and arrange and lead a 9-piece band of such quality in just his second year of tertiary studies? It just goes to show he’s talented and committed and he’s had quality training. And I’m not the only one who thinks it. They were heard playing one of their first gigs at Canberra’s Floriade and were invited to perform at the Wangaratta Festival, Australian’s premiere modern jazz outing. It was in these auspicious circumstances that Movement 9 performed for the final student concert at the Jazz School.

What a blast it was: a melange of styles, mostly original compositions but also clever arrangements played by a great band of the most capable students. You may wonder when you listen to their skills, but they are students. This night they invited several mentors, Eric Ajaye on bass, Miroslav Bukovsky on trumpet and John Mackey on tenor. All experienced and renowned players and all at ease with a band like this. Coltrane’s Giant steps is a favourite tune of John Mackey and Joe’s arrangement was a tour de force. He hadn’t just written harmonies for horns, but he’d reconstructed the feel and time sense to twist memories and still present a joyous playtime for the duelling pair of altoist Matt and tenor John. This was both a blow and a blowout, but also an ingenious rethinking of this challenging standard. That was the end of the night. Before this there were a string of different feels and times and styles: attractive, theatrical, commercial. This was clever writing and the performers played up to the opportunity. Strings of solos, trombone, trumpet, piano, bass, several drum explorations, the best I’ve heard from Henry on drums. These were big, bold sounds and indulgent grooves and they were an inspiration. Tate was studied and expansive as always, even if undemonstrative in stage presence. The trumpet pairing of Ax and Tom were in friendly but serious competition. Matt is just a master, always lyrically clear and never a faked note despite exuberant flourishes. Raf was all smiles and groove and chops as the bass doubler. I only remember one solo from Oshein, fat and bluesy. Patrick’s trombone got quite a workout. Joe himself, led from the bottom, on baritonesax, but he’s equally comfortable on alto. I think of Mingus with his heavy baritone parts and his compositions and think this fits nicely.

Other tunes? They open with a tight rollicking latin with Lola quotes and Cuban trumpets. Then a chart that could have come from variety TV, swinging lightly with a quizzical melody and cool solos. Then a blues-influenced medium tempo hard bop called Green dreaming. Then Wings with a Steely Dan influence that Joe admittedly that he garnered from his parents. Then Winter hymn, a touching secular melody. Then a blow on Supercollider, a favourite big band piece at the Jazz School, featuring the chops of much loved teacher Eric Ajaye. There’s another for composition teacher Miro, slow and with space for Miro’s trumpet and another drum feature. Then Cool change, a laid back cocktail bar latin. Then Pinoaks and that rebuild of Giant steps and a 7/4 groove and a final encore. This is clever and surprisingly mature and varied music. A fat and tight band sound and capable solos and some great writing. The band has done the dying jazz school proud. Eric Ajaye spoke to an assembled audience that students should live their dreams, despite the demise of our jazz school here in Canberra. These guys may be products of a dying institution, but they are proof that it was a success. This was a seriously mature and capable and involving band and I loved it.

Movement 9 is led by Joe McEvilly (baritone sax) with Ax Long (trumpet), Tom Sly (trumpet, flugelhorn), Matt Handel (alto), Oisin Smith-Coburn (tenor), Patrick Langdon (trombone), Tate Sheridan (piano), Raf Jerjen (bass) and Henry Rasmussen (drums). Eric Ajaye (bass), Miroslav Bukovsky (trumpet) and John Mackey (tenor) sat in for one tune each.

Never rains

Actually it was raining when I set off for Phillip Johnston and the Coolerators at the Gods but “never rains” really refers to two international jazz acts in Canberra on one night. The first was Sydney/NYC saxist Phillip Johnston with a support band of Alister Spence, Alex Boneham and Nic Cecire. I just caught one set and what a distinct style it was. To my ears this was a post-modern melange, ironic and frosty and a matter of mind rather than emotion. Phillip played a soprano sax that sounded all the world to me like clarinet, so of another era of jazz and of society: no way you could mistake this for the instrument Coltrane played. I seem to remember the tonguing as clipped, but it was unmistakably unadorned except for a characteristic swing band vibrato when reaching for high notes. The lines he played were simple, clearly stated, ironically bland. It’s more than just a musical style, but a presence, and I felt it in his wit and stage persona. Cool, otherworldly, undemonstrative. Maybe it’s the movies, but I can associate this with the big city, with NYC, with cool underground rock. It fitted that he played one tune called “Shelley’s got a brand new handbag” that nods at funk but that he performed in a NYC new wave rock band called The Public Servants. All dry with distant wit. It’s not something that’s easily received outside its milieu but it’s a noteworthy stream of alt culture and it’s interesting to hear it visiting Canberra from the source. Shelley was not funk, but unison, lightweight melody against composed accompaniments in arrangements of disparate parts and rock grooves. Maybe it’s danceable or suits a cool club scene. This is something different for the Gods. Phillip introduced the show with a solo sax passage called Splat which merged into a calypso-St-Thomas-like tune by Albert Ayler called Ghosts that was all simple chords and joyous melody and cacophony. Then an original with unison scalar snippets then a heavy funk 4/4 than some sparse latin segments and floating Leslie and synth organ amongst other solos. Then Steve Lacy’s Prospectus with complex head and some fast walk. Then Shelley, then an attractive and simple tune by folk singer Michael Hurley (Phillip noted he was not a guitar/strummer) with a characteristic folk/blues sense of time (here 4/4 interspersed with occasional 2/4 bars). Then a final Monk tune, We see, to end the set. I was impressed at how effectively the band read. Nic Cecire just nailed the feels in the most understated way. Alex Boneham is an intensely involved and musical bassist and always a joy to my ears. His accompaniment was impressive and two solos were richly melodic statements that just spoke so well to the tune, not just the chords. Alister Spence was playing organ and this seems a more romantic instrument to me. He had the easy fluency and rapid solo lines but it was the swelling organ chords that spoke to me of gospel and soul more than irony and things of the mind. I doubt that sunny Australia and harboured Sydney can do nihilist irony like NYC new wave (but I’m forgetting Nick Cave). To maintain the po-mo references, I’ll call it an interesting pastiche, but I did feel there was a diversity of approaches here. So it was an interesting and cogitatively enlivening outing. Phillip Johnston (soprano sax) led the Coolerators with Alister Spence (organ), Alex Boneham (bass) and Nic Cecire (drums).

Cyberhalides Jazz Photos by Brian Stewart

Blasts from the past

The Fabians still exist and we attended a meeting to hear Lindy Edwards, ADFA academic, ex-journalist and ex-political advisor to Senator Stott-Despoja, speaking on ideology in politics and how ideologies influence political ideas and actions. It’s the concern of her new book, The passions of politics, and the talk was to launch the book. To my ears, it’s a satisfying, historical view of politics that seems informed and with meaning.

It’s a common theme that our current politics is disheartening and I can only concur. Political philosophies, ideologies in politics, provide a base and a direction for decisions in place of the politics of immediate political wins and confused paths that comes with focus-group and shock-jock-responsive politics. Lindy had embarked on her book to make accessible the big political ideas, revive Australia’s history as radically democratic and egalitarian, and, on a personal note, to help her decide just what she believed in. She thinks that important ideas are simple but forgotten. She outlined three waves in the history of recent ideological thought: Marxist, Liberal and the dissolution of ideologies under Post-modernism. Amongst her evidence was the absence of ideologies in favour of political mechanics in current teaching in university politics and a more specific observation that a major political conference in the US that she had registered for (large! ~7,000 participants) had no sessions with titles that mentioned ideology. In contrast, communications from the current US presidential election highlight ideological matters as guides for voting and, anyway, we just have gut-feelings of ideologies underlying many policies. She argues there’s a disconnect here between practice and academia. Ideologies are historically and geographically specific and display multiple strands, but they have relevance for current politics, they inform policies and they are often shared across nations. She identifies Social democracy as one of three major ideologies (the others being Conservatism and Liberalism). Political ideologies have assumptions about human nature, share approaches to coordinating society and ideals of the good. I liked that she argued that political parties and policies are a balance of all three ideologies; no-one is pure; no one approach is without its weaknesses and strengths. The key marker of Social democracy is that it organises society through “collective deliberation on the common good”. This has dangers of elites taking control, loss of individual autonomy, deciding who’s in and out, and conflict from different meaning systems. Conservatism and Liberalism have their own problems, and all politics is always a matter of mix or balance, anyway. She wondered whether the Western ascendancy of recent centuries was fragile and prone to failure. Also whether Social democracy is the least stable of the three ideologies and whether it was durable outside the socio-economic circumstances of the last century-or-so. She argued that ideas, to gain support, must explain social reality, be consistent with existing beliefs, serve our interests and appeal to a notion of “the good”. She mentioned that the Ancient Greeks had thought about these very requirements. She said the challenge for Labor / Social democrats is to build a mass movement that supports social justice and that this social justice must support the interests of individuals in the movement. The problems to be encountered are in changing the economic structure and a splintering battle for justice. It’s here that she wondered if Social democracy is just a product of a specific era or set of circumstances.

Inevitably some interesting chatter arose from questions. Industrial social democracy was about economic equality between men, so those men may lose in new formations of Labor. Can democracy even functions without ideologies? Very interestingly, she noted that Gillard and Abbott are our first pair of leaders who were student politicians and asked whether this is why we have the point-scoring politics we now have. Megan and I came away chattering about ideologies and the state of current politics and political philosophies and with a copy of Lindy’s book. This was a frustratingly brief visit to a very large topic. Ideology has a bad name, but as political philosophy it’s admirable and a worthy concern and, if Lindy’s right, essential to an effective democracy. I particularly liked the notion of mix or balance between ideologies; that policies, parties, individuals balance political approaches in developing and applying their policies, and that all ideologies have strengths and weaknesses and that their prominence and development are functions of historical conditions. The local Fabians were a disappointingly small and mostly greying group, but the session was worthy and informed and this was a stimulating intellectual outing. Dr Lindy Edwards spoke to the ACT Australian Fabians on ideology in Australian politics and its implications for Labor.

The passion of politics : the role of ideology and political theory in Australia / Lindy Edwards. Sydney : Allen & Unwin, 2013.

The joy of a nice gig

What a great little gig I played on Thursday night. It was just a piano trio with Peter and Brenton at the Tradies: quiet, spacious, relaxed. Peter was enjoying the Kawai grand, observing that it’s well maintained and the action is not as heavy as some Kawais and just how good it is to play a real piano. I hadn’t played for a while, but I had travels and European jazz clubs in my mind, as well as some recent listening to Scott LaFaro. His voluble, melodic style was in my mind. I was happy with my solos on the night, with space and melody and structure and some fast bits, but I still dropped back to 1s in accompaniment. But my pizz was working well, and that was pleasing. Strange to say, but for me the most important tone control is the volume control, meaning you have to get that right or your pizz is either pondrous or feeble. This night I got that right and dropped out some low-mid honk and it was sounding good. Ah, how nice is that! Brenton was also relaxed and enjoying the gig and our tempos were steady and solid. Just standards but it was a very nice gig and much enjoyed. I’m glad it was because I missed two others on the night, including Ben Hauptman just a few hundred metres away at the Loft. This one was worth it: this is why you bother with all the practice and the rest. Thanks to Peter and Brenton. Peter Kirkup (piano) led a trio with Eric Pozza (bass) and Brenton Holmes (drums).

For Canberra’s 100th

I feel bereft and the final student concert at the Jazz School the other night had a sad, even teary, air about it. Eric Ajaye raised spirits with a dignified personal-recovery-from-adversity oration, and that’s admirable and true, at least to some degree. Joe McEvilly was leading the band and I was impressed by both his musical and personal maturity (he’s only 20!) as he avoided being overly political, recognising it was “too late for us” but maybe there was a future for others. I understand current students still don’t know what’s on offer next year. Some are leaving; some are staying to finish. One parent has told me of a student who had been offered a transfer but that it would extend his course by one year. Enrolments are down ~25% but the new Director expects full enrollment by the start of year. It’s a common expectation amongst the jazz community that no-one would come to Canberra for the new course. Perhaps students will pursue it as a second degree and that has some value and it’s cheaper. Good luck to the few worthy staff that remain (let alone those who have left). I imagine it will be a hard road to travel. This from an institution that been with us for half of Canberra’s 99 year life. I’m thinking that the Music School may have been the most popular cultural institution in Canberra. Certainly, tens of thousands of Canberrans signed a petition and all parties in the Legislative Assembly were disappointed with the ANU decision. Is this a 1975 Dismissal moment? The comparison sits easily with me. Remember the suddenness; remember the widely despised GG John Kerr; remember “Mantain the rage”; remember the rent to the Australian fabric. I can imagine an emotional void down Marcus Clarke St right now and some friends speak of it. My more cynical friends predict investments in high rise next to Llewellyn in a few years. I was terribly disappointed by the arguments presented, but the weakest must be to call up the conservative-bugbear of “elites”. How is this elite? Elite as in intellect and discovery like Nobel Prizes? Elite as in high university rankings? Elite as in musicians who are renowned and tour the world? Or elite as in Occupy’s 1% and $?m heads of corporations and too big to fail. With our whole society, even universities, taking the corporate path, it makes you wonder. Yep, the school was elite, but in performance not wealth and that seems perfectly admirable to me and Canberra was the better for its musical success. So, excuse the lack of a concert report. Suffice to say that it was very good. They are invited to play at Wangaratta, Australia’s main modern jazz festival, this weekend. That’s elite, stunningly so for a few students with original charts. But what more to say? Farewell.

Movement 9 played at the final ANU School of Music student jazz series of 2012. Movement 9 is a platform for arrangements and compositions by Joe McEvilly (baritone sax) with Ax Long (trumpet), Tom Sly (trumpet, flugelhorn), Matt Handel (alto), Oisin Smith-Coburn (tenor), Patrick Langdon (trombone), Tate Sheridan (piano), Raf Jerjen (bass) and Henry Rasmussen (drums). Eric Ajaye (bass), Miroslav Bukovsky (trumpet) and John Mackey (tenor) sat in for one tune each.

For a full report on the concert rather than a paean over the jazz school, see Revisiting the ninth movement

Cyberhalides Jazz Photos by Brian Stewart