Hiding amongst the bustle

There’s a bustle of people before an orchestral rehearsal. It seems a whirlwind to a jazzer who’s used to quartets and quintets. We were at the Albert Hall for a rehearsal of Bach cantatas to be performed for the Canberra International Music Festival. We are billeting one of the viola players and driving a cellist so we had entré. I was amused by the busyness and the activity, but then the music pulled me up as I was writing this. Bach cantatas are superbly beautiful, dignified and majestic. It wasn’t sounding so sharp and the horns sounded a bit cold, but the glory shines through. This is a reading gig, of course. The practice doesn’t repeat choruses. This is lengthy runs of bars, then stops for advice from the conductor, then perhaps comments from the singers. These are mature players so there was discussion, expansion on themes to clarify understanding. Perhaps some questions on stage layout. Twenty players and eight singers, all sitting as discussions continue. Some were injecting comments and suggestions. I guess, like a captain, the conductor directs, but this seemed pretty chummy and collegiate. Then back to Bach’s perfect balance.

A bit later I realise the other side of the bustle is the need for patience. It takes time for groups of people to do things. Conductor Roland Peelmann moves the singers and players around: singers in pairs, up front and in the wings; the trumpets standing behind; the strings spread out and pulled back. The playing is still relaxed and a little rough. Feeling out the band. This is the necessary, preliminary business, not the performance. Casual. T-shirts not skirts, although there’s still some black. There’s a fair bit of time spent just sitting around. Then back again, singers to a row behind, back to standard configuration. Then a line of classic Bach and it’s sounding great. What’s the change? This has livened. It’s more challenging, perhaps more practised at home. Rolling swells of strings, then counter-tenor and gathered voices. These are only eight singers – not a choir – but they are four clear lines.

“No French ballads: da da da DA”. So said Roland when the baroque lost just a little of its formal elegance. This is not music to emote even if it’s of great grace. There’s intellectual rigour and protestant propriety here: masterful and ordered. I doubt he’d present this way on stage, but Roland is a physical and profoundly spelling out the piece.

It goes on like this. Two hours, no stop. The orchestra gradually settling into a whole. There were some terrific individual performances. The singers were wonderful. Max McBride was rock solid as sole bass. Paul Goodchild excelled on the piccolo trumpet and got some gentle applause from his colleagues. Then the larger orchestra ends to give way to a delightful quintet, but before the orchestra leaves the stage, Roland has another gem about Bach: “Did you notice? It finishes on a chord with three sharps … three crosses. Bach’s never short on symbolism”. How much can there be in this music? I’m floored.

Roland Peelman (conductor) was rehearsing the Song Company with guests Rachael Thoms (alto), Tobias Cole (counter-tenor) and Andrew Goodwin (tenor), and the Canberra Festival Camerata with Calvin Bowman (chamber organ) and Clare Tunney (continuo cello).

Ta Ka Di Mi

Sharvari Jemenis’ concert of Kathak dance had links to Burley Griffin, was at the Albert Hall and was an event in the Canberra International Music Festival, so it’s relevant. It’s not jazz so I was just a little surprised when a classical person said I’d like it, being a jazz lover. I guess it’s for the improvisation or the rhythms, but it’s still a strange thing to my ears. But I do enjoy the cicada busyness of the tablas and the Ta Ka Di Mi vocalisations of rhythms that inform Indian classical music and the drones and melodies that go with it. I wasn’t so sure of liking the dance but Sharvari did a great presentation that both informed and entertained. We learnt of the storytelling of much of the dance forms, the symbols and representations of the movements and the musical structures that underlie it all. I thought early on that I wasn’t so keen on religious themes, being wary of dances of Shiva and more, but reprimanded myself as I realised how much I love the expressions of faith of Handel and Bach and Mozart and more. But the dance told wider stories. There was even one of a heroic Queen who refused the British, formed a regiment of female soldiers and was eventually caught and executed by the colonists. We could read the story in her dance movements. Things were becoming understood, becoming interesting, having meaning beyond the arbitrary. The movements of this dance are precise and mannered, but the interaction between dances was anything but. Sharvari talked to the audience, easily and personally, joked with her husband the tabla player before singing a mock interaction with him, and introduced us to the symbology and to the musical structures, singing the 1-2-3-4-5 or 16 or Hindi version of these numbers or the Ta Ki Ta vocalisations that spell out a tune. I’m enamoured by these vocalisations, so this was a winner. As for the music, her husband spelt out those Ta Ki Ta s on the tabla with accompaniment of harmonium and violin as a mix of drones and long ostinato melody and the vocals, all with the twist of the strangely scaled tones of these vocals. There are strange scales here, odd intervals, characteristic bends and portamento, all indicative of this highly evolved music that’s so different to our ears. This was an intriguing and very good-natured musical dance outing.

Sharvari Jamenis (Karthak dance) presented the 43rd Spirit of India with Nikhil Phatak (tabla), Chinmay Kolhatkar (harmonium), Manoj Desai (vocals) and Swapna Achyuta Soman (violin).

Patriots and eggs and the sea

There was a line in The Great South Land saying that Ferdinand de Quiros was the first Australian patriot. It’s about the only thing in the whole work that I didn’t admire and enjoy immensely. We attended the premiere (in this form) of Peter Sculthorpe’s Great South Land, an oratorio celebrating de Quiros, his search for the imagined southern land and his naming of Australia. This is a big, expansive work, lasting just under 100 minutes, in three parts, telling the story of his first and second voyages and attempts to fund a third. This is the late 1500s, at the end of the great period of exploration by the Portuguese. There’s narration by Peter Tregear, voices of Quiros (Andrew Goodwin) and his wife, Dona Ana (Louise Page), and a young soprano, perhaps his daughter, Geronima (Stephanie McLean or Hannah von Thrumm), his commander on the first trip, Medaña (Andrew Goodwin), and his wife, Dona Ysabel (Christina Wilson). The presence of the women was interesting. We think of the adventurers as men, but the women were involved with the lack of husbands for long periods. Like a war, really. And Dona Ysabel seems to have accompanied her husband and called off the first trip to the disappointment of de Quiros.

I loved it from the top, with an imposing entrance, leading to cello harmonics bird calls and swelling strings and brass that spelt rolling seas. I learnt another term this week, eggs, used for whole notes. There are lots of eggs for the strings and often for others. This does not move quickly, It’s like synthesisers with swells and decays. The strings were especially so, while the brass seemed to spell out melodies in short little phrases, although they too were gently formed. The basses (there were 4) were also on the long notes and they stunned me with a huge presence both pizz and bowed. That might be from the room. This is a live room, rectangular, windowed, proscenium arched and stucco-decorated. The percussion also rang out and they are by nature harder, tubular bells or drums. The bells contrasted nicely with the billowing wave-like presence of the rest of the instruments. This was an oratorio. There were several choirs gathered: sometimes singing, early on with back to the audience to give a distance that spoke of the sea, later often speaking lines, sometimes in gathering power with one of the voices. There were five voices for the characters. I enjoyed the varied tones of mezzo and soprano and soprano, the pure girl soprano, the powerful mature soprano reachggn to the heavens, the milder mezzo. I thought Andrew Goodwin’s tenor Quiros was particularly good.

It’s a fascinating story. I would have liked to read the libretto. Perhaps one disspointment was that I missed most of the story. The discoveries, the deaths, the power in the background and the influence of the various women, the dedication to a cause and the failures and bravery of it all. Apparently Peter Sculthorpe has followed the story all his life. He wrote an opera – this oratorio is that opera in new format – and the characters in the history of this work are fascinating: Nugget Coombes, James McAuley, Manning Clarke, Opera House, ABC fiftieth anniversary. Apparently we should add Chris Latham to that, because he had a role in promoting this oratorio version. In the end, this wonderful performance was broadcast live to ABC FM and Chris Latham even brought Sculthorpe into the room by mobile phone to hear the reception of his work. This was truly a memorable night with a winning work of historic interest. But then, it had special relevance to us for two reasons: we live in Quiros Street and we are billetting James Eccles, one of the viola players in the orchestra.

Peter Sculthorpe’s The Great South Land featured Andrew Goodwin (tenor), Alexander Knight (bass), Christina Wilson (mezzo soprano), Louise Page (soprano), Stephanie McLean or Hannah von Thrumm (soprano), ANU School of Music Chamber Choir, Oriana Chorale, Canberra Choral Society with Bengt-Olov Palmqvist (choral director), Canberra Festival Orchestra with the ANU School of Music Faculty and students including DRUMatiX. Roland Peelman conducted.

Another from the Notice Board

Here’s an interesting one. I like and admire community activities. This was the Musica da Camera String Orchestra, this time led by Leonard Weiss. I found out about the gig from my work notice board but apparently this outfit has been around since 1979 in various guises. They perform 3 concerts per year, each one a pair in Canberra and a local town (Goulburn, Gunning, Cooma, Braidwood). The invite a different director for each concert to explore different repertoires and styles. They are made up of “professional musicians, music educators and talented instrumental enthusiasts”, currently numbering about 20. We are talking of Canberra at the moment (ABC FM has a Canberra weekend). This is the sort of thing I love about Canberra.

This concert was richly diverse. Firstly, Bach’s orchestral suite in B minor: baroque, ordered, always attractive. Then Dvorak’s String Quintet no.2 in G minor: intimations of folk, lyrical, sometimes powerful, sometimes noble. James, our current CIMF billet and viola player, told me this was originally scored for 2 violas, so played as one it’s very difficult. I think this was where I noticed the feature viola: very nicely done. After the interval, Bernard Hermann’s film score, perhaps the most famous of all, the Theme and murder from Psycho, with its screeching violins. Then Vaughan Williams’ Phantasy Quintet, all colour and tone poetry. I had an idea I didn’t warm to tone poems, but I liked this. I must listen further. Then, to finish, Fuchs’ Serenade for string orchestra no.3 in E minor. This is sheer classical, although without the bite of a Beethoven. He was highly regarded in his time and the teacher of Mahler, Sibelius and other at the Vienna Conservatory. Apparently, he’s known for his serenades and was nicknamed “Serenader Fox”.

This is a community orchestra so we can’t expect professional perfection. There were some moments when intonation didn’t sit quite right, especially in the violins (violins have little leeway with intonation), some players looked a little uncomfortable in following the charts and one even joked she doesn’t manage all the notes even if her offsider does. So what? Generally this was easy and relaxed and when they settled, especially in the second half, they were sweet and confident. There were some very capable solo parts, too - the viola that I mentioned, some cello, some violin, and I was impressed that the basses held some pretty long and quick lines. Part-time outfits just can’t take on demanding work like this without some limits. But in the end, everyone was obviously chummy and pleased after the performance and we left in great cheer. I’ll keep an eye on the notice board at work.

The Musica da Camera string orchestra was led by Leonard Weiss. They performed Bach Orchestral suite in B minor, Dvorak String Quintet no.2 in G minor, Bernard Hermann Theme and murder from Psycho, Vaughan Williams Phantasy Quintet and Fuchs Serenade for string orchestra no.3 in E minor. The players were Jocelyn James, Jacqueline Smith, Elizabeth Edwards, Christine Davidson and Rosemary Macphail (first violins), Shaun Choon, Heather Shelley, Sarah Bloustein, Cheryl Peffer and Jon Rosalky (second violins), Paul Whitbread, Marcus Hussain, Dorothea Neumann (violas), Helen Lamour, Jack Morrison, Jarka Secker and Sara Burns (cellos) and Juliet Flook and Karen Dahl (basses).

Big night out : indie

There’s been so little jazz recently so I was annoyed to have conflicts. We’d had tickets for the CSO concert for some time so I expected I’d miss Lucian McGuiness, but his gig started late and I managed at least one set (and a few bars of the first).

I really liked this. Lucian lives in Amsterdam these days, but wrote and arranged a set of tunes with Sarah McCallum (aka Miss Little) over the Net. There’s a lovely mix of influences here, rockabilly, jazz, indie / folk, so I could imagine all sorts of audiences. It would be as presentable on JJJ as it is on ABC RN and perhaps insinuating itself onto Dig Jazz. And beyond all this, there’s also a gentleness with the two percussionists in place of drums: much softer, less insistent, although I also heard some heavy deep kick-equatable thumps from the cajon at times. Sarah’s voice is not one of power and there’s no scat. To my ears, this is the indie influence, that soft, folk-influenced style that’s so popular these days. But she also takes an intriguing harmonic role, often spelling chords with the two horns, virtually taking an instrument. The song titles, and what lyrics I heard, suggest some fairly serious personal messages shared through story-telling, but I didn’t catch much. I loved the guitar solos of chunky tone and indeterminate pitch, all country licks and vibrato chords, although like everything here, always with a jazz awareness and training. Zoe and the rest of the band sits into this gentle country-presence over a sea of percussion which was present and underlying but not at all prominent. These are capable but unassuming musicians. OF all the players, the two horns said jazz to me most of all. Both played solos of complexity although not abandon, and their written lines were sweet and of one mind and comfortable in the context. It might sound simple and relaxed and even playing at hick at times, but there’s a good deal of sophistication to do just this. I enjoyed the gig immensely. The instrumentals I heard were a touchingly beautiful take on Leonard Cohen’s Hey that’s no way to say goodbye as a slow shuffle and Bowie’s Oh you pretty things. The storytelling originals included Suzanne (not Leonard Cohen’s) and Victoria and This train (you rode). Tom Fell joked that Tom Vincent would return the Loft’s jazz cred when he played there the following week, but jazz is a many splendoured thing these days. Music is all just 12 notes anyway (admittedly a simplification) and it’s all merged together these days; all part of the luscious sounds we call music. This is a very attractive and amenable and subtly sophisticated branch. Loved it.

My Goodness McGuiness was led by Lucian McGuiness (trombone) with Sarah McCallum / Miss Little (vocals), Dan Junor (alto), Julian Curwin (guitar), Zoe Hauptmann (bass), James Hauptmann (percussion) and Fabian Hevia (percussion).

Big night out : the Russians

It’s pleasurable going to a CSO gig these days. It’s a like a big family. We don’t really know them, but we recognise so many faces, on an off stage. This was the second night of two for this program and the Llewellyn was sold out. That’s good. I imagine people are rallying around our musical assets with the changes at the Music School. The program was Shostakovich, Rachmaninov and Mussorgsky/Ravel. The Shostakovich was a light piece that the program advises had been churned out at short notice. Apparently he was a brilliant composer who could chat and write and deliver all at once. Certainly, they talked of couriers taking pages while the ink was still wet and the performance just days later. It may have also been an ironic statement and a protection from Stalin’s interests. I enjoyed it, but as I write this, a few days and concerts later, it doesn’t leave any particular image other than of pleasure. Not so the Rachmaninov. This was his Piano concerto no.2 in Cmin and it finished the first set. This is what I think of is Russian music. Three movements with a turgid start, dense and soupy, swells and discoveries and denouements, military marches and busy, full-handed playing and lots of notes. Busy and detailed and informative like richly painted Russian novels. It was amusing to recognise a pop song in the second movement (was it the Carpenters?) and the theme of the third would have done equally well. This was big and turgid and typical.

After the interval was Pictures at an exhibition by Mussorgsky and orchestrated by Ravel. I hadn’t realised it was exactly this: a tone poem about an exhibition. The core theme that we all know is someone walking through the exhibition (the Promenade) and it reappears in varying forms between most pics. I’m informed that the paintings are actually not particularly special, more drawings than paintings, but it interests me that we know exactly what paintings each tunes refers to. Interestingly, one features an alto sax and a glowing report of its role was quoted in the program, but I could only imagine that every saxist must be pleased that jazz came along. It was a pretty tame line to my ears. Otherwise, there are features for tuba and trumpet and others. I expected to find this too popular, but I must say I enjoyed this best of all the pieces on the night. It’s varied in colour and melody, it’s nicely structured and has that hugely memorable theme to hold it all together. And I felt it was well played by the CSO. I don’t imagine it’s the hardest piece in the repertoire, but the basses got some speed up a few times.

Nicholas Milton (conductor) led the Canberra Symphony Orchestra and Konstantin Shamray (piano) played the Rachmaninov concerto. The pieces were Shostakovitch Festive Overture Op.96, Rachmaninov Piano Concerto No.2 in C minor and Mussorgsky Pictures at an exhibition, orchestrated by Maurice Ravel.

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).

Decorative to decorous

It’s strange how things coincide, in this case, decorative arts and birds and the blues. We’d gone to the Canberra Museum & Gallery (CMAG) to see the exhibition “Australia Revealed : decorative arts from the Australiana Fund”. It’s a small but delightful exhibition of decorative arts that were purchased for use in four official residences: Admiralty House and Kirribili in Sydney and The Lodge and Government House in Canberra. These are formal residences, so doughty but quality works are expected. We got heavy cedar furniture from the nineteenth century and statues of heroes of whatever era and some nouveau curves and toby jugs and silver and more timber and china and some more modern pieces. The star of the show was Bertram Mckennal, but he always is the star with his lithe female nudes. It gets the guys in the gallery and the admiration of the women, too. This one was a small figure called Truth, but the woman looked all the world like McKennall’s Circe to me, except for her angel wings and pose. I was amused by several pieces of porcelain: a toby jug of sailors presumably arriving at Sydney Cove and some life-sized sulphur-crested cockies. The earlier works were heavy and dark and functional, but they, too, featured Australian fauna. We were interested to learn of a new piece of furniture - a cellarette, shaped like a sarcophagus - which just had to be for storing wines in the dark with some temperature control. What a heavy life they must have lived in our hot clime, given the dark furniture and heavy clothing. Just proof of the “mad dogs and Englishmen” thesis. It’s a small exhibit, but there are some interesting works of quality that inform our history. Much enjoyed.

Walking on through CMAG, we came across a dead parrot (you wouldn’t write of it!) attached to the name of Dr Leo Joseph and thus to the blues. Leo researches the evolution of Australian birds at CSIRO, but he also moonlights playing the blues. His band, Key Grip Full Strength, was playing at the Brassey that very afternoon. Leo plays solo or in a smaller outfit or with his band with the Gripping Stuff horn section as KG Full Strength. This is New Orleans swing: laid back; sharp guitar; passionate vocals; and good for a dance. It’s all blues and blues isn’t noted for its variety. I noticed some consecutive count-ins that were the same tempo, even if the groove was different. And the chords are just that, the blues: twelve bars with classic bass-lines. It’s a style and there’s a good degree of sameness about it, but it’s also invigourating, danceable, sometimes witty, and can be impassioned. The horns add punch and colour, but also a bit of jazz sensibility when they insinuate dissonance and cross-rhythmic flourishes amongst blues licks. Dave’s guitar is sharp and I noticed some nicely sophisticated intervallic touches. There’s banter from Leo and Mitch and vocals from Leo and Angela with her hefty alto voice. And the inevitable, classic pentatonic bass lines from Greg. Blues is like that. Human scale and unpretentious and great for some beers, or many.

Key Grip are Leo Joseph (piano, vocals), Angela Lount (vocals), Dave Blanken (guitar), Greg Moss (bass), Mitch Preston (drums) and the Gripping Stuff horn section are Nick Combe (tenor sax), Tye Langford (alto sax) and Tom Fell (baritone sax).

Australia revealed

Win one, lose one

Not everyone did, but I lost on this one. We went to see “I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change” at the Q Theatre in Queanbeyan. We’d decided on the spur of the moment after overhearing someone at SCUNA saying how good it was and that Lucy Bermingham was musical director (I hadn’t heard her for some time). I should have looked more closely. The promotion had me dreading it by the time we walked in (“After watching this outstanding performance you will walk out feeling that nobody is perfect … and that is OK”). This is an Off-Broadway musical that ran for 5,003 performances (1996-2008) – apparently the longest run of any off-Broadway musical. It runs 2 hours plus interval. It’s a series of skits, each with a song, covering modern romantic (urban heterosexual) life: dating, mating, marriage, kids, divorce, old age. It’s funny, but in an American pop-commercial way which seems somewhat sordid to me. I feel much American humour is humour of denigration. It’s common enough on commercial TV but I don’t like it. There were popular memes, desperate characters, “losers”, stereotypes. It was also somewhat crass at times (condoms; couple with young kids yearning for sex) which is also common in popular culture. I wondered if it’s unavoidable in discussions of mating (it certainly seems to be these days) but then I remember the great era of Hollywood, with its wit and whimsy, that did perfectly well with hints and intimations and was more clever and deeper in the process. This work touches on real themes, but to my ears it doesn’t say much about them. Perhaps the second half is better, where the couples break up, the divorcees rethink their lives and the aged carry on with acceptance and wisdom. It’s not all bad, but I found it hard to warm to it after early disappointments.

But what’s good? The music was varied, and the styles matched the themes, like the single woman singing “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride” as a Country tune. How apt is that. I really liked the cast and their performance. This is presumably a semi-professional group of performers, but they did a grand job. Good to very good voices; well acted, with verve and humour; nicely lit and laid out. Also, the music was good if the orchestra was very small. I wonder if the original was performed this way? Only Lucy Birmingham, on piano, who did most of the work, with occasional violin melodies and a very quiet bass. In all, just 9 performers: three men, three women, three musicians.

I’m writing about how I received it, but not everyone felt the same. I chatted with a woman next to me at interval, and she suggested it’s just a flimsy and (in a nice way) that I could lighten up. Fair comment. I went with Megan and Bob and Anne and they enjoyed it well enough and sympathised with the difficulties of post-modern, urban mating. Yep, I could see that, too. A few blokes belly laughed, especially at the scene of the divorcee doing a video for a dating agency. That had amusing twists, but it was also one of the more honest and heartrending scenes of the show. I warmed to the old man and woman meeting at the funeral parlour (at funerals of people they didn’t know) who got together with the line “I can live with that”. So perhaps you should judge for yourself. Certainly the cast deserves the audience.

“I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change” was presented by the Queanbeyan City Council at the Q (Queanbeyan Performing Arts Centre). Stephen Pike directed. The cast was Dave Evans, Jenna Roberts, Christine Forbes, Greg Sollis, Krystle Innes and Nick Valois. The band was Lucy Bermingham (piano, musical director), Vanessa Driver (violin) and Jason Henderson (bass).

Millenium

This is CJBlog post no. 1000.

So what do I make of it? I’ve had a great time in jazz over recent years, heard lots of intriguing and much-varied music and met many friendly and committed people who concern themselves with things of some substance. Jazz is an excellent interest to have as a traveller. There are jazz clubs everywhere, they are open to the public, they announce themselves on the Net, they welcome visitors and contain people with similar interests. And these interests are not just jazz. Jazz is a complex and sophisticated art form. People who commit to such things are interesting, broadminded, hard-working, in short have some depth. They may not always share common views, but they share a seriousness. Jazz is also worldly, so there’s an openness and wisdom, although, like the wit in jazz songs, the seriousness is worn lightly. That’s attractive. Examples? Attending a lunchtime concert at the home of the Berlin Philharmonic and running into Reuben and Ronny, or musing over a smashed windscreen (not mine) one morning when leaving the Moruya Jazz festival and thinking that, despite their careless looks, the young jazzers I’d listened to were much more dignified and positive than whoever had done this.

Looking at recent posts, though, it’s clear that things around Canberra are changed. Very few recent posts have reported on jazz. They’ve mostly covered classical or choral music and odd ones about theatre or poetry. Partly, this is a product of the C100 Musical Offering and the Canberra International Music Festival, but not all. There have been no concerts at the Music School and very few locals at the Loft. Megan has even suggested I change the name to CanberraMusic. A few months ago while musing about changes at the Music School, Geoff Page suggested that we had lived through a golden age of jazz in Canberra. It’s certainly looking like that. I believe that golden age was almost totally a product of the ANU School of Music so I can only hope the Music School recovers. I hear of staff working ridiculously hard in an uncertain environment. This change was hard on students but devastating on remaining staff and I expect it will be devastating for culture in Canberra. I also hear such changes are sweeping through music courses in Australia. Are classical economists responding to their failures by imparting more of their solutions? They’ve had a habit of responding to failure with a demand for more purity. We’ve learnt little from the GFC, but all that is another story (for AginSpin, my now-defunct political blog). There’s a lot we have to learn about longer-term survival, in music and climate change and resources and wealth distribution and more. I remain pessimistic but hope to be proved wrong.

It saddens me to think of the changes at the Music School. They had such a powerful combination, jazz and classical collocated, students sharing classes as they felt the desire. But each discipline, jazz and classical, is a life’s work. To ask students to do both is inevitably a diminishing of each. It amazes me that all this comes from 12 notes in the same way that engineering comes from a common physics. Perhaps the civil engineers should have a common course with the electronic engineers. Now, that would save money. It wouldn’t work, of course, but it’s efficient. Until the bridges collapse and the electronics-based industries go broke. In these days of wealth from information and culture (remember, the biggest export from the USA is culture), can we afford to ignore the arts? They are big business. But beyond that, they are our soul. Tragedy.

Has CJ been successful? Early on, I tried to get others involved. A few band mates wrote posts (~25) and provided pics, but I haven’t been successful in expanding input. CJGroup on Facebook has some interest but it’s limited. Google stats show about 250,000 visits over the years; 30-90 visits per day; ~70% from Australia, then US, UK and many other countries. The CJBlog index has over 2,600 names. I’ve assisted musos visiting Australia or Canberra. CJCalendar is subsumed into ArtSound’s. Since I’ve taken up recording, I’ve had one track on a CD and another few more coming. My pics have appeared on numerous websites, with and without recognition. One appeared (with permission) on the Bösendorfer front page for a month or so. I’ve been quoted on album covers a few times. I’ve been thanked for the work I do for jazz in Canberra, but also obliquely reminded by a local of his wisdom: “Those who know, don't speak; Those who speak, don't know”. It’s the obvious concern of any writer - to me no less than any other - but it becomes hard to judge value from the inside. How much is there to say after 1,000 posts? My preparation is learning bass, but there’s a wealth of musical and cultural history that I know only peripherally. I call my posts reports, not reviews, for that reason. One disappointment is the lack of response to CJ. Perhaps it’s a function of the topic and readership (sadly, jazz is predominently a male pursuit). Several female friends, blogging on books and chocolates (with mostly female audiences) have plenty of comments. It’s rare to get any comment on a post of CJ. I just console myself that jazzers are less loquatious and they should be practising anyway. Volunteer activities are labours of love, sometimes useful and often thankless, and often a trivial passtime in a wealthy society. CJ is no different.

Otherwise, over the years of CJ, I’ve returned to playing music and changed from electric to double bass. After 4 years of the big instrument I finally feel more comfortable with the acoustic bass. CJ keeps me ridiculously busy, but I’m not ready to close it. It’s too much part of my life these days, but I might take it easier. I remember being surprised when CJBlog posts reached 250. Now it’s at 1,000, but the next step is immeasurably larger. As for the pic, it's unrelated but I needed one and I chose this. I’m restringing my bass today to try out Velvet Blues. Any jazz bassist will pick the Velvet Blues (E- and G-strings); the A and D are Thomastik Purples.

This is CJBlog post no. 1000

AginSpin

What backbeat is

They were on the way to the Thredbo Jazz Festival, but they weren’t jazz. Nowhere near. Not blues either, which is what I expect at the Press Club on Thursdays. This was Jeff Duff with Glenn Rhodes and Ben Isaacson and they were a blast. This is rock: heavy backbeat, basic rhythms and simple chords, playing a list from the Rock Top 50. I caught one set: Does anybody really know what time it is, Mr Bojangles, Walk on the wild side (funky), Walking in Memphis, What’s going on, Sorrow. Fabulous. I was enthralled by Ben on drums. Steady with rock solid time, firm sticks, insistent snare and light cymbals and solid mixed with flirting kick; otherwise unembroidered and laid back except for the most delicious of fills ending lines. Glenn was a complex, multifaceted master as keys-players can be, but I missed the oomph of an acoustic instrument. He played three keyboards: two plus one for left hand bass. This was colour and orchestration, solos with all manner of tones beyond piano. Again, steady, firm, knowing and, with his history, I presume the well-rehearsed arrangements were his. And with a decent vocal, for backing, but also for sharing verses on Mr Bojangles. And, out front, Jeff Duff, the lank, waif-like, suited presence of glam rock from the ’70s, through to the Bowie, Deep Purple and Sinatra presence of shows today. He sings with a Soulful voice, oozing vibrato, reaching into falsetto, spelling songs with a performer’s presence but also an interpreter’s sympathy. This was not at all jazz, of course, but that’s not what I expected. This was masterful, mature rock from some of the best, in the lounge-like venue of the National Press Club. Loud but mature and experienced and a glimpse of what rock can be.

Jeff Duff (vocals, percussion) performed with Glenn Rhodes (keys, vocals) and Ben Isaacson (drums) at the National Press Club. Fabulous.

Bottesini bass

I have the idea that I don’t like unaccompanied strings – strings en masse can strike my ear as shrill - but I thoroughly enjoyed the Limestone Consort the other day. They are just strings; one cello, two basses with violins and violas. There were a few times I found them a little edgy but mostly this was comfortable, nicely intoned, lyrical, and despite a few very popular pieces in the program, I didn’t find it uninteresting. I actually thought it was a really good mix of popular with less common and it was all attractive. Maybe it was the chatty introductions that turned tunes into historical expressions. The Mendelssohn sinfonia (no.7, Dmin) was a pretty straightforward work, but it gets a place in time when you realise he wrote it aged 12 or 13 and doubly so given that he died so young, in his late thirties. But I was really there for the Bottesini. Kyle Daniel was performing a double bass concerto (no.2, Bmin). It’s a starring piece for a bassist. The bass doesn’t get too much chance to feature, but it does here. Kyle played on a bass with solo tuning where the strings are one tone higher than standard. I wonder if it changes the fingering, of if the work is transposed to a different key with standard tuning. I’d heard fellow ANU student, Rohan Dasica, playing this piece several months before. Kyle thought Rohan’s was performed on standard tuning. I guess that means it’s transposed, so played in Amin. If not, fingering and harmonics would be mightily changed. Kyle mentioned Bel Canto in his introduction and this is certainly lyrical playing. It’s also high on the neck, to the harmonics two octaves up. It’s clearly challenging in performance but not at all in listening. This is pretty, nicely phrased, Italian music. Sweet and tuneful and quite unexpected from a double bass. The Consort also played some short works: Andante festivo from Sibelius, Faure’s Pavane and Grieg’s Death of Ase. Also a longer work from Holst, St Paul’s suite. I also noticed the fitting acoustics in All Saints: open and direct, nicely sized for a chamber ensemble and with a gentle but definite reverb. This was a lovely concert with a range of interesting material and that unusual Bottesini double bass piece.

The Limestone Consort were Lauren Davis (violin, leader), Toby Aan, Claire Phillips, Jacqueline Smith, Mia Stanton, Alison Giles (violins), Mitzy Pepper, Elysia Fisher (violas), Clara Teniswood (cello) and Kyle Daniel, Kinga Janiszewski (double basses). Kyle performed the Bottesini concerto.