Playing in "real time" against one or more repeated samples of one's
own performance is nothing new; but it provides an approach to "music
with repetitive structures" (the phrase that Philip Glass prefers
to the less-informative word "minimalism") that can be achieved by a
soloist whose technical skills extend to the demands of the sampler. It
also requires cultivating a skill for identifying the samples that
should be captured and using them to their most imaginative advantage.
Luca Ciarla is a soloist with those skills. He is currently touring the
United States to promote his CD, Fiddler in the Loop; but it
was clear from the performance he gave here last night at the Italian
Cultural Institute of San Francisco that his recordings were not
exclusively products of studio ingenuity.
Indeed, rather than
restricting his attention strictly to the compositions included on the
CD, Ciarla used this recital opportunity to introduce the visual artist
Keziat as a co-performer. Each work that Ciarla programmed was
accompanied by a display of images that unfolded under Keziat's
computer-based control. The one exception occurred with a screening of
her video animation, "Memoria di un Folle," for which Ciarla (with the
assistance of his sampling technology) improvised the "sound track."
The
entire program was a relatively short one, consisting of seven
compositions. The rhetorical approach to repetitive structures reminded
me of my early experiences of the Penguin Cafe Orchestra, except that
the rhetoric was now in the hands of a soloist, rather than an
ensemble. (This may also be a result of some of Keziat's more
surrealistic images (as in the Fiddler in the Loop CD cover shown above) bearing
some family resemblance to some of the old Penguin Cafe album jacket
art work.) Since Ciarla's studies include jazz, as well as the
classical repertoire, his "post-Coltrane" approach to "My Favorite
Things," going back to a very "square" waltz rhythm for the sake of
sampling, was a clever way to twit a jazz classic that is not
necessarily well served by having achieved monumental status. He also
offered some of his ideas about "fusion" in "Bach Tarantolato," in which
the gavotte from Johann Sebastian Bach's fifth solo cello suite
gradually accelerates into a tarantella. On the whole the concert
provided yet another example as to how an appreciation of a new voice
can be facilitated when that voice understands the value of a light touch.
Showing posts with label jazz. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jazz. Show all posts
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Sunday, November 8, 2015
May 30, 2009: Running out of space (and time)
SFJAZZ events that are presented in Grace Cathedral are offered under the general title of Sacred Space.
While this clearly applies to the ecclesiastical nature of the setting,
it also connotes that the space itself is of the highest priority,
perhaps even higher than the performers. The introduction of trumpeter
Roy Hargrove and saxophonist James Carter last night stressed that the
event was not taking place in a concert hall. These instrumentalists
would thus shape their improvisations around the sounds of the space
itself, going for sounds that might not be appreciated (or perhaps even
heard) in settings more conducive to musical performance. Put another
way, taking your horn into Grace Cathedral can not be anything other
than a grand experiment; and the thing about experiments is that they
do not always turn out as expected.
Of these two particular soloists, Carter seemed to be the one more comfortable with the idea of experiment. He was not afraid to put out solid bursts of sound that would provide their own accompaniment through reverberation. His rapid playing was less for the sorts of melodic intricacies of a George Frideric Handel (so easily chewed up and spit out by the Grace acoustics) and more for the realization of the harmonic progressions one encounters in the arpeggiated preludes of Johann Sebastian Bach. There are also particular approaches to blowing a reed that can bring out upper harmonics, making individual notes sound like chords, and Carter seems to have invested considerable effort in mastering this particular blowing technique. Finally, as if all those opportunities for sound production were not enough, Carter also used some of his larger key pads as percussion. He thus had no problem with filling this "sacred space" with sounds that had every right to be worshiped for being just as sacred.
Hargrove's sounds were more limited. Furthermore, his preference for a cornet over a trumpet for most of his solos let to a softer sound that lacked the sharp attacks through which individual sounds could be articulated. Similarly, Hargrove's own attacks, on both cornet and trumpet, tended toward the sloppy side, which severely marred the cleanliness of his sustained tones. There was also a strong impression that Hargrove was thinking of his solos in terms of notes, while Carter grasped the "rules of the game" in this space by thinking of his solos as organized progressions of sounds.
Nevertheless, whether you approach a space like this through notes or sounds, the limitations imposed by the space impose limitations on what you can do in it. Had the concert ended at the break, after both Hargrove and Carter had performed a series of solos and then come together for a lively and effective rendering of "Caravan," the concert would have been a full and satisfying evening. The second half of the evening had too much of a feeling of more of the same, as if both soloists had performed their intended experiments and were now just marking time. Just because the space is sacred should not mean that the sermons should be too long for their own good!
Of these two particular soloists, Carter seemed to be the one more comfortable with the idea of experiment. He was not afraid to put out solid bursts of sound that would provide their own accompaniment through reverberation. His rapid playing was less for the sorts of melodic intricacies of a George Frideric Handel (so easily chewed up and spit out by the Grace acoustics) and more for the realization of the harmonic progressions one encounters in the arpeggiated preludes of Johann Sebastian Bach. There are also particular approaches to blowing a reed that can bring out upper harmonics, making individual notes sound like chords, and Carter seems to have invested considerable effort in mastering this particular blowing technique. Finally, as if all those opportunities for sound production were not enough, Carter also used some of his larger key pads as percussion. He thus had no problem with filling this "sacred space" with sounds that had every right to be worshiped for being just as sacred.
Hargrove's sounds were more limited. Furthermore, his preference for a cornet over a trumpet for most of his solos let to a softer sound that lacked the sharp attacks through which individual sounds could be articulated. Similarly, Hargrove's own attacks, on both cornet and trumpet, tended toward the sloppy side, which severely marred the cleanliness of his sustained tones. There was also a strong impression that Hargrove was thinking of his solos in terms of notes, while Carter grasped the "rules of the game" in this space by thinking of his solos as organized progressions of sounds.
Nevertheless, whether you approach a space like this through notes or sounds, the limitations imposed by the space impose limitations on what you can do in it. Had the concert ended at the break, after both Hargrove and Carter had performed a series of solos and then come together for a lively and effective rendering of "Caravan," the concert would have been a full and satisfying evening. The second half of the evening had too much of a feeling of more of the same, as if both soloists had performed their intended experiments and were now just marking time. Just because the space is sacred should not mean that the sermons should be too long for their own good!
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
May 4, 2009: Charles Mingus' raw nerves
Last night's SFJAZZ performance of Mingus Dynasty at the Palace of
Fine Arts Theatre was an anniversary celebration. Three major
recordings of Charles Mingus turned 50 in 2009: Blues & Roots on Atlantic and the first two of three Columbia Albums, Mingus Ah Um and Mingus Dynasty. For this occasion they were joined by John Handy, whose alto sax performances played a major role in the Columbia sessions.
To a great extent Columbia carried a cachet of respectability. The general public had greater trust in a label that offered the New York Philharmonic and the Philadelphia Orchestra than in one that recorded only jazz. Miles Davis appreciated the value of that cachet and labored mightily to arrange his move from Prestige to Columbia. However, respectability comes with a price; and it did not take long for Mingus to confront that price. Tomorrow (May 5, 1959) is the anniversary of the first studio recording of "Fables of Faubus," named after one of the higher-profile segregationists in the early days of the Civil Rights Movement. As summarized in Charles Mingus: More Than a Fake Book:
Mingus Dynasty was born on the occasion of a tribute concert given a few weeks after Mingus' death in 1979. The band consisted of those who had come to master the performance of Mingus' music by working with the master himself. Both Handy and Richmond were there, along with Jimmy Knepper, Ted Curson, Don Pullen, George Adams, and Charlie Haden. The band has changed hands many times over the following 30 years, and Handy's appearance was as much a celebration of the continuing life of Mingus Dynasty as it was of the 50-year-old records.
Most important, however, is that fidelity to Mingus himself is more critical than fidelity to any of the recordings. That meant that, for "Fables of Faubus," the words came to life as well as the music, in this case sung/declaimed by trombonist Ku-umba Frank Lacy. More than any other portion of last night's program, that performance elevated the occasion from gratuitous anniversary to a genuine honoring of Mingus' spirit, complete with all the raw nerves he was never afraid to touch.
Musicians like Handy learned that working with Mingus could involve coping with more freedom than one might have wanted. He told the audience that Mingus would withhold his charts of the underlying harmonic progressions. He was concerned that a priori documents of those progressions would interfere with the members of the band actually listening to each other, so he trained their ears by depriving them of the usual notations. Handy was still perfectly at home with that kind of freedom, as was Lacy. The younger members of the group may still be coming up to speed when it comes to matters such as placing the charts before the ears; but, with the benefit of veterans who can show them the way, they should eventually be the sort of performers Mingus wanted, after which they can serve as guides for the next generation of Mingus performers. Nothing would serve the memory of Mingus better than for Mingus Dynasty to evolve into such an ongoing legacy.
To a great extent Columbia carried a cachet of respectability. The general public had greater trust in a label that offered the New York Philharmonic and the Philadelphia Orchestra than in one that recorded only jazz. Miles Davis appreciated the value of that cachet and labored mightily to arrange his move from Prestige to Columbia. However, respectability comes with a price; and it did not take long for Mingus to confront that price. Tomorrow (May 5, 1959) is the anniversary of the first studio recording of "Fables of Faubus," named after one of the higher-profile segregationists in the early days of the Civil Rights Movement. As summarized in Charles Mingus: More Than a Fake Book:
Orval E. Faubus was a governor of Alabama who, in 1957, sent out the National Guard to prevent a few black children from entering Little Rock's Central High School.Mingus was so angry at Faubus that he wrote a text to go with his music, which he (sort of) sang with his drummer Dannie Richmond:
Oh, Lord, don't let 'em shoot us!
Oh, Lord, don't let 'em stab us!
Oh, Lord, don't let 'em tar and feather us!
Oh, Lord, no more swastikas!
Oh, Lord, no more Ku Klux Klan!
Name me somebody who's ridiculous, Dannie.
Governor Faubus!
Why is he so sick and ridiculous?
He won't permit integrated schools.
Then he's a fool!
Boo! Nazi Fascist supremists!
Boo! Ku Klux Klan (with your evil plan)
Name me a handful that's ridiculous, Dannie Richmond.
—Faubus—Rockefeller—Eisenhower
Why are they so sick and ridiculous?
Two, four, six, eight: They brainwash and teach you hate
H-E-L-L-O—HelloThis was apparently too much for Columbia's "respectability;" and they refused to let Mingus and Richmond sing this text, which is probably why, when Mingus recorded the work again for Candid on October 20, 1960 and the text was included, he gave it the title "Original Faubus Fables" (my emphasis).
Mingus Dynasty was born on the occasion of a tribute concert given a few weeks after Mingus' death in 1979. The band consisted of those who had come to master the performance of Mingus' music by working with the master himself. Both Handy and Richmond were there, along with Jimmy Knepper, Ted Curson, Don Pullen, George Adams, and Charlie Haden. The band has changed hands many times over the following 30 years, and Handy's appearance was as much a celebration of the continuing life of Mingus Dynasty as it was of the 50-year-old records.
Most important, however, is that fidelity to Mingus himself is more critical than fidelity to any of the recordings. That meant that, for "Fables of Faubus," the words came to life as well as the music, in this case sung/declaimed by trombonist Ku-umba Frank Lacy. More than any other portion of last night's program, that performance elevated the occasion from gratuitous anniversary to a genuine honoring of Mingus' spirit, complete with all the raw nerves he was never afraid to touch.
Musicians like Handy learned that working with Mingus could involve coping with more freedom than one might have wanted. He told the audience that Mingus would withhold his charts of the underlying harmonic progressions. He was concerned that a priori documents of those progressions would interfere with the members of the band actually listening to each other, so he trained their ears by depriving them of the usual notations. Handy was still perfectly at home with that kind of freedom, as was Lacy. The younger members of the group may still be coming up to speed when it comes to matters such as placing the charts before the ears; but, with the benefit of veterans who can show them the way, they should eventually be the sort of performers Mingus wanted, after which they can serve as guides for the next generation of Mingus performers. Nothing would serve the memory of Mingus better than for Mingus Dynasty to evolve into such an ongoing legacy.
April 27, 2009: McCoy Tyner today
McCoy Tyner is probably still best known for his piano work in the
rhythm section of John Coltrane's "classic" quartet, one of the most
imaginative and provocative sources of jazz experimentation around the
middle of the twentieth century. Tyner's work was, indeed, far more
rhythmic than melodic, consisting of rich, full-handed chords that
defied most of the conventions of harmonic progression, usually played
off-beat in counterpoint to the intricate drum patterns of Elvin Jones.
The program book for the SFJAZZ Spring Season applied the adjective
"volcanic" to that quartet; and it is easy to associate Tyner's bursts
of chords with the spurts of lava erupting from an active volcano.
Since leaving Coltrane, Tyner has returned to melody to drive his subsequent explorations; and last night at the Palace of Fine Arts Theatre he was joined by vibraphonist Bobby Hutcherson in those explorations, backed up by Gerald Cannon on bass and Eric Kamau Gravatt on drums. With the exception of "How Deep is the Ocean," the melodies were Tyner's own. "Blues on the Corner" (which has a YouTube recording with Tyner's trio joined by saxophonist Joe Lovano, rather than Hutcherson) is a reflection on growing up in Philadelphia; but most of Tyner's melodies have a more exotic feel to them, evoking a wide variety of global influences. If Ahmad Jamal's performance at the beginning of this month had left me thinking about Karlheinz Stockhausen, Tyner seemed to invoke some of the spirits of early twentieth-century France, not only with regard to that Ravel-Gershwin connection that I find so significant but also in the way that composers like Maurice Ravel and Claude Debussy were absorbing their own global influences, from which they would then weave their own characteristically unique melodies and harmonies.
Hutcherson, a few years younger than Tyner's 70, has had his own experiences with provocative experimentation. He was part of Eric Dolphy's 1964 Out to Lunch session for Blue Note, which also included Freddie Hubbard's trumpet and rhythm from Richard Davis on bass and Tony Williams on drums. In terms of the time-line of jazz history, this session took place a few months before the sessions for the Coltrane Quartet's Crescent album for Impulse! Records. However, in spite of his avant-garde track record, Hutcherson still seemed quite comfortable in Tyner's melodic element, weaving his own elaborations around the cores of each of Tyner's melodies.
For the most part this was a high-energy evening, driven by Gravatt's often explosive drumming (sometimes reminiscent of the ways in which Jones was always pushing his envelope) and Cannon's lively bass. Cannon took several solos of his own, which showed the extent to which he could convey both melody and harmony through the intricate fingering of his instrument (a sense of performance that he may well have picked up from the unaccompanied cello works of Johann Sebastian Bach). The whole evening was a vivid reminder that some of the most inventive minds of jazz history are still inventing, often with far more originality than their younger contemporaries.
Since leaving Coltrane, Tyner has returned to melody to drive his subsequent explorations; and last night at the Palace of Fine Arts Theatre he was joined by vibraphonist Bobby Hutcherson in those explorations, backed up by Gerald Cannon on bass and Eric Kamau Gravatt on drums. With the exception of "How Deep is the Ocean," the melodies were Tyner's own. "Blues on the Corner" (which has a YouTube recording with Tyner's trio joined by saxophonist Joe Lovano, rather than Hutcherson) is a reflection on growing up in Philadelphia; but most of Tyner's melodies have a more exotic feel to them, evoking a wide variety of global influences. If Ahmad Jamal's performance at the beginning of this month had left me thinking about Karlheinz Stockhausen, Tyner seemed to invoke some of the spirits of early twentieth-century France, not only with regard to that Ravel-Gershwin connection that I find so significant but also in the way that composers like Maurice Ravel and Claude Debussy were absorbing their own global influences, from which they would then weave their own characteristically unique melodies and harmonies.
Hutcherson, a few years younger than Tyner's 70, has had his own experiences with provocative experimentation. He was part of Eric Dolphy's 1964 Out to Lunch session for Blue Note, which also included Freddie Hubbard's trumpet and rhythm from Richard Davis on bass and Tony Williams on drums. In terms of the time-line of jazz history, this session took place a few months before the sessions for the Coltrane Quartet's Crescent album for Impulse! Records. However, in spite of his avant-garde track record, Hutcherson still seemed quite comfortable in Tyner's melodic element, weaving his own elaborations around the cores of each of Tyner's melodies.
For the most part this was a high-energy evening, driven by Gravatt's often explosive drumming (sometimes reminiscent of the ways in which Jones was always pushing his envelope) and Cannon's lively bass. Cannon took several solos of his own, which showed the extent to which he could convey both melody and harmony through the intricate fingering of his instrument (a sense of performance that he may well have picked up from the unaccompanied cello works of Johann Sebastian Bach). The whole evening was a vivid reminder that some of the most inventive minds of jazz history are still inventing, often with far more originality than their younger contemporaries.
Saturday, September 26, 2015
April 19, 2009: Mozart redeemed
My concern about having to wait until the end of this month before having a chance to hear Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart get "his proper due"
was eased this afternoon at Davies Symphony Hall, thanks to the Chamber
Music Series organized by the San Francisco Symphony. The K. 285 flute
quartet, composed in 1777, was given a stimulating and coherent reading
by Robin McKee (flute), John Chisholm (violin), Wayne Roden (viola) and
David Goldblatt (cello) to begin this afternoon's concert. There was
no sign of any of last night's problems
of strained interactions among unbalanced voices. Instead, one got to
enjoy a conversation among four equals, spiced with the reminder that,
when it came to playing chamber music, the viola was Mozart's instrument of choice.
Equally loving attention was given to the music of Antonín Dvorák and Zoltán Kodály. Following the Mozart, violinist Chen Zhao and cellist Amos Yang offered an energetic reading of Kodály's Opus 7 duo. Even with my modest understanding of Hungarian culture, I could appreciate why Béla Bartók once declared Kodály "the composer whose works are the most perfect embodiment of the Hungarian spirit." There is a soulfulness to his music that goes beyond his ear for melody to the very timbrous qualities he elicits from his instruments, and those qualities are particularly evident when only two instruments are engaged in the performance.
Dvorák concluded the program with his Opus 51 string quartet in E-flat major, performed by violinists Melissa Kleinbart and Suzanne Leon, violist Nanci Severance, and cellist Michael Grebanier. This is Dvorák the Bohemian nationalist, rather than Dvorák the observant visitor to America; and this quartet provides one of many opportunities to hear his "bipolar" approach to the dumka form, which sandwiches exuberance between outer sections of soul-searching poignancy. As in the case with Mozart, Dvorák's chamber music always involves a rich interplay of voices, whose details emerged in shining clarity in this particular performance.
The Dvorák quartet was preceded by what may best be called a "jazz interlude." Trumpeter Mark Inouye teamed with a rhythm section of Scott Pingel on bass, Jeff Massanari on guitar, and Raymond Froehlich on drums to perform his own composition, "Tribute to Beeky," inspired by a small creature burrowing in the beach sand near Galveston, Texas. This was clearly a lightweight piece of work beside composers like Mozart, Dvorák, and Kodály; and I fear that it did not make for very good company. As I tried to make clear when I chose to write about Ahmad Jamal, I take my jazz very seriously; and I hope the message I conveyed in writing about him was that he took his music (regardless of genre) very seriously. "Tribute to Beeky" did not strike me as jazz to be taken seriously. Even if Inouye played it with a relatively clean and well-articulated sound, there was just too much of what my counterpoint teacher used to call "noodling," wandering around a flurry of notes with little sense of direction. There also seemed to be a need to play something on the same durational scale as the other works on the program, while just about everything that needed to be said had been said in about half as much time. Change can be refreshing, but not when it overstays its welcome! If this is a sign of what one can expect from the new Davies After Hours series, then, where the trumpet is involved, I think I shall stick to my recordings of Clifford Brown!
Equally loving attention was given to the music of Antonín Dvorák and Zoltán Kodály. Following the Mozart, violinist Chen Zhao and cellist Amos Yang offered an energetic reading of Kodály's Opus 7 duo. Even with my modest understanding of Hungarian culture, I could appreciate why Béla Bartók once declared Kodály "the composer whose works are the most perfect embodiment of the Hungarian spirit." There is a soulfulness to his music that goes beyond his ear for melody to the very timbrous qualities he elicits from his instruments, and those qualities are particularly evident when only two instruments are engaged in the performance.
Dvorák concluded the program with his Opus 51 string quartet in E-flat major, performed by violinists Melissa Kleinbart and Suzanne Leon, violist Nanci Severance, and cellist Michael Grebanier. This is Dvorák the Bohemian nationalist, rather than Dvorák the observant visitor to America; and this quartet provides one of many opportunities to hear his "bipolar" approach to the dumka form, which sandwiches exuberance between outer sections of soul-searching poignancy. As in the case with Mozart, Dvorák's chamber music always involves a rich interplay of voices, whose details emerged in shining clarity in this particular performance.
The Dvorák quartet was preceded by what may best be called a "jazz interlude." Trumpeter Mark Inouye teamed with a rhythm section of Scott Pingel on bass, Jeff Massanari on guitar, and Raymond Froehlich on drums to perform his own composition, "Tribute to Beeky," inspired by a small creature burrowing in the beach sand near Galveston, Texas. This was clearly a lightweight piece of work beside composers like Mozart, Dvorák, and Kodály; and I fear that it did not make for very good company. As I tried to make clear when I chose to write about Ahmad Jamal, I take my jazz very seriously; and I hope the message I conveyed in writing about him was that he took his music (regardless of genre) very seriously. "Tribute to Beeky" did not strike me as jazz to be taken seriously. Even if Inouye played it with a relatively clean and well-articulated sound, there was just too much of what my counterpoint teacher used to call "noodling," wandering around a flurry of notes with little sense of direction. There also seemed to be a need to play something on the same durational scale as the other works on the program, while just about everything that needed to be said had been said in about half as much time. Change can be refreshing, but not when it overstays its welcome! If this is a sign of what one can expect from the new Davies After Hours series, then, where the trumpet is involved, I think I shall stick to my recordings of Clifford Brown!
Thursday, September 10, 2015
April 5, 2009: Half a century of jazz experience
Recently I wrote about how, where the making of music is concerned, influence can be a two-way street.
The example I posed to make my point concerned the relationship between
Ludwig van Beethoven and Joseph Haydn, but I have also written about a
similar relationship between George Gershwin and Maurice Ravel.
Much of twentieth-century music actually benefitted from this "two-way
street" relationship between what was called "classical music" and what
was called "jazz." John Coltrane used to practice his saxophone by
trying to play along with recordings of recent classical compositions;
and there is good reason to believe that his study of the opening
passage of Béla Bartók's "Concerto for Orchestra" seeded his own musical
ideas that would later flower into "Giant Steps." In the other
direction I have used my blog to cultivate personal fantasies about how
composers other than Ravel responded to exposure to jazz. Thus, I have imagined Igor Stravinsky sitting in the Hot Club de France
in Paris listening to Stéphane Grappelli, gnashing his teeth in envy
because he could never figure out how to write music that sounded that
way. In the real world, on the other hand, Karlheinz Stockhausen played jazz piano in clubs as a way to pay for his education between 1944 and 1947. He may later have tried to bury this particular "anxiety of influence" under his own personal theories of composition; but it is hard to listen to the recordings of Licht
(his cycle of seven operas, one for each day of the week) without
thinking of jazz performers like Freddie Hubbard, Eric Dolphy, and Jimmy
Knepper.
This raises the interesting question of whether or not the "moment" style of composition, for which Stockhausen is best known, was a product of how Stockhausen listened to (or, for that matter, made his own) jazz. However, at a time when the "serious" composers of the fifties were marveling at Stockhausen's experiments and innovations, the jazz world was developing its own take on the "moment" style. Ornette Coleman was one of the first to move in this direction; and last night at Herbst Theatre I discovered that Ahmad Jamal has now cultivated his own voice within the "moment" style. In both cases I have SFJAZZ to thank for providing opportunities to hear these jazz masters.
In my student days Jamal was known almost exclusively for "Poinciana" and what the SFJAZZ program book described as its "light, dancing sound." Fifty years on Jamal is still playing "Poinciana," but in a far more deconstructed way. By assuming that we all remember "how it used to go," he can now extract individual "moments" from the tune, putting each one under a microscope, so to speak, and examining it from a variety of different angles before moving on to another "moment." Hearing Jamal do this with a familiar tune helps us to hear this same moment-based approach to his more recent work, in which we are less familiar with what his sources are. It will probably help me go back to listening to Stockhausen, even when his sources may have been based on abstract inventions rather than past music-making experiences.
Jamal was accompanied by a three-piece rhythm section. James Johnson's drum set was supplemented by a more diverse (and relatively Latin) percussion section played by Manolo Badrena. James Cammack played bass. However, there were not the usual breaks for extended rhythm solos that we tend to associate with a jazz performance. Jamal's emphasis was on the ensemble as a whole and on an integrated composition, rather than a song on which everyone gets an improvisatory take. To some extent this, too, represents more of an influence from chamber music than from the tradition of jazz combos. Thus, while the program book emphasized Jamal's influence on Jacky Terrasson, Benny Green, and Eric Reed; it is the way in which Jamal himself continues to be influenced by music practices coming at him from all directions that most confirms his NEA Jazz Master status. Through Jamal we learn to listen to more than jazz; we learn to listen to the broader scope of how music is being made today.
This raises the interesting question of whether or not the "moment" style of composition, for which Stockhausen is best known, was a product of how Stockhausen listened to (or, for that matter, made his own) jazz. However, at a time when the "serious" composers of the fifties were marveling at Stockhausen's experiments and innovations, the jazz world was developing its own take on the "moment" style. Ornette Coleman was one of the first to move in this direction; and last night at Herbst Theatre I discovered that Ahmad Jamal has now cultivated his own voice within the "moment" style. In both cases I have SFJAZZ to thank for providing opportunities to hear these jazz masters.
In my student days Jamal was known almost exclusively for "Poinciana" and what the SFJAZZ program book described as its "light, dancing sound." Fifty years on Jamal is still playing "Poinciana," but in a far more deconstructed way. By assuming that we all remember "how it used to go," he can now extract individual "moments" from the tune, putting each one under a microscope, so to speak, and examining it from a variety of different angles before moving on to another "moment." Hearing Jamal do this with a familiar tune helps us to hear this same moment-based approach to his more recent work, in which we are less familiar with what his sources are. It will probably help me go back to listening to Stockhausen, even when his sources may have been based on abstract inventions rather than past music-making experiences.
Jamal was accompanied by a three-piece rhythm section. James Johnson's drum set was supplemented by a more diverse (and relatively Latin) percussion section played by Manolo Badrena. James Cammack played bass. However, there were not the usual breaks for extended rhythm solos that we tend to associate with a jazz performance. Jamal's emphasis was on the ensemble as a whole and on an integrated composition, rather than a song on which everyone gets an improvisatory take. To some extent this, too, represents more of an influence from chamber music than from the tradition of jazz combos. Thus, while the program book emphasized Jamal's influence on Jacky Terrasson, Benny Green, and Eric Reed; it is the way in which Jamal himself continues to be influenced by music practices coming at him from all directions that most confirms his NEA Jazz Master status. Through Jamal we learn to listen to more than jazz; we learn to listen to the broader scope of how music is being made today.
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