THE GIG

Halvorson at Joe's

Photo courtesy of Peter Gannushkin / DOWNTOWNMUSIC.NET

Mary Halvorson began her set at Joe’s Pub on Sunday with one of the first pieces she composed for her trio, with bassist John Hébert and drummer Ches Smith. Its melody shifted and buckled as she played, occasionally twisting in on itself, and I couldn’t help but think that her aesthetic for the band had evolved -- even though the personnel on this date had Tomas Fujiwara, a frequent collaborator, filling in for Smith.

Halvorson specializes in strangely tuneful provocations, and that was as true on Sunday as it is throughout Dragon’s Head, her excellent debut, released last year on Firehouse 12. One of the most striking things about hearing her in person, on her bandstand or someone else’s, is the stubborn physical dimension of her sound on guitar. Last fall, in preparation for a preview feature, I asked her about this (among other things), and found her response to be fascinating:

Making Sense of Michael

Judging by the first waves of remembrance, many of us still don’t know what to make of Michael Jackson. But I want to draw attention to this elegant meditation by Ann Powers, who acknowledges that confusion while keeping a clear bead on the music. This morning, just as I was about to throw something at the TV -- the Today Show, riding the tabloid angle -- Powers appeared onscreen to speak some truth.

Also worth reading (and perhaps debating): this appraisal by Jon Pareles, and this one on Jeff Chang’s blog. There are bound to be many others. Please share them in the comments section of this post.

M.J. was as big a musical force in my youth as anyone, and so far the coverage hasn’t squared with that memory. But then neither had Jackson, for a good long while. This is what we’re grappling with now, as Powers so thoughtfully explicates. 

At this moment, strange as it may sound, I’m reminded of Charlie Parker, whose death in 1955 stirred up an analogous cloud of lurid comment, rampant speculation and abject pity, along with the sad, distant recollection of unequivocal musical genius. 

In Defense of Diana

There is no glory in professing an admiration for Diana Krall. As the easy-listening goddess of our age, she’s an easy mark for derision, on principal or technical grounds. Connoisseurs of jazz singing tend to carp on her breathy delivery, a kind of high-lyric susurration. Others chafe at the sheer palatability of her music: she’s as cool as Starbucks (which may be responsible for a triple-grande portion of her sales).

But last night I caught the first of Diana Krall’s two sold-out concerts at Carnegie Hall, and I’m here to tell you it was great. Not in an overwhelming way -- that’s not how she rolls -- but in a deeply satisfying way, which just might be a harder thing to accomplish. The evening illuminated a few reasons why Ms. Krall deserves a second look from her doubters, and at least grudging respect.

Berne Notice

Tim Berne (second from left) and Ethan Iverson (far right), with Buffalo Collision

Ethan Iverson has an expansive and insightful Tim Berne interview at the mighty Bad Plus blog, Do the Math. The conversation covers a lot of ground, touching on Berne’s mentor Julius Hemphill, the pride and perils of the self-run record business, and of course Berne’s compositions (in detail, with audio clips). You want to go to there.

Since he began posting these long-form interviews -- past conversations have included not only bassist Charlie Haden (a Bad Plus lodestar) but also Wynton Marsalis and Stanley Crouch (both eminently worth reading) -- Iverson has added greatly to the churn of contemporary jazz criticism. His humility and obsessive attention to detail make him a disarmingly effective interrogator, even more than his common affiliation as a player. And coming at a time of constricting opportunity in the mainstream jazz media, he deserves credit for thinking to elevate the underappreciated Q&A format.

Years ago I conducted a series of interviews (pro bono) for Berne’s label, Screwgun Records. Most of these took place at the label’s HQ, a brownstone in Fort Greene, Brooklyn. I’m recalling this now because it was an indication of Berne’s sincere interest in discourse: like Iverson, he values conversation. A lot of jazz musicians share this trait, but it’s by no means universal, as I’m sure many of my colleagues can attest. Anyway, if you’re interested in those old Screwgun Q&As, check out the last four links listed here.

Iverson and Berne are playing as a duo on Friday at the Stone. Buffalo Collision, their collective band with cellist Hank Roberts and drummer David King, released its Screwgun debut in December. 

Assail Axon? No Sax Alias!

Photos appear courtesy of Greg Aiello

I first encountered Jim Black a dozen years ago in Philly, on a gig with Dave Douglas’ Tiny Bell Trio. His playing nailed me to the spot, in a way that it hadn’t on record: he was capable of so much texture in the midst of so much propulsion. I soon sought out more of his sideman work -- Tim Berne had just issued an obscenely aggressive Bloodcount box, Unwound, that was in heavy rotation for over a year -- and caught dozens more gigs, especially after I made the jump to New York. *  

AlasNoAxis, Black’s improv-enabled indie-rock band, dropped out of the sky not long after this. And it prompted me to reconsider him yet again. Here was a rounded, yearningly forthright, deeply modern-sounding music, nearly devoid of the craggy complexities Black was usually compelled to tackle. “It takes confidence in this world sometimes just to bring out those things that actually come out very quickly and honestly,” he told me in 2000, before the band’s Philadelphia debut. “And it wasn’t until I heard the music with the band that I was convinced I was doing the right thing.”

He should be secure in that conviction by now. AlasNoAxis released its fifth album, Houseplant, on June 9. (Europe got it first; I Playlisted it last month.) At the Bowery Poetry Club last night, Black announced that the album had sold out its run, going into a second printing. As if that weren’t encouragement enough, his show -- presented by Adam Schatz’s organization Search and Restore -- was legitimately packed.

Jammin' at the White House

So, that happened. [Update: Ben Ratliff's NYT coverage.] And you can carp all you like about the Marsalis Monopoly on Jazz in High Places, but the fact remains that this worked. In choosing a “jazz studio” to kick off her White House music series, Michelle Obama reinvigorated a cultural assumption of jazz as the quintessential American product. It’s a viewpoint that Wynton, as much as anyone out there, has kept in mainstream circulation. 

Much has been said about the idea that jazz mirrors an ideal of democracy. When we talk about jazz as a fundamentally “American” product, those sociopolitical assumptions are always somewhere in play. Marsalis can speak eloquently and impassionedly on this subject, and he often does, to great effect. A few years ago I mulled this over in the context of a larger profile, about his role in Jazz at Lincoln Center:

Mehldau Meets Motian

 

“His playing is just so incredibly wide open, like a wave. He’s from that generation, man: the Big Beat.” -- Brad Mehldau on Paul Motian, speaking to Lorraine Gordon

When I’m catching a gig at the Village Vanguard (but not reviewing), I try to catch the first set on Sunday: a venerable tradition, and usually a good hang. Tonight I had plans to hear tenor saxophonist Bill McHenry with a quintet featuring alto saxophonist Andrew D’Angelo and the sagacious drummer Paul Motian. As it turned out, there was added incentive on this particular evening: pianist Brad Mehldau joined the band, along with bassist Larry Grenadier.

Hard to believe, but this was Mehldau’s first-ever encounter with Motian, as he confirmed after the set. After witnessing their profoundly intuitive interaction, I dare say it won’t be his last. The sound of these two musicians together made all kinds of sense. There was some accommodation going on, to be sure, but there was also a good deal of unforced chemistry. 

Grizzly Bear

 

In the four years since I broached the subject of jazz and indie-rock, the overlap has only grown, becoming its own unclassifiable meme. Spend just one night on the low-rent club scene in New York and you’ll hear a jazz group elasticizing rock rhythm, or dealing seriously with distortion. And the influence of Radiohead among jazzbos is now such a given that it’s almost quaint to remember how Brad Mehldau stirred things up with his version of “Exit Music (For a Film).”

It's not such a stretch to imagine the Brooklyn indie-rock band Grizzly Bear holding similar sway among 20 and 30-something jazz musicians. Grizzly Bear, which toured with Radiohead for a stretch last year, makes music of meticulous design and luminous effect. The band's third album, “Veckatimest” (Warp), presents a characteristic waft of vocal harmonies and layered textures. It's an atmospheric record; like the paintings of Edward Hopper, its bittersweet, quietly restless sound can suggest a pastoral unease.

Late Shift / Postscript

 

In a recent volume of The Gig (JazzTimes edition), I kicked around the idea of jazz on late-night television, with a specific eye toward the major spring changeover on NBC. At press time, Jimmy Fallon and The Roots had barely just begun at Late Night, and Conan O’Brien was still weeks away from taking the reins at the Tonight Show.

Check the column for my best attempt at nuance with the topic. Now that O’Brien is more than a week into his new gig, and Fallon a few months into his, it seems time for more stray observations.

Square One or:How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Blog

Welcome to THE GIG. My intention here is to express ideas about music, principally (but not strictly) from a jazz perspective. My entrée to the jazz blogosphere -- something I've had my eye on for a while -- was long delayed, for what I took to be good reasons.

I started writing critically about jazz in 1995 for the Philadelphia City Paper, then my local alt-weekly; at first I harbored no hopes of making a career of it. That had changed a bit by 2001, when my editor asked me to start contributing a regular column. The Gig debuted that spring, and in its maiden voyage I attempted to explain the title.

A gig connotes not only an appointment but also a means of income and an outlet for expression. It’s the space in which a player reconciles commerce with art. The former quality is devilishly lampooned in The Gig, Frank Gilroy’s zany jazz movie of the mid-’80s; the latter pervades "The Gig," a complex mini-opus by the late pianist Herbie Nichols. It’s for these two very different items that this new bi-weekly column is named.

I churned out The Gig for the next few years, covering a lot of ground and learning much in the process. It ended around the time I began working on a book project with the impresario George Wein. Then in 2004 I was once again tapped to pen a column, this time for JazzTimes magazine. My fellow columnists were Gary Giddins and Nat Hentoff, both of whom I had read intently and voraciously.

This iteration of The Gig has covered topics ranging from women in jazz to the ups and downs of composer commissions, with an occasional goofy detour; I try to keep things serious but never stuffy. For years I maintained that it served more or less the same purpose as a blog, knowing full well that I was straining to make the point.

It lasted until the final issue JazzTimes furlough of June 2009. My final column at that point, No. 52, saw publication almost exactly five years after the first. In some ways the prospect of JT's demise spurred the creation of this blog. The loss of a regular outlet to a jazz readership was not something I was prepared to accept. I have every intention of keeping the same standard here as in my column. Only with a looser format, and more dialogue. And more pictures of my cat.