Herbie Fully Loaded

  

I’m coming a bit late to this expansive post on Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, sacred cows and polemical critics at the Bad Plus blog, Do the Math. (Did I leave anything out? You bet I did. Read the damn thing for yourself.) I feel as though I’ve done this a lot already, but congratulations to Ethan Iverson for a piece that feels both passionate (in its feeling) and dispassionate (in its fairness). It’s good criticism, made all the better by the open-forum commentariat.

One undercurrent in the post -- about the deference shown to Hancock and Shorter by critics, perhaps partly for fear of mass indignation -- rang familiar, amusingly and scarily so. There isn’t a jazz critic working who hasn’t marveled at the vitriol generated by Peter Watrous’s notorious takedown of Shorter’s High Life. To adapt a phrase from Iverson’s assessment, it was a drowning-kittens moment. (I agree, by the way, that we need this kind of criticism even, or especially, when it runs contrary to our own baseline judgments.)

I will say, having seen the Wayne Shorter Quartet six or seven times, that there’s no question about the depth and seriousness of that band. Not remotely, even in the case of the one or two concerts that felt centerless or faltering. And while I respect Iverson’s point about legends playing with their peers, it strikes me as no kind of consolation prize to have Danilo Perez, John Patitucci and Brian Blade on that stage. I like a good generational tension about as much as I appreciate a stout comradely stand.

But back to sacred cows for a moment. At the risk of being too self-referential here, I can’t resist pulling up some dregs from an early edition of The Gig, in the Philadelphia City Paper. “What to do about Herbie Hancock?” I asked then, hitting upon some of the same stuff we’re discussing now, though a good deal less incisively.

As for the softly bleating calf that is Hancock’s River: The Joni Letters, I will admit to some preliminary enthusiasm. But it almost felt like a political statement when the NY Times best-album lists of 2008 were published, with nary a Herbie in sight. By that point, the jazz establishment, such as it is, had already rallied around River, buzzing about the mere fact of its nomination for album of the year.

I like River, but agree with Iverson that it’s the singing that makes it work. (Tina Turner, my friends.) To that end, I would have been happy to hear a fully realized translation of the album when Hancock rolled into Carnegie Hall that summer -- instead of whatever this was.

There was, at least, one such moment that year, during the concert finale of the Thelonious Monk International Jazz Competition, in the appropriate setting of the Kodak Theater. Joni Mitchell sat in with the entire personnel from River, singing “Tea Leaf Prophecy” and a newer song, “Hana,” and the rarity of the performance was lost on no one. I haven’t come across any footage of that evening, but listen below to what sounds like the same group of musicians playing “River.” 

If I expected this music to be in any way emblematic of what jazz should be, or can do, or whatever, I would get worked up, sure. As it stands, I’ll take it. Now where’s my wine key?

Comments

[WharRat]

Awww, c'mon. Someone can't ask a clarifying question without it being tossed aside as "trifling?"

I know that people dropping their educational credentials is a bit uncouth and off-putting, but seriously.

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"Preliminary enthusiasm?" You straight-up shill for Nonesuch on that one. "...intimate reinvention from someplace deep inside the music." That's onesheet copy, man. Or if not, they should have paid you for it.

Meringue.

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"At the risk of being too self-referential..." Yeesh, we're reading the blog of a professional critic, what else could it be?

[Sarah D]

nice definition, nate! i appreciate a man who's not afraid to pull out the old merriam-webster in response to trifling blog comments.

[Nate Chinen]

D-Bon: isn't it funny how he can do that? Refocus an entire performance with one sparkling moment?

Alex: I can't speak for the jazz baggage of "serious," though I'd be happy to read your thoughts on the subject. Here's what Merriam-Webster has for the word (I'd say almost every definition applies):

1 : thoughtful or subdued in appearance or manner : sober

2 a : requiring much thought or work b : of or relating to a matter of importance

3 a : not joking or trifling : being in earnest b archaic : pious c : deeply interested : devoted

4 a : not easily answered or solved b : having important or dangerous possible consequences

5 : excessive or impressive in quality, quantity, extent, or degree

[D-Bon]

I would argue that the quick ascending/descending lick Herbie plays after the line "I would teach my feet to fly" during the song "River" is more brilliant than entire albums by lesser artists.

[Alex W. Rodriguez]

What exactly do you mean by the "depth and seriousness" of the Shorter sextet? The word "serious" in particular carries a lot of baggage in the history of jazz writing (I'm reading Gunther Schuller in two of my MA classes right now ...) and I would be very interested in a clarification of your intent on your use of it in this instance, in this contemporary context.

[Michael J. West]

It's certainly rare to read jazz criticism contained the sentence "I also think I'm being a dick."

The first time I saw Herbie play, he nearly put me to sleep. The second time, he made my hair stand up - but I'd never have seen the second if I'd shrugged Herbie off after the first.

That's what makes him worthy of following. I'll slough through the worst chaff when the quality of the wheat is so high. And there's always a chance that what he does next (as I understand it, an experiment with pan-African music) will be so good as to render The River, or any other middling previous project, irrelevant.