THE GIG

Marclay, Screen Play

Today I traded emails with Roberta Smith, an esteemed art critic for the Times, on the subject of Christian Marclay: Festival, currently at the Whitney. This is an exhibit I’d encourage a lot of people to see, even without the involvement of improvisers like guitarist Mary Halvorson (who will perform in a version of “Screen Play” on July 21 and 24, and attempt to coax music out of “Wind Up Guitar” on July 22, 24 and 28. Look here for a full schedule; there’s so much more.)

In one of these ArtsBeat posts I mention “Band,” Marclay’s contribution to the 2002 Whitney Biennial -- the very same Biennial that prompted this righteous takedown by Smith. I wasn’t impressed by the Biennial that year, either, and penned a review of my own for the Philadelphia City Paper. (If you’re interested in that bit of invective, skip to the end of this post; I don’t want to put the link anywhere near Smith’s, for fear of suggesting some kind of critical equivalency.) 

 Anyway, “Band” consisted of musical instruments modified so as to be unplayable. In my review, I called it a “half-wit one-liner,” which strikes me now as unhelpful and wrongheaded, given that I still vividly remember the piece. Among its component parts were “Virtuoso,” an accordion whose bellows stretched out in a coil, and “Drumkit,” featuring drum and cymbal stands telescoped almost to the ceiling. (I wonder whether John Stanier of Battles ever saw “Drumkit,” by the way. Seems he might have.)

Here’s a mini-doc about Marclay’s musical innovation -- the physical aspect of his work that Festival sort of shunts to the background: 

Here he is working the decks on the short-lived, fondly remembered NBC show Night Music (the intro is by its host, David Sanborn):

 

And here, for your amusement only, is my review of the 2002 Whitney Biennial. As promised and/or threatened.

Exotica: It Takes a Village

Continuing my commemoration of the 50th anniversary of Statehood, here’s a new YouTube find (new to me, anyway) featuring pianist-bandleader Martin Denny on the long-running local program Hawaii Calls. This apparently dates to 1956, a few years before entry to the Union, which partly accounts for the perfumed air. Note how host Webley Edwards hails Denny as “a man who’s both modern and native in his approach to music,” before the band sidles into “Quiet Village,” the definitive anthem of exotica. The camera trains first on the musicians, with their tropical birdcalls, before a languid (and staged) montage that’s part National Geographic, part South Pacific.

Exotica was by definition a mongrel genre, hovering not only between “modern” and “native” but also between the West and the Orient, between honor and exploitation, between shrewdness and kitsch. (I might add art and commerce, but the scales were pretty far tipped, in that case, all along.) Because it was an instrumental pop music during the era when jazz was pop, there’s quite a bit of overlap in terms of style and repertoire. Musicians like Denny came from a similar school of thought as George Shearing, though their arranging strategies actually fell more in line, at the end of the day, with Sun Ra.

When Bad Album Art Attacks

A standout from today’s mailbag -- but, um, not for the best of reasons. Rodney Jones is a sharp and versatile guitarist, equally comfortable with backbeat funk and quantum-level postbop. Some years ago, when I was still permitted to do such things, I wrote liner notes for one of his albums. This cover illustration does him no particular favors, though. I’m trying to decide whether it looks more like something you’d airbrush on the side of your van or something you’d see framed on the wall of a psychic readings parlor.

And it’s too bad, because my cursory exposure to this album -- it’s playing as I type -- suggests smarter and less sentimental associations. The band includes Donald Harrison on alto saxophone, Michael Kanan on piano, Lonnie Plaxico on bass and Carl Allen on drums. They open with “Barney’s Blues,” a respectably gritty shuffle. They play songs by Oliver Nelson, John Coltrane and Thelonious Monk. True, there are some Quiet Storm moments, but they aren’t objectionable. The title track, played on acoustic guitar, has a perfectly fine, simple melody, as these things go. (It releases next month. 18th & Vine has more details.)

But ouch, that cover image. Note to Mr. Jones: I know that matters of the spirit are important in your worldview. “Each time we step out in search of a greater truth,” you write on the front page of your website, “we are transformed by the intention that is awakened within our hearts.” Please, though, take a different graphic tack next time. And no, that doesn’t mean dolphins. Much as I love dolphins.