THE GIG

Wistful Thinking

Ralph Towner and Paolo Fresu

Italian Academy at Columbia University, March 24

Something About Mary

Photo courtesy of Peter Gannushkin / DOWNTOWNMUSIC.NET

The adventurous BBC radio series Jazz on 3 has a new segment up on guitarists Mary Halvorson and Masayuki Takanyagi. I interviewed Halvorson for the broadcast; an excerpt of our conversation pops up at around 43:45. But I’m sure you will want to listen to the two live sets that bookend the interview clip, featuring her trio with drummer Ches Smith and bassist John Hébert. You may also want to stick around for some archival recordings of Takanyagi, a figure in the Japanese noise and free-jazz continuum who died in 1991. Bonus points if you settle in and listen to the whole segment at once. (It’s longer than the average feature-length film. Go BBC!) 

Pat Metheny Is Not Insane (OK, Maybe a Little)

When I first met with Pat Metheny in preparation for this feature, it was the day before Thanksgiving, and he was ready for me. I entered the front parlor of his rehearsal space, we sat down, and within a minute or two he had opened a hardcover copy of The Golden Age of Automatic Musical Instruments, by Arthur A. Reblitz. I can’t remember the illustration he indicated -- this one, perhaps? -- but I do have his comments on file. “People were essentially doing this same kind of thing in that wacky period before people had recordings,” he said. “And I mean, this in particular [pointing] sort of parallels the specific kind of thing that I’m doing.” (Here he made eye contact.) “So it’s not like this is something I came up with out of the clear blue sky.”

Pat Metheny is not a crazy person. Far from it, in fact. Spend a couple of hours in his presence, as I did that afternoon and again in December, and this whole robot-orchestra idea begins to seem rational, if not exactly normal. At the time, word wasn’t really out about Orchestrion, though select folk -- like David Adler, now hard at work on his second Metheny cover for JazzTimes -- had seen a demo. The air of secrecy was thick, as Team Metheny counted down the days to its 16-week tour. I couldn’t help but think of a Bond villain in his lair, preparing to unleash his diabolical creation on the world.

Attaining Ascent

Marc Ribot’s Sun Ship

Rose Live Music, Aug. 26

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.

Guitar Hero

(a.k.a. the final forthcoming! column for JazzTimes)

John Scofield was onstage with his Ibanez at the B.B. King Blues Club & Grill, a cavernous basement in Times Square, sounding pithy and resourceful. He parsed his solos into sharply asymmetrical phrases, often smearing or scrunching a note for emphasis. At times he set off an electronic sampler, building a riff in layers. He was working at his usual high level; there was plenty to absorb. So why was I thinking, even for the briefest instant, about a Scofield edition of Guitar Hero?

You’ve heard of Guitar Hero, right? And its arch competitor, Rock Band? If you haven’t, that probably means you have no close family members between the ages of 5 and, let’s say, 25. Or it might mean that said family members are bookish, Amish or otherwise dead serious about their avoidance of modern pop culture. (It happens. At 14, I was way into Harry James.) But the phenomenal success of these home-console video games -- Guitar Hero alone has sold more than 25 million units worldwide -- is changing the music business on virtually every front. So in recent months I’ve often wondered about its implications for jazz. I’ve also caught myself fretting, so to speak, about the potential lack of implications, and what that could portend.