Jazz@Rochester

I saw something every night of the Rochester International Jazz Festival. Staying away from the Main Events at the Eastman Theater (and from what I’ve heard missing some very good shows), I still managed to see about 20 artists/bands and to experience a wide variety of music. Truly a great experience all told—experiencing some new sounds, artists and cultures. That’s what the RIJF is about and John Nugent has done a great job putting together a truly world class set of musicians and music.

Of course, there were many at the festival who were muttering “this isn’t jazz” to anyone who’d listen. They were missing the point. I think to Nugent and many others (I include myself here) “jazz” is about creativity and improvisation, it’s about focusing on the music. Music changes and it and its players are changed by what they hear. It is always evolving and so are the people who are listening to it. Many people live in very small musical boxes, defined by what others tell them is good or what is dealt them by the corporate media, and any attempt to push out the edges of that confinement or let the rest of the world and its music inside is a good thing in my book. I’ve lived in that box before, but broke out of it during college when myself and a musically-gifted best friend with eclectic tastes ran a small record (yes, vinyl) store during the early 80s. That experience and my continuing friendship left me as a person who can dig the scratching of Wallace Roney’s turntablist Val Jeanty or the percussive hooting and mumblings of Kahil El’Zabar of the Ethnic Art Ensemble, and yet also lose myself when listening to Cottontail or Kind of Blue. Who can be equally happy listening to a Mozart symphony, an alt country ballad, Marvin Gaye’s What’s Goin On, or an Alban Berg opera. I feel that opening your ears to new sounds (and I mean new to you) can lead to wonderful discoveries. I respect the choices those who have decided that they “know what they like”—I just don’t understand them.

The biggest surprise for me was the change that trying to blog the RIJF had on my listening. With the knowledge that I might be writing about what I was experiencing, I listened closely and took some limited notes whenever my fatigue would let me, and just laid back and soaked it up when it wouldn’t. I looked around to see how those around me appeared to be experiencing the music. I read other local bloggers’ takes on the same shows I saw or shows that I missed (and learned a lot from the easy manner that they blogged the fest). I even talked to strangers! While I never felt that I had heard enough or knew enough to be a “critic,” my intent was to try to communicate the emotions and thoughts that I came away with after experiencing the different music and musicians I was hearing. I still have a long way to go in expressing myself in this way, but the RIJF was a crash course that taught me a lot on what was missing and what I had to do to get there.

Although I didn’t have the common decency to let you know, I just didn’t have it in me to post during the past dozen days. Although I felt I had something to say (of the “I want to sum up some thoughts on the Rochester International Jazz Festival and its future” variety), with the heat (those of you who are living here without central air will understand), an attempt to catch up with my wife and work, and the tweaking of some new computer equipment, I just didn’t have it in me. I’m back and hope to begin posting regularly. Of course, jazz in Rochester, New York, has gone on without me and I regret if you expected to find some listings and musing on the recent scene here only to find silence. More learning experiences . . . .

In part, this blog as a way for me to learn about blogging and, oh boy, am I learning. I’ve been working pretty hard in the office and have hit most nights of the Rochester International Jazz Festival during the past. However, unlike the me of ten years ago who would have been out there all 9 nights until they kicked me out of the afterhours spot at State Street Grill, I have found it way too easy to convince myself to see just an early show and head home during the week. Not enough committment? The passion for jazz isn’t there? No, just willing to listen to my body and mind. What it shows is that I need to get into the gym and get more energy. However, going home early is the only reason that there have been any posts to this blog since last weekend. Not that they are pearls of wisdom.

Since I do not have the electronic means (yet) to post from the festival site itself, and will not post from work, I need the discipline of coming home and sitting down to write. That has been much harder to do than I thought, as I’ve had to squeeze whatever else was necessary to get accomplished into these small windows. The festival has concentrated as many posts as I’ve previously made to this blog since starting it in April into just the past couple of weeks. I was unprepared for that. I will hopefully be prepared for it for next year’s RIJF.

This also has been a real workout for my mind and ears, providing me a reason to listen to the music I’m hearing, catching moments that really stand out, and trying to find ways of expressing the feelings and emotions of those moments. I know I have a long way to go in that direction. I have been impressed by the postings from other local blogs that I’ve linked to. Clearly, they’ve been doing this blogging thing much longer than I, but they’re writing is engaging.

It’s been rough and tiring, but I really have enjoyed the work.

While starting to write, a profile of John Scofield’s tribute album to Ray Charles came on Saturday Edition on NPR. It’s his first tribute album and the first of his album with vocals. Scofield is playing at the Rochester International Jazz Festival later tonight at Kilbourn Hall. I’ll be there along with what I expect will be a large crowd.
I went last night to see Wallace Roney Sextet. He made it this year on time and in great form. Roney and his band were in an accident while driving to the Festival last year and he was lucky he came out of it alive. I came alone to see Wallace Roney and with Kilbourn Hall heating up as the bums filled the seats, I was again fighting the urge to fall asleep (a common issue with me on Friday night after a week of work). That did not last. Wallace and his brother Attoine were often blowing hard, with only a few moments of down tempo Miles noodlin. I found Wallace’s cover of Al Green’s Let Stay Together, during which his trumpet hung on each note, stretching it well past where Al had sung it, as one highlight. Presenting a mix of hard bop, a bit of hip hop (without the words), with a sometimes avant guarde twist, it was a hard set for some in the audience, who got up to leave under the insistent driving force of the rythym section, which included turntablist Val Jeanty, Ugonna Okegwo on bass, Adam Holzman on keyboards, and drummer Eric Allen. I found it exhilarating and it woke me up . . . bigtime. It may have been where I was sitting, but the mix seemed out of whack, with the keyboards and bass drowned out (the keyboard issue became major during one number when Holzman had to turn around and shout at the soundman “can you hear that?” in frustration.
Coming outside, I was confronted with a crowd and a line of elderly women in black spandex dance outfits doing a tap to soul music. . . in the rain . . .with pink boas. It was a bit too surreal for me so I moved on to find my wife, who was to join me and some friends to catch John Cleary for some New Orleans blues later. The rain, however, began to get insistent. We tried to wait it out in the tent with a martini, but then realized that it was going to be a washout and, as I had already talked myself out of the club pass acts for Friday, we decided to head home instead and have a pizza. I hear that Raul Midon was the big hit of the club scene on Friday. He’s also playing tonight.

Ken Smoker over at Smokerblog has been posting about the jazz festival. Check out the writeup on the Bad Plus—pretty much sums up my take on it. As Ron Netsky said during their intro that night, those guys give jazz a needed kick in the pants.