Well, what can I say? It was Wayne Shorter with his fantastic acoustic of Danilo Perez on piano, bassist John Patitucci and drummer Brian Blade, in the Big Gig on Thursday night. I had never seen Shorter before and had not heard his recent material with this group, which was his first foray (or shall I say exploration) back into acoustic jazz since the 60s. I have a pretty wide range in music “tastes,” in jazz and other types of music, but had not really tasted Shorter’s recent work that much. Of course, I have loved Footprints (and have enjoyed hearing it played many a time at a Jimmie Highsmith gig) and his earlier stuff. However, I was just blown away by the sheer artistry, intensity of performance and connection between these consummate musicians. Shorter himself, quoted on the Verve website say the following about the group with whom he recorded Beyond the Sound Barrier album:
We’re playing a similar outline in different cities, but we’re getting further and further away from anything sounding the same from night to night. These guys all have that kind of forward-looking attitude. They understand that it’s OK to be vulnerable, to open oneself and take chances, and not be afraid of the unknown. So if somebody feels like they want to bring something else to it, they do it. We don’t have any mandates in this band. Our attitude is, “Let’s paint in watercolors, use good oils or get white out, if that’s what you want to use.”
Blade got into his music so much that, playing with an intensity that sent sticks flying across the stage or falling to his feet. Patitucci’s bass playing was just nothing short of amazing, full of bravado and hammering the complex rhythms of Shorter’s compositions down. Perez played with the style and elegance of a concert pianist, but kept tight with the others in a number of pieces that had (what seemed to me…the non-musician) as odd time signatures or were just played REAL fast. They were connected. My wife, who is a very sensitive soul, found the music “scary” for its jarring intensity and tonal directions, but was still shell-shocked by the artistry of the musicians.
The show, however, reminded me why I don’t generally want to see too many of the gigs in the Big House. While the sound quality was pretty good (we were in the Loge in Center), even more so than Kilbourn, the Eastman Theater screams (and seems to impose on audiences) that “THIS IS SERIOUS MUSIC” that requires UTTER SILENCE AND STILLNESS from the audience (although, there were some pretty gutteral coughs). These musicians made you want to holler (my wife, who cannot control these things‐nor should she—let it out a few times). Of course, whose going to get opportunities to see artists like Wayne Shorter in smaller venues.
I had planned that Shorter would be my only show last night, but decided at the end of the day to go over and catch a 6pm show. The Tom Harrell Quartet was playing at Kilbourn Hall and, after reading the short writeup, I thought it sounded like the one to catch, so I got in line. The line was full of afficionados and musicians. I learned from the person standing in line next to me that Harrell had been a schizophrenic all his adult life and was warned about the quirks of seeing him perform live. A Los Angeles Times article by Don Heckman, reprinted on Harrell’s site is a good description of this experience:
Lagging a bit behind the others, trumpeter Tom Harrell finally reaches the stagem walking with a slow, awkward gait. Tall and slender, head hung down, chin nearly to his chest, he moves with arms dangling at his side, trumpet held loosely in one hand.
A few audience members look quizzically at this unusual figure, so unlike the familiar image of the hip, confident jazz musician. They whisper softly to each other, occasionally glancing in Harrell’s direction as the players pick up their instruments.
There is a brief moment of silence as Harrell takes his position at the front, nods to the musicians. Without a workd of instruction, he grunts a count-off.
The rhythm section digs into a slow groove, and the saxophone player nods in rhythm with the time. But Harrell, except for a slight trembling in one hand, appears oblivious, standing in a position of near immobility, apparently disconnected to the point of inertia.
As his time comes to play however, he slowly brings his horn to his lips and suddenly, without warning, fills it with a stream of music bursting with vitality and life. The contrast is astonishing, as he reels off a string of dazzling, hard swinging, improvised choruses. Then, just as suddenly, he finished his solo, lowers his trumpet, and his body reverts to its rooted posture.
The rest of this article “Playing with the Mind” is worth reading if you saw the show and want to know more about Harrell’s music and the impact of his illness. Talking with a friend who saw the second set at 10pm, I can’t help but feel that Harrell was “off” (I’m struggling with finding appropriate words here) for the 6pm show. He missed cues a few times, coming in early or late. Even his band at times seemed perplexed as to what Harrell’s next move would be (this was especially evident when he chose to launch into a second encore). My friend and I both felt that we had experienced a moment of true jazz and improvisation, without the tropes of the jazz band leader (e.g., announcing the tunes and bantering with the audience between pieces). Harrell was all about the music, even while he was wandering the stage (and at the second show down into the audience). Harrell seemed to struggle with getting the notes to come out of his horn during the first set, but more often than not, when he shuffled back to the microphone, made whatever adjustments were needed, and raised up his trumpet or flugelhorn, a window of sheer artistry and beauty opened. You just wondered how long that window would stay open and hoped it would be longer than the previous solo. The amazing thing for me was that he was there at all and that the unorganized mind of someone with such a serious mental illness could create such beautiful music, a music that is characterized by its structure and organization. Added later: Ron Netsky put it well in his writeup: “Harrell’s set was not about the disease as a disability; it was about music as an anchor.”
The members of Harell’s band were incredible musicians and seemed to me to be engaged in improvisation in a whole new sense as it appeared that they only knew for sure what was being played next when the music started to come out of Harrell’s horn or the countoff began. That countoff and the almost unintelligible annoucement of their names (other than Rodney Green on drums who was pointed out in the middle of the set and at the end, so I’m sorry that I don’t have the rest here—maybe someone can fill them in with a comment?) were the only words that departed his lips (well, there was that time that he said something to the pianist, which caused him to sit out most of the rest of one of the encores “Caravan”). I had experienced something unique and while I couldn’t help thinking that the medication or the illness got the better of Tom Harrell in the first set, I also couldn’t help hearing the beauty of his playing and genius of his compositions.
Went home sated, but a little on edge, and because my wife was leaving early this morning to help her sister prepare for her wedding, and wasn’t quite ready to go, but had been the dear love she is and gone to see Wayne Shorter with her hubby, I didn’t get much sleep but helped her to get things together to go. Another wonderful night of music and discovery had passed. Two more to go. . . .
