TIM GREEN, ERIC REED, BILLY WILLIAMS, JR., HAMILTON PRICE
On October 13, 2018, the ERIC REED QUARTET appeared at the Caton Castle with Eric Reed on piano, Tim Green on alto sax, Hamilton Price on bass, and Billy Williams, Jr. on drums. Except for the Los Angeles-based Eric, these players are familiar faces at the Caton Castle. They're all seasoned pros who delivered.
"Voyage," by pianist/composer Kenny Barron, an acknowledged influence, demonstrated Eric's commanding keyboard presence, strikingly. His straight-ahead style on this uptempo number articulated the melody in a linear profusion of notes, projecting phrases that built up with symmetrical force to a tentative resolution, promising more. Eric's style reminded me of Sonny Clark, the swinging bebop pianist who made some impressive "Blue Note" label recordings coming out of the 1950s.
Hamilton Price's sprinting bass line was a perfect complement to Eric's persistent piano, sure-footed and elaborate in his bass solo statement of the rhythmic theme. In this context, Tim's alto sax work ranged from strained high notes to honking in the lower register, with a tone that was characteristically thin. Incidentally, Tim and Hamilton appeared together at the Caton Castle last March in an ensemble that paid tribute to the music of tenor sax great, Wayne Shorter.
Billy Williams' energizing style of drumming fit in neatly while remaining distinct, negotiating a fluid timestamp on "Voyage" that favored snare drum accents, before briefly soloing-- cymbals flashing. Billy last appeared at the Caton Castle with a quintet that included pianist Larry Willis and trombonist Steve Davis.
The tension between the individual and the collective-- our Greek tragedy (or soap opera) called "Life"-- is ever-present in jazz. From his 19th century musing at a remote New England pond, Henry David Thoreau's book, "Walden," coined an apt expression: "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away."
Billy Williams exemplifies the different drummer that perceptive jazz fans gladly hear. In addition to fulfilling the traditional role of timekeeping, Billy's style reflects the straight-ahead trend set by drum innovators like Kenny Clarke, Max Roach, and Philly Joe Jones, whereby the drum set-- bass, cymbals, snares, etc.-- is made to busily interact with its own constituent parts, enabling creative ornamentation for a sort of rhythmic undertow that can give the music a fresh sense of unity. Individualist in its essence, the design intends to let the drummer (and the listener) "step to the music that he hears however, measured or far away." Musically, it's possible to be explosive without being a loose cannon.
For critics who would rap the drumming of, say, Philly Joe Jones, as too loud, "big-eared" jazz fans would respond like that connoisseur of fine brandy who said: "Too much is barely enough."
Tim's identifiable alto sax sound is versatile and equally engaging on uptempo tunes as well as ballads, like trumpet great Freddie Hubbard's composition, "Up Jumped Spring." Curiously, Eric's piano introduction employed the melody of "The Old Rugged Cross," a Gospel hymn, as a prelude to similar chords played softly by Tim's alto sax in the middle register, with a tone and tempo equally solemn. Hamilton's bass line pronounced the beat, ecumenically, over against Billy's temperate brush strokes. Luxuriating in the relaxed tempo, Tim's horn lingered on a fluttering note here or a trilling tone there, building to a crescendo. Yes, "Up Jumped Spring."
On Thelonious Monk's "Evidence," Eric's tour-de-force piano solo focused attention by furiously accelerating the tempo of this familiar tune and thereby eliminating Monk's signature rhythmic ticks. Following Eric's breathless introduction, Tim blew his alto sax in the same vein, bending high notes, "Bird"-like, as Hamilton's bass line throbbed in step with Billy's pace-setting cymbals. In the nick of time, Billy's masterful drum solo provided a counterpoise to the dynamic tension of this tune, a welcomed release.
Eric slowed down the tempo on "I Didn't Know What Time it Was," a Rogers & Hart show-tune collaboration. The rhythm section defined the moody contours of this tune, with Hamilton's bass line dissecting the rhythmic flow while Billy's brush strokes restored it. Tim and Eric traded choruses, caressing the lovely melody in a way that captured its lyrical theme: "...I didn't know what year it was/ Life was no prize/ I wanted love and here it was/ Shining out of your eyes/ I'm wise and I know what time it is now."
Similarly perplexed about the sensual, Saint Augustine, the 4th century Christian sage, searched in his "Confessions" for a higher unity: "...thou hast made us for thyself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in thee."
One last observation about Thoreau, who became a hermit for fear of second-hand contamination by walking among a conformist crowd. From his perch near 19th century Walden pond, Thoreau predicted the coming trivialization of the individual in a mindless verbal wasteland of mass communication: "We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas; but," he warned, "Maine and Texas it may be, have nothing important to communicate." As to a then-proposed trans-Atlantic telegraph cable, Thoreau mocked the potentiality that "the first news that will leak through into the broad, flapping American ear will be that Princess Adelaide has the whooping cough."
And what has the behemoth of mass communication in the Internet age actually yielded? Of recent prominence, the puny spectacle of televised "#MeToo" feminist mobs shouting in unison, "We believe survivors."
Thank goodness for the beat of a different drummer; to wit, the Eric Reed Quartet's stellar performance at the Caton Castle.
THE JOHN LAMKIN, III SEXTET
Saturday - October 6, 2018
"5th Annual Tribute to
ART BLAKEY and the JAZZ MESSENGERS"
featuring . . .
JOHN LAMKIN, III - DRUMS
Donald Harrison - Alto Saxophone
Elijah Easton - Tenor Saxophone
Sean Jones - Trumpet
Mark Meadows - Piano
Kris Funn - Bass
with special guest performances by . . .
Brinae Ali - Tap Dancer
Ephraim Dorsey - Tenor Saxophone
Ebban Dorsey - Alto Saxophone
On October 6, 2018, the John Lamkin, III Sextet appeared at the Caton Castle, with John Lamkin, III on drums, Donald Harrison on alto sax, Sean Jones on trumpet, Mark Meadows on piano, Elijah Easton on tenor sax, and Kris Funn on acoustic bass. This show was a musical treat.
The texture of three horns as a rhythmic foil against the drums was perfect instrumentation for the occasion at hand: A birthday tribute for the late Art Blakey (1919-1990), master drummer and iconic leader of the Jazz Messengers. A highly spirited affair it was, with a "JM" alumnus-- Donald Harrison-- included for good measure.
"Free for All," the title tune from a 1964 recording by the Jazz Messengers, was the rousing straight-ahead number that served as the show's finale and typified this band's dynamism: The sparks that flew when volleys of notes hit a percussive wall. The uptempo pace featured Sean's trumpet in full flight, soaring to harmonic heights in an even tone that contrasted with the modulating timbre of alto saxophones on each flank, trading extended solos. Donald affected a strained and pleading tone in the upper register of his horn, while Elijah's staccato accents produced an arrhythmic quality with guttural sounds on some low notes that put me in mind of Eric Dolphy's bass clarinet.
This was no disjointed collection of solos; the swinging rhythm section saw to that. Mark Meadows' energetic piano defined the melodic figure in spacious phrasing that he neatly embellished against the background of Kris Funn's pulsating and animated bass play. While they both admirably soloed, Kris included some upper-body dance moves.
John's adept use of a busy interplay between his drum and cymbal options (a lot of bass pedal), put the drums into the melodic mix, over and above maintaining the rhythmic time stamp. In that way, John's high-volume flourishes of dissonant tom-tom accents would sneak up on you, Blakey-like. Yes, John channeled Blakey on "Free for All" to such an extent that he even threw in a Baptist shout.
Moreover, the swinging multiple horn chorus freely interjected itself in poly-rhythmic fashion, a characteristic feature of the Jazz Messengers that hints of Dixieland antecedents. In fact, pianist/composer Horace Silver, another "JM" alum, was known for adding a Latin flavor to such a brassy configuration.
On Horace Silver's "Peace," a pensive ballad, Sean's muscular trumpet was exquisite, with a pitch-perfect tone and yawning range reminiscent of trumpet great Clifford Brown, yet another "JM" alum. Indeed, their stylistic affinity led me to at first mistake this tune for Benny Golson's somewhat similar jazz standard in tribute to the venerated trumpeter: "I Remember Clifford."
Obviously, Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers have had an out-sized influence on the development of jazz. In basketball terms, Art Blakey was a point guard capable of scoring at will but saw his main function as maximizing the play of others. He understood that optimum success requires a team effort-- in jazz, in basketball or in life. Whether leading the fast break, setting up the hot performer, or feeding the bass line, Art Blakey is alone at the top in the category of "Assists:" Upwards of 200 musicians over four decades have passed through Art Blakey's training camp, many achieving star status as members of the Jazz Messengers. For what it's worth, there were 6 named Sonny, 7 named Bill and 11 named John-- one surname Coltrane.
Pianist/composer and "JM" alum Bobby Timmons' bluesy composition in march-time, "Moanin,'" is a favorite jazz standard recorded by the Jazz Messengers on a 1959 album of the same name. Listening to this band's rendition, I was again struck by the artistry of the horn section (the teen-aged Dorsey siblings, Ebban and Eprahim, on alto and tenor sax, respectively, sat in on this tune--splendidly!), particularly Elijah Easton's searching alto sax excursion that whimsically twisted and turned the melodic phrase as if examining something vaguely familiar.
Jazz standards have a way of focusing our attention by forcing a comparison between now and then. Listening to a jazz standard like "Moanin'" for the umpteenth time is a repetition only in the sense that experiencing a new love may repeat the old emotion, but not the old facts. If nothing else, the listener/lover has changed. Each listening is new in a way that the ancient Greeks understood, denying the possibility of repetition from opposite perspectives. Heraclitus believed that there is no "being," as such, but only a continuous "becoming;" He said, "You can't walk through the same stream twice."
On the other hand, Parmenides maintained that static "being" (Mind) is the only true reality (as in mathematics) and that all motion is an illusion; Thus, you can't walk through the true stream even once.
Of course, Christians believe that the only repetition that ultimately matters comes from God: "Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creation; old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new" (2 Corinthians 5:17).
But, whether understood as an imperfect earthly illusion or another stream-crossing, jazz fans know that it's possible to enjoy-- anew -- a jazz standard like "Moanin'," again and again, with each well-played hearing.
As if to second that emotion, The band played a charming rendition of "Misty," pianist Erroll Garner's classic ballad, wherein Donald showed himself to be an alto sax master, improvising an engrossing musical construct that seemed true to the lyrical mood of the familiar song while touching on the actual melody hardly at all, and mostly without accompaniment. John added to the soulful vibe with timely brush strokes.
There was a celebratory atmosphere throughout this captivating performance. Along the way, "Ms. Ali," a tap-dancer, also entertained the sold-out audience. Three cheers for Art Blakey, the spirit behind it all.
THE PAUL CARR GROUP
On September 22, 2018, the Paul Carr Group appeared at the Caton Castle, with Paul Carr on tenor sax, Tom Williams on trumpet, Bob Butta on piano, Amy Shook on acoustic bass, and Lenny Robinson on drums. This collection of regional all-stars did not disappoint.
Duke Ellington's swinging classic, "In a Mellow Tone," was emblematic of a musical approach whereby Paul's versatile tenor sax teased out the melody in the horn's lower register, punctuated with dissonant inflections behind the beat, while Tom's trumpet alternated the pattern in a contrasting timbre-- crisp or slurred-- against a background of rhythmic piano and drum repartee over an intrepid bass line.
Duke Ellington's music harkens back to the days when melodies were hummable. That's fitting, since this show was billed as "A Tribute to Ben Webster" (1909-1973), the legendary tenor sax player from Kansas City, of whom Whitney Balliett, a noted jazz critic and author of "The Sound of Surprise" (1959), said in one of the book's essays: "A heavy, sedate man, with wide, boxlike shoulders, who holds his instrument stiffly in front of him, as if it were a figurehead, Webster played in various big bands before the four-year tour of duty with Duke Ellington that began in 1937." Shifting gears, Balliett continued, "In a slow ballad number, Webster's tone is soft and enormous, and he is apt to start his phrases with whooshing smears that give one the impression of being suddenly picked up by a breaker and carried smoothly to shore."
On "Our Love is Here to Stay," a slow ballad, Paul's full-tone tenor sax recalled something of the sweep if not the whoosh of Ben Webster's style, with a relaxed phrasing that ebbed and flowed within the contours of Bob's piano comping, a sort of counter-melody that embellished the joyful mood, as Tom's trumpet interludes maintained a measured pace in a moderate tone. Shades of Ben Webster, Amy's chiseled bass solo seemed to emote the lyrics: "...In time the Rockies may crumble/ Gibraltar may tumble/ They're only made of clay/ But our love is here to stay."
Another Duke Ellington composition, "Caravan," showed Paul's up-tempo chops, accenting a torrent of notes with honks and squawks, complemented by Tom's briskly piercing trumpet licks, reminiscent of a bebopping "Dizzy" Gillespie. And Amy's plucky bass line neatly coincided with Lenny's rhythmically fluid drumbeats, staggering the pace of "Caravan," with Bob's expansive piano runs in figurative pursuit.
There's a solidity to Ben Webster's style that is typified in his various renditions of "Body and Soul," a repertoire stalwart that he recorded with Billie Holiday on a 1957 album of the same name. Tom's trumpet interpretation of this seminal jazz standard was majestic.
However, there is an aspect of Ben's music-- his unhurried pace-- that does not translate well in our high-tech era, where the byword is "instantaneous" (not to be confused with "speed," which lasts beyond the instant). Ben's luxurious tones and lingering notes maintain the continuity of a coherent whole, a storytelling quality that is increasingly beside the point in an era where disjointed fast talk, the acoustical equivalent of fine print, is the coin of the realm.
I am convinced that the mind-numbing din of pettifogging lawyers, jack-leg politicians and assorted other TV infomercials makes us less and less able to hear and appreciate music like Ben Webster's, in all of its connected parts. Sociologist Neil Postman's intriguing book, "Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business" (1985), explores a related idea, contrasting a past era informed by print with the present visual era informed by television.
"My point," said Postman, "is that we are by now so thoroughly adjusted to the 'Now...this' world of [TV] news-- a world of fragments, where events stand alone, stripped of any connection to the past, or to the future, or to other events-- that all assumptions of coherence have vanished."
Notice that Postman's provocative conclusion about the disorienting effect on our sensibilities of a TV-informed world-- in other words, "Just one damn thing after another," historian Arnold J. Toynbee's apocryphal description of history-- was published in 1985, well before the onslaught of 24/7 cable/satellite TV and the Internet!
In any event, Ben Webster's penchant for understatement--calculated restraint-- is not a lost art. Amy Shook's walking bass line on "My Romance," for instance, was an object lesson in such patient elegance, building an enchantingly rhythmic sequence one step at a time.
In this neck of the woods, Paul Carr is a tireless ambassador for the jazz tradition exemplified by Ben Webster, as well as its other permutations, through formalized teaching (he founded the "Jazz Academy of Music" in Washington, D.C.), organizing and performing in memorial concerts at regional venues like the Caton Castle, plus moving and shaking the annual "Mid-Atlantic Jazz Festival." Wherever the tenor sax is the subject, Ben Webster's artistry is bound to be in the mix, along with Coleman Hawkins and Lester Young-- jazz music's "Founding Fathers" of the tenor sax.
While the negative dimension of our high-tech world-- a fetish for the isolated instant-- has already been noted, the same technology has a redeeming quality: Recorded music of all kinds is more accessible than ever before. Indeed, it is something of a paradox that serious music is made both more available and less desirable by the same digital technology. By and large, symphony orchestras could not exist nowadays without government subsidies-- either directly, on the European model, or through tax breaks (uptown food stamps?). It looks like Mozart and Beethoven are in the same neglected boat as Ben Webster.
In sum, a cornucopia of affordable recorded music by tenor sax virtuoso Ben Webster is there for the asking. Hopefully, this splendid tribute performance by the Paul Carr Group will whet some appetites with the cyberspace posting of a sampling on the Caton Castle website, over and above the sparse but lively audience in attendance.
THE JOE FARNSWORTH QUARTET
On September 8, 2018, the Joe Farnsworth & Vincent Herring Quartet appeared at the Caton Castle, with Joe Farnsworth on drums, Vincent Herring on alto sax, Keith Brown on piano, and John Webber on acoustic bass. This New York-based collaboration was top-notch.
Out of the gate, the ballad "There is No Greater Love" displayed Vincent's heavyweight credentials as his full-tone alto sax trilled the melody with a sonority similar to alto sax great Lou Donaldson's soulful swing, while Keith's expansive piano flourishes blended with Joe's rhythmic drumbeats and John's throbbing bass line, binding them like a gravitational force. It was a musical "Hello" from Vincent and Keith, newcomers to the Caton Castle.
On "You Are the Sunshine of My Life," Stevie Wonder's pop hit set to a Latin beat, Vincent's angular yet lyrical phrasing brought to mind those past tenor sax masters-- Lester Young, Stan Getz, Dexter Gordon, Ben Webster-- for whom the words of the song were all-important. I read someplace that in a long-ago recording session Ben Webster once stopped playing a ballad in mid-chorus, explaining that he had forgotten the lyrics. All saxophonists blow notes, but the elite also play the sounds, moods, and ideas provoked by the words to a song.
Speaking of lyrics, let us note the recent passing at age 76 of Aretha Franklin, the universally acknowledged "Queen of Soul." A versatile singer, Aretha was equally at home performing pop, Gospel, R&B, soul, and even jazzy blues-- as in "Unforgettable" (1964), her tribute album to the music of Dinah Washington. A cut from that record--"Drinking Again"-- epitomizes for me Aretha's bitter/sweet persona.
Its opening line-- "I'm drinking again"-- holds the high-pitched "I" in an extended single note that lasts so long that it grabs you in the collar with anticipation of its ending, then lyrics to a moderate tempo blues beat describe the despairing mood of a bar-scene denizen who bemoans the sorry lot of love's losers before finally exclaiming abjectly: "I ain't got nothing but a bottle of Seagrams and just a mem-o-ry." Such pathos!
I think that Aretha's Detroit grittiness was the key to her mass appeal. I knew somebody dear to me like that lady in the sad song, and Aretha probably did too. Over and over, my dear one tried to drown her sorrows in booze but, sadly, her sorrows knew how to swim. And it often started with a half-pint of Seagrams gin or, as we used to call it, a shorty of "Knotty Head."
"I'm in the Mood for Love," a ballad that first appeared in an old "Little Rascals" movie, was dedicated to Harold Mabern, the octogenarian Dean of Jazz Piano, who is Joe Farnsworth's regular pianist and, in that capacity, has frequently performed (with John Webber also) at the Caton Castle. On this tune, Keith's piano molded the melody with a Mabern-like ornamental touch that was echoed in John's boisterous bass solo, a calculated effusion of notes.
Both Joe and John performed on the CD, "Mr. Lucky," Harold's tribute to the music of Sammy Davis, Jr. (1925-1990), a consummate black entertainer whose posthumous image is unsettled in a way that Aretha Franklin's is not. Their publics were different. Aretha's music crossed over from Detroit R&B (Incidentally, the term "Rhythm and Blues" was coined to replace "Race Music" as a commercial recording category by "Billboard" magazine in 1959), whereas Sammy sang and danced from the Great American Songbook, channeling mainstream pop culture. His was a token non-white presence in the post-World War II America of glittering show-biz writ large: Hollywood, TV, Las Vegas, Broadway. Blazing a trail in an alien environment can be a thankless job. In his day, some accused Sammy of being insufficiently "black," an Uncle Tom. Of course, the same racial spitball was hurled at Louis "Satchmo" Armstrong (1901-1971), the greatest trumpeter of all time.
Without a doubt, the "Queen of Soul" crossed over to mainstream acclaim on a road paved by others. Kudos to Harold Mabern for his CD shout-out to the trailblazing "Mr. Lucky," especially Harold's bravura piano take on one of Sammy's signature ballads, "What Kind of Fool am I?"
Vincent shifted into his high-speed gear on "Inception," pianist/composer McCoy Tyner's up-tempo harmonic vehicle, and the rhythm section was up to the full-throttle challenge, Joe Farnsworth's drums especially, with a bass drum uncharacteristically audible amidst the clashing of a single ride cymbal and clapping high-hat. Indeed, Joe's drum kit was notably spare, proof that less can be more.
On a long-ago road trip, I once surprised some jazz-averse companions by playing the sultry standard, "You Go to My Head," from tenor sax legend Gene "Jug" Ammons' "Angel Eyes" CD. My captive audience warmed to the tune, one person in particular who observed, "That kind of music makes you want to light up a cigarette." Yeah, the Joe Farnsworth & Vincent Herring Quartet was like that.
THE JOHN LAMKIN, II
JOHN LAMKIN, II FAVORITES 18AUG2018
THE ALLYN JOHNSON QUINTET
August 11, 2018
On August 11, 2018, the Allyn Johnson Quintet appeared at the Caton Castle, with Allyn Johnson on piano, Antonio Parker on alto sax, Theljon Allen on trumpet, Herman Burney on bass, and Kelton Norris on drums. As a frequent sideman at the Caton Castle, Allyn's feisty piano customarily sets a high bar for the rhythm section, and on this night the entire ensemble excelled in following their leader.
"Softly, As in a Morning Sunrise" was typical. On this up-tempo standard, Herman's rock-solid bass line pulsated with a vibrancy that laid claim to rhythmic space beside Kelton's challenging drumbeats, cymbals setting the pace with snare drums flaring behind Allyn's elliptical statement of the melody, a shifting trickle of notes that gained momentum in the restatements until waves of piano licks finally subsided.
Theljon's bracing trumpet solo, slurring high notes but generally maintaining an even tone with lyrical phrasing that hinted at the garrulous style of trumpet master Freddie Hubbard, was complemented by Antonio's alto sax, responding at a sprinting pace in a mellow flow of notes, punctuated by subtle dissonance.
While Allyn's style defies easy categorization, it showed itself in a definitive way at a performance in tribute to the music of the late and great pianist, Mulgrew Miller, that took place at the Caton Castle last summer with a quintet headed by drummer Aaron Seeber. Abrupt tempo transitions, creative modulations in volume, interposing a melody within the melody-- Allyn played Mulgrew's characteristic piano licks to a "t." And in this latest show, Allyn expressly acknowledged Mulgrew's influence as the band performed "Another Type Thang," a brassy swing tempo number recorded by Mulgrew.
There's yet another arrow in Allyn's stylistic quiver; that is, music with an overtly religious dimension as contained in his CD entitled "Grace: The Transforming Journey," by Allyn Johnson & Divine Order. By happenstance, I received a copy of this CD as abandoned property from a disappointed fan of Allyn's music who could not abide such lyrics as, "There's not a friend like the lowly Jesus, no not one, no not one."
Such a spiritual disaffection between musician and fan is not unheard of. In the 19th century, composer Richard Wagner's (pronounced "Vagner") celebrated operas based on Germanic folklore made him a rock star forerunner in Europe and chief among his groupies (see the effusive praise in "The Birth of Tragedy") was none other than Friedrich Nietzsche, the writer whose philosophical atheism laid the intellectual foundation for a demonic secularism (men who live by bread alone) dominant in today's Western world. Famously, Nietzsche proclaimed the death of God.
Well, as it turned out, Wagner seemingly had an epiphany and changed the focus of his operatic concern (notably in "Parsifal") from Germanic folklore to something resembling the Christian redemption story. In response, Nietzsche denounced Wagner as decadent.
Alas, reports of the death of God have not been confirmed, but we have it on good authority that Nietzsche died on August 25, 1900.
"A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" was a trio performance that spotlighted Herman Burney's dexterous bass. Isolating single notes, Allyn's solo reminded me that jazz piano may involve the same musical scale that is employed in the classical music tradition but playing jazz means that Allyn does something radically different with it, in that a time-keeping jazz drumbeat is always implied. However, some perceived differences in musical categories are more apparent than real. At a recent Caton Castle performance, local drum phenom John Lamkin, III observed from the bandstand that all of our popular musical forms are based on a jazz beat. Given the many distinctions that are drawn within jazz, not to mention the contrasts with everything else on the radio, John's statement requires some digesting.
From a broader perspective, John's observation is indisputable. While the drumbeat's tempo accounts for a night and day difference between jazz and classical music, only shades of gradation distinguish jazz from blues, rock, pop, R&B, and even Gospel music. They're all, generally speaking, variations on the generic (12 bar) blues pattern that underlies even the Gospel staple, "Amazing Grace" (sample the three different iterations on Allyn's aforesaid CD). Fans may not see it, but the family resemblance between jazz and its pop music progeny is as obvious from a classical music perspective as the similarity between all of the world's nationalities would be to a Martian.
Like Allyn's disgruntled fan (and Nietzsche), people sometimes demand more from music (and artists) than it is possible to deliver. "Beauty" is an inadequate substitute for "Truth." What will you do when the music stops? In the quaint expression of piano legend "Fats" Waller, "One never knows, do one?"
In any event, music is king of its own domain. In my estimation, Allyn's "Gospel" CD does not represent his best work. That has nothing to do with references to Jesus Christ ("...the way, the truth, and the life..." John 14:6). What the CD lacks is more of Herman Burney (he's on the CD) on bass, with his remarkable ability to articulate a melody while maintaining the beat (especially when he hums or scats), and the crisp accents-- shades of "Philly" Joe Jones-- of Kelton Norris' dynamic drums. Their rhythmic interplay with Allyn's raucous piano on the quintet's rendition of saxophonist Hank Mobley's "This I Dig of You" was exquisite, with Allyn delivering some shrill notes suggestive of steel drums.
For good measure, the audience was treated to a sit-in performance by trumpet sensation Sean Jones, head of the Peabody Conservatory's jazz department, on "Bags' Groove," vibraphonist Milt Jackson's bluesy jazz standard. Sean, whose style is so explosive that at times he doesn't play notes so much as launch them, is scheduled to appear at the Caton Castle on October 6, 2018, with a group that includes saxophonist Donald Harrison and drummer John Lamkin, III.
All in all, Allyn Johnson's quintet delighted the Caton Castle crowd. Surely, I could get an "Amen" to that.
ABRAHAM BURTON QUARTET
Saturday - July 28, 2018
JOHN LAMKIN, III QUARTET
July 14, 2018
On July 14, 2018, John Lamkin, III's quartet appeared at the Caton Castle, with John Lamkin, III on drums, Grant Langford on tenor sax, Herman Burney on acoustic bass, and Dave Manley on electric guitar. This show was high octane.
John is the beneficiary of two generations of refinements in jazz drumming. Big band drummers like "Chick" Webb, "Big Sid" Catlett and "Papa" Jo Jones had already embellished the drums' time-keeping function with solo pyrotechnics before the post-World War II generation-- Max Roach, "Philly" Joe Jones, Art Blakey, and others-- moved the drums to the forefront of bebop ensembles. In addition to improvisation, what distinguishes jazz in its various incarnations from other musical forms is its drum-driven rhythm, a stylized pulse that sustains a structural force against which the other musicians continuously react. You could say that in a shifting sort of way the drums are to jazz what the net and boundary lines are to tennis.
Indeed, John was the leading light on "Duke" Ellington's "Caravan," an uptempo vehicle for a barrage of cymbal strokes amidst snare drum eruptions-- mesmerizing solo interjected-- that set the pace for Grant's even-toned tenor work, exploring the contours of a familiar melody in adventurous ways, rising to John's challenge. Herman's steady hand on bass and Dave's extended guitar riffs, his powerful strumming, rounded out a solid performance.
The unannounced appearance of Grant (a Charlie Parker look-alike) and Dave was a pleasant surprise. Last minute additions/substitutions are not uncommon in the jazz world. In fact, "sit-in" performances involving visiting musicians from the audience are a common occurrence at the Caton Castle. It has always amazed me how jazz musicians who play together for the first time are able to produce a collective sound that is cohesive and spontaneous as if it were the product of prolonged mutual acquaintance. Of course, top-notch players practice their craft relentlessly-- saxophonists "Sonny" Rollins and John Coltrane are legendary in this regard. However, it appears that the possibility of a "first take" blending of musicians of varying talent levels and styles derives from the existence of a common musical language, the embracing of which is the key to the jazz kingdom.
Some light on the mystery was shed in a jazz insider's memoir by saxophonist Richard Terrill-- "Fakebook: Improvisations on a Journey Back to Jazz" (2000). Talking out of school, the author describes the written technical prop-- the "fakebook"-- as "a collection of melodies or 'heads' with the chord changes, so that musicians can read the tunes and changes instead of having to play solely by ear and memory." Terrill continued, "The name 'fakebook' comes from the old coinage that a musician who is improvising over a set of chord changes is 'faking,' making up his or her own melody."
The term "fakebook" is apparently used ironically, in that Terrill calls it "a place to start, the structure upon which music is composed;" thus providing the basis for very real improvisation by putting all of the players on the same page. Even so, experience from the Caton Castle and elsewhere teaches listeners that given their common musical language, playing jazz by ear and memory suffices for many, even without the "fakebook." Indeed, there are noteworthy examples of extraordinary jazz musicians who could not read music at all; pianist Erroll Garner comes to mind.
Reading is not a prerequisite for singing. Clearly, Grant's lyrical tenor sax serenade on "My Foolish Heart," a brooding ballad memorably recorded by saxophonist Stan Getz, came straight from the heart and found an echo in Herman's soulful bass solo.
As is its nature, art imitates life. Just as a common language enables musical harmony, the lack of a common language is always attendant to social disharmony. When the same word means different things depending upon your perspective, strife follows. There is a story in the Bible about two clans of brothers (more precisely, cousins, the grandchildren of brothers) who came to blows about some perceived affront to group dignity. Problem was, they all resembled each other so much that it was hard to identify the enemy. The only telltale distinction was a difference in speech patterns whereby one group could not pronounce the word "Shibboleth" without spitting.
In their internecine warfare (something similar to Rwanda in 1994), a slight variation in language sufficed to determine who lived and who died: "Then they took him [who mispronounced], and slew him at the passage of the Jordan; and there fell at that time of the Ephraimites forty and two thousand" (Judges 12:1-6).
Surely, nothing of the sort could happen in red state/blue state 21st century America-- right?
According to the poet, music has charms to sooth a savage beast. Perhaps. Whereas serious music involves a deliberate balance of contrasts, a person in a rage-- a savage beast-- loses all sense of proportion. Consider the yarn about the scorned wife who determined to kill her husband; so she poisoned him, strangled him, stabbed him, shot him, held him under water, then squatted down and urinated in the river. When asked why she felt the need to pee in the water, the forlorn lady responded: "Every little bit helps."
Nonetheless, music can be a tonic for the civilized. Dave's delicate guitar solo on "Peace," pianist/composer Horace Silver's pensive ballad, created a certain tension with Herman's bass line (so much more pronounced in the absence of a piano) and John's sensuous brush strokes, before a melodic resolution released the small but attentive audience from the collective grip of this solid rhythm section, playing in the pocket.
In music and life, not every discordant note is unwelcome. "Shibboleths" appeal to the snob in us all. For example, devotees of classical music cannot utter the word "jazz" without contempt; that is to say, without figuratively spitting. And jazz fans return the favor whenever they deign to mumble something about "classical" music.
Of course, we jazz snobs are justified. John Lamkin, III's spirited quartet was proof of that.
June 23, 2018
On June 23, 2018, vocalist Gabrielle Goodman appeared at the Caton Castle, along with Warren Wolf on vibraphone, Greg Hatza on piano, Reginald Payne on bass guitar, Robert Dupree on Conga drums and percussion, and Robert Shahid on drums. Stylistically, this show was a mixed bag.
As a frequent performer at the Caton Castle, the versatility of Warren's vibraphone is well-known, whether setting the pace as the leader or setting the mood from behind. No matter the style, there's a commanding aspect to the orchestral quality of the vibraphone, its multiplicity of sounds. To open the show, the instrumentalists played vibraphonist Milt "Bags" Jackson's signature bebop blues standard, "Bags' Groove," with Warren's melodic statement and rhythmic variations provoking a spirited response from Greg's piano (not his customary organ), including some boogie-woogie riffs.
The next tune, "Softly, as in a Morning Sunrise," showed Robert Shahid's drums in excellent form, maintaining an intricate time stamp before soloing with pizzazz. And, on a couple of other tunes, Robert Dupree's conga drums added percussive spice.
With the nearly full house warmed up, a hearty Caton Castle greeting was provided for Baltimore native Gabrielle Goodman, a veteran performer and music teacher, but a newcomer to this venue. Incorporating much from the rich tradition of jazz vocalists, Gabrielle's sound is both familiar and fresh, scatting like Ella Fitzgerald on "Route 66" and moaning from deep down, like Sarah Vaughan, on "Summertime." Moreover, Gabrielle's distinctive treatment of "Don't Explain" in a duet with Reginald's lively bass guitar proved that Billie Holiday doesn't own that tune, exclusively.
Gabrielle credited a long association with R&B diva Roberta Flack as a decisive influence on her career. In tribute, she sang Roberta's "Feel Like Makin' Love," a pop chart hit, and other songs in that vein, like Aretha Franklin's "Respect" and Patti Labelle's pop treatment of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." To be sure, Gabrielle has both R&B and jazz chops: she rendered a lyrical version of Matt Dennis' melancholy jazz ballad, "Angel Eyes," to a funk beat.
"Feel Like Makin' Love," in fact, put me in mind of younger days, when I often pondered with songwriter Cole Porter: "What is This Thing Called Love?" The ancient Greeks had it figured out, sort of. In Plato's "Symposium" it is reported by Socrates on the oracular authority of the prophetess Diotima that Love was conceived at a birthday feast in honor of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love and Beauty, when an inebriated Poros, the God of Plenty, was finagled by Penia (Poverty), a "Plain Jane" mortal, into a tryst that resulted in the birth of the demigod Eros, the source of erotic Love. This divine/human Love is a composite of contrasts, by turns mortal and immortal, elegant and plain, rich and poor, wise and foolish. "But Beautiful," songwriter Jimmy Van Heusen has added.
However that may be, pianist Greg Hatza could take the Greeks to school on the related subject of the blues, whether on piano or in the way that he usually rolls, on electric organ and vocals.
Indeed, the blues stands in close proximity to Plato's mythological Love, having grown out of a particular historical circumstance of enforced poverty amidst plenty. The blues is a compound of the human with the inhuman-- not the divine. American slave songs that communicated a bitter experience on many levels evolved into emancipated musical patterns of worship, art, and entertainment. The blues as a musical genre seemed to arrive in full stride with the 20th century, like the Goddess Athena of Greek mythology springing fully grown from the head of Zeus. In fact, the first generation of blues stars-- the likes of Bessie Smith, Gertrude "Ma" Rainey and James P. Johnson-- showed up before the technology to commercially record them.
To this day, the basic blues musical pattern has remained unchanged since its gestation in antebellum America. However, I'm sure that the spirit of the blues-- like the spirit of Love-- is as old as the memory of humankind. Though the pattern of his recitation was undoubtedly different, biblical Moses arguably sang the blues when he lamented the wrath of God occasioned by the faithlessness of men: "Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance. For all our days are passed away in thy wrath; we spend our years as a tale that is told" (Psalm 90:8-9).
As a vehicle for both love songs and the blues, jazz, pop, and R&B serve the musical Muse. Gabrielle Goodman's eclectic repertoire dished it all out, tastefully.