Edinburgh-based saxophonist Martin Kershaw (pictured) and guitarist Graeme Stephen are launching a new musician-run music night called Playtime at The Outhouse in the city’s Broughton Street Lane on 20 March. The plan is to run weekly sessions presenting new compositions in the Outhouse’s intimate loft setting and the first two sessions will feature Kershaw and Stephen with Mario Caribe (bass) and Tom Bancroft (drums).
“Since the demise of Henry’s Jazz Cellar as a regular hub where musicians could try out new ideas and formats in a listening environment, it’s been very hard to find a sympathetic venue,” says Kershaw, who as well as fronting his own projects is a stalwart of the Scottish National Jazz Orchestra’s saxophone section. “We’re hoping to create the right setting that will give a platform for the creativity that we know exists on the scene both locally and nationally.”
– Rob Adams
“It’s going to be a bit different tonight,” said saxophonist Kevin Figes as he introduced the first composition of the night, a slow chant like melody unfolding and twisting as his alto and Nick Dover’s throaty tenor blended beautifully with Simon Preston’s inventive percussion embellishing Will Harris and Dale Hambridge’s accompaniment on bass and keyboard. A moment of introspective beauty to start the night inspired, according to Figes, by Hermeto and Soft Machine. His imagination had forged something delightfully fresh.
It is always a bit different at the monthly performances of the Bristol Composers Collective. The cast of players rotates, overlapping but never quite the same twice. There is always original and freshly composed music, a rule this loose collective of Bristol based musicians imposed on themselves when they started just over six months ago, motivated by the desire to experiment and try things out without the pressure of having to hustle for gigs for a whole band or fill a whole evening with original music. Once they’d been galvanised by a speculative email from bass player Greg Cordez, the monthly performances started at the Wardrobe Theatre above the White Bear pub just off the city centre, inviting a donation from audiences to cover their room hire costs.
The performances usually feature two or three short sets of compositions from a couple of the pool of players who have signed up. On this particular evening with a late change of plans, as intended feature composer Jake McMurchie jetted off to start Get the Blessing’s short European tour, there were a handful of writers and some thoughtfully scripted more spontaneous compositions.
After Figes’ opener Nick Dover led a quartet through a tricky little rocky groover all snappy percussion and chordless harmony etched out by the jagged lines he rasped out shadowed by Hambridge’s right hand on the keyboard. Then Emily Wright’s violin and Hannah Marshall’s cello augmented the ensemble and the vibe became tumbling clattering full bodied harmonies underpinning soaring melodies, a tune called 'Swimmers vs Non-Swimmers'. Jeff Spencer changed the mood with ‘That’s what they make dreams for’ and 'Anti Freeze'. Two improv pieces with carefully scripted rules, which after a quick bit of on-stage coaching resulted in thrilling performances. After the last racing quavers of 'Anti Freeze' faded away we took a break.
The creative, collaborative swirl of this young but now established collective is exciting to witness and each performance is a joy in itself. The next one is on 17 March when Jeff Spencer features a set of new material with the band Nightjar and subsequent dates are 14 April and 12 May.
– Mike Collins (story and photo)
In an age where the words ‘bang’, ‘buck’ and ‘more’ are as inseparable as ‘wolf’ and Wall Street denying an audience an encore is, for many, a sin worthy of a major financial penalty. Yet when Jalal Mansur Nuriddin decides to curtail his performance before he is even asked to reward paying punters with one last song, there is no riotous outcry for refunds of the £10 coughed up for tickets. Two reasons explain this: Jalal made it clear as he took to the stage to celebrate the 40th anniversary of Hustler’s Convention, the seminal proto-rap album that he cut under the name of Lightnin’ Rod, that he had endured long years of bootlegging and contractual short-changing which have amounted to a shyster’s retention of due royalties. One sensed empathy rather than pity among the faithful, possibly because of the wider resonance of the declaration. Jalal was not the first and surely won’t be the last case of this kind. Secondly, what the audience did hear was a set in which depth easily compensated for any perceived lack of length.
Clad in shades, a black beanie from which sprouted white Afro puffs, beige patterned jersey and leather trousers Jalal looked every inch the pioneering rapper who, as a member of The Last Poets, had helped effect the transition of early 1970s political, percussive spoken word to hip-hop many years later. More important than his charisma was the undimmed power of Jalal’s voice. The fluid cadences, sharp leaps of pitch and sustained rhythmic momentum, which had such a decisive influence on British Acid Jazzers Galliano, were still intact. To say that a historic figure was in the house was a hype to be believed.
Recreating the original Hustler’s Convention, which featured a pan-black music hall of fame (Kool & The Gang, King Curtis, Julius Hemphill) was always going to be a tall order but Jazz Warriors International, MD’d by Orphy Robinson and bolstered by the presence of drummer Rod Youngs and guitarist Hawi Gondwe, made a very decent fist of it. They basically stirred a bubbling, molten funk under Jalal’s hot verses and also worked in ecstatically soulful choruses from vocalist Cleveland Watkiss and trombonist Dennis Rollins. The concise, pithy tales of characters such as Sport and the evocative images of street life on the edge gelled effectively with the short, sharp shocks from the band.
When Jalal suddenly called time on proceedings it felt as if the needle had slid off the original black vinyl. Side one was done. When it comes, side two, to possibly be entitled Hustler’s Detention, should be well worth paying the headlining artist for.
– Kevin Le Gendre
– Photo © Roger Thomas
Southport’s winning combination of distinctive concert choices, seamless organisation and congenial surroundings turned up trumps yet again. The Royal Clifton Hotel was full, every concert a sell-out and the sun shone. First up was Jean Toussaint’s trenchant Coltrane-imbued tenor, his intense if relaxed set featuring the mercurial Reuben James, this 20-year old pianist filling every corner of the harmonies with his own compendium of possibilities, hinting here at Garner’s behind-the-beat delays, there at Tyner’s crunching chords. Asked about James’ potential, Toussaint replied, “The sky’s the limit.” Quite so. The Beatles may already have fulfilled theirs but Ian Darrington thought they deserved a jazz hearing, assembling a decent big band for a Lennon & McCartney programme; the charts culled from online sources or faithfully transcribed, many from Chico O’Farrill’s Basie band album. Sparked by top London trumpeters Andy Greenwood and Craig Wild, and with local drummer Guy Walsh hitting every mark, the band did well, even if some of the purists present took a less charitable view. Friday closed out with the Peterson-inspired trio of Dutchman Rob Van Bavel, with guitar and bass; comely music that deserved a better spot.
With Julian Joseph on hand to set up their BBC Radio 3 recording, Art Themen’s 5Tet dug deep and produced a superb set, the orthopaedic tenorman on imperious form, his efforts supported by the clever lines of trumpeter Steve Fishwick. Just to hear these guys on Dexter Gordon’s ‘For Regulars Only’ was enough to get the juices going, pianist Gareth Williams in perfect command, bassist Arnie Somogyi and the brilliant drummer Winston Clifford completing a dream team. ‘Autumn in New York’ taken as a solo ballad by Art was a peach. New York guitarist Freddy Bryant, a new name to me, followed with his trio, tight and tuneful, the American’s command of Brazilian rhythms a standout. He was joined by fellow New Yorker, tenorist Tim Armacost, a strong improviser who impressed everyone, only adding to his lustre when he joined Alex Garnett in his Bunch of Fives Quintet. Garnett is game for the kind of tenor jousting that hints at jazz’s past but theirs was wholly contemporary take on the genre and the better for that. Garnett, a witty man at the mike, excelled himself, fierce and seemingly inexhaustible. Radio 3 took this one, too. Saturday’s delights were completed by the on-form MJQ Celebration with guest tenorman Alan Barnes, the combination of Barry Green, Matt Ridley, Steve Brown and the cleverly inventive Jim Hart providing the perfect prelude to Sunday’s triumphs.
Robert Fowler took the Gerry Mulligan role in front of his specially assembled big band tribute to the baritone star’s Concert Jazz Band. The omission of piano allowed the full majesty of Dave Green’s bass lines to be revealed, the section playing and free-spirited solos offered by Adrian Fry, Karen Sharp, Barnes again, Fowler himself and Martin Shaw were all of the highest quality. Just to hear to hear their version of ‘Blueport’ was heaven itself. The Damon Brown/Martin Zenker group teamed the widely travelled British cornetist with German baritone expert Michael Lutzeir in a very stimulating Blue Note and beyond set. Expatriate drummer Mark Taylor’s time feel is the real deal and with Scottish pianist Paul Kirby on form, this group swung hard and compelled attention, Brown’s masterly constructions emphasising just how valuable he is. He writes good originals, too. As does Alan Barnes, of course, his octet set revisiting many of his past suites, with the estimable singer Liz Fletcher reprising Alan Plater’s lyrics and the assembled cast doing Barnes proud.
Winding up the festival, chief organiser Geoff Mathews dropped a bombshell. For reasons of age and strain, his organising committee had decided that this one, easily one of the most successful in the 10-year series, was to be their last. If replacements with the necessary savvy could be found in time, the 2015 Festival would run; if not, it would not. At the time of writing, Mathews told me privately the signs are good that the festival will continue. There are interested parties. Watch this space!
– Peter Vacher
In German the word ‘Feier’ means ‘celebration’. Add it to ‘Abend’ (‘evening’), mind, and the resultant ‘Feierabend’ refers to the daily ‘time to stop work’, the end of a shift rather than the start of a party. Berlin seems to take the word more literally, however, and in a capital lacking capital but famous for its rich nocturnal culture there was no danger of its annual JazzFest going gentle into any kind of night, good or otherwise. It was London's MOBO-crowned Sons of Kemet who brought the "fire" music and the ‘Feier’ atmosphere to this year's closing moments and an after-hours Quasimodo club duly drank it up while the first signs of winter waited patiently outside. There was subtlety too to this final gig: you could hear the proverbial ‘Stecknadel’ drop during one mesmeric solo clarinet cadenza while at other times the group's ‘flat-lining’ – a term bandleader Shabaka Hutchins uses to describe their collective grooves – hypnotised the Sunday crowd.
Revelry was also in the air on Friday night, as one of East Germany's most important free jazz musicians Ernst-Ludwig Petrowsky held an early 80th birthday jubilee at the Akademie der Künste. The audience of friends and musicians joined three of his most important bands – including the pioneering '70s Zentralquartett - to party big into the wee small hours. And there was dancing in the stalls at the Barbican-like Haus Der Berliner Festspiele on Saturday as J.B.'s trombonist Fred Wesley – funk royalty for sure – sat magisterial on a stool, all in black save for a pair of silver trainers, "breaking bread with his momma" and inviting us to join his House Party. Great though this was, one wishes he'd arrived without the company of Abraham Inc. whose attempts to blend jazz, hip hop and klezmer were (David Krakauer's exhilarating clarinet work aside) ultimately, and a little-painfully, unhip.
The presence of the city's character in the festival was made more overt in the premiere of Gebhard Ullman's Berlin Suite, a multi-movement work in which samples from Turkish markets, snatches of local radio and sounds from the streets blended with the local reedman's swinging melodies and passages of open improvisation. Hopping on and off themes and passing through contrasting textures the octet might like to have wandered a little more freely without the time-pressures of a festival set but it was an intriguing and exciting tour nonetheless. The mix of nationalities and cultures typical of today's Berlin was in evidence too with Joachim Kühn and Pharaoh Sanders offering "Gnawa Jazz Voodoo" in combination with six North African musicians.
But what of the presence of the festival in the city? No Montreal-style street closures involved here (it'd need to be Miles Davis back from the dead to make a person stand that long in that wind) and JazzFest Berlin lacks London's sense of total town takeover, somewhat camouflaged as it is within four venues on the Western corner of leafy Tiergarten park. But a variety of big names (Americans in particular) and range of styles (from bop and swing to ambient soundscape) were always going to be enough to bring sell-out crowds to Charlottenburg: Jaimeo Brown's Transcendence lullaby-ed and rocked a busy Seitenbühne, Dafnis Prieto's Proverb Trio found spontaneous riffs and improvised dancefloor grooves in the same room, and Christian Scott brought his breakneck "stretch music" to the main stage, blending Dizzy-esque technique and showmanship at dizzying speeds (the opening Jihad Joe set off at an unbelievably fast tempo!).
Bernt Noglik stated that his second festival as artistic director was about celebrating jazz as ‘the sound of surprise’. Doing the phrase justice at the A-Trane club, Riccardo Del Fra composed unanticipated angles from which to view oft-seen standards in two nights of ‘My Chet, My Song’. The bassist's astonishing interactions with one-to-watch drummer Jonas Burgwinkel were a joy-to-watch, almost (but not quite) as fun as saying the latter's surname again and again. In this year's last concert-house performance John Scofield and his Uberjamband were on uber-polished popular form while their warm-up act – Monica Roscher's young 18-piece ensemble - provided more edgy, unusual sounds in a set comprising curveball pop songs and adventurous structures. On an equally large scale, keyboardists Michael Wollny and Tamar Halperin – who first collaborated as the ‘Wunderkammer’ duo in 2009 – presented their live big band reworking of the project. It was not swing or improvisation that amazed here but rather a spirit of childlike surprise akin to discovering a door into Jazz Narnia at the back of said ‘Cabinet of Wonders’, a place where icy moto-perpetuo harpsichords and frozen minimalist textures abounded and marching brass armies sounded ominous in the distance.
It was into not quite such a drastic landscape that groups of late-leaving fauns stumbled on the first Monday morning of November; but had it been, JazzFest Berlin 2013 had produced more than enough warmth and energy to get everyone safely home.
– Phil Smith
