Joining Richard Nant in the trumpet section of Guillermo Klein's Base de Nave (at the Vanguard next month) will be Juan Cruz de Urquiza. JCU studied at Berklee with Klein and Nant in the early 90s, but unlike them, he returned to Buenos Aires soon after graduating. Much of the new Argentine jazz comes out of Klein's and Nant's work in mid- to late-90s New York (that's a large focus of my upcoming Checkout report), but JCU's contribution shouldn't be overlooked.
In 1998, Urquiza formed what many regard as the first band of the new Argentine jazz, Quinteto Urbano—a clockwork post-bop unit that brought a new professionalism and conceptual sophistication to the music. Quinteto dedicated itself to a rather simple concept: performing original music once a week and practicing it once a week. That hardly sounds like a radical proposition, but it proved to be—helping to shift the paradigm from pick-up gigs to intricately thought-out performances.
Drummer Pipi Piazzolla told me that hearing the jazz chacarera on Quinteto Urbano's first CD marked what the Argentines would call an "antes y después"—jazz could animate his country's native music and push it in bold new directions.
Here's Juan Cruz and Quinteto Urbano in a 2003 performance that's more straight-ahead than much of their music, but nonetheless shows this very tight band in very fine form:
When Guillermo Klein plays the Village Vanguard next month, his old friend and collaborator Richard Nant will be coming along. The trumpeter/percussionist Nant has been a fixture in Klein's flagship group, Los Guachos, for as long as its been in existence; and he's also a crucial contributor to Base de Nave, the band the Vanguard will host this time around.
In Buenos Aires, Nant leads his own ensemble, Argentos—a vigorous unit that deploys its horns in an intricate, constantly shifting attack that's grounded by Pipi Piazzolla and Matías Méndez's crushing rhythmic thump. Here, all-world saxophonist Miguel Zenón (who will appear with Base de Nave) guest solos with the band as they play "Carnavaleando," a Cuchi Leguizamón number that will not appear on Domador de Huellas but may very well get some play at the Vanguard:
The Village Vanguard
Through July 18, 9 p.m., 11 p.m.
The Village Vanguard is the only club in the world that can shift the meaning of "mainstream" in jazz. Befitting its history and reputation, the Vanguard books a lot of traditional acts; but every so often, a group of adventurous young musicians arrives unexpectedly, and the week of gigs makes seismic ripples. When the then little-known Bad Plus played the Vanguard for the first time in 2002, a Columbia Records rep scouted them and quickly signed them. No band of the last ten years has been as widely influential as the Bad Plus (jazz musician friends of mine in Buenos Aires know their records chapter and verse); and the Vanguard's endorsement played no small part in their early rise.
This week's appearance by Jenny Scheinman - Mischief & Mayhem has the whiff of that Bad Plus show—the Vanguard taking a risk and displaying its best instincts. The violinst/fiddler/composer Scheinman has played the club before, but this band—with Wilco guitarist Nels Cline, longtime Ani DiFranco bassist Todd Sickafoose, and mad-cap drummer Jim Black—sounds especially promising: four virtuosos equally comfortable in and out of the jazz idiom who can't help but drive the music in new directions. I gave the show at critic's pick in New York magazine and can't wait to check it out...
This is very much yesterday's news, and last eon's news in the Twittersphere, but @jazzfamoose did indeed unmask himself yesterday at 4 p.m. EST, kinda:
Ok jazznerds, I give you the identity of @jazzfamoose Don't say you weren't warned. http://bit.ly/b6sUn6 #jazzfamous
That tiny URL links to the Facebook profile of whoever clicks on it. So the Jazzfamoose, like Time's 2006 Person of the Year, is YOU!
I'm leaving for the Great North Woods (moose beware!) in a few hours, so I won't be able to weigh in on the mystery of @jazzfamoose for the next several days, but that doesn't mean I'm not pursuing some promising leads:
A week ago, a bold new voice entered the jazz Twittersphere: @jazzfamoose. Jazzfamoose identifies himself (or herself) as a "roastmaster general," resides in the "Deciduous Vanguard," and claims "Joseph Jarman once tried to make a flute out of my antlers." So far Jazzfamoose has exploited for laughs his double identity as a boreal-forest dweller and a jazz aficionado: "My instincts tell me to avoid men in bright orange and dig countries that remind me of Miles Davis," the Moose wrote before the World Cup final. "Difference between a moose and a Michael Buble show? Moose has the horns in front and the asshole in the back," tweeted the Moose in high Borscht Belt–style.
So who is @jazzfamoose? He's become the jazz blogosphere's Batman, a human who takes animal form to dispense his own brand of savage justice. WBGO's Josh Jackson has admitted he knows the identity of @jazzfamoose, writing last Wednesday, "I cannot reveal identity of @jazzfamoose. A recluse: John Nash meets Bobby Fischer w/o the anti-semitism. But w/ horns." I suppose this makes Josh the jazz world's Alfred.
I can't confirm the identity of this antlered Twitter creature, but I have a few guesses:
Rafi Zabor: Zabor wrote the PEN/Faulkner Award–winning novel The Bear Comes Home, which stars a saxophone-playing Bear who befriends the aforementioned Joseph Jarman's AACM collaborator Lester Bowie in one of the opening chapters (a clue!). Zabor is famously a bit of a recluse, a mad genius in the best sense, and definitely not an anti-Semite. If @jazzfamoose is not Rafi Zabor, then @jazzfamoose is certainly inspired by Rafi Zabor.
Josh Jackson: Jackson insists that he's not @jazzfamoose, but would Bruce Wayne have fessed up to being Batman? Jazzfamoose often mentions tweets and posts from the A Blog Supreme/Nextbop world with which Jackson is very familiar. I'd still opt for Zabor over Jackson, but, just asking, when was the last time you saw Josh and a jazz-loving moose in the same place?
I am the Jazzfamoose: On my high school baseball team, I was known as "Moose" and I celebrated big hits by bumping "antlers" with my teammate Ali "Babwah" Winston. A number of my friends who keep up with this blog will insist that the existence of a jazz-loving moose is just too much of a coincidence for it not to be me. I don't think I'm @jazzfamoose, but I agree that a jazz blogger nicknamed "Moose" is a very likely candidate. Maybe I tweet as @jazzfamoose in my sleep. I'm not ruling out the possibility.
Charles Mingus's "The Clown" tells the story of a hapless entertainer who "just wanted to make people laugh" but finds himself bombing night after night at fourth-tier venues. An accidental turn into physical comedy vaults him to stardom, and he's quickly slaying big-time audiences, playing to their basest instincts. On a fateful night, the clown's need for the audience's approval collapses on him and he meets his demise. "William Morris sends regrets," intones the narrator, Jean Shepherd.
Mingus's parable of death-by-need-to-please feels both timeless and historical. Timeless, because the archetype of the artist dying (figuratively and, occasionally, literally) for the crowd's love goes back to the Roman Coliseum and before. Historical, because Mingus's generation was the first in jazz to cop a self-conscious position toward art above entertainment. Miles was aloof (although the stories of him turning his back to the audience are likely apocryphal); Monk was detached; and Mingus was a volcano, spewing lava every night. These musicians' personal, and not always audience-friendly, approaches had a lot to do with the artistic maturation of the music and a lot to do with fighting the history of white audiences objectifying black entertainers, but I wonder if it wasn't also a universal defense mechanism—a retreat from the crowd's most savage gaze.
Mingus's "Clown" has been on my mind ever since the animator and saxophonist Allen Mezquida sent me the latest installment in his Smigly web series. Smigly's stance toward his audience is more Mingus than Clown, but the crowd still plays a role in his end. Mezquida told me that the video is "an homage to the cats in the trenches," and it features a supple sax solo from the man himself.
Argentina's World Cup team may have lost in apocalyptic fashion last Saturday (something in the sun-drenched field and a screaming Carlos Tevez seemed to augur the End of Days), but don't expect to be rid of the Argentines any time soon if you're a reader of this blog.
Next month, Guillermo Klein, Pipi Piazzolla, Richard Nant, Juan Cruz de Urquiza, and Matías Méndez will come to New York from Buenos Aires for a week-long engagement at the Village Vanguard that will coincide with the release of Klein's latest album, Domador de Huellas: Music of "Cuchi" Leguizamón. The visit will also bring about the release of my long-gestating radio show on Klein and the Buenos Aires scene that I'm currently working on with WBGO's Josh Jackson. Around the time the show hits the airwaves (August 17), expect some in-depth interviews with the musicians to start trickling into Inverted Garden.
For now, though, I'll leave you with a teaser for Argentina month, a just released video of my friend keyboardist Esteban Sehinkman (he plays on Domador de Huellas but sadly won't be making the trip to New York) in his funked-up groove trio with Piazzolla and Méndez.
On Monday, July 12, New York's jazz community will gather at Saint Peter's Church on Lexington Avenue to celebrate the life of the late trombonist Benny Powell. Saint Peter's is known as the "Jazz Church," having a dedicated jazz ministry and a long tradition of hosting memorial services for the city's departed musical greats.
The funeral will be held
July 12, 7 PM
Saint Peter’s Church
619 Lexington Avenue (at 54th Street)
New York, New York 10022-4610
A traditional service is being planned and is likely to include: Randy Weston and African Rhythms, a classical piece on violin played by one of his nieces, and Nextep featuring Frank Wess (Benny’s last group with whom he recorded). There will be New Orleans Brass band to play first and second line.
Condolences may be sent to:
Lisa Dickerson
3128 West Overdrive SE
Washington DC 20020
Instead of flowers the family has setup an education fund for his Grandchildren.
Kyle and Faith Swetnam
CO Evelyn Nolan (Grandmother)
2890 Emerald Spring Dr
Lawrenceville GA 30095
Benny died on the morning of June 26th. He was at Roosevelt Hospital, in New York City, recovering from successful spinal surgery when he died from causes not yet determined. He may have suffered a fatal heart attack, but the official report is not due until later this week.
In addition to his daughter Demetra Clay, and his beloved grandchildren Kyle and Faith Swetnam, Benny is survived by his niece, Lisa Dickerson, who was in New York with him for the surgery, and his sister Elizabeth Powell McCrowey.
Benny was generous spirit and mentor to many younger musicians. Trombonist Barry Cooper, one who Benny treated like a son, is assisting the family with arrangements and notifications.
In Coltrane: The Story of a Sound, Times critic Ben Ratliff writes, "the sound of so many jazz gigs I've heard in the past fifteen years...is usually the sound of albums like Coltrane's Sound or Coltrane Plays the Blues, the quartet just before or in the first stages of a modal-jazz style, just tightening, still before A Love Supreme and that later music that is so personal that to borrow from it would be obvious." I hadn't heard either album when I first read Ratliff's words, but I quickly corrected that and found he was absolutely right. Walk into Smalls or the 55 Bar, the Vanguard or Blue Note, and you'll likely hear a cooking quartet that's playing very much in a mid-career-Coltrane style. Bop like modernism has proved nearly immortal in its "post" phase.
What then to make of ECM Records? The European label is a critical darling in the States, often lauded for its distinctive sound (notes are pristine, you can hear silences) and the creative vision of its chief Manfred Eicher, but to my knowledge, it's never produced an album that's anything like Coltrane's Sound. In fact, it's the rare ECM album that's anything like any music that's being played in New York's jazz clubs. The ECM sound is soft, hyper-lyrical, and subtly textured—Bill Evans without swing. New York's many sounds tend towards propulsion, no matter if it's the Bad Plus, Darius Jones, or Wynton Marsalis.
I thought about ECM's paradoxical position in America (beloved by critics but unlike anything else they praise) while listening to Manu Katché's Third Round, a pleasing wisp of an album that was released last Tuesday by the venerable label. The French drummer Katché is playing the Ottawa and Montreal jazz festivals over the next two days before arriving at the Highline Ballroom on Thursday for a one-nighter in the city. Katché has worked extensively with Peter Gabriel and Sting, so it's not surprising that Third Round has plenty of moments that sound like a mash-up of soft-rock and smooth jazz—death by light grooving—but it doesn't really make sense to analyze the album simply by pointing out that it is not a serious jazz record in the American tradition nor even an accomplished "Euro Jazz" record like the works of Enrico Rava or Tomasz Stanko.
I've been playing with pop artists for more than 20 years, so I'm used to their structure. The way I listen to the music and the way I approach it is very much pop—I'm just talking about the structures of my compositions. Even if it's instrumental music like jazz, I'm not a big fan on record of—which is different than on stage—having 150 bars of improvisation. I think that when you listen to a record you just go for a trip, and if the trip is too long you get bored.
Only one of the 11 tracks on Third Round runs more than five minutes and many of them have surprisingly catchy melodies. After a quick browse through the music, I got the impression that Third Round was a compilation of elevator music for a yoga company's headquarters, but it's much deeper than muzak. Textures emulsify into one another on "Springtime Dancing," Katché's drumming smolders on "Out Take Number 9," and "Being Ben" has such a fine hook that I swear I've heard it before. I'm not sure I'll ever want to check out Third Round again, but I can hear the appeal: it's Easy Listening with contours. The drum and bass have shape and snap; Tore Brunborg's sax sounds breathy and immediate, not processed; and there's a consistent craftsmanship to the album that makes it, despite some soporific moments, a lush treat.
