Winter Jazz Fest Hits Brooklyn + Seeing Old Indie Rock Friends

On Saturday, January 11, the Winter Jazz Fest moved over a borough for the second night of multiple acts at nine different venues. The Brooklyn Marathon was a night that the dance card filled up quickly and even tougher choices had to be made about who to see and who would be missed. As my JazzTimes colleague Martin Johnson pointed out in his report on the evening, there were many places where it was a challenge to get through the door. After succeeding in getting in, it felt better to simply park oneself and not move. (Glad it wasn't just me that felt this way.) 

However, before the jazz, I had to check out an indie rock show in the neighborhood. Back in the early '00s, the Naysayer landed in my sphere and stayed there. Anna Padgett fronted the band with a cast of friends that included Cynthia Nelson (also of Ruby Falls, Retsin), Karla Schickele (Ida, Beekeeper) and others. The songs blended dry wit of her lyrics and her semi-stark music that often sounded like mutant country. My band the Mofones opened for the Naysayer on one visit to Pittsburgh and the band stayed at my house. Aside from being social media friends, we hadn't talked since then. 

So I was really excited to see the Naysayer was playing Pete's Candy Shop in Brooklyn, opening for Mascott, another band I fell hard for around that time. The nom de stage of Kendall Jane Meade,  that band played elaborately layered pop songs on albums like Dreamer's Book, which is still pull out every few months. Saturday night was the release show for Mascott's new album.

Anna Padgett of the Naysayer

The back room at Pete's Candy Shop feels about as big as half of a subway car. It's also similar to what I imagine the Cavern felt like when the Beatles were playing there: brick walls, with a slightly raised stage at one end. A glass door sits at the opposite end but it stays shut during performances. One must walk around the hallway to get it. 

When I arrived, the Naysayer were doing their soundcheck. Anna looked at me with a faint sense of recognition. I asked if she remembered staying at my house 20-plus years ago. "Yeah. 'Cat Butler,' right?" she asked, remember a notorious Mofones song. "I love that song!" It took me a moment to realize the bassist was Schickele. When I did, I realized she was playing the same bass that she had back in the day, with a right-hand technique that always impressed me, seeming to barely touch the strings but still delivering a big sound. 

The Naysayer's set was a trip down memory lane. Early faves like the unsettling "Currency," "Ring Ring Ring" and the raunchy but sweet "Pure Beauty" all played into that, with killer harmonies from Schickele. I was hoping to hear my fave of her softer songs, "Kitten Time," but since I felt like I had already crashed someone else's party, I kept quiet. I had to slip out before Mascott's set but I'm hoping to pick up the new album somewhere online. 

Had I known what awaited me down around the corner in Williamsburg, I might have stayed at Pete's a little longer. I figured I'd probably only catch half a set by Vijay Iyer's Trio + 1 but that would still be satisfying enough. Winter Jazz Fest is all about taking in as much as you can in a short time. But when I walked up to National Sawdust, where Iyer was presumably already deep into his set, the line was out the door and around the corner. Only about seven people were in the VIP line so, although it wasn't my night to be an official press guy, I figured I'd play that card. I gave up after hearing someone come up to a person in front of me saying, "We're going someplace else. They won't even let [such-and-such] in, and he's playing!" 

Loove Labs, a sort of gallery and performance space just down the block on N. 6th Street, wasn't turning folks away. The front area was equally crowded with people hoping to get into the back room, where the music was happening. Though it wasn't ideal,  I really wanted to see the sets by both Darius Jones and the Matthew Shipp Trio, so as pianist Paul Cornish played his set, I joined the throng that slowly made their way up to the doorway and into the room. Pianist Cornish (who hails from Los Angeles, again keeping the plight of that city in our hearts) sounded a bit more straightahead than the acts that would follow him, but he had a fleet, sharp skill on the piano which made me want to check out his Blue Note debut when it drops later this year.

Darius Jones

Something happened to me during Darius Jones' set. It was a feeling of elation that one always hopes to experience at a live show, but that occurs only rarely. Alto saxophonist Jones, bassist Chris Lightcap (who hails from Latrobe, PA) and drummer Jason Nazary ended their set with "No More My Lord," a piece based on an Alan Lomax recording of prison workers singing this hymn. The trio took it out of tempo, with Lightcap bowing a heavy drone. After stating the melody, Jones used his huge tone (which is probably similar to Albert Ayler in terms of how he can project volume) to unleash a series of big overtones, honks and growls. Things were building when Nazary took things up a notch, moving from cymbal rolls and taps across his kit, into heavy whacks. 

BANG! It felt like I had reached liftoff. Like I had been pushed off a cliff and could suddenly fly. The last time I remember feeling this elated happened when I heard Television play "Marquee Moon" live and Tom Verlaine's solo opened my third eye. Last week, I was sitting in my chair, swaying back and forth like some church lady feeling the spirit. Part of me wanted to yell my enthusiasm at the band, but the other half of my head still had it together to know that no one wants to hear some yutz making it all about them. After the set, I told Jones what I felt like doing and he assured me that it's okay to scream something like that at his gig. Maybe next time. 

Matthew Shipp

Matthew Shipp's trio - Shipp on piano, Michael Bisio on bass, Newman Taylor Baker on drums - have been playing together for a decade as of this year. Bisio has been with the pianist for another five years prior. That kind of longevity has solidified into a strong rapport that makes the title of their last album, New Concepts in Piano Trio Jazz, not hyperbole or a joke but a strong fact. 

Baker provides a fascinating role in that group because he really doesn't play his kit like one might expect. He provides commentary rather than keeping the tempo or, alternately, playing free. While using brushes, he ran the opposite sides of them over the kit - the wire loops - gentle tapping the skins. There were moments when it seemed like he might be playing a melody while Shipp was providing the rhythm. During a proper solo, he ran his hands over the snare drum, moving the rhythm onto his chest and legs while keeping the movement flowing.

 

Michael Bisio

Bisio also took on the melody tasks at times. An unaccompanied solo seemed to start with a hymn at the foundation, before his bow made a splatter of notes fall over one another. Just when things seemed totally free at different points during the set, you noticed the four-note pattern or a walking line ("The Function") that held things together and liberated his bandmates.

Shipp plays in a manner that seems to be in deep communication with the other two. The set began gently with "Primal Poem" and kept flowing until the end. (I lost track of time so I can't recall how long they actually played.) His personal style includes hitting a staccato chord and moving the damper pedal simultaneously to increase the accent and that popped up a few times during the set. Following Bisio's unaccompanied solo, Shipp knew exactly when to jump back in with a left hand jab. 

Towards the end of their set, Baker finally cut loose with some loud bashes to spur Shipp's playing. I can't recall the exact reason but my notes conclude with the phrase "those Steely Dan 'Josie' chords." The exact memory is a bit fuzzy but it might refer to what's played in that song's intro, which even a non-Dan fan like me can appreciate. Especially when it comes from Shipp.

After chatting with Shipp and a few other writers, it was about midnight. I joked with the pianist about whether he was going to go and sit in with the Sun Ra Arkestra, who were at Brooklyn Bowl, five blocks away. Of course they were probably marching offstage by that time anyway, as Pedro Martins was slated to perform at 12:15.  

Zoh Amba

Back at National Sawdust, the staff was taking in the stanchions that kept the outside hopefuls in line a few hours earlier. Inside, tenor saxophonist Zoh Amba was covered in sweat as she emitted some hair-rising overtones from her horn. The 24-year old saxophonist has drawn comparisons to Albert Ayler for the way she plays, but with her Sun Ensemble that night, her brute force put my ears in mind of another ESP forefather - Frank Lowe. 

Amba definitely plays with loads of energy, but the later portion of her set came off like a rushed indie rock show, especially since it came at the end of a weekend of carefully-staged events. After finishing a blast of energy music with her quartet - Kanoa Mendenhall (bass), Lex Corton (piano), Miguel Marcel Russell (drums) - Amba switched her tenor for an amplified acoustic guitar - which needed to be tuned first. She chatted casually to the audience though she didn't use the microphone which stood close by. Her guitar songs, both built on energetic two-chord riffs, provided a nice respite from the fire though they also kind of seemed at odds to someone who had just stumbled into the high-ceiling space. 

The last tune of the evening was a rollicking version of the Stooges' "I Wanna Be Your Dog." Having been performed by Sonic Youth and the Sun Ra Arkestra once on the great Night Music show, this version was not without precedence. But the song's subtle changes in the chorus were blown off by the band, who stuck with the main riff. (I know this is quibbling, but that twist adds to the song's kick.) When Amba switched back to tenor mid-song, she picked up where she left off earlier. Viscerally, it fit with the mood, but it would have been cool to hear her blow something that used that descending riff as a jumping-off point. 

Winter Jazz Fest continued several days into this past week. Sunday night, as I jostled in a seat on what was supposed to be a Megabus but was really just a Coachways or something similar (Megabus as it was five years ago doesn't seem to exist anymore), Ravi Coltrane was guiding a group of high-profile players in a show that marked the 60th anniversary of the release of his father's album A Love Supreme. A few days later, (Le) Poisson Rouge hosted Strata-East Rising, a tribute to that independent label, which included label founder Charles Tolliver and players who recorded for it such as Cecil McBee. 

As I type this a week later, it occurs to me that, with all the history that was presented last week, and all the camaraderie, love and support felt for those dealing with big losses on the West Coast, the final excursion of my trip - Zoh Amba's Sun Ensemble - also pointed towards the future of this music. Although the set's execution could have been a little tighter, the forthright presentation gives one hope for new music on the horizon.