Suzanne Vega Remembers

After spending 30 years writing lyrics full of rich details, it's easy to forget one once in a while. Bob Dylan did it early in his career, bemusedly asking the audience for the first line of a song.

Last night at the Carnegie Lecture Hall, Suzanne Vega froze, a few phrases into "(I'll Never Be) Your Maggie May," forgetting what came next. Having already established an intimate rapport with the audience with a little self-deprecation, I was almost expecting her to deadpan, "Line," like a thespian who needs to be prompted. Instead, she stopped, promising to revisit the song later in the set. To regain her footing, she launched into "Gypsy," a song she wrote at age 18 for a camp counselor (more on him later), which she recorded on Solitude Standing in the '80s. She needed a little help when she got to THAT third verse, but a friendly audience member fed her lines, and kept things going.

Even during the time she forgot, Vega maintained her poise, never turning it into a major deal. Unlike her previous Pittsburgh show, where guitarist Gerry Leonard joined her onstage, she was all alone with her guitar last night. She walked onstage with a top hat in hand, like last time, which could mean only one thing: she'd open with "Marlene on the Wall" again, putting on the hat to evoke the song's inspiration, Marlene Dietrich. From there, the set differed greatly from her 2013 appearance.

When I interviewed her for a City Paper article, she said fans could tweet song requests to her and she would try her best to pull them off. The solo set-up would limit what she could pull off (nothing like the more produced "Blood Makes Noise," she specifically said), and that probably explains why she dug into her first two albums for much of the set. "Small Blue Thing," "The Queen and the Soldier," and "Knight Moves" came from her debut. "Luka" and "Tom's Diner" - which might be considered obligatory at this point in her career - came from Solitude Standing, as did the still-romantic "Gypsy" and "Calypso." A couple songs from 2014's Tales of the Realm of the Queen of Pentacles came up too, as well as a couple from Songs in Red and Gray. 

The aforementioned camp counselor, whom Vega knew as a teen, also served as some inspiration to "In Liverpool" from 99.9 Fahrenheit Degrees, since he hailed from the city of Beatles. That song has another one of Vega's swelling choruses, merging hooks and words, and it runs through my head on a fairly regular basis. Hearing it in live was a personal highlight of the set.

Vega through in a few other surprises, beyond the lyric slips. She started her encore with "Calypso," but stopped mid-way, asking the audience how they'd feel about a dramatic reading of Lou Reed's "Dirty Blvd." (She'll be doing for an upcoming PBS program dedicated to New York City.) The way she introduced it seemed like she was going to play it, but she rattled off the words unaccompanied, which worked just as well considering its author did pretty much the same thing. Then she closed with "Rosemary," which appeared as a single, on the Tried and True compilation and on the fourth volume of Close-Up, her set of re-recorded songs.

The show was staged by Calliope, the long-standing local folk music organization that is about to celebrate its 40th anniversary. They're bringing guitarist Leo Kottke to town on Saturday, May 7, which should also be a big night.

(Apologies to openers the Honey Dewdrops, who I missed due to tardiness.)

CD Review: Albert Ayler - Bells/Prophecy

Albert Ayler
Bells/Prophecy
(ESP-Disk) www.espdisk.com

My favorite Albert Ayler record is Vibrations. During high school, I heard in an Ayler album in a used record shop and it got under my skin. My brother told me that if I ever wanted to appreciate and understand the wild tenor saxophonist, I should buy an album, read the liner notes and listen with an open mind. Vibrations proved to be the perfect entry way. It turned my head around and I never looked back. Ayler recorded the session in Copenhagen in 1964, adding trumpeter Don Cherry to his trio with bassist Gary Peacock and drummer Sunny Murray. The second horn was a fortuitous addition. Reissued by Arista-Freedom in 1975, my copy featured excellent liner notes by future Mosaic Records founder Michael Cuscuna. On top of all that, Vibrations was recorded in a decent studio.

The last observation is the important one in the case of this reissue. Many of Albert Ayler's most important albums were recorded under less than stellar conditions. Spirits Rejoice was recorded in New York's Judson Hall. A high-ceiling echoey former church, the setting buried the bass and made Call Cobbs' harpsichord sound like it was played in another room. New York Eye and Ear Control sounded as raw as the shambolic performance. An album of traditional spirituals also lost something due to poor sound.

Bells, originally issued on one side of clear vinyl, was recorded at Town Hall with similar results (though there's no harpsichord). The results were pretty lo-fi, though this edition cleans it up a bit. Ayler, his brother Donald (trumpet) and Charles Tyler (alto saxophone) come through loud and clear, while drummer Murray is heard somewhat and bassist Lewis Worrell cuts through during the quieter passages. Part of the appeal of the initial Bells release was likely due to the packaging, but if you're going for music, this set is a good bet. As Steve Holtje points out, this 1965 performance came at a time when Ayler was moving away from the compositions of the early trio towards a bigger sound based on vamps akin to a frenetic marching band.

ESP first released Prophecy in the 1970s, ironic since the 1964 performances at the Cellar Cafe predated the Ayler trio's debut for the label by a year. It's a valuable document, for one thing because it includes two discs of material, restored to its original order and correct song titles. Ayler classics like the oft-recorded "Ghosts" and the throaty, vibrato heavy "Wizard" (a fave on the Vibrations session) are here, unleashed on what was probably an unsuspecting public, who clap politely and at least seem positively intrigued by the performance.

If you're listening to get a good handle on Ayler's approach to the tenor, Prophecy delivers. Recorded by poet Paul Haines, it clearly reveals how much power Ayler unleashed every time he blew into his horn. His bottom-end growls are spectacular. His vibrato was wide, though light years away from the overstated piddly vibrato used by commercial swing bands.

But even though Peacock and Murray can be heard, it's hard to get a feel for the way the trio interacted. Peacock, who had been playing West Coast cool jazz just a few years earlier, plays some obtuse lines, but the recording leaves them floating amorphously, rather than interacting with Ayler. Murray avoids his massive crashing sounds in favor of more subtle work, which thanks to the record sounds like his spends more time on the cymbals.

That being said, Bells/Prophecy is still required listening for Ayler fanatics. These two have been paired together before in previous issues. (The second disc of Prophecy was previously released under the name Albert Smiles with Sunny. But with quality and availability of them always in question, this version is the ideal copy.

CD Review: Deep Sea Diver - Secrets

Deep Sea Diver
Secrets
(High Beam)

Ever get that feeling when listening to the opening riff of a song where you can't figure out exactly where the beat falls? The Cars' "Let the Good Times Roll" did it to me for decades. Between the off-beat accents from the guitar, syn-drums and the rhythm of the vocal, the two and the four escaped me until the drums kick in.

A slightly different, but equally beguiling feeling greets you at the start of "Notice Me," the opening track of Secrets. The guitar plucks out an angular melody, with several of the notes slightly muffled. It feels like an odd time signature, since the balance keeps shifting. But once Jessica Dobson starts singing and the drums gently assert the beat, the song clearly settles into 4/4. Somehow that guitar seems to have it both ways, playing off the beat but staying within it by playing triplets . It makes a brash opening to an album full of moments that feel a bit unsettling while they still come off as catchy ear candy.

Dobson has been a support player for a number of major bands, most recently the Shins, as well as Beck, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Spoon. If Secrets (DSD's sophomore album) proves anything, she needs to stay in the spotlight, not in the shadows or on the side.

Parts of the album recall St. Vincent's layered arrangements of keyboard washes and guitars that are sometimes free of effects but full of scrappy power chords. The songs have pop elements to them, which the band has developed in the studio, adding some synth sounds that tip the hat to '80s new wave. In a way they recall Merge Records' Hospitality on their Trouble album, which toyed with the indie pop template by adding all sorts of production tricks to embellish the songs. Dobson also has a unique way of phasing, like Hospitality's Amber Papini, that makes her lyrics feel a little more oblique. For example, the seemingly optimistic, piano-driven "New Day" closes the album with the lyric, "I'm alone on a new day/ 'cause you're with someone else," before ending on a Beatle-esque/jazz chord. The way she stretches the line out, it's easy to miss the whole idea without hanging on her every syllable.

One of the most inviting qualities of Secrets is the way Dobson and her crew never stay with one style for too long.  Half of "Wide Awake" is given over to six-string noise over a chugging bass groove. "Body on the Tracks" also climaxes with a single-note guitar solo. "See These Eyes" could be a riff inspired by Dobson's time in Spoon. While "Notice Me" toys with a standard rhythm, "It Takes a Moment" adds an extra beat to the riff, still rocking hard with gnarled guitar work (courtesy of the singer, by the way).

A good blend of arty noise and groovy tendencies, Secrets should not be left to the musical cognoscenti hiding in the shadows.

Keith Jarrett Flips Out

Back in the days before flash mobs, it was a prank that high school students would play on teachers, especially oblivious substitute teachers: At a pre-determined time, everyone would drop their book on the floor or cough. If the teacher was cool, they might see the humor in it. If not, well.... maybe another bit of their psyche was chipped away in the process.

A few nights ago, pianist Keith Jarrett - he who reacts harshly to distractions even if they occur before the performance has even started, as the Umbria Jazz Festival found out the hard way - was on the receiving end of a trick by a dozen or so audience members. The results were not pretty.

The solo performance at New York City's Frick Fine Arts Building began ideally. In fact patrons said they could hear a pin drop, though no one, thankfully dropped any pins for fear of disrupting the pianist's flow of ideas. Jarrett began with a re-imagining of "Stranger on the Shore" which segued into swirling improvisation that didn't touch down for nearly 20 minutes. As the music continues, Jarrett seemed to be in an inspired mood. Then it started.

According to people in attendance, a patron in the back center section of the first level, blew his nose loudly. Worse, he apologized, presumably to the people around him. In the middle of a right hand glissando, Jarrett shot a cold glare into the darkened crowd. Then a serious of coughs, that almost seemed synchronized, came from each section, first center then stage left then stage right. By the time a handful of people accidentally-on-purpose dropped their concert programs booklets, Jarrett had more than enough.

"It was like something out of some old comedy movie," said concertgoer A.P. Rilfool. "He yelled something like, 'Ahhhhhhh' and ran offstage. It was like an Abbott and Costello moment." Confusion ensued, with audience members not sure if the show was over or if it simply hit a speed bump. Most people remained in their seats, though several went to the lobby to smoke.

A group of men, most of them wearing t-shirts bearing images of jazz icons like Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis and Richard Twardzik, stood in the corner of the lobby looking sanctimonious. They wouldn't admit they were responsible for the synchronized distractions. But in a voice that resembled the gentleman on The Simpsons who runs a comic book store (with the pony-tailed look to match), one of the patrons stoically said he hoped Mr. Jarrett might have learned a lesson in audience appreciation. (He displayed a vast knowledge of Jarrett's discography, as he spoke, equally only by his naivete on their ability to change Jarrett's mind in the matter of audience noise.)

The crew at Frick kept audience members hopeful by playing a rather scratched copy of Jarrett's Koln Concert on a turntable hooked up to the p.a. After a stern warning from the m.c., who sounded like he would pummel anyone who make an unwanted noise, Jarrett did return to play one more song: "You Go To My Head."

Delicious Pastries CD Release Show

Last Friday night at Spirit, I nearly felt over-saturated by all the great music that was in the air. The evening marked the release of Pittsburgh band Delicious Pastries' long-awaited sophomore CD Aleatoric Delay. But before the band went on, there were three other bands starting off the evening with solid blends of noisy, edgy rock and pop.

Butterbirds were playing as I arrived, but from what I could gather, they were only a song or two into their set. The four-piece was definitely catchy and tight, with a healthy sprinkle of quirk added to their songs via weird vocal tricks. Maybe it was the influence of the Pixies, maybe it was Of Montreal, either way I don't can't say definitively. But it was a good time.

Shaky Shrines were up next, getting a little heavier and a tad psychedelic. They kind of took me back to Plan 9, a psych band that came here back in the late '80s, since they're singer had a huge mess of hair and beard, they had a female keyboard player who sang back-up and they were filled out by several more clean-cut guys (relatively speaking). I saw a couple singles and a CD on the merch table but didn't get a chance to pick them up. They're things to look for at Sound Cat or Mind Cure.

The only other time I've seen Meeting of Important People was when they played stripped down and semi-acoustic, opening for Dean Wareham. It was good to see them in their full, electric glory. It's also easy to see why these guys have generated buzz around town beyond the indie club scene. They're really tight, like they've really worked meticulously on their arrangements. Before they got that far, they wrote some really strong songs too. Plus their onstage demeanor seemed really genuine and appreciative of the attention they were getting. A band with this kind of draw could turn into a bunch of big shots, but they seem like good eggs.

So how do you follow all of that? Between those three bands and a piece of pizza (recommended) and a few of the usual gin-and-club-sodas, I felt like I had reached sonic saturation. But leaving then would be have wrong.

Sometimes standing in front of the stage while the band sets up can give you an extra feeling of excitement for what's to come. Personally, this feeling dates back to a show at the Electric Banana in 1987 by Sonic Youth. This was back when the band didn't have a stage crew, so Lee and Thurston tuned all of the guitars themselves, onstage, studiously watching the tuner and then setting the instrument to the side before getting to the next one. That memory, along with memories of other bands chatting with audience members while tuning or setting up - it all increases the anticipation.

That same feeling was in the air as Delicious Pastries set up. (Incidentally, if you want to find out more about the band, here's my City Paper article on them from last week.) In part because it took awhile for this party to get started. The usual sextet had another guitarist sitting in (bringing the number of onstage six-stringers to four), plus another trumpet player and a quartet of ladies who added to the Exploding Plastic Inevitable feeling of the evening.

The video at the top of this entry comes from the start of the set, part of an extended introduction. The ladies stood at the back of the stage, in front of the video projection, for just the first song. (They videos continued for the duration of the set.) When it kicked in they each held up a glittery circle, which complemented drummer Jesse Ley's glittery pants. The visuals and that big start were both fairly epic and grandiose, living up to the suspense they had created.

Despite working in such close quarters the band looked really comfortable up there, not cramped at all. Plus all the instruments were pretty clear in the mix, so the wait was worth it. My only problem was feeling a little tired after a few songs. I didn't want to leave so I made my way to the back of the room, where they look of the band reminded me of the back over of The Velvet Underground and Nico. With music that feels closer to the higher points of Olivia Tremor Control, I left hoping that these guy will create some ripples beyond the Pennsylvania state border. There is a good quality video on Facebook, under the page for the record release show. Check that out for a few more visuals.

CD Review: Yoni Kretzmer 2Bass Quartet - Book II

Yoni Kretzmer 2Bass Quartet
Book II
(Out Now) outnowrecordings.com

Tenor saxophonist Yoni Kretzmer reached out by way of social media a few months ago, sending this CD. The imprint Out Now sports a catalog of free-minded players whose music is utilizes both compositions (however sketchy) and free blowing. (One disc, that features bassist James Ilgenfritz and pianist Denmon Maroney was reviewed here.)

A native of Tel Aviv who's lived in Brooklyn for about five years, Kretzmer follows in the tradition of more recent gale-force wailers like David S. Ware, with roots extending back to the passionate delivery of Albert Ayler. To that end, the album begins with a two-note salvo from the tenor that he bends with heavy vibrato as he holds the notes. It has a spiritual flair to it which announces that this set might be wild and free, but nuance will play a big part of it.

The use of two basses plays a significant part in the group's sense of nuance. Panned separately between both channels (with no indication of who is who) Reuben Radding and Sean Conly work together to buttress Kretzmer's playing and add additional color to it. Frequently, one of them bows a countermelody while the other acts as a pizzicato support player. It can be easy to let this music turn muddy with low end sounds, but that's never an issue on this album. Drummer Mike Pride assists in that regard, adding the type of explosions and punctuation that drive the music and add more passion to it.

The group had been together for four years by the time of this recording and the rapport shows in the music. They leave plenty of the music up to chance, but they know how to elevate things rather than pulling it in different directions. "Freezaj" goes for broke in terms of raw energy, bookended by a drum solo and a bass duet. Conversely, "Stick Tune" starts in a frenzy and then drops down dynamically, where a slow theme reveals itself before the quartet slowly builds back up to a loud joyful climax. Throughout, Kretzmer plays with an arresting blend of low, throaty notes (with a rich tone that betrays a musical knowledge that extends beyond just his wild forefathers) and he exemplifies the same level of command in the upper register of his horn. "Ballad" might not be exactly romantic in the traditional sense, but it takes the mood down and reveals all of Kretzmer's strengths in a directed three-minute blast.

A two-CD set, Book II's second disc is devoted entirely to "Number 4," a nearly 20-minute excursion where the lines between composition and improvisation are hard to discern. It begins on slightly shaky ground: As the basses and drums roll away, Kretzmer bends the hell out of a two-note trill, running them through every color and reed manipulation, until - after four minutes of this - the rhythm section leaves him alone briefly, and counterattacks with both basses utilizing their bows and plunging the depths. But it all works like an extended free introduction, since Kretzmer returns with a line that puts it all in perspective. (It sounded like Miles Davis' "Four" gets a quick reference from him at one point.) At this point, what might have seemed indulgent makes perfect sense, and what follows never lacks vigor or direction. Good times.

CD Review: Irene Schweizer/Han Bennink - Welcome Back

Irene Schweizer/Han Bennink
Welcome Back
(Intakt) www.intaktrec.ch

I received a sizable stack of CDs from Switzerland's Intakt label last year but only got a chance to write about a few of them. This one made its way into the CD player recently and I vowed to say something about it, even though it came out last summer.

Pianist Irene Schweizer has released a number of discs for the Swiss imprint, playing with a variety of people. It's clear why: she's extremely versatile, able to move easily between structure and freedom, always with a sense of immediacy. Han Bennink is an ideal foil for her, as he's probably Europe's best drummer when it comes to sliding between hard swinging and smashing the pulse to pieces and putting the bits back together into something even more enthralling than it was when it began.

One main reason that Welcome Back warmed its way into my heart can be attributed to the element of surprise throughout the album. The 14 tracks are compositions not improvisations, with all of the originals attributed to Bennink or Schweizer individually, with just two exceptions. Just when it seems that the piano and drums are taking a wild, free romp or going on a cat-and-mouse chase, the duo gets lyrical. Schweizer's chords in "Trap 5" have a rough beauty, and the arhythmical drums slowly shape into a stomp. "Bleu Fonce" finds them skating very close to Bobby Timmons' "This Here" definitely in groove, somewhat in melody.

Thelonious Monk's influence runs through the album, even before they close the set with "Eronel" (which Monk buffs will know was not technically his, but lifted from Sadik Hakim). Schweizer uses Monk's bouncing-a-ball-off-the-wall rhythmic lick in one tune, closes another with tag worthy of Thelonious and brings his presence to Johnny Dyani's ballad "Ntyilo Ntyilo."

"Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland" shows a great study in contrasts between the two musicians. The pianist plays the melody straight which Bennink sounds as if he's rummaging through his percussives, looking for the best thing to play, pausing to whistle, almost like a Tex Avery cartoon character, which may or may not imply what will happen in Dreamland once the meeting takes place. In just over two minutes, they've managed to show humor, sincerity and most of all depth.

Speaking of depth, Schweizer and Bennink pay tribute to pianist Misha Mengelberg (Bennink's longstanding co-conspirator in the ICP Orchestra) with "To Misha With Love," which is then followed by a sweet reading of "I Surrender Dear." It all adds up to a session that should have been heard by more ears last year. Now's a chance for some rediscovery.

Keith Emerson - An Appreciation

I'm a few days late and more than a few dollars short but I feel the need to post an appreciation of Keith Emerson, who died last week in an apparent suicide. His passing is one thing, not completely out of the blue, since he was 71 and for all I know  all those wild years of tours might have started to catch up with him. But the fact that it was a suicide lends a bit of tragedy to it. People who commit suicide are not happy, consumed usually by either a mental or physical illness. Being sad is one thing, pulling the trigger means really crossing a dark line. I wish only the best to his family.

But I've come to praise Mr. Emerson.

I'm not sure exactly when I first heard Emerson, Lake and Palmer's first album, but there's a good chance that I was between the ages of 4 and 6. My oldest brother owned it, and he's 10 years older than me. I was at an age when I had no idea how music was made. I mean I knew my dad was a bassist and knew that he created music. But in listening to records, all my aural reference points were usually non-musical. So the opening fuzz bass of "The Barbarian" made me think of an electric razor. And the idea of a musical instrument approximating that was way cool. So I was into that album from the first note, literally. But that song got better. Emerson's Hammond organ sounded so vicious. So much so that when he switched to piano in the middle, it almost sounded comical, in the best possible way.

One of the magical things about that album was that, not being able to read the cover, I had no idea where one song ended and the next began. So "Take a Pebble," which goes from a folk song to a piano solo to a breakdown that morphs into a handclapping jam, and then goes in reverse, just felt magical. When that final verse came around, it always felt like another song.

"Knife Edge" continued the rockist side. Greg Lake's vocal always felt a tad menacing during the verses,and I loved the way the dynamics shifted when the organ kicked in. Then in the middle, the classical break reminded me of church. Incidentally I just discovered the remastered version of this song on youtube, where the tape isn't shut off at the end, which on the original record created the sound of the music melting into molten lava (what I always envisioned back in the day, since the sound was so eerie). It was cool to hear it a different way, but they were wise to end it the way they did.

Then there's "The Three Fates," Emerson's trio of keyboard spotlights, going from a heavy Royal Festival Hall Organ into a piano solo to a frantic piano trio. It was kind of creepy and eerie, especially those low, low organ notes but I couldn't get enough of it.

In the ELP canon, their debut might not be their most highly regarded work, but it's one that I go back to every six months or so. I also pull out Trilogy occasionally, the album that inspired me to deck out my bedroom with my own vision of Emerson's keyboard arsenal, and pretend to play along like I was him. But that first album has more staying power. Part of it probably has to do with hearing it so young and going back to that mental space where nothing in the world mattered except music, and the wilder the better. Another thing might be that the group was in their early stages - they supposedly didn't have a full set of material when they went into the studio - and they were discovering all of their capabilities and you share in their excitement by listening. I still feel that anytime I put that record on.

Of course, ELP later turned bombastic. Their pretension supposedly inspired the creation of punk rock. But I just read in an article about Emerson that even John Lydon himself eventually became friends with the master keyboardist. And as time went on Keith seemed to maintain a good measure of humility about his work, at least in more recent interviews. So I respect him for that as well.

Lizz Wright in Pittsburgh

Playing right now: Julian Lage - Arclight

I haven't been inside the August Wilson Center for African American Culture since Pharoah Sanders played there over six years ago. Funding problems almost closed the place in the past couple years, but it appears to be solvent, at least for the moment. I hope so because it's a beautiful, massive building, named for an amazing Pittsburgh playwright.

Lizz Wright performed there last Saturday night. If the idea of her rich voice wasn't enough to create some opening suspense, she made a mysterious entrance, walking out of the shadows to center stage, accompanied only by Brannen Temple's drums. Once up at the mike, she started her set with "Nature Boy," bending and curving the melody line with authority. Guitarist Chris Rosser, bassist Nick D'Amato and pianist/organist Dave Cook came out next to play the rest of the set with her.

After an opening that was both dynamic and somewhat understated, Wright took things s next, for which slow for the next number, a fact that she even commented on between songs. The 75-minute set did include several down tempo songs, though luckily only a few of them seemed to slow the momentum. And even though the songs were each about five minutes long, she brought things back to life quickly. Her version of Neil Young's "Old Man" was a highlight, especially with a B3 solo by Cook. "Freedom," written by her friend Toshi Reagon, felt passionate and urgent.

Wright really got the crowd cooing when she sang a song that was going to appear on her recent Freedom and Surrender album, Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." It is a great romantic number, but it should be handled carefully, lest it take a one way ticket to Maudlinville. Wright imbued it with the right blend of romance and sensuality, giving her partial ownership of the classic.

For the final number of the set, the group went into one of the covers that did appear on the Freedom album, the Bee Gees' "To Love Somebody." Their version had a down home, churchy feeling, at a tempo the song hasn't seen since Janie Joplin covered it. Wright, though, didn't turn it into the soul exorcism that Janis did, with horns and distraught wails. She kept the gospel feeling in it, which made sense after the band segued into "Surrender," the album's closing song and the one that was made to bring the house down at the end of the night. And that it did. Even without the choir that backed her on the album.

There might have been an encore, but my eight-year-old sidekick was ready to go at the point, so we decided to beat the traffic and scram.

Incidentally, Kente Arts Alliance, who presented the show, will be bringing the Sun Ra Arkestra to town in September.

CD Review: Melissa Aldana - Back Home

Melissa Aldana
Back Home
(Wommusic) www.wommusic.com

Melissa Aldana has received a nice amount of buzz in recent times. She won the Thelonious Monk International Jazz Saxophone Competition in 2013, at the relatively young age of 24. An album with her Crash Trio appeared on Concord Records a year later, which kicked the media attention into high gear. Jazz, of course, loves a young lion, especially a female who is not a singer.

But minutes into her newest album  with the trio, it's clear that Aldana is more than just a young media sensation. The Chilean native possesses a tone with a richness and depth that combines with a sharp melodic sense. Having discovered Sonny Rollins at the age of 6, she has already taken the time to absorb his music and realizes how to channel his lessons into her own idiosyncratic authority.

The open quality of a tenor/bass/drums format puts a player's chops to the test, and Aldana proves her tenacity but what she plays and what she doesn't play. Bassist Pablo Menares and drummer Jochen Rueckert accompany her in a manner that keeps the structure close at hand. Sometimes she floats over them, with a lithe tone that seems to contemplate the variety of moves she can make. In "Obstacles," written by Rueckert, she starts off restrained, going against the rhythm section's brisk tempo. Eventually, she catches up, adding some fast arpeggios to wrap up her solo. She ends "En Otro Lugar" with some long tones, which she bends slightly, adding a few upper register squeaks as a final statement.

Back Home features compositions from all three trio members (Aldana wrote four, her mates each contributed two). The sole cover is Kurt Weill's "My Ship" which she delivers in a classic tenor mold: deep tone, full of breath that plays up its lyrical quality. Wisely, perhaps, the group keeps it simple, with a theme and just a bit of embellishment before taking it out.

Aldana's own compositions often sound like familiar themes that offer surprise when they take different turns. The opening phrases of "Time" begins like a classic ballad that has been played umpteen times. But the saxophonist creates a new line, with some rubato accompaniment from Menares and Rueckert, whose mallets and cymbal rolls give it a muscular opening. Aldana wisely put the title track at the end of the album. Here, she sounds closest to Rollins, with a boppish line that offers yet another update to a straightahead style. By this time, there's no doubt that Aldana's new path links with tradition but won't be limited to just that.

Saturday - Jeff "Tain" Watts

Jeff "Tain" Watts might have left Pittsburgh more than three decades ago, playing with Wynton and Branford Marsalis and temporarily landing a gig on The Tonight Show, but he hasn't forgotten his roots. Not his jazz roots, his hometown roots. This was plain to see before he even took stage at the Kelly-Strayhorn Theater last Saturday. The front head of his bass drum was emblazoned with the Pittsburgh Steelers logo. Watts engaged the audience between songs with a rapport that was casual and amusing, like an old friend. It made the two-hour show fly by, never seeming like it was anywhere near that long.

The band also included Pittsburgh native David Budway on piano, along with bassist Yunior Terry Cabrera and tenor saxophonist Troy Roberts. They started the evening started with a reading of Thelonious Monk's "Brilliant Corners," one of the few non-originals of the night. When Monk recorded the piece, he forced his bandmates to switch into double-time at unpredictable moments. Watts had the group start the head with a heavy 4/4 backbeat, move to double- and then triple-time. The sound during the early part of the set didn't give Budway a fair representation, but he displayed a playful quality in his solo, as did Roberts.

To keep the focus on the music, Watts frequently introduced groups of four tunes in advance, so the group dug into them. "Farley Strange" gave Budway a chance to do some more Monk-like piano figures. "May 15, 2011" was a slow ballad  in which Watts himself took the place of Frank McComb, who sang it on the Blue, Vol. 1 album. The performance displayed a great lyric, with a genuine sentimentality not always heard in modern ballads. And though Watts downplayed his vocal chops, he delivered it convincingly.

Late in the set, an audience member goaded Watts to play a solo. It was surprising up to that point that he hadn't really taken one. Although his work throughout the set came with a lot of intense punctuation, flash was not the order of the evening. The emphasis was on Watts the composer and bandleader. One song, which I think was titled "Snarkasm" was inspired by snarky, sarcastic people. Watts warned, "it's jive" as he set up the song. And while the melody was strong, he was right about the intro and outro, in which he copped a snooty voice as he "sang" it. Maybe it was just a bit too silly, but the crowd loved it.

The evening's final pack of songs went from wild "Brain Lifter" to a rich ballad dedicated to Watts' late mother. As promised to the loud member of the audience, this section fulfilled the drum solo quota, and it got reverent in the final moments. The sold-out crowd went wild.

Friday Night - George Lewis

Trombonist/composer/music professor George Lewis actually spent this past week in Pittsburgh for a residency at the University of Pittsburgh. On Tuesday night, he spoke on a panel, Thursday night he lectured about his book on the AACM and Friday and Saturday nights were devoted to his compositions. I couldn't make Tuesday's night, recovering from the previous night's events, and on Thursday I opted for the Ches Smith et all show (see previous post for details; and check this out for my profile on George Lewis, Jack DeJohnette and Jeff "Tain" Watts).

Friday night, Lewis staged a performance of his composition Spooky Interaction, Lesson II (2016) at Pitt's Bellefield Hall. He and Geri Allen were to perform onstage there. In Irvine, California, flutist Nicole Mitchell and trombonist Michael Dessen were going to perform with them, through an internet hookup that Lewis referred to as "Skype on steroids." Saxophonist Francis Wong would also be part of the mix too, in San Francisco. As if that concept wasn't enough, two additional pianos were set up in Pittsburgh and Irvine. Both would be part of the performance, playing "themselves" courtesy of Lewis' Voyager interactive software which enables them to analyse what is being playing around them and use that knowledge to generate more music.

The West Coast participants were visible to us through a screen projected at the back of the stage. Everyone could hear each other clearly when they spoke beforehand. The only time things seemed out of sync was when the director of SF Jazz (where Wong was set up) spoke. The image didn't match up with the words.

Before it started, Lewis, who makes all of this work seem very accessible and engaging, told us to "listen for resonance and interaction...that you may be doing in your daily life as you muddle through." He was implying that improvisation is not merely something that is done onstage with instruments. It's a daily occurrence. When we spoke he talked about the upcoming Oxford Handbook of Critical Improvisation Studies, which will detail this at great length.

Without any genuine adieu, Lewis told Wong to start the performance on his own, and the trombonist left the stage. For about the next 40 minutes, the music came in waves, with each location taking roughly four minutes (the timing was explained afterwards) before passing it on to the next group. This was free improvisation, beginning calmly and moving in waves. Dessen and Mitchell entered with some high slides and guttural flutters, respectively.

When Lewis and Allen started playing, they offered some of the most exciting parts of the piece, not just because we were there in person. (The other locations came through loud and clear, incidentally.) Lewis later quipped that he looses his technique after ten minutes of playing, but when he was playing there was no weakness on display. He sounded extremely expressive, adding rapid vocal sounds in the upper register. It was the kind of tone that exudes authority. Allen was the same way. Sometimes she was pensive and lyrical, other times she was putting her elbows on the keys for punctuation, adding a Cecil Taylor-esque percussive quality.

The other pianos started playing about ten minutes into the piece. Visually, it looked like the Invisible Man was playing them. Keys were moving, sound was generating and it did work within the context of the piece. It seemed like it might be hard for the participants to hear each other clearly but they seemed to do fine. The secret might have been that no one ever got too loud. When all five of the live musicians started playing together, it was of course rather wild, but never too busy and crowded. After about 40 minutes, everything faded down. Lewis commented later that this was the first time that the piece was performed and everyone ended together.

I'm not sure how many seats Bellefield Hall has, but it was pretty full, in part probably because it was a free show. The audience was made up largely of students, who may or may not have been there as a requirement or for extra class credit. I have to wonder what they thought of the show because as soon as it was done, I mean after the final note and right as the participants were preparing for Q&A, there was a massive exodus toward the door.

Afterwards, I managed to tag along with Lewis and Allen to a sort of afterparty at the eatery the Porch, which was just down the street. Sitting next to him, I got to chat about the Yankees album he made with John Zorn and Derek Bailey (my introduction to him) and listen to him tell stories about his works. He was extremely down to earth, listening intently to everyone, and even stopping in front of the Carnegie Museum to take a picture of Dippy the Dinosaur (who was wearing a knit tie) for his son.

This Week in review: Kurt Vile, Ches Smith/Craig Taborn/Mat Maneri

I can't think of a week that was as jam-packed with music as the current week. It began on Monday night with Kurt Vile & the Violators who played a sold-out show at Mr. Small's (that's not them in the picture above). My old Pitt/WPTS friend Jesse Trbovich has been playing guitar, bass and saxophone with Kurt for several years and he helped me get a ticket after I waited too long to get one on my own. 

I don't really know a whole lot of Vile music but I really enjoyed the show. There was a lot of mid-tempo groove stuff going on, but the way they colored in the songs made all the difference. Jesse's alto got buried in the mix for the one song he played, but I could sort of feel it. 

After the set, I yelled out Jesse's name at the stage and he jumped off and came down to chat. I haven't seen that guy in over 15 years, no exaggeration. And despite being in a super-successful touring band, he's still one of the sweetest guys there is. Always has been. I miss that dude. But a lot of rock and a short chat really made my night.

Then on Thursday night, I saw the guys in the photo: Ches Smith (drums), Craig Taborn (electric piano) and Mat Maneri (viola) at the City of Asylum loft/space. (To read my preview of this group, go here.) This same space presented Mary Halvorson and Stephan Crump last April, but back then it was a very casual, intimate set-up. This time, they had a whole stage set up, with mikes and everything, and whole lot more chairs. Note: Those three orbs that look like they're hanging above Smith's head are actually lights further behind him. Though it would be cool if they were percussive bells.

The trio just released The Bell, an album on ECM and they also performed at Jazz Connect last month in New York. Their music is based largely on improvisation, though written themes very slowly creep in after they've had a chance to stretch out. That was really the case on Thursday. Snatches of themes from the album occasionally popped up, tying things together. Maneri or Taborn often came back to a riff or even just a series of notes, but most of the time, things were left to chance. Sometimes things had a pointillist quality to it, but there was always a lot of forward movement to the sound. You always knew that it was proceeding towards something. This was the penultimate date of the tour, so after a series of shows, the guys were really in tune with one other.

Smith had his vibes there, which he played with four mallets, occasionally bowed and played percussively by running a drum stick across the pipes, sometimes while sitting at the trap kit. Taborn normally plays acoustic piano with this group, but he used a Rhodes on this night since they couldn't get a piano up the spiral steps of the loft. It added greater dimension to the music, creating droplets of sound during one of the more gentle parts of the evening. Maneri amplifies his viola, adding some effects pedals to in, including one that drops the pitch down to bass level. A few times, it got so low I was wondering if it would shatter the amp's speaker.

During my interview with Smith, after the Jazz Connect set, he mentioned that he "always has bands that repeat things way too long." True to form, they repeated the final section of "For Days" a few times longer that it should have lasted. But sometimes it's hard to stop once you get a good thing going.

One other impressive part of the night, besides the music, was the turnout. The room was packed with what seemed like around 70 people. (I'm bad with figuring out numbers visually. It could have been more than that, or a tad less.) That might not sound huge for a show, but in that room it was, and on a Thursday night in Pittsburgh at a free jazz show - it's a rarity. And maybe a sign of good things to come, together with the equally populated Ethnic Heritage Ensemble show from the previous week.

Ben Goldberg's Invisible Trio, Ethnic Heritage Ensemble

It's been a couple weeks since the show, but I feel like I should mention the Ben Goldberg Invisible Guy Trio's appearance at the Thunderbird Cafe, which happened on Monday, Feb. 8. I missed this group the last time they came to town because I was playing with the Love Letters the same night, and hosting Matt Bauder's trio Hearing Things, one of the greatest examples of bad timing ever.

But that was then.

Goldberg is an amazing clarinetist. As in, you never realized that instrument had the potential to do this kind of heavy music before (unless you've followed the prolific Mr. G, or Perry Robinson or Don Byron, to name just a few). His trio mates were Michael Coleman (keyboards) and Hamir Atwal (drums). The sound was never spare and never ventured so far into the free dimension that it lost its sense of swing. That was probably due in part to Atwal, who had an ecstatic smile on his face through most of the set that I caught.

At the start of the second set, Goldberg was playing some loopy introductions that seemed kind of circular, and slowly settled into a form. It was a pleasant surprise when it became clear that they were playing "Light Blue," one of Thelonious Monk's deep cuts and a song that can very easily turn lugubrious. (Check out the composer's version on the Always Know album, which proves what it was initially passed over.) But these guys, Atwal mainly, made it swing.

It was hard at times to tell when one composition ended and the next started. One of the tunes was recently released on an album of duets that Goldberg did with pianist Myra Melford, and it seemed to take on a larger life than that version. Coleman had a couple different keyboards, adding an approximation of electric piano at times and parts that acted as bass lines too. It was a great show that, typically, was patronized by just a small but devoted group of listeners. The fact that it was a Monday night might have had something to do with it.

This past Saturday, however, the Undercroft Gallery at First Unitarian Church was filled with people there to see the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble. This time drummer Kahil El'Zabar was accompanied by Craig Harris (trombone, digeridoo) and Hamiet Bluiett (baritone saxophone, clarinet). (I profiled Bluiett in City Paper last week and it can be found here.) This was quite a pleasant surprise, not realizing that such a diverse crowd would come out for such an adventurous group. Perhaps the weekend date has something to do with it. The guy who put on the show said my article might have helped. I'll leave that to others to debate.

EHE's set followed a similar pattern to others they've done on previous visits. El'Zabar starts off on mbira (kalimba) playing a droning "riff" and tapping the bells on his ankles. Then a tune from the drum kit, then one with hand percussion. Second set followed the same pattern.

But within that set, there was magic. The first trap kit song was a woolly version of Wayne Shorter's "Footprints." Without the support of a bassist, the drums still seemed to create a droning "note" that acted as a pedal point. The second set's trap kit song was John Coltrane's "Impressions" which also held together without a rhythm section. For the final hand percussion tune, the group made a surprising choice of "Cherokee" that inimitable swing song that later became a bebop proving ground.

During my interview with Bluiett he talked about suffering from a stroke and injuries to his rotator cuff. He moved around slowly between songs and solos, but most of the time he sat on a piano bench in front of his baritone, which was perched on a stand. Yet when it was time to blow, he blew hard. His upper register work was as impeccable as ever. Like Ben Goldberg, he blew the B-flat clarinet with clarion force that probably surprised many.

Craig Harris put on a pretty muscular performance too, especially when he blew the didgeridoo. This wasn't your typical Australain didg either. It was a long piece of wood with holes in either end. Yet he blew a drone with gale force, taking time to throw in a solo too.

Both El'Zabar, that night, and Bluiett, on the phone a few weeks earlier, talked about being on a tour that was all about healing. It might sound flaky (or old) to say it, but the world could use a good deal more of that right now. And that night, their beliefs weren't merely idealistic words, they became reality.

Autographs, Monk & Errol

Usually I'm not one to ask people for their autographs. In fact, I recall being at a show where I mentioned being a fan of the performer and I was nauseated when someone from the production company chirped, "Maybe you can get [the performer's] autograph tonight!" Never mind that I had spoken with the person before and we were sort of acquainted. I just don't see autographs as a way to bond me with someone.

But every so often, I'll go against the grain. Like last week, as seen in the picture above. Author Robin D. G. Kelley spoke at Pitt. I loved his Thelonious Monk biography so much that I really didn't want it to end. It's really exhaustive in its details, and written so well.

So I had to have him autograph the book. He said that he too didn't want the book to end when he finally was done with it. Understandable, considering he spent about 14 years on it. Then we got into a brief discussion about a few Monk performances at Newport. I mentioned using the book as a reference when reviewing the album of the 1959 set. Then Kelley started talking about the year that they played "Japanese Folk Song," and how Charlie Rouse was on fire during that tune. Turns out it was one of the few Monk albums that I don't think I have (outside of the umpteen quartet dates from later tours).

Kelley was actually in town to talk about Errol Garner, due to the Garner archive being housed at Pitt. He made a pretty compelling argument about the relationship between the pianist and his manager, Martha Glaser. Interesting stuff.

There's been all kinds of stuff going on in town over the past couple weeks. Ben Goldberg's trio was back here two Mondays ago. This past Saturday, Kahil El'Zabar brought the Ethnic Heritage Ensemble back to town, this time with Hamiet Bluiett and Craig Harris. Details are forthcoming.

How Buying a Lovin' Spoonful Album Relates to the Jazz Record Mart

Yesterday I made a late afternoon pilgrimage to Jerry's Records. My main reason was to see my bandmate Mike, but of course you can't simply pop into Jerry's and pop back out (unless you're picking up stuff you won in a recent auction). I wandered over to the jazz section, poked around, grabbed a few things and made my way back out to the main room.

I asked Mike if Lovin' Spoonful's first album, Do You Believe in Magic, ever came in. The band's other albums are fairly common in that store, and I have all of them. The myriad compilations (there exist about two for every proper Spoonful album, more than most bands I think) are a dime a dozen. Mike insisted that there should be a copy of Magic in the band's section. When there wasn't, he strolled to the back stock wall and found two copies up there. I bought one and he put the other one out in the section.

A quick search on this blog will tell you I'm a champion of the band. Some people might dismiss them as lightweight, but musically they had a lot going on. Lyrically too, for that matter (check out the third verse of "Darling Be Home Soon," or all the internal rhyming of "Jug Band Music). For some reason, during my heavy Spoonful/'60s days, I never owned their first album. I've heard most of it through compilations that I've owned. But it's good to have it all in order, the way these 20-year-olds wanted it to be heard back then.

But this isn't going to be another appreciation of the Lovin' Spoonful. This is about record stores. As I was getting ready to head outside into single-digit weather, something took my mind back in time, to about 35 years ago. That would place me back in 8th grade, and that was the time when I made my first trips to Record Graveyard, a long-gone used record store that used to be on Forbes Avenue in Oakland, just down the street from the Carnegie Museum and library. (Some will remember it from its later locale on Craig Street.)

Like Jerry's Records, it was a second floor walk-up and, possibly around this time, it was owned partially by Jerry Weber. (Within a year or so, he sold his half of the business and opened Garbage Records, which he later rechristened with his name.) Now I had loved records since the time I could crawl, but this was my first real experience with a used record store. Unlike Heads Together and National Record Mart - where I used to go weekly and flip through same stuff - there was new stuff here every week. Crazy covers. Records I'd read about but never thought I'd see. And I could afford them! When I started delivering the Post-Gazette, that opened up the buying opportunities even further. Of course, there would be other used stores I'd discover in town, but for me, this is where it all started.

And I feel especially wistful thinking about that, juxtaposed with the impending closing of the Jazz Record Mart in Chicago. Part of the whole experience of buying music (not just records, but music in any format) is being able to flip through a rack of covers and stop at one of them, give it an inquisitive look and have one of three things possibly happen:
a. you ask somebody who works there what they know about this album
b. somebody next to you offers their unsolicited opinion on the record, which in this circumstance might be a good thing
c. you hold onto it, thinking you might buy it or at the very least, play it on the store turntable.

There's so much music out there now, that how the hell are we supposed to find out if we like it? A band name? An email? Radio? I hate to break it to you p.r. folks out there, but I get so many damn emails a day that it takes a lot to get me to open them. I remember going into Paul's CDs and having Paul treat me the way a neighborhood butcher treats a regular customer: He just got something in that he knows I would like. And he'd pull something out from behind the counter.

I loved that. People knew what you'd like, and finding things for you. That was a great way to build a customer base and for commerce to exist. And for a community to grow.

CD Review: Mostly Other People Do the Killing - Mauch Chunk

Mostly Other People Do the Killing
Mauch Chunk
(Hot Cup) www.hotcuprecords.com

One critical angle that has probably become cliche by now is the opening line where the writer admits that, upon first listen, s/he wondered if the wrong album was cued up, so surprising are opening notes. In the days of records, the idea would have been far-fetched. In the CD age, it's a tad more likely. I once got a generic latin jazz disc that actually contained King Cole Trio songs. And I once got a mislabeled ECM promo.

But I say this in all sincerity: I did wonder, when Mauch Chunk started up, whether I was listening to Mostly Other People Do the Killing or some other group entirely. Expecting some sort of two-part trumpet-sax melody against a frenzied rhythm, instead "Mauch Chunk Is Thorpe" greeted the ears with a pounding Tynerish piano riff. The rhythm section was fairly straight-forward, at least for a MOPDtK session. Peter Evans' trumpet is conspicuously absent here, and everywhere else on the album.

Of course it was MOPDtK coming through the speakers. Before long the drums took on that the Animal-meets-Elvin-Jones style that could be no one else but Kevin Shea. Pianist Ron Stabinsky has also been part of the group on recent albums. During this track's piano solo, Jon Irabagon's alto adds commentary that almost sounds like he's grumbling, "Why, I oughta," before he himself unleashes his own blend of upper register leaps and squonks, eventually leading the tune's calm conclusion.

A few albums back I worried that the band's cheeky performance could wear thin. If you poke fun at the old guard the whole time, the shtick will get old and overshadow the music. But since then, they've come around. Bassist Moppa Elliot's concepts have evolved to a point where the humor remains but the structures have become more complex. They're having their cake and eating it too.

Just when it seems like the band might have actually settled down into something accessible, they take great delight in jolting the listener. The best example comes in "Townville." (Once again all the tracks are named after cities in Pennsylvania.) Started off with a clipped hard bop line, with Stabinsky throwing chords at Irabagon's plucky alto, it quickly starts to pull apart. With everything spilled on the floor, Irabagon inserts an exaggerated quote from "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered." And that's just the first two minutes of a nearly 12-minute piece.

Each track is dedicated to a different artist, from a neighbor to a dancer to jazz legends Henry Threadgill, Dave Holland and Sonny Clark. The dedications don't specifically play to the honoree's personality and the group does push things to the limit. The bossa nova "West Bolivar"(for Caetano Veloso) begins with Irabagon blowing, presumably, into his horn without a mouthpiece or maybe a neck, and later Shea almost derails the groove of the piece.

At the same time, they settle down for "Niagra," a ballad that pays tribute a friend who gave the group their first show. And amidst the relative tranquility, the structure is built on unusual lengths in the phrases, which still keeps you engrossed in the music, wondering where they're headed. Reverent yes, but never maudlin. Not by a long shot.

And it's good to see the oddly named city of "Mehoopany" finally get honored with a piece. The fact that it's sort of a boogaloo makes it even better.

Going to The Stone to see Matana Roberts, Nate Wooley & Evan Rapport

My review of this year's NYC Winter Jazzfest is now up on the Pittsburgh City Paper website. Find it here.  Two of my colleagues wrote a review of the event on the JazzTimes website, and it made me realize that there's really no way to do a comprehensive rundown of everything that happened there if you're one person. Or if you do, it means that you can't see whole sets or expect to catch a set by a favorite musician if their set conflicts with your big plans. Then again, those writers live in New York and one of them told me that the roster of acts wasn't anything really new for a New Yorker.

The photo above a section of the wall inside the Stone, the Lower East Side performance venue where John Zorn serves as artistic director. (How many performers can you identify?) Musicians usually curate a weeklong residency, with the freedom to present different things each night.

I went to the Stone last Thursday evening to see saxophonist Matana Roberts. (It wasn't part of Winter Jazzfest.) Being directionally challenged, it took me a while to get there, and besides, the place is easy to miss. The entrance is right at the corner of Avenue C at East 2nd Street, with the only indication being a small (as in 3"X1") sticker right at the handle of the glass door with the name. I'm not sure if I walked past it the first three times or if the metal gate was down when I first walked by.

The website mentioned that there are no refreshments served at the Stone, "only music," which I can understand. But for some reason I thought the place would be...bigger. There were several rows of chairs facing the "stage area" (nothing so much as a stage) with about three more rows behind the band. Back here in Pittsburgh, we used to have art/performance venues like Garfield Artworks and the Turmoil Room, which were storefronts in a past life and revitalized by sheer will of the participants. The only difference between them and the Stone really is the New York spot was a little cleaner, had proper acoustics and had a grand piano in the corner. Not only is there no booze, someone told me they don't allow you to BYOB. This way, all the attention is given to the music. Sure, it cuts down on any potential tourists, but if someone is going to the Stone, logic follows that they're not there to pay $15 and just hang out. Everyone sat quietly waiting for the show to start, not unlike patrons in an adult theater.

By the time Matana Roberts (alto saxophone), Nate Wooley (trumpet) and Evan Rapport (alto saxophone) walked up from the basement, there were more than 20 and probably close to 30 patrons in the room. Without much more than an introduction of the players, they launched into an improvisation, riding waves of sound, blowing long tones together and taking turns riding on top of the other two.

At one point between improvisations, Roberts commented that there was a lot of psychic energy between her, Wooley and Rapport, and she couldn't have been more accurate. Rapport sounded calm during one section, later breaking into some wild fluttering. Wooley, armed with a few mutes including devices for a pure wah-wah sound, volleyed a riff between the two saxes, breaking into splats and smears at other times. Roberts moved between supportive long tones and vibrato, switching when it was time to let her companions take a more prominent role. I could've listened to her original, sharp melodic lines all night.

This is going to sound very much like a tourist - and really, I was to a great extent - but it felt like this was the ideal New York free improvising situation that probably happens on a regular basis on the Lower East Side. It might be common, this-is-who-we-are playing for the musicians or the volunteer taking the $15 cover at the door (all of which goes to the performers). But to someone who is used to seeing musicians like this play to one hand's worth of people back home, wishing that more people would investigate this music, it had a magic quality. Magic because the music was great, and magic knowing that somewhere this music is commonplace and that 30 people think nothing of shelling out $15 to spend an hour listening to it.

Jazz Connect & Winter Jazzfest. Were you there?

I just returned from the Jazz Connect Conference and Winter Jazzfest 2016 in New York, yesterday. I didn't take my laptop, knowing that there really wasn't going to be enough time to blog in between events. And it was one less thing to worry about.

There will be several recaps about the events and music, though. I'm doing a couple things for City Paper about it. And they will be linked here as they appear.

If you're a first time visitor to Shanleyonmusic, let me know you've stop by. Leave a comment!

Gotta go make some coffee now.

What David Bowie Means To Me

The whole interweb has been overloaded with David Bowie tributes over the last 36 hours, so I feel like I need to put out a few of my own.

WHAT DAVID BOWIE MEANS TO ME, FIVE EXAMPLES

1. On one Sunday night, when I was at my folks' house for dinner, my dad and I were talking about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Inductions. Pop was not a fan of the rock, to put it mildly. He was a Gerry Mulligan/Chet Baker-type of guy who dug lush harmonies and songs with bouncy riffs (see Bud Shank's "Shanks Pranks").

"Is David Bowie in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame? I mean, he should be. I don't really care for his music, but he's done enough that he should be in there," Pop opined over a cocktail. I can't recall when this conversation took place, but the Thin White Duke was inducted in 1996, so it must have been a few years prior that we had the talk.

My wife also reminded me that during the days of MTV and "Let's Dance," my late father-in-law remembered Bowie as "that guy with two different colored eyes," which was followed by, "now HE can sing!" I doubt either of these gents were fully swayed by Bowie's duet with Bing Crosby - in fact, when that song resurfaced again in the '90s, it wouldn't have gotten caught in their draintraps - but that wouldn't have hurt him.

2. "'Heroes.'" Remember, the song has quotes around the title, so when citing it, you need to do a quote within a quote. The reason being, the protagonists in this song are not really heroes, they're tragic lovers. But they're savoring that last moment they can spend together, kissing and dreaming about how life would be, if only things were different. When you can feel that in the face of adversity, that is what love is all about. It's tragic. It rips your heart out. And you feel it when Bowie starts yelling the words. (The song doesn't loose any impact even when it's pointed out that it was inspired by a secret affair that Tony Visconti was having at the time.)

When that song came out on a single, the first two verses were edited out. That ruins the song. Yes, it ruins it. Strong words? Well, dig: it sets up the whole plot of the song. "I, I would be king/ and you, you would be queen...." He sounds so hopeful, wistful. The line "Cuz we're lovers," solidifies the story, putting a shadow of doubt on it since it follows lines about being mean and drinking all the time. Without that part, you don't have the set-up, and even though he repeats the first verse later when he yells, it doesn't register in the same way, tracing the hopeful-to-tragic arc. You need the whole six-minute song.

I've always believed that if you're going to cover a song, know it well. If you're going to rework it, that's fine, but work out, from the core of the song to your own statement. Lester Young used to learn the lyrics to every song he played, thinking that it would help inspire his improvisations on the saxophone. That is what I'm talking about.

When I heard the Wallflowers version of it, I thought the phoned-in quality was bad enough. Then I realized that they started from the opening line of the edited version. And it made me think, they didn't even bother to go back to the full-length version to learn it. It took one of the most heartwrenching songs about love and just chucked all the emotion out of it. But I'm not here to elevate someone by putting someone else down. I just - as you might have guessed - have a lot attached to that song.

3. In 1981, that pivotal year that I've mentioned often in this blog, I found semi-beat up copies of Hunky Dory, Station to Station and Young Americans in a free box at the Record Recycler, a Squirrel Hill shop where I was spending more and more time. I had also purchased Diamond Dogs earlier that year at a flea market. Heroes was purchased about six months later.

I was in 9th grade that fall and I was trying to catch up all the important music that was already out there - Velvet Underground, Bowie, Syd Barrett, Brian Eno, Captain Beefheart (though that took another year). The thing I remember about those albums - Hunky Dory especially - is that they came with the expectation of being something really significant and important - and they lived up to it. The distorted riff of "Queen Bitch," the way he shoots up the octave to sing, "SAIL-ors fighting in the dance hall," and then follows it up with a reference to the novelty song, "Alley Oop." That octave jump still makes me tear up. This stuff was brilliant. It was exciting and David was sharing the excitement with us.

4. Around 2000, there was a David Bowie tribute show staged at the late, great Beehive Theater here in Pittsburgh. It included a house band (organized by Dewey Gurall) with a slew of guest singers. One of the most memorable moments came when Ed Masley (Post-Gazette music critic and frontman of the Frampton Brothers) got up onstage wearing the Scary Monsters-Bowie clown suit. As an homage to Bowie's infamous Saturday Night Live performance, where he had to be carried offstage since his outfit immobilized him during one song, Ed was hoisted into the arms of my friend Mike Moran afterwards. A true mix of homage and parody. Also that night, Michael Kastelic, of the Cynics, sang the whole Ziggy Stardust  album (sans the cover of "It Ain't Easy") with the band, in playing order. It sounded awesome.

4. One of my dreams has always been to be the hired gun, who shows up when someone says, "We need a bass player that can learn some tunes on the fly. Who can do it?" A couple years after that Bowie show, I got to do just that.

It was Glam Rock Cabaret, produced at the Rex Theater by my dear friend Sheryl, who for years had staged New Wave Cabarets to coincide with her birthday. After playing three songs by my own band (it was the Mofones, but without our singer Sharon Spell, we defaulted back to the name of our previous band Mystery Date), I ended up getting asked to sub for the ailing bassist in another band. Mike Cunningham, would start the band Neighbors a few years later, walked me over to the piano in the lobby of the Rex and showed me the songs. One was "Rebel Rebel," one of my favorite Bowie tunes. By the time I got up onstage, I had forgotten the middle-8 change, but I knew the two-chord that made up 75% of the song. I whomped that riff within an inch of its life and it felt really good. At the end of the night, Sheryl fronted a group that played "All the Young Dudes," a song that Bowie penned for Mott the Hoople.

These are all pretty personal stories, and they probably say more about me than they do about David Bowie, when all is said and done. But none of it would have happened, and these people wouldn't have converged together without Mr. B. There have been plenty of legendary musicians that have united fans around the world through music. But Bowie's way of uniting us motivated us to come together in a way that embraced our diversity, our freakiness, our unique qualities. We're all weirder for it, and we should all thank him for that.