Roy Haynes Quartet

When: 6/9/08
Where: Dakota
Who: Roy Haynes (drums), Jaleel Shaw (alto saxophone), Martin Bejerano (piano), David Wong (bass)

Every time I see Roy Haynes—which is every time he comes through town—I'm astonished. Not by the fact that he's 83 and still playing, but by how he plays. The man is a blur. I've heard people say that Haynes looks 60 and plays like he's 40, but I've seen 40-year-olds who seem a lot more tired than he does.

The second set of their one-night stand at the Dakota (co-sponsored by the Artists' Quarter, where Haynes usually plays when he comes to town and where he recorded his most recent CD, Whereas) begins with Monk's "Bemsha Swing," a Haynes standard that makes room for nice long solos by the youngsters.

Next, Miles Davis's "Solar" features as complex and interesting a piano solo as I've ever heard, making me sit up and pay close attention to Bejerano. Born in Miami, Florida, a professional musician since age 15, he moved to NYC in 2000 and within a year had been invited to join Roy Haynes's quartet. Talk about landing on your feet. Bejerano has made a solo CD and two recordings with Russell Malone, plus Haynes's Grammy-nominated Fountain of Youth (with Marcus Strickland on horns). I'm feeling a Bejerano shortage in my own music collection.

Haynes, Bejerano, and Wong lay down the rhythm, then Shaw blows hard to start "My Heart Belongs to Daddy," the Cole Porter tune that has become a huge jazz standard. If I'm not mistaken, Haynes pretty much always plays this tune (he did in March, and he has whenever I've heard him at the AQ) but I don't mind. Shaw is out front in the spotlight and Haynes is Mr. Cool.

Suddenly it feels as if the whole room is full of sound, every square inch upstairs and down, every corner, and if I opened a door or window it would pour out into the street.

After Shaw's masterful opening (which brings some people to their feet and raises shouts of "Jaleel!" from around the room), Haynes lets loose and it's thunder and lightning, then kisses on the cheek, then some business with the high-hat, and finally just sticks: Haynes stands up and walks around the stage playing his sticks, going in turn to Shaw and Bejerano and Wong, still playing sticks, and finally that's all we hear and then just the memory of the rhythm in a room that has fallen still to hear every ticka tick.



Complete change of pace and mood: Shaw performs a solo that opens into a ballad; it's "Everything Happens to Me," the poor-me, country-and-western song of jazz:

I make a date for golf,
You can bet your life it rains.
I try to give a party
And the guy upstairs complains.
I guess I'll go through life
Catching colds and missing trains...
Everything happens to me.

Silly lyrics but a lovely tune and Shaw plays it beautifully.

Haynes takes a long solo, starting on mallets (boom boom) and taking off from there. It's as if we're hearing the history of bebop (Haynes played with Lester Young, Bud Powell, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Monk, and on and on) and the immediacy of right now, as alive as every heartbeat in the room. As HH says, "Viva le Roi!"

Then Haynes stands up from his drums, comes to the mike, and asks if the young man seated at the table in front of him is a drummer. Of course he is. Would he like to play something? Why not. For the next ten minutes or so, this great and legendary artist lets young drummers in the audience come up and play. Something to tell their grandchildren.



The final tune: "Summer Night," written by Al Dubin and Harry Warren, recorded by lots of people: Chick Corea, Miles Davis, Keith Jarrett, Stan Getz. As I write this, I'm listening again to Haynes's version (it's on his Fountain of Youth CD) and also to Miles's version (recorded in 1963 for Seven Steps to Heaven).

The Miles version is slow and wistful, looking back at the summer nights that have passed and are gone forever. For Haynes and his quartet, it's a whole different tune, racing toward the summer nights yet to come.

P.S. Haynes played the Isthmus Jazz Festival in Madison, Wisconsin, before coming to the Dakota. Read a fine article here. It was written by someone named Susan Kepecs, and when I tried to find out more about her, I came across this brief bio: "Susan Kepecs, honorary fellow in the University of Wisconsin-Madison department of anthropology, is an archaeologist and freelance writer." That's a skill set you don't often see.

Photos by John Whiting. Sorry we couldn't get Bejerano; too dark at the piano.

Ravi Coltrane Quartet and Roy Haynes Quartet

When: 3/6/08
Where: Ted Mann Concert Hall
Who: Ravi Coltrane (tenor saxophone), Luis Perdomo (piano), Drew Gress (bass), E.J. Strickland (drums); Roy Haynes (drums), Jaleel Shaw (saxophone), Martin Bejerano (piano), David Wong (bass)

One night, one hall, two fine quartets. I know NYC is supposedly the place to live if you love jazz, but tonight you’d have a tough time convincing me that anywhere is better than Minneapolis.

Coltrane, second son of John and Alice, named for sitar legend Shankar, begins with a tune Ralph Alessi wrote for William, Ravi’s young son, called “One Wheeler Will.” It’s a high-energy tune right out of the gate that gives everyone a chance to shine. This is the second time I’ve seen this quartet (the first was at the Dakota in March 2005) and I wonder if Ravi ever plays his father’s music.

Next, “For Zoe,” written by Ravi, serious and dark. Bowed bass, slow sax, and soft percussion over a thick carpet of piano arpeggios. The piece grows in passion and intensity and the saxophone is increasingly pleading. Transition into Ornette Coleman’s “Little Symphony,” then a mellow tune by bassist Gress called “Away.”

Ravi looks beautiful. His hair is cropped short, his glasses are cool, and he’s wearing a shirt of something black and drapey—silk or cashmere. I’m musing on his elegance, enjoying the music, when I hear a brief but familiar phrase on the piano. Ravi’s horn is fierce and Perdomo is packing as many notes as possible into each measure. That phrase again. Either the quartet is playing “Giant Steps,” the most iconic of John Coltrane compositions, or Perdomo is teasing us with quotes. In fact, they are playing it. Ravi has turned his father’s most recognizable tune—and one that’s famously hard to play—into a personal statement.

Side note: Although Ravi’s soprano saxophone is on stage with him, he never picks it up. This is a tenor-only night.

During intermission, Utne Reader editor and jazz lover David Schimke tells us that Roy Haynes has made more recordings than any other jazz artist. Over the 60-plus years Haynes has been out there beating his drums (on the night of this show, he’s a week away from turning 83), he’s played with everyone: Lester Young, Bud Powell, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Sonny Rollins, Sarah Vaughan, Thelonious Monk, Eric Dolphy, Stan Getz, John Coltrane, Chick Corea, Pat Metheny, Roland Kirk.... His label, Dreyfus, recently released a box set that spans his career.



Tonight he’s ferocious. Between songs, he sometimes stands up, backs away from his drums, and bounces on the balls of his feet like a boxer between rounds. His quartet is superb; everyone is much younger than Haynes (it’s possible all their ages barely add up to his) but youth is not necessarily a benefit in this band, where rule #1 is probably “Keep Up with Roy.”

For those of us who have seen Haynes at his most recent Artists’ Quarter appearances and heard his latest CDs (including Whereas, recorded live at the AQ), the set list is familiar: “Green Chimneys,” “My Heart Belongs to Daddy,” Monk’s “Twinkle Trinkle,” Pat Metheny’s “James.” (Shaw tells us later that the cue for “James” came sooner than he expected. He’s standing at stage right when Haynes begins the tune and literally sprints to center stage with his alto sax and starts blowing.) As an encore, they give us “Summer Nights.” No surprises, but no complaints.

What does Roy Haynes hear in his head as he goes about his day? Does everything he encounters have a pulse?



Photo of the Ravi Coltrane Quartet from his Web site, (C) Darlene DeVita. Photos of Roy Haynes and his quartet by John Whiting.