Miguel Zenón's "Esta Plena" at the Dakota: Concert review

Alto saxophonist Miguel Zenón played the Dakota two days ago, two extraordinary sets, and I’m still thinking about them. (The house wasn’t full and some of us stayed for both. That’s a long night at the Dakota—the first set starts around 7, the second usually ends after 11.) The music was so intriguing, the rhythms so beguiling that I find myself returning to the evening—and to the CD, Esta Plena (Marsalis Music), for which Zenón and his group are currently touring. Its official release date is October 20; Zenón brought a box of 30 to sell at the Dakota. (Until Oct. 20 or shortly before, you can listen to the full album at NPR.)

For Esta Plena (This Is Plena), Zenón went home to his native Puerto Rico, from whose indigenous music he also drew for Jibaro (2005), the album believed to have gotten the MacArthur Foundation’s attention. (Zenón was named a MacArthur Fellow in 2008, shortly after winning a Guggenheim.) Jibaro is string-based music from the Puerto Rican countryside. Plena is vocal music associated with the coastal regions. Both are folk styles.

Except for maybe the encore after the last set, none of the tunes we heard was straight plena. All were plena wrapped in and shot through with modern jazz, which Zenón first heard as a teenager growing up in Puerto Rico, then studied at the Berklee and Manhattan schools of music. In 2004, just three years after earning his Masters in Saxophone Performance, he was invited to become a founding member of the SF Jazz Collective, one of the most prestigious jazz organizations in the USA. Current members include Stefon Harris, Joe Lovano, Robin Eubanks, Matt Penman, Dave Douglas, Renee Rosnes, and Eric Harland. Good company.

So Esta Plena is not folkie folk music—and yet, as another admirer seated beside us remarked, “Miguel, your roots are showing.” Somehow the music seemed rooted, grounded, traditional, yet brought forward into this moment, especially when heard live.



Zenón brought his working quartet, the fine musicians he has worked with for years: Venezuelan pianist Luis Perdomo, also a member of the Ravi Coltrane Quartet (can Perdomo pick saxophonists or what?), Austrian bassist Hans Glawischnig, formerly a member of Kenny Werner’s trio and quintet, now heading his own quartet (with Perdomo, Dave Binney, and Eric Doob), and Puerto Rican drummer Henry Cole (say koh-lay, not cole). For the new CD and the tour, he added vocalist and percussionist Hector “Tito” Matos, also from Puerto Rico. When he wasn’t singing (and usually when he was), Matos played one or more panderos (hand-held Puerto Rican drums). Zenón also sang.

For the first set, we heard individual tunes, most of which Zenón introed or outroed: “Esta Plena,” “Oyola,” “Pandero y Pagoda,” maybe “Residencial Llorens Tarres” (something that began with a lot of percussion, then moved into a speedy section with Zenón and Perdomo in unison). The second set become one continuous piece of many rhythms linked together, during which Zenón played with such fire and fierceness that I thought his head would explode, or maybe everyone’s. He had been more than warmed up for the first set; for the second, he was nuclear.

I found the music challenging, but in a good way; these are thick, thorny rhythms I can't separate into tidy sections. Every so often I clung to the bass line, hoping that Glawischnig would just keep time for a minute or two, but he was as crazy as the others. Whenever I thought I had figured out a rhythm, I was one or two beats off. I later read at NPR that “variations of three, six, and nine are recurrent motifs in the form, phrasing, and intervals of Zenón ’s compositions.” No wonder I was a helpless cork bobbing in the water.



The music was also melodic and beautiful. Sometimes it was amusing. For the encore, “El Canto del Gallo,” which Zenón described as a traditional plena song, Matos clucked like a chicken and crowed like a rooster. (“El Canto del Gallo” = “The Song of the Rooster.”) In “Despidida,” Zenón quoted “Auld Lang Syne.” Before then, we heard sweetness and warmth from Perdomo’s piano, tenderness and depth from Glawischnig’s bass, and delicacy in Cole’s drums.

At the shining center of it all: Zenón ’s saxophone. His tone is clear and clean-edged, never fuzzy or blurry; it’s as if each note is carved by a knife. No matter how many notes he plays—and often he plays a lot of notes, in torrential runs filled with unexpected intervals, and he’s not afraid to rear back and wail (so far back he seems to be blowing himself backward, or doing the limbo)—each one sounds pure and fully-formed. His technical proficiency is undeniable; so is his passion. He wants us to know the music of his homeland. First jibaro, now plena; what next, Miguel?



Photos by John Whiting

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.