Jazz Bookends on a Sunday: Reuben and Dan Ristrom, and the Gerry Hemingway/Terrence McManus Duo

When: July 11, 2010 (morning) • Where: Tryg’s • Who: Reuben Ristrom, guitar and voice; Dan Ristrom, guitar and voice

When: July 11, 2010 (evening) • Where: Rogue Buddha • Who: Gerry Hemingway/Terrence McManus Duo: Gerry Hemingway, trap set, acoustic and electronic addenda; Terrence McManus, homemade guitars, electronic processing

Tryg’s in St. Louis Park often has live music but doesn’t keep its online calendar up to date (hint), so we weren’t expecting to hear anyone when we met a friend for brunch on Sunday. It was a pleasant surprise to find guitarist Reuben Ristrom and his son, Dan, tuning up in a corner of the bar, where the big windows were open and the summer breezes blew through.

I have a special affection for Reuben Ristrom. I heard him fairly early when I started listening more seriously to jazz, and he opened my ears to jazz guitar, for which I’m grateful. I’d never heard Dan before. I think he mostly plays rock, which is probably why I’ve missed him. As a jazz artist, he reminds me of John Pizzarelli, a good thing in every way. His voice is clear and fresh, with a lovely vibrato; his stage presence is warm and engaging, and he’s all about entertaining. I like that he’s out with his dad. You can hear them together every Wednesday at Sawatdee in Maple Grove. Listen to “Blue Skies” (song 4) and/or “Ain’t Misbehavin’” (song 6) on Dan's MySpace page. At Tryg’s, we heard several jazz standards, a Beatles medley, and some James Taylor. The perfect soundtrack to a Sunday morning with mimosas, or a Wednesday with Thai food.

The word “improvisation” always gets my attention, so when we heard that the improvising duo Gerry Hemingway and Terrence McManus were coming through town on tour, we made a date to see them at the Rogue Buddha. I don’t know them but there was enough buzz from the Clown Lounge crowd that I wanted to check it out.

Two events were scheduled for Sunday: a master class at 4 and a performance at 7. Travel problems caused delays (all roads leading in and out of Mpls/St. Paul are torn up) and the class didn’t start until 5:45. When we arrived at 7, the class was ending and the musicians needed a break. The performance began around 7:30—sooner than expected, all things considered.

We, an audience of 14, heard two selections, each about a half-hour long. The first started with a whisper, Hemingway patting his drums softly with his hands, McManus tapping the strings of his guitar (held in his lap) with the handle of a screwdriver. The strings hummed and whistled. Each artist had an array of implements—bows, metal pieces, balls, sticks, paint brushes—on the chair beside him, to choose from as the evening progressed.

As light from the evening sun danced across his face, McManus bowed his strings. Hemingway pedaled the hi-hat so softly I might have been imagining it. A beat emerged, sort of, maybe a rhythm, not a melody. The piece grew louder, more intense. The guitar made train sounds. McManus slid a piece of metal under his strings, then touched them with a paint brush handle; Hemingway switched to a mallet and hands. McManus slid a large piece of paper under his strings, tore it, blew on it, left pieces of it hanging from his guitar. He lifted his guitar from his lap, held it in his arms, and began plucking the strings with a plectrum, paper still in place. The strings wailed and Hemingway switched to sticks and the gallery filled with sound, which subsided into sweet notes on the guitar and soft drums to end.

I liked it. The sounds were unpredictable (I haven’t mentioned a quarter of the things Hemingway and McManus did) but related, a dialogue. The music had an arc; it told a story.

For the second piece, Hemingway hummed into what looked like a trumpet mute but HH said might have been a spotlight reflector—a round, dented metal thing. The sounds he made were hollow, fluttery, high and singing, and deep as a didgeridoo. McManus used an ebow, a hand-held electronic bow for guitar. (Thanks, Joel Shapira and Keith Lee.)

I found the second piece less interesting than the first. In the warmth of a summer evening at the end of a Sunday, it seemed a bit slow and snoozy. Afterward McManus asked Hemingway if he’d been playing some Strayhorn and Hemingway said yes (I think; I was eavesdropping). If he had, I missed it.

I felt the set was a bit short but understood it had been a long day involving travel on difficult roads. They’re playing again at the Clown on Monday, where I suspect things will heat up more than they did last night.

Visit Terrence McManus’s website to hear a clip of him playing solo. Go here to hear the duo. Click on links within this piece to hear an excerpt from the duo recording and watch videos.

This is an ebow. (Web photo.)

Photo of Dan and Reuben Ristrom from Reuben's website. 

Photos of Gerry Hemingway and Terrence McManus by John Whiting.

Double Bill at the Buddha

When: Thursday, August 7, 2008 • Where: Rogue Buddha Gallery • Who: First set: J.T. Bates, drums; Adam Linz, bass; Paul Metzger, banjo. Second set: Volcano Insurance: Luke Polipnick, guitar; Joey Van Phillips, drums; Chris Bates, bass.

I’m trying to remember the first time I heard and really listened, or tried to listen, to free jazz (a.k.a. avant-garde, outside, vanguard, experimental, unstructured…or none of the above). It might have been in February 2000, when the Cecil Taylor Quartet came here as part of the Northrop Jazz Season. That concert was memorable for two reasons: the music, which was crazy, and the speed with which much of the audience exited during intermission, never to return.

But I liked it. At the Montreal Jazz Festival in 2001, we sought it out and found pianist Lee Pui Ming performing with saxophonist and vocalist Joane Hétu and clarinetist Lori Freedman. I wasn’t packing Moleskines back then so I don’t have notes. I remember hair flying, someone wearing a kilt, silences, maybe shrieking. The specifics of the music escape me. The emotional memory remains: I was happy. Perplexed, challenged, out of my depth, and happy.

Because I like being happy, I go to see and hear musicians and groups like George Cartwright and Happy Apple and Anthony Cox and Fat Kid Wednesdays and Douglas Ewart. When Chris Bates sends out an email saying “This will be interesting, trust me,” I do. They all live here, thank goodness.

I also keep watch for people like Craig Taborn and Tim Berne, who come through here occasionally but not often enough for me. Hank Roberts, hurry back. And the annual Minnesota Sur Seine music festival is a mother lode of squeaks, squawks, wails, caresses, indistinguishable melodies, indeterminate rhythms, and sheer transporting joy.

Chris sent out an email earlier this week, which brought us to the Rogue Buddha shortly before 9 p.m. last night. He and Adam Linz were standing outside talking and let us interrupt them. Inside, the crowd was small, maybe 18 people to start and five were with the bands and many of the others were musicians; we saw Scott Fultz, Pete Hennig, Park Evans, Joe-who-plays-guitar-and-things, and others I recognized but can’t name. Former City Pages and Strib music writer Jim Meyer had driven up from Farmington, where he now lives. For a while, I was the only girl in the room.

During the first set, my focus was often on Paul Metzger, who played a modified banjo: seven (?) extra strings, electronics, and who knows what else. For much of the time, he bowed it. Sometimes he used a plectrum or strummed with his fingers, and sometimes he played it like a tabla. I had never heard a banjo make such sounds before. I thought the banjo was boring except when played by Béla Fleck (and mostly I like him with Edgar Meyer). I don’t think it’s boring anymore.



The J.T. Bates/Linz/Metzger combination played one long piece with slow parts and fast parts, solos and duos and trios, crescendos and decrescendos. The music came in waves. No melody, no regular rhythm, just flow. Banjo, drums, bass, banjo-drums, bass-drums, banjo-drums-bass. I thought of riding rapids, hanging on and hoping you’ll make it safely to the end and getting bounced around on the way. HH said it was like tasting wasabi for the first time. Linz plucked and bowed and patted his bass. J.T. fell into his drums and brought forth rhythms wild and strange. At the end, I asked, “Did that have a name?” J.T. said “No.” Of course it didn’t and I knew it didn’t but I wondered if he would make one up.

After a break and more $2 wine: Volcano Insurance. Their music was more mellow than I expected from the name. Polipnick’s guitar was dreamy and delicious. I thought I had seen him before and made a mental note to look him up when I returned home. Yes: in April at the Clown Lounge with Tatsuya Nakatani and Chris Bates.



Their final two pieces were fiercer, more fiery. For one, which Polipnick introduced as “a new ditty called ‘Calisthenics,’” they actually had a chart. They sometimes play from a setlist, so they’re not entirely about improvisation.

What did they play? I can’t tell you. But I was there for the energy, the creativity, the inventiveness, the fun…the ride, the wasabi, the surprise.

Whenever I try to write about free jazz, I wonder why I bother. It’s hard enough to write about music that has a form and structure. Or to write about a singer who uses words I can understand. This improvised, in-the-moment stuff, with altered banjos and pedals on the floor and wires and instruments that don’t even sound like themselves—who even cares if anybody writes about it? It will never be heard again. It won’t be replicated, and it can’t be bought and played on your stereo or iPod. It’s not only far out, it’s gone.

But I realized last night, while scribbling notes in an effort to capture a fleeting sonic moment, that one reason I write is to entice. Maybe someone who reads this will wander into the Rogue Buddha for live music sometime, or check out the Clown Lounge on a Monday night, or set aside time for an Improvised Music at Homewood Studios event. When that happens, I’ll be even happier.

For more on writing about free jazz, see Lyn Horton’s excellent article, “Shifting the paradigm and using ‘free-jazz’ to do it.”

Photos by John Whiting. Top to bottom: Paul Metzger; Adam Linz and J.T. Bates; Volcano Insurance (Polipnick, Chris Bates, Joey Van Phillips).

Chris Bates and Poutums Jazz Trio

When: 12/20/07
Where: Rogue Buddha Gallery
Who: Set 1: Chris Bates (solo bass); Set 2: Poutums Jazz Trio: Chris Thomson (saxophone), Adam Linz (bass), Alden Ikeda (drums); Jon Pemberton (trumpet)

Live jazz in an art gallery on a winter night. No, no, don't make me go. Surrounded by gallery owner Nicholas Harper's paintings (some of which I liked, some of which I didn't), we sat in folding chairs sipping red wine from plastic glasses hearing fine music for a suggested donation of $5. The crowd was SRO and not the usual jazz club group, more the art gallery group, with ones and twos sneaking outdoors to smoke throughout the evening.

I'm always happy to hear Chris Bates. His set ranged from solo improvisation to songs where he accompanied himself (on electronic loops, some prepared ahead of time and some recorded on the spot) to bowing that made me think of Edgar Meyer's recording of Bach's cello suites on double bass. We often think of bass as needing something else—piano, horns, percussion—to be meaningful, but in the right hands it stands alone.

I like the big, low instruments: bass, baritone saxophone, bari clarinet, tuba (as played by Stefan Kac). To me, these are solar plexus instruments; the sound (especially the sound of the bass) stays in the center of the body and hums. I also like the bass because it's an instrument you embrace to play, like a dancing partner.

If I could wake up tomorrow knowing how to play any instrument, it would be the bass. I once thought about studying with Herbie Lewis, who said he'd be willing to take me on. He passed away in May of this year. If you follow this link and read the obituary Don Berryman wrote for Jazz Police, you'll also see a photograph Andrea Canter took of Lewis with Frank Morgan, who died a little over a week ago.

After Bates's set, it takes a few moments for the Poutums trio to set up, and the second they start to play, the whole gallery fills with music, like water rushing in. We're sitting right in front of Linz's bass, so again it's the bass that gets my attention. Linz plays like he could pull the strings right off the neck, tugging and yanking and grabbing great fistsful. He strums and plucks and pats the instrument, pulls it close and pushes it away, twirls and dips it—like a dancing partner.

At first, Thomson and Pemberton stand at opposite ends of the group, having a warm, brassy dialogue; at the end of the set, they're beside each other, weaving in and out of each other's notes. Ikeda drums with sticks and hands; it's my second time seeing him perform and I like him. The music is tuneful and beautiful.

Bates, Linz, and Thomson are frequent participants in the Rogue Buddha's iQuit Music Series, of which this evening was a part. The space is interesting, there's parking nearby, the music is good, and the price is right.

Meanwhile I wonder what Poutums means.

Photographs: Chris Bates; Chris Thomson and Adam Linz being observed by a sourpuss Nicholas Harper painting. All shot in a dark gallery at ISO 1600.