The State Fair is over and so is summer

CD Review: Tuesday Wonderland: E.S.T.'s Spiritual Journey

Before listening to E.S.T.’s new release, Tuesday Wonderland, I revisited E.S.T. Plays Monk (1995), once a pricey, hard-to-find import and now available for $9.90 from iTunes. Their version of “’Round Midnight” is as moody and lyrical as any I’ve heard, with lush, lovely strings and delicate runs on the piano. “Bemsha Swing” is more clearly E.S.T: Monk’s music, but their style. While many artists can’t play Monk without sounding like Monk (if they’re lucky), E.S.T. isn’t afraid to bend the master’s melodies to their own purposes. It’s a whole new song.

E.S.T. is Esbjörn Svensson on piano, Dan Berglund on bass, and Magnus Öström on drums. Dubbed “Europe’s leading jazz trio,” winner of several Swedish Grammys, named “Best International Act” at last year’s BBC Jazz Awards, they’re the first European jazz group to make the cover of Downbeat and probably the only Swedish jazz group that ever will. Jamie Cullum loves them, and so does Pat Metheny. Keith Jarrett recommended them to Japan’s top promoter. Their thousands of friends on MySpace include Metheny, Wilco, and Bjork. In Scandinavia and Europe, they’re a supergroup, charting gold and/or platinum and filling large venues, for which they bring out the light shows and fog machines. Here across the pond they perform without the special effects and draw smaller crowds, no doubt due to the “jazz trio” label. That’s too bad, because their music is such a wildly eclectic, rhythmically diverse yet utterly absorbing mix—jazz, classical, pop, rock, blues, jam band, drum ’n’ bass, funk, electronic, techno, trippy, a hint of ambient and a dose of grunge—that there’s something for almost everyone.

Released stateside on April 10, Tuesday Wonderland is E.S.T.’s tenth album (eleventh if you count 2001’s compilation Somewhere Else Before). They describe it as connecting directly to their previous release, Viaticum (2005). The word viaticum means “provisions for a journey”—in this case, the music you need as you journey through life. Inspired by Bach’s The Well-Tempered Clavier, with nods to Bartok, Hendrix, and Radiohead, Tuesday Wonderland is a spiritual journey. While clearly related to Viaticum, it stands firmly on its own. It’s familiar but not predictable, experimental but still accessible if you’re new to E.S.T. and want to check them out. All eleven tracks are originals.

The first track includes a sonic gimmick unworthy of this fine trio. “Fading Maid Preludium” begins with soft, romantic solo piano meanderings by Svensson. Do not turn up the volume on your stereo or especially your iPod to catch the nuances. Forty-eight seconds into this eloquent reverie, Berglund and Öström enter with an explosive crash of cymbals and heavy-metal bass that will knock you out of your chair. The remaining three minutes suggest Iceland’s Sigur Ros without the singers: a blend of acoustic and electronic sounds driven by Berglund’s distorted arco bass and punctuated by Öström’s drums.

“Tuesday Wonderland,” the title track, is sunny and joyous. In Öström’s words, “The title comes from when things start getting new all the time, and life is an adventure. Everything is new in life. It’s a positive time.” Piano and bass match each other note-by-note in a fast-paced dance. Then Berglund hits a switch and takes his bass into the ethereal electronic world he inhabits so comfortably and well. More rhythmic interplay between the three musicians, a touch of bass-driven synthesizer, and we’re left feeling breathless. It’s a tune reminiscent of “Dodge the Dodo” and “Spam-Boo-Limbo,” both high-energy, happy songs from earlier E.S.T. releases.

“The Goldhearted Miner” opens with Svensson plucking the piano strings for a banjo-like sound. Then we’re into laid-back ballad land, with soft piano notes and chords, Öström on swirling brushes, and Berglund playing it straight. Svensson is an avowed admirer of Brad Mehldau, and we can hear hints of Mehldau’s ruminative meanderings. If you’re familiar with E.S.T.’s From Gagarin’s Point of View (1999), this might remind you of the title track.

The plucking that ends “Miner” segues into more that begins “Brewery of Beggars,” but any similarities end almost immediately. The sound is no longer benign, but dark and distant and strange, like a music box heard in a dream. Berglund walks a few notes on his bass, Öström enters with a bang, and we’re off on an eight-minute tear through an ever-changing sonic landscape alternately fierce and tender. This track is worth several listens. Try to ride each instrument in turn and hang on all the way through. At times, Berglund’s bass is the electric guitar at a head-bangers’ ball.

“Beggar’s Blanket” is the calm after the storm, a spare and elegant arrangement that evokes Bach. Briefly, someone sings off-tune (isn’t the culprit usually the piano player?) but otherwise it’s a classic duo. Drummer Öström sits this one out. Why “Beggar’s Blanket”? Tongue-in-cheek titles are an E.S.T. tradition. Favorites from previous CDs: “A Picture of Doris Traveling with Boris,” “In the Tail of Her Eye,” “When God Created the Coffeebreak.”

“Dolores in a Shoestand” is so much fun that it turns into an actual party. The tempo speeds up midway through, and about two minutes from the end we hear clapping and crowd sounds—voices, whistles, maybe ice clinking in a glass. They’re having a good time and so are we. Adding crowd sounds to a studio track can sound strained, but here it works, perhaps because the group genuinely enjoys playing live shows. “We are a touring band,” Svensson says, “and I love it.”

“Where We Used to Live” is another beautiful ballad, reminding us once again that E.S.T. can be a polite, well-behaved jazz trio when they want to. It’s interesting that they want to as often as they do. Despite the light shows and fog machines, Svensson, Berglund, and Öström have made a real commitment to jazz, and when they power down the synths they’re as good as anyone.

“Eighthundred Streets by Feet” merges swirling piano riffs and repetitions with ticking percussion on the firm foundation of Berglund’s bass. Over nearly seven minutes, it slowly grows, adding layers and volume, then pulls back for quiet notes from Berglund, a bit of arco, some sparkling piano, a final crescendo, and fade. Nicely done.

Öström explains the title of the next track, “Goldwrap”: “The feeling of a goldwrap could be a hug when you’re in love.” The song was born on a cassette of musical sketches pianist Svensson recorded two or three years ago. After Viaticum, he returned to the sketches to see what might be there. “Goldwrap” is fast-paced and dazzling. Öström taps a rapid-fire beat on the rims of his drums, Berglund adds his signature fuzzy bass, and Svensson seams it all together with rich, complex piano playing. A “ta-da” on the keys, a lone held note, and it’s over.

“Sipping on the Solid Ground” slows the pace once again and returns to basics: lyrical piano, languid bass and drums. This could be the soundtrack for a late-night kitchen dance with your sweetheart.

The final track, “Fading Maid Postludium,” brings us full circle and ends a journey full of discoveries and surprises. This time, E.S.T. skips the piano opener and crescendos straight from silence into the power chords. Soon the bass and drums retreat, leaving Svensson alone for what you might think is a soft, romantic solo piano close. Not so. After three and a half minutes of complete silence, during which you’ve probably ejected the CD from your car player or thought “What the…?” and fast-forwarded to the next track on your MP3 player, the trio returns for the real ending: ambient electronic noises and rhythms, squeaks and buzzes and hums stitched together with chiming notes from the piano.

Tuesday Wonderland’s predecessor Viaticum also ends with a track that sounds like it’s over long before it is; “What Though the Way” has four minutes of dead space. Similarly, the final track on Good Morning Susie Soho (2000), “Reminiscence of a Soul,” pauses for a long minute, then returns for a big finish. E.S.T. has done this sort of thing three times now, and they should stop. It’s unnecessary and annoying. Mostly, it’s not fair to make us wait.

Debbie Duncan and Carole Martin at the Artists' Quarter: Concert Review

Jazz is full of grand experiments and leaps of faith. They happen whenever musicians meet on stage to perform, especially when they have never done so before. They happened tonight (Friday, March 30) in St. Paul, when Carole Martin and Debbie Duncan met at the Artists’ Quarter for an evening of song.

Backed soundly and solidly by Phil Aaron on piano, Jay Young on bass, and Kenny Horst at home behind his own drums in his own comfortable, hospitable club, the two great vocalists sang a program of standards—in Debbie’s words, “songs we didn’t write.” Some had been recorded by each of them on her own CDs: “I Concentrate on You,” “Don’t Misunderstand,” “Little Girl Blue.” Some they sang solo—among others, Debbie chose “Come Fly with Me” and “I Didn’t Know What Time,” Carole “Going Back to Joe’s” and “Come Rain or Come Shine.”

Separately, each did what she’s known for. Carole delivered her distinctive brand of warm, romantic, character-filled torch songs. Debbie gave us beautiful ballads, elastic scat and all-out soulful shouters. Both were in fine voice, and together they conjured what jazz brings on the nights the performers are very good and we the audience are very lucky—moments of pure magic and surprise. The duets (“My Buddy,” “W.O.M.A.N,” “Little Girl Blue”) were amazing.

Carole told us between sets that she and Debbie didn’t know in advance what to expect or what would happen. I confess—me neither. I had heard each separately several times, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what the two of them might sound like together. I expected excellence—both women are consummate professionals with a passion for their art who have mastered their craft—but I and everyone else at the AQ got more than that: one of those nights we’ll talk about in years to come as having been remarkable and truly special.

In addition to great singing, the evening was filled with Debbie’s on-stage banter, shared jokes between the two (they kept introducing themselves as each other—for those who were in the audience and truly don’t know, Carole has the platinum hair, Debbie has the dreads), genuine warmth, and a between-sets rock-star costume change. We were treated to lots of sparkle and glam (and Debbie’s fabulous second-set kicks, sweet strappy red things that did not go unnoticed by the women in the audience). Throughout, it was clear they enjoyed each other’s singing as much as we did.

Debbie and Carole have never performed together before; they have never recorded together. If the stars align, that may change, but for now, the only way to hear these remarkable singers in the same place at the same moment is to catch the Saturday set at the Artists’ Quarter on March 31. I hope you’re reading this in time to do that. Nine p.m., ten bucks. Go.

The Tierney Sutton Band: "On the Other Side" CD Review

I’ve wanted to hear Tierney Sutton’s new CD, On the Other Side, since September of last year, when she previewed several selections at the Monterey Jazz Festival. Playing the late set on the Bill Berry Stage at the Night Club, she and her band turned songs I thought I knew (including a few old saws) into songs I sat up and listened to hard because it seemed I’d never heard them before.

Although Tierney is the singer and the focal point when the group is on stage—for starters, it’s hard to take your eyes off her fabulous mane of reddish-blonde hair— these days it’s all about the band. If you’ve heard her live, you’ve heard her talk about how important her band is to her and how long they’ve been together (13 years). That amazing longevity is reflected in the band’s tightness, unity, and responsiveness, and the fact that they genuinely seem to like each other. While her first six releases were “Tierney Sutton” CDs, the latest is officially by “The Tierney Sutton Band.” (She led up to the name change with her preceding “Tierney Sutton” CD, titled I’m With the Band.)

It’s a fine band and one to be proud of. It’s the only one I can think of at the moment that has two bass players, and the more bass players a music ensemble has, the better. (I’m biased toward basses.) True, the New York Philharmonic has nine, but many jazz groups have none. The Super Bass trio (Brown, John Clayton, Christian McBride) wasn’t a band per se but the kind of special jazz summit you would sell your mother to attend. At least there was a label with the good sense to record them, not once but twice. That label was Telarc, for which Tierney Sutton has recorded since 1999 and which she describes as the best label in the world.

Tierney’s two bass players are Kevin Axt and Trey Henry, and I’d gladly listen to either one of them any day of the week. Sometimes they play together on the CD, but more often they alternate. On piano is the elegant Christian Jacob (who’s French, not Swedish, as he will tell you if you ever meet him and make the mistake of asking where in Sweden he’s from; he was classically trained in France). On drums, the excellent Ray Brinker. The new CD also features West Coast jazz legend Jack Sheldon as a guest on two tracks, one on trumpet, the other on trumpet and vocals. Jacob, Henry, and Brinker were all playing in Sheldon’s big band when Tierney met them. Inviting Sheldon to participate in On the Other Side is likely a thank-you.

Like her previous recordings (her Bill Evans tribute Blue in Green, her nod to Frank Sinatra Dancing in the Dark), On the Other Side has a theme. This time it’s happiness. All 13 of the songs are about happiness, the pursuit of happiness, or the lack of happiness, and most have the word “happy” or some variation in the title: “Get Happy,” “Happy Days Are Here Again,” “Happy Talk,” “Glad to Be Unhappy.” In her brief liner notes, Tierney offers an explanation: “Our search for happiness is an odd business. This music is about that search; the longing, the mania, the heartache, and perhaps even the joy of finding something better than the illusion we were chasing.” Some reviewers have taken seriously the theme and the fact that certain songs on the CD sound distinctly unhappy. Writing for the New York Times, Stephen Holden observed, “When the perilous state of the world begins to affect a congenital optimist like the jazz singer Tierney Sutton, that change is worth noting.”

Is On the Other Side a descent into pessimism, or a delicious hour of music from a singer (and her band) who keeps getting better with each recording, whose voice is increasingly lush and agile, who interprets songs in ways so fresh and inventive they’re reborn? When you hear Tierney sing, you get a clue into what “interpreting” can mean—not just filtering but transforming. Especially when you think a particular song is dead or should be. Who wants to hear “You Are My Sunshine” ever again? You do.

“You Are My Sunshine” is On the Other Side’s third track. As you read this, try not to hear that song in your head—not the version you learned in grade school, not the countrified Norman Blake rendition on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. Clear your mind and imagine soft chords played slowly on a piano, Tierney entering with her trademark murmured loo-doo-doo-loo-doo, then turning “Please don’t take my sunshine away” into a plea of great seriousness and urgency, underscored by driving, desperate-sounding notes from both basses. Only a very bad person would take her sunshine away. A Prince of Darkness.

This song comes as a shock, similar to when you hear Johnny Cash sing “Danny Boy” (on American IV: The Man Comes Around) and you feel you should cover the ears of any children who may be nearby. Or of any mothers whose sons are serving in Iraq, as I discovered to my chagrin when I played it for a friend who dissolved into tears. “Danny Boy,” as it turns out, is not just a tender Irish ballad. It’s a song about death with hints of famine, pipers leading young men into war, bloodshed, and separation—of son from father, son from mother, lover from lover. Similarly, “You Are My Sunshine” is not just a sweet little ditty. Sung by Tierney, played by her band, it’s a song about obsession, fear of abandonment, and the kind of love that leads to people with shotguns bursting through locked doors.

It’s the third song on the new CD, but the one the band opened with at Monterey, letting us know we had best pay attention. Before moving into an Irving Berlin medley, Tierney took a moment to talk with the crowd (as she often does) about her band and how all of their arrangements are done collaboratively. “We decide together how to approach a song—or attack it, depending on your perspective,” she explained.

On the Other Side begins with an arrangement of Harold Arlen’s “Get Happy” that is anything but happy. (The lyrics to that song are the source of the CD’s title: “It’s oh so peaceful on the other side.”) This “Get Happy” is slow and solemn, more a dirge than a call to rejoice. Brinker opens with a measured beat, Jacob enters with low notes, and Tierney does a soft, deliberately paced scat before moving into Ted Koehler’s lyrics: “Forget your troubles. Come on, get happy… Get ready for the judgment day.” This is not a judgment day any of us should look forward to. It’s one that promises, as the saying goes, to get all Biblical on your a**. Imagine one of those big Renaissance Last Judgment paintings (for example, Michelangelo’s in the Sistine Chapel). Picture the chosen people rising up to join the angels, and the doomed ones plunging toward damnation. This “Get Happy” might as well be dedicated to the latter.

When Tierney and the band return to “Get Happy” later on the CD (track 10), it’s with a brighter, bouncier, gospel-tinged arrangement, implying there’s still hope for us sinners. “Get Happy” is one of two On the Other Side songs performed in two radically different arrangements. The other is “Happy Days Are Here Again” (tracks 2 and 11). For “Happy Days,” the first version is the most upbeat. The second is cautious and doubtful. Are happy days really here? The band doesn’t seem to think so. Tierney holds onto her l’s and n’s as Trey Henry, Ray Brinker, and Christian Jacob weave a protective cushion of sound beneath her.

During her Monterey show, Tierney gave us a bit of insight into how the band approaches its arrangements. “We have a credo with any song that’s been played a thousand times. We consider it our duty to render that song virtually unrecognizable. If a song like that is done straight, it’s follow the bouncing ball. With us, it’s different. It’s run for cover.”

Rodgers and Hart’s “Glad to Be Unhappy,” the fourth song on the CD, was originally intended for the band’s salute to Frank Sinatra, Dancing in the Dark. Its title, its melancholy mood, and its lyrics (“Fools rush in, so here I am, very glad to be unhappy… For someone you adore, it’s a pleasure to be sad”) made it a perfect fit for On the Other Side. We hear Jack Sheldon’s trumpet for the first time, eloquent and wistful. If you’ve got a Late-Night playlist on your iPod, add this to it, right after a Chet Baker tune. Tierney’s voice is blue velvet.

“Sometimes I’m Happy” features both basses, Ray Brinker on quick, feather-light brushes, and no piano; Jacob sits this one out. (Nothing against the piano, especially not Jacob’s piano, but two basses and brushes make a lovely jazz trio.) It’s a mid-tempo, matter-of-fact look at the ups and downs of love. When Tierney sings “Sometimes I love you, sometimes I hate you,” it’s no big deal. At one point, either Axt or Henry quotes “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” It’s all very tongue-in-cheek.

Jacob returns for “Happy Talk” and the two are off and running on the Rodgers & Hammerstein classic from South Pacific. Tierney starts with a scat teaser, hangs behind the beat for much of the song, then piles “howyougonna howyougonna howyougonna have a dream come true” into a single seamless yet perfectly enunciated phrase. Let’s pause to praise Tierney’s enunciation. It’s clear, precise, and appears effortless. Many of the songs she has chosen to record have gorgeous lyrics, and she makes certain we hear and understand every syllable.

More words of love and longing follow in “Haunted Heart.” The great lyric soprano Renee Fleming made this the title song for her CD with Fred Hersch and Bill Frisell. Listen to the two recordings one after another sometime. Fleming sings a full octave lower than she usually does, and her voice is a caress. It’s apples and oranges, but I think I prefer Tierney’s version.

Jack Sheldon is back for “I Want to Be Happy,” singing, playing his trumpet (bright and brassy this time around), and bantering with Tierney. (Jack: “How old are you?” Tierney: “A real man would never ask a lady how old she is.” Jack: “No, really, how old are you?” Tierney: “It’s not how old I am. It’s how young I make you feel…. Now brush your teeth, put on your pajamas, and go to bed.”) This may be the only song on the CD devoid of irony and an undercurrent of sadness. Have the clouds really parted? Are sunny skies ahead? Don’t bet on it.

“Make Someone Happy” is a return to wistfulness. It also seems like the least interesting arrangement on the CD. Tierney sings beautifully, of course, and Jacob’s playing is exquisite, but in a recording full of knockouts, it’s mainly a breather between “I Want to Be Happy” and “Great Day,” both up-tempo, acrobatic songs.

Following the band’s return to the CD’s bookends, “Happy Days Are Here Again” and “Get Happy,” there’s a surprise ending: a spare piano-and-voice version of “Smile.” Charlie Chaplin wrote the melody in 1936 for Modern Times; John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons added lyrics in 1954. Almost everyone who’s anyone has recorded it since: Nat King Cole, Tony Bennett, Barbra Streisand, even Rod Stewart. Madeline Peyroux included it on her latest release, The Perfect World. Introducing the song to the audience at Birdland during a live performance earlier this year, Tierney wondered why she couldn’t smile while singing it. She draws out her vowels (“youuuuuu’ll get by”) and clings to her consonants (“smilllllle”) as if she’s reluctant to let go of anything—the moment, the words, the music, the merest suggestion of happiness.

At Monterey, the Tierney Sutton Band ended their set at the Night Club with the more buoyant arrangement of “Get Happy,” having begun with the downer version. The only other time I’d heard an artist or group perform the same song twice during the same set was when Simply Red played First Avenue some 20 years ago. They were on tour with Picture Book, and when the crowd called for an encore, they reprised their hit “Holding Back the Years.” I’ve always thought it was because they had run out of songs to sing. Hearing “Get Happy” again made me happy, because I was reminded of how terrific live jazz can be—when artists perform the same song twice (over two sets, for example, or two nights), it never sounds the same, even if they don’t vary the arrangements. It’s a bold move to repeat two songs on one CD, and maybe that’s the real theme and message here: not “The world is doomed, forget about being happy” but “Listen to what we can do with this song. You think you know this song? Listen again.”

Originally published at JazzPolice.com

Madeleine Peyroux: "Half the Perfect World" CD Review

It’s hard enough to hear “Jingle Bells” at Christmas time, harder in early October, even if it is just the first few bars of Joni Mitchell’s “River.” But that’s how Mitchell started the song, and it’s how producer Larry Klein chose to begin the version that pairs Madeleine Peyroux with k.d. lang on Peyroux’s fourth and latest CD, Half the Perfect World.

As it happens, Klein is Mitchell’s ex-producer, ex-bass player, and ex-husband. And “River” is a song about Christmas, sort of . . . actually, it’s more about self-recrimination, longing, and regret for love stupidly lost. Mitchell’s original recording on the spare and searing Blue (1971, not produced by Klein) still makes you want to rip your heart out.

The song has since been covered by dozens of artists, from Rosanne Cash to Renee Fleming, Barry Manilow, and Dianne Reeves. On Half the Perfect World, Peyroux’s is the first voice you hear, wistful and a bit tentative on the first half of the first verse (“It’s coming on Christmas/They’re cutting down trees”). Her landings on a few of the notes are less than sure-footed. Then lang enters (“But it don’t snow here/It stays pretty green”), certain and strong, and suddenly the song has the texture, depth, and mystery of smoke on blue velvet.

“River” is the track I keep returning to on this CD, despite the “Jingle Bells” intro. It’s my favorite. In some ways, it reminds me of the Cyndi Lauper/Sarah McLachlan duet on “Time After Time” on Lauper’s The Body Acoustic (2006), another gorgeous surprise. And it makes me dream of another two voices I’d love to hear together someday: Diana Krall and Lyle Lovett. Think about it. They both have that languorous swing and little growl. Tommy LiPuma, please call Lovett’s agent.

On “River,” Peyroux and lang trade verses and even phrases; you never hear them sing together. As the song progresses, it becomes increasingly difficult to tell them apart. You have to listen closely to distinguish Peyroux’s tremor from lang’s vibrato. Clue: The big intervals and high notes are left to lang.

“River” is the CD’s sole duet. Of the other 11 selections, four are new and seven are covers. The CD begins with a new tune co-written by Peyroux, Klein, and Walter Becker, half of Steely Dan. In “I’m All Right,” a woman remembers a lover who smoked cigars in bed, tossed her things around, and ended up with her car—but she’ll survive, she’s been lonely before. It’s a looking-back song about moving on, with a bouncy melody and upbeat instrumentals: Peyroux’s strummy guitar, Sam Yahel’s sassy Wurlitzer Piano and Hammond organ. Peyroux even laughs at the end.

It’s a charming start to what’s largely an upbeat album, a change for the moody Peyroux. Klein also produced Careless Love (2004), Peyroux’s previous hit CD, which has sold over a million so far. He tells amazon.co.uk, “This is a much more optimistic record than the last record was.” Peyroux adds, “There’s a unison of joy . . . on this record.” I’m not quite sure what she means by that, but it sounds good—and so does much of the CD.

Three more originals reunite the team of Peyroux, Klein, and singer/songwriter Jesse Harris, who penned Norah Jones’s “Don’t Know Why.” Earlier, they collaborated on the Careless Love single “Don’t Wait Too Long.” On Half the Perfect World, “Once in a While” revisits the it’s-over-but-I’ll-make-it territory of “I’m All Right” and adds the lilt of a string quartet, unexpected and a touch too sweet. “A Little Bit” veers into country rock, pairing Dean Parks’s guitar with Peyroux’s.

“California Rain” is a showcase for the voice that’s been compared from the start to Billie Holiday, though it’s past time for that comparison to end; it’s not fair to either artist. Holiday stands alone, and so, increasingly, does Peyroux; her sound is instantly recognizable if you’ve heard it even briefly before, and her styles—of singing, playing guitar, and inhabiting a song—are her own.

The seven covers on the CD run the gamut from Johnny Mercer’s “The Summer Wind” to Tom Waits’s “(Looking for) The Heart of Saturday Night.” Michael Bublé recently recorded a live version of “The Summer Wind” for Caught in the Act (2005), part of PBS’s Great Performances series. His super-swingy, big-band performance evokes Frank Sinatra, but so do a lot of his songs (which is not at all a bad thing). Peyroux’s is a whole different story—slow, lazy, laid-back. She might be singing to herself under that blue umbrella sky. Gary Foster’s alto sax comes in just long enough to make us wish he’d stick around. (Foster returns for one more track later on.)

Two of the seven covers are by Leonard Cohen: “Blue Alert” and the title song, “Half the Perfect World.” Both were recorded earlier this year by Anjani Thomas, a.k.a. Anjani, a jazz pianist and singer whose style is torchy and sensual; she wraps her voice around the words like she owns them. Her mentor (and more) is Cohen himself, giving her an inside track that Peyroux doesn’t have. Two things biased me against Peyroux’s takes: hearing Anjani’s, and seeing I’m Your Man, Lian Lunson’s recent documentary portrait of Leonard Cohen.

Lunson’s film moves back-and-forth between interviews with Cohen and performances from a January 2005 tribute concert at the Sydney Opera House organized by Hal Willner. (If Willner ever runs the talent show at your kid’s kindergarten, go.) Rufus Wainwright, Martha Wainwright, Kate and Anna McGarrigle, Antony (the ethereal lead singer of Antony and the Johnsons), and Nick Cave, among others, were tapped to cover several of Cohen’s best-known songs (not including “Blue Alert” or “Half the Perfect World”). Their performances are passionate and intense; each one leaves you breathless. Peyroux’s are committed but don’t scale the heights. “Blue Alert” is relaxed and jazzy; “Half the Perfect World” more convincing but too restrained. Although both are beautiful, neither moves me.

For the CD’s almost obligatory French café song (Peyroux spent many years living in Paris), Serge Gainsbourg’s La Javanaise is a fine choice. Gainsbourg also wrote the naughty “Je t’aime . . . moi non plus;” perhaps Peyroux will record that next? Imagine who might sing it with her. (Curtis Stigers is a married man.)

On “(Looking for) The Heart of Saturday Night,” she turns Tom Waits’s urban journey into a country-flavored croon. The song has a nostalgic, melancholy air, maybe because it’s more than 30 years old. (Sample lyrics: “Well you gassed her up/Behind the wheel/With your arm around your sweet one/In your Oldsmobile”) The country feel is underscored by Greg Leisz’s pedal steel guitar.

The final two covers are Fred Neil’s “Everybody’s Talkin’” and Charles Chaplin’s “Smile.” The first precedes “River,” the second ends the CD. I’m sorry, but I’ve never liked “Everybody’s Talkin’,” not even on the Midnight Cowboy soundtrack, where it was sung by Harry Nilsson. At least Peyroux doesn’t do that horrid “wah-wah” thing Nilsson does partway through the song. She steps back from the mike and lets the musicians carry the tune.

“Smile” might easily have been hokey (many recordings of Chaplin’s song are—hello, Michael Bolton), but it’s not. By keeping it simple, Peyroux makes it credible and compelling. “Smile, though your heart is breaking/Smile, even though it’s aching….” Well, all right! Good idea! Let’s do it! The clincher is Till Bronner’s muted trumpet.

The core musicians throughout Half the Perfect World are Sam Yahel, Dean Parks, David Piltch (bass), and Jay Belarose (drums). Larry Goldings stops by for some celeste and Wurlitzer piano. Peyroux plays guitar on several tracks; her style is quirky and distinctive. The arrangements are understated and mellow: acoustic guitars, silky brushes on drums, soft sax and trumpet, the caress of pedal steel.

This is, in the end, a late-night recording, with many quiet moments and spaces between sounds. Peyroux likes quiet; she has said that “silence is not just an absence of sound.” Shirley Horn knew all about silence and spacing and letting the music breathe. Maybe it’s wrong to expect Madeleine Peyroux to belt out a Leonard Cohen tune. Maybe I’ll listen to “Blue Alert” again.

****

Released by Rounder, the venerable independent label, Half the Perfect World will probably be Peyroux’s biggest success to date. That’s what Rounder is hoping for, if her tour schedule is any indication. To promote Careless Love, Peyroux traveled to clubs like the Dakota in Minneapolis, the Hot House in Chicago, and the Cabaret La Tulipe in Montreal. This time, it’s theaters like the Paramount in Denver (seating capacity: just under 1,900) and the State in Minneapolis (2,200), where Peyroux will perform this Friday, October 13.

Tickets are still available for the State through Ticketmaster. Or stay home and view the video of “I’m All Right” at Peyroux’s Web site. It has a traveling-circus-shot-at-night-in-the-middle-of-a-field theme, reminiscent of Fellini and HBO’s canceled Carnivále. Fun to watch, but deeply strange. 

Originally published at JazzPolice.com.

MJF/49: From Brubeck to B3 at the 2006 Monterey Jazz Festival

It’s still light when we enter the Arena on the final night of the Monterey Jazz Festival. Actor Clint Eastwood introduces the first of two giant headliners: Dave Brubeck. Eastwood is a jazz buff, passionate Festival supporter, and lifelong Brubeck fan; in 2002, he told CNN, “I have been following Dave Brubeck since the Burma Lounge on Lakeshore Avenue in the mid '40s, but I was here in 1958, which was the first year of the festival. And Dave was there then. So I have been kind of a groupie for a lot of years.”

At 85 years old, Brubeck has a touring schedule that would make most of us tired just reading about it. In the past three months, he’s played 22 dates including Carnegie Hall, the Toronto Jazz Festival, the Montreal Jazz Festival, Orchestra Hall in Minneapolis, the Newport Jazz Festival, and Tanglewood. He’s here in Monterey to premiere a new work commissioned by the Festival, a tribute to American author John Steinbeck called “Cannery Row Suite.”

But first, Brubeck and the other members of his quartet—Bobby Militello on alto sax and flute, Michael Moore on bass, Randy Jones on drums—warm up with an appropriately bright and cheerful “Sunny Side of the Street.” Brubeck opens “Stormy Weather” with a tender solo; in comes Militello with the melody and we’re off. The big screen flashes close-ups of Brubeck’s hands, sculpted by the gods and blessed by the muses. A wistful “Over the Rainbow” is the perfect song for the Festival’s last night.

Brubeck rises and goes to the mike to set up the next song. “It’s Sunday, and we’d like to play a piece sacred to this day. It started as a Jewish chant, then Roman soldiers came into Jerusalem and decided it would make a great march.” He pauses. “Are there any old Catholics in the house?” We laugh. He continues, “People say to me, ‘Why don’t you play some old tunes?’ This one is 2,000 years old.” The quartet performs “Tantum Ergo.” It’s part of a larger work called the Pane Lingua Variations. You can hear it in its entirety on Telarc’s Classical Brubeck.

Back at the mike, Brubeck tells the crowd, “When [Monterey Jazz Festival general manager] Tim Jackson asked me to write an opera for tonight, I said no, no way. ‘Only an hour? Please?’ No. ‘What if you only develop three or four characters and make it a half-hour?’ I said, ‘I’ll think that over. It sounds more like something that would work at a jazz festival.’” More laughter.

Working closely with his wife and collaborator, Iola, who wrote the libretto, Brubeck penned a tribute to John Steinbeck and Cannery Row, the novel Steinbeck set in Monterey during the Depression. It’s a tale of hard times and colorful characters. The ones Brubeck chose to portray are Doc, a marine biologist; Dora, a madam; and Mack, one of “the boys” who inhabit the Palace Flophouse and Grill.

“I wrote difficult arias,” Brubeck explains, “almost impossible to sing. Tim [Jackson] said ‘Let’s do it, I’ve got the best people hired; we’ll throw it all together when we get here.” Brubeck was motivated by the fact that he trusts the Festival audience. “I’ve done many things here without much rehearsal,” he says. “Please understand that yesterday was the first day we could all get together.”

Jackson wasn’t lying when he promised Brubeck the “best people.” In the world premiere performance that unfolds on stage, Doc is played by Kurt Elling, Dora by Roberta Gambarini, and Mack by one of the Brubecks’ musical sons, Chris. The narration is by Steinbeck’s son Thom; black-and-white slides of historic Monterey on the stage’s big screen set the mood. The music is catchy, hummable, and complex.

Dora’s aria is a killer. Let’s remember that Gambarini left her hometown of Torino, Italy, just eight years ago with dreams of being a jazz singer. I first heard her at the Dakota Jazz Club in Minneapolis in May 2004, where she sang with Roy Hargrove. I liked her a lot but noticed that her Italian accent was pronounced. She returned to the Dakota in March 2006 as a special guest with Mark O’Connor’s Hot Swing Trio, and what a difference two years had made. Along the way, she shared stages with Hank Jones (with whom she also performed at Monterey), Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, Michael Brecker, Christian McBride, and Toots Thielemans. Her recently released debut CD, Easy to Love, has won raves.

Tonight she assumes the role of Dora with no problem. Through high notes, low notes, intervals and scatting, she inhabits the character. And she does it without music or lyrics.

Elling met up with Brubeck in New York City in June, where he had a glimpse of the challenges in store for him as Doc. “Dave was very gracious,” Elling told jazz writer Andrew Gilbert. “He had it [Doc’s part] pitched way up there and he put it in another key for me, a key that’s humane for a baritone.” On stage at the Arena, he nails it, which should come as no surprise to anyone who has heard Elling perform live, spinning stories and scats out of the air.

As Mack, Chris Brubeck sings and plays the bass trombone in good company: Joel Brown on vocals and guitar, and Peter “Madcat” Ruth on vocals and harmonica, an instrument that features prominently in Brubeck’s piece. They’re accompanied by a chorus from the University of the Pacific. It all holds together so tightly that it’s hard to believe they have had one day to rehearse. On the other hand, these are jazz musicians, accustomed to doing things on the fly.

I can’t say I loved “Cannery Row Suite.” But I’m glad I was in the audience to see it, and I’m even more glad that organizations like the Monterey Jazz Festival are willing and able to commission major new works by jazz artists. (Side note: Three cheers for the Guggenheim Foundation, which gave Patricia Barber a fellowship to write songs based on characters from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Barber’s deliciously dark and dense creations can be heard on her brand-new CD, Mythologies.)

Brubeck and Co. receive a standing ovation. The red curtain closes and the Arena lights come on. People fill the aisles, hoping there’s time enough to score a latte from the Starbucks booth or maybe a barbecued pork sandwich before the second half of the evening begins. Before long, Clint Eastwood returns to bring Oscar Peterson to the stage.

I have never seen Oscar Peterson perform live. Shortly before coming to Monterey, he sold out a six-night engagement at Yoshi’s in Oakland that earned mixed reviews. Writing for InsideBayArea.com, Jim Harrington noted that Peterson’s playing was “tentative to start” and his hand speed “wasn’t really up to his standards.” In the Contra Costa Times, Andrew Gilbert was more forthright, calling Peterson’s performance “all too painfully human” and “a poignant reminder that time catches up to even the fleetest.”

I stay for the first song and a half. Maybe it gets better; I’ll never know. What I do know is that this is not how I want to remember Oscar Peterson.

Dr. Lonnie Smith by John Whiting

My 2006 Monterey experience ends at the Nightclub, a venue I’ve grown especially fond of because it’s enclosed, warm, and near the exit, all good things at the end of a long day and a crisp night. Mocha in hand, I find a seat as close as possible to Dr. Lonnie Smith, the Ph.D. of the Hammond B3. He’s joined onstage by Peter Bernstein on guitar and Allison Miller on drums. Both more than hold their own in the presence of the mad doctor.

I’m most intrigued by Miller, first because she’s a girl drummer (a rarity in jazz; Terri Lyne Carrington also comes to mind), and second because she’s a dervish on stage. I learn later that Downbeat named her a “Rising Star Drummer,” she’s based in New York, and she has also toured with Natalie Merchant (another dervish). Plus she already has a CD out called 5 a.m. Stroll featuring Ray Drummond, Steve Wilson, Virginia Mayhew, and Bruce Barth. Ms. Miller, please come to Minneapolis/St. Paul soon.

Dr. Lonnie is in the middle of some crazy thing. He’s playing and singing “Misty” in a voice like Johnny Mathis. I’m as helpless as a kitten trying to figure out why. Next, he holds a high note for a ridiculously long time (singing, not playing). Someone in the audience shouts, “It’s that yoga s***!” (Does Dr. Lonnie do yoga? He looks like he does.) Then he channels Stevie Wonder in “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.” After that, he segues into a blues tune and some odd asides (“Hanky panky you shore is stanky/Hunky punky shore is funky!”). It’s surreal and hilarious.

Eventually, the white-bearded, turban-wearing Doctor gets down to business and gives us some songs from his new CD on Palmetto, Jungle Soul. A virtuosic “Willow Weep for Me.” A bluesy, bleak “And the World Weeps” with a she-done-me-wrong solo. A funky, hypnotic “Witch Doctor.” We’re under the spell of this hot little band.

And suddenly it’s over. Allison Miller packs up her drums. Peter Bernstein locks up his guitar. Smith signs autographs, poses for pictures, and hugs people. It’s a feel-good ending to an otherwise poignant evening. A few vendors are still holding on, but most are getting ready to go home. Time for us to do the same.

MJF/49: Charles Lloyd at the 2006 Monterey Jazz Festival: Still drunk with the music

In one of the most highly anticipated events of this year’s Monterey Jazz Festival, Charles Lloyd reprised Forest Flower, the recording he made at Monterey in 1966 that sold a million, catapulted him to fame, became the soundtrack of the Flower Power movement, and drove him into the woods at Big Sur for more than a decade. It wasn’t until the 1980s that he came out of musical retirement, and he has graced us with numerous recordings since, most recently Sangam, recorded live in Santa Barbara.

Charles Lloyd

Earlier on Saturday, journalists and photographers were treated to a private Q&A with Lloyd. Moderated by Andrew Gilbert, a freelance writer whose articles about jazz frequently appear in the San Francisco Chronicle, the conversation proved as freewheeling and adventuresome as Lloyd’s playing.

Lloyd began by asking his audience, “How may I serve you?” When Gilbert invited him to think back 40 years to Monterey and his now iconic quartet of that time—Keith Jarrett on piano, Jack DeJohnette on drums, Cecil McBee on bass—Lloyd replied, “We were drawn together; we were dreamers; we wanted to change the world with sound.” What were Lloyd’s expectations for this evening’s performance? None, he said, because “expectations ruin the greatest joy…. I’m happy to be here in this moment. I don’t resonate that the time was 40 years ago. I still feel younger than springtime in spirit because of the great beauty of this art form…. I’m still drunk with this music.”

Lloyd reflected on the loss of Billy Higgins, the drummer with the beatific smile who was Lloyd’s great friend and spiritual brother: “Master Higgins told me he often dreamed we played Forest Flower while flying on our backs.” Higgins died in May 2001 but is still very present in Lloyd’s life. Lloyd believes that Higgins guided him to Eric Harland, the drummer in his current quartet.

It happened during a September week in 2001. Lloyd was in New York City, scheduled to play the Blue Note starting on Monday, September 11. We know what happened on that day. Lloyd began his Blue Note stand on Friday, September 15, with the first in a series of free concerts meant to give New Yorkers hope. Later that night, he heard Harland play in a jam band. “I knew Higgins sent him to me,” Lloyd says, “because of that radiant smile.” Sangam is their first recording together. It’s a trio effort with table master Zakir Hussain, and a tribute to Billy Higgins.

Late in the Q&A, someone asks Lloyd, “How do you feel about playing Forest Flower tonight?” Never predictable, Lloyd answers, “I didn’t know I would be playing Forest Flower tonight. You’re assuming I’ll play Forest Flower…. No one has ever told me what to play. I’ve made a career of that,” he adds wryly, “but it’s not much of a career.”

Thankfully, he does play it, and we’re grateful. This time, Geri Allen is at the piano, queenly in a red silk caftan. Eric Harland is fierce and beautiful on the drums. Rueben Rogers mans the bass; sometimes a single note from his instrument is all we hear, and it’s enough. Lloyd’s saxophone whirls and caresses; his flute dances, as does Lloyd himself, standing behind Harland while the others play.

Is this music really 40 years old? It doesn’t sound dated. And it doesn’t sound modern. It’s music of the moment, and the forest flower blooms again.

P.S. The Arena at the Monterey Jazz Festival is very large. Thoughtfully, the Festival provides a giant screen and plentiful close-ups. Kudos to the camera operators, who almost make you forget you’re sitting hundreds of feet away from the stage.

Originally published at JazzPolice.com

MJF/49: Eldar and Elling at the 2006 Monterey Jazz Festival

A great jazz festival is a frustrating experience. You want to be in several places at once, but ultimately you must choose: the Yellowjackets with Kurt Elling? Or the Robert Glasper Trio, or Roy Hargrove & RH Factor, or up-and-coming singer Sasha Dobson, or young powerhouse pianist Eldar? They all performed at approximately the same time on the opening night of the Monterey Jazz Festival, the longest-running jazz festival in the world.

Now in its 49th year, presented by Verizon, the three-day festival boasts an impressive lineup of revered elders. Hank Jones, Oscar Peterson, Dave Brubeck, McCoy Tyner, and Charles Lloyd are all scheduled to appear starting on Saturday night. As we made our way down the fairgrounds, peering into various venues—Dizzy’s Den, the Night Club/Bill Berry Stage—we stopped at the open-air Garden Stage, where Eldar was blazing through Oscar Peterson’s “Place St. Henri.”

Eldar by John Whiting

Backed by Sicilian bassist Marco Panascia and Brooklyn-via-Texas drummer Kendrick Scott, the 19-year-old prodigy from Kyrgyzstan continued with an original composition, “Daily Living,” a blend of thundering chords and lightning-fast runs. 

Eldar exudes strength; if you ever shake his hand in greeting (as we did at the Dakota in Minneapolis when he played there in November 2005), watch out. Yet he’s also capable of sweet delicacy and restraint. 

We stayed through a bluesy version of Bobby Timmons’s “Moanin’,” whose center belonged to bassist Panascia. At times, Eldar’s playing sounded like piano, twelve hands.

The Garden Stage is an ideal place to start your Monterey experience. Like the larger Arena, where the big guns play (Arena tickets sold out months ago), it’s open-air. The combination of live, in-the-moment jazz with salty California breezes and starry skies is intoxicating. People bring in lawn chairs or sit on the benches or bleachers, often on foam cushions they bought at a festival years ago and have carted around ever since. It’s a diverse, relaxed, and enthusiastic crowd of all ages, including snoozing babies in strollers and elegant ladies in fancy hats. At a time when many jazz artists play to sparse houses, it feels good to be surrounded by people who love the music.

From the Garden Stage, we went to the Arena to hear Kurt Elling with the Clayton-Hamilton Jazz Orchestra. Elling is the festival’s Artist-in-Residence. He’s been visiting Monterey since April, performing at concerts and participating in youth education programs. The Festival completes his residency, and he’s omnipresent, headlining performances and discussions for all three days. On Friday, following an earlier performance with the Yellowjackets,  Elling waited backstage while the magnificent Clayton-Hamilton Jazz Orchestra warmed up the crowd with rousing versions of “Silver Celebration” (a tribute to Horace Silver) and Ray Brown’s arrangement of Johnny Hodges’ “Squatty Roo.”

Kurt Elling and the Clayton-Hamilton Jazz Orchestra by John Whiting

Conductor and bassist John Clayton introduced the band (including 88-year-old trumpeter Snooky Young), explained that it has three leaders (himself, his brother, saxophonist Jeff Clayton, and drummer Jeff Hamilton) “to share the debt” and invited Elling back on stage. Elling began by performing three of the many songs he’s known for: “Close Your Eyes,” “My Foolish Heart,” and “Man in the Air,” co-written by Elling and Hobgood for and about Wayne Shorter.

Elling was in superb voice. Surprising for those of us who’ve seen him in concert several times over the years (at the Dakota in Minneapolis, at Birdland in New York, at Chicago’s Orchestra Hall), he has cut off his trademark ponytail and shaved his goatee. With his hair slicked back, impeccably dressed as always, he’s looking sleek and wolfish.

He thanked us for staying up late and for “bringing your fleece-lined items.” By now, the night air was more than chilly, and the Arena’s infamous metal folding chairs were icy cold. Elling encouraged us to stuff our sleeves with sawdust (there’s plenty of it on the Arena’s floor; it doubles as an equestrian stadium) and get to know our neighbors. “As promised,” he said,” we have something new.” He and the orchestra premiered a work in progress: “Red Man-Black Man,” which explores connections between African-American and American Indian music. Clayton was inspired to write it when he heard Elling perform at Birdland last January; Elling contributed original lyrics and added poems by Native American poet Maurice Kennedy and African-American poet Gwendolyn Brooks.

The “work-in-progress” description fits; I’m not sure “Red Man-Black Man” is entirely successful yet. It seems a little strange to hear Elling sing about being one with the grass and wrestling with the thunder, and at one point the percussion consisted of musicians dropping chains on the stage. But it had some lovely moments and a big finish. Most of the audience seemed to enjoy it and gave it a standing ovation. As people began to leave, Elling and the orchestra treated the rest of us to a lilting, affectionate “Lil’ Darlin’,”with Jon Hendricks’ lyrics bookended by Elling’s own.

Earlier, when Elling told the crowd to expect “something new,” a fan shouted “Winelight!” “Come to Dizzy’s Den,” he responded, giving us a hint of what to expect on Saturday night at 8:30…except we’ll probably be at the Arena celebrating the 40th Anniversary of “Forest Flower” with Charles Lloyd and his quartet. Or at the Night Club for the Jeff Hamilton Trio. Or at the Starbucks Coffee House Gallery for Hiromi. It’s so hard to choose.

Kurt Elling signs autographs after the show, by John Whiting