John Prine on Mars

We had to leave the John Prine concert early to catch the last train home, which sounds like the beginning of a John Prine song. We didn't get to hear the last few songs or the encore. I would have liked to hear it all, but what I heard and experienced was food for my soul.

I am one of those folks who were "folkies" back in the 70's. I was underage and faking my way into Earl's and The Quiet Knight. I wondered if I had only imagined how wonderful and profound it was, and how simple.

"Day time

makes me wonder why you left me

Night time

makes me wonder what I said

Next time

are the words I'd like to plan on, but

Last time

was the only thing you said."

Waukegan, where we saw the concert, felt a little like Mars. Nothing open except the theater, and we were smack dab in the middle of downtown Waukegan. After we ate at Fong's, we started over to the theater and while there may have been 10 or 12 cars on the street, we didn't see any need for the police to block the road in front of the theater. But they did. Inside we were overwhelmed with assistance. Ushers (mostly elderly, it must be said) were so helpful it made you feel as if they were setting you up for some very strange goings on.

"Come right in - just go right in - we'll get you all in real quick" spoken in rushed and slightly panicked voices with the subtext of "WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE?" Maybe this was a larger than normal crowd. Maybe they were concerned about us. Maybe this was Mars.

In our seats the lights dimmed for the opener, Iris DeMent. Big applause. The audience seemed very excited to see her.

But evidently in Mars, when everyone is in their seats, there's a custom that as soon as the lights go down, you get up and leave the theater in groups. I have never seen anything like it. Up and down and out and in and groups of 5 guys and couples and they were all in a hurry. It got to the point that I was sure I was missing some give away in the lobby. Then we were in intermission and people were literally hurling themselves out of their seats to get - well, I'm not sure where they were going or what they hoped to find there but they were determined to get there NOW. We'd been sitting there for 45 minutes, tops. Maybe there was a bomb scare we hadn't heard about. Maybe they have extremely weak bladders on Mars.

Finally - lights down, stage lights up and forget about Mars, I was home. And so was everyone else. With no introduction John Prine walked onstage with his bassist and guitar player to a tremendous ovation. And this crazy, unsettled, attention deficit audience became laser focused on his every word, motion and note.

I've been to lots of concerts, seen alot of live music. But there was something really special in this room. In the middle of a song, as Prine hit the lines that break your heart, people would applaud or scream out their appreciation. His songs aren't exactly upbeat if you aren't familiar with them. Best known is probably Angel From Montgomery. When he got to the lines:

"How the hell can a person

Go to work in the morning

Come home in the evening and

Have nothing to say?"

the audience couldn't wait till the end of the song to let him know how much they loved those words and voiced their opinion right then.

I suppose I wouldn't have been surprised if the lyrics had been:
"I'm proud to be an Okie from Muskokie" or
"I'm proud to be an American where at least I know I'm free."

But Prine's lyrics are sad and lonely and cut so close to the bone that it makes you want to inhale like your heart just got a paper cut.

"That's the way that the world goes 'round.
You're up one day and the next you're down.
It's half an inch of water and you think you're gonna drown.
That's the way that the world goes 'round."

Throughout the night, I had a sense that somewhere there was a phantom group of back-up singers. But everytime I heard it, it seemed to stop. I realized that it was the audience, singing along softly. They didn't want to get in the way of his performance, but it wasn't enough to hear these songs, they wanted to share them.

"There's a hole in Daddy's arm

Where all the money goes

Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose.

Little pitchers have big ears

Don't stop to count the years

Sweet songs never last too long

On broken radios"

The audience reaction reminded me of the poetry slam I attended last week. Tim was competing in Louder Than A Bomb, the world's largest teen poetry slam. As each one of the young authors got up, the others would applaud in support, as if they were not competing against each other for just a few slots to go to the national bout. And as each performer left the stage the others would rush to their side to hug and congratulate them for capturing and reflecting life so it could be experienced anew. These pieces are rooted in hip-hop rhythms and when they are really good you feel like you can dance to them. Response is built-in and invited and the audience knows and obliges. During each poem, the rapt attention was broken only when the performer put words, rythym, movement and voice together to touch us with images or ideas that were so true there was nothing to do but yell or applaud or stomp feet or slam tables in recognition and appreciation.

That reaction might be expected from a bunch of teenagers. But not at a concert filled with 50-something folks. We know how to wait till the song is over to applaud, to hold our appreciation, to be cool. But song after song, the audience couldn't hold back their feelings. And these voices were mostly male. Grown men sang along in profound recognition of the shared truth in Prine's lyrics.

"Well, I leaned on my left leg

in the parking lot dirt

And Cathy was closing the lights

A June bug flew from the warmth he once knew

And I wished for once I weren't right

Why we used to laugh together

And we'd dance to any old song.

Well, ya know, she still laughs with me

But she waits just a second too long."

Jeanette Winterson, in her book of essays called Art Objects, writes that art does object to "the lie against life that it is pointless and mean. The message coloured through time is not lack but abundance, Not silence but many voices. Art, all art is the communication cord that cannot be snapped by indifference or disaster. Against the daily death it does not die."

Yes. And when we see, hear or read such objections , we are compelled to shout our assent right then. Even on Mars.

HyPa Jazz Fest

The day began with the chill of dripping rain and threatening thundershowers. So what craziness propelled hundreds to the South Side, prepared to sit outside in the unpredictable elements all day? The Hyde Park Jazz Festival, of course. And as the day turned from grey to stunning, the music was the star.

I’ve not attended a main stage set on the Plaisance before, so I can’t compare the previous set up to this year, but the new configuration seemed to work well and the space allotted seemed to fit the crowd. The venue was not without its problems and hiccups (most notably the interminable sound set up which lasted well into a few of the sets) but technical issues fell to the background as the individual acts took center stage.

First up was Bethany Pickens who dealt admirably with the initial sound problems and delays. Nothing ever deters Bethany from giving her best and Charles Heath on drums and Junius Paul on bass were plainly ready to start the 5th Annual Fest with a bang. Playing all original tunes, the group took no time to hit their stride and by the time they had finished, the crowd had begun to build and the clouds and drizzle had given way to mixed skies and a hope that we might miss the dreaded rain.

We spent the time between sets walking the midway and were amazed at how many more vendors were in attendance this year. The WBEZ booth was back again; gotta say those people were very brave to take on the abuse heaped on them (by at least me) at both the Chicago Jazz Fest and the Hyde Park affair. Rather than belabor my protest I walked over to the WDCB table where I thanked them for their continued commitment to the music we all love.

Next up was Chevere. Warmed by the wine in hand and by a bright sun, who’d decided to make a welcome appearance, we were back in our seats in time to hear Alejo Proveda exclaim to the rest of the group “I say we just start and let them work out the sound while we are playing!” While it is true that Chevere could light a small city with their power, cooler heads prevailed. This band obviously enjoys playing together and the audience loves being part of the experience. Just a few weeks from their killer set on the Pritzker Stage at Millenium Park, they were tight as ever. Soon the first dancer of the day began to bust her moves – a little girl whose body could not stay still as she moved from polite foot movements to literally diving and rolling as she tried to match the amazing percussionists. Ruben Alvarez on timbales and Joe Rendon on congas along with Alejo created their magic while laughing and trying to surprise and one-up each other. Howard Levy only played two tunes on the harmonica which wasn’t enough for me, but then again, I wonder how much of Howard’s harp it would take for me to say uncle? Chicago Hambone (Chris Cameron) hammed it up on the organ just the way we like it. Ernie Denov on guitar, Steve Eisen on sax and flute and the wonderful Eric Hochberg on bass and vocal just threw the joy around like it was free! And, of course, it was.

It was then off to the Robie House, and a few minutes of Bossa Tres enjoyed with a large crowd on the street, as that venue is as small as it is popular. The Festival’s producers have helped matters by placing speakers in strategic areas to allow passers-by to “get a taste”. Moving right along, we headed for the Oriental Institute to see Tomeka Reid. We arrived early and were able to sneak in to sample the Sarah Marie Young Quartet while we waited. This young woman has received rave reviews from Neil Tesser, and I wanted to see what the fuss was about. I came out a believer of both her and her pianist/composer Tom Vaitsas. There had been some weirdness with the lights in the house and as we entered, the place was very dark. As someone who has been onstage alot, I can tell you this is a scary situation – one that threatens a performer with total loss of control. Sarah Marie with her dark hair and black dress was almost invisible, but she displayed aplomb beyond her years, joking about the situation and offering really original vocals. I loved watching her move as well, her youthful energy seemed to propel her naturally as she sang. The highlight for me was three poems by Langston Hughes set to gorgeous music by Vaitsas and delivered by Young with just the right amount of sincerity. Hughes’ words are so powerful they just need someone to understand them in order to bring them to life, and Sarah Marie understood them just right. Overdone they would have seemed ponderous, but she danced on top of the poetry and trusted the audience to discover its intrinsic meaning and beauty. There is a young woman to watch for real. Thanks, Neil!

Sadly, we had stayed too long and there was no room at the very small Tomeka Reid inn next door by the time we were ready. My listening companion had another idea. He suggested we check out whatever was happening at the Hyde Park Union Church, one of our favorite venues, so that is where we went.

Justefan Band may have played the set of the day. I see an awful lot of live jazz and I have to say that most of the music that I hear is great. But what really takes everything to another level for me is when the musicians are clearly emotionally connected to what they are playing, not just running thru the changes. Chevere always delivers in that way and Sarah Marie Young with her obvious love of the material and enjoyment of performing it had kept that theme going. Justefan knocked it out of the park.

Whether it was the beautiful solo vibraphone performance of “Misty”, dedicated to the memory of “the first teacher who taught me to improvise” by Justin Thomas, or trumpeter Marquis Hill’s marvelous playing of Coletrane’s “Naima” over the beloved bass line of “A Love Supreme” set down by Nathan Brown’s sure hand, or a trippingly fast “Spiderman Theme” (otherwise known as Coltrane’s “Mr. PC”) which had everyone on stage laughing as they made it safely to the finish line – the feeling in that sacred space was one of gratitude from musicians and audience alike. Drummer Lawrence Haskin rounded out that terrific quartet.

Back to the Plaisance for some ribs, more wine, and a set by Paul Wertico’s Mid-East Mid-West Alliance. John Molder’s guitar is always stupefying to me; no idea at all how that furious sound comes out of such a mild, even graceful guy, but it does. You gotta love a set where Wertico announces that the sheet he is about to cover his drum set with “has been checked for bed bugs” and then proceeds to play the drums under the sheet. I can’t say it was my favorite set, but that is the great thing about the Jazz Fest. Lots of chances to hear music you would otherwise never search out and see how you feel about it.

Finally, for me, the biggest surprise of the day. Terisa Griffen. This self-named Soulzaphrenic was not someone I was aware of but when Orbert Davis says listen – I listen. What a voice! By this time the weather was not prime for any vocalist, it was cold and slightly damp and the wind was blowing pianist Ryan Cohen’s music all over the stage. Regardless, this woman took the stage and gave due notice to all contenders that a serious jazz singer had arrived. Power, subtlety, swing and fearlessness – onstage with Ari Brown (smiling like mad at her crazy good vocals as he jumped in on a tune), Ernie Adams and Orbert himself – Chicago jazz royalty all - she was the picture of a woman finding herself in the exact right spot, and loving it. And the crowd loved her back.

Too old and tired for the late night jam – we headed home. I’ll let you know when the smile fades from my face, ok?

60th Anniversary - A Toast

Something special happened today.  But in a way, it happens all the time.

We are here to mark the day 60 years ago that Margaret Brenner and Robert Rogers promised to love and cherish each other for the rest of their lives.

Two of us in the room today were lucky enough to witness that first promise. But all of us are lucky because we got to watch through the years as they made that promise real, over and over again.  In the good times, in the bad times – which make you dizzy as they flip flop back and forth with astonishing speed – they always chose to make the promise again.

All of us have heard the questions about growing up in a family with so many children. How many bottles of milk, loaves of bread, loads of laundry, bedrooms and bathrooms did it take? 

What people didn’t ask, what they couldn’t ask was – how much love did it take?  How many sleepless nights, hearts full of pride, minds full of worry, and prayers to the almighty does it take to raise a family like yours?

To say that they couldn’t have known what they were getting into back in 1951 is to put it mildly.  But very quickly after they were married, they moved away from family and friends and had to figure out what they were made of.  And they did. They figured out that when they worked together as a team, when they put their promise into action, they were capable of doing amazing things; for their community, for their church and for their family.  And they kept making that choice again and again – in the privacy of their own hearts. 

Today we got to watch as they made their promise again, and it was a very special moment to share with them.    

And so I am thrilled to ask you to raise your glasses with me:

Mom and Dad, you are surrounded in love and admiration by your brothers and sisters, your children, your grandchildren and your great grandchildren.  We honor you for your promise to each other, for your fidelity to that promise, and for all of your remarkable achievements.  We congratulate you as you celebrate your 60^th Wedding Anniversary.

Miles Davis at the Showcase!

Trumpeter Victor Garcia found out only last Thursday that he would be stepping in for internationally known Brazilian trumpeter Claudio Roditi the next night to lead an all-Miles Davis set at the Jazz Showcase. (Roditi was unable to get to Chicago due to the weather, and his gig has been rescheduled for June.) Garcia, whose own Chicago Afro Latin Jazz Ensemble has been very well-received, said he was thrilled to get an opportunity to “perform this music which I’ve studied forever”.

The show was part of the Miles Davis Festival, a four month celebration of his 85th birthday year, featuring a unique collaboration between the Auditorium Theater and jazz clubs throughout the city. If this date was any indication, the city has much to celebrate.

Garcia’s quartet included Jim Trompeter on piano, Larry Gray on bass and Greg Artry on drums. The beautiful “Someday My Prince Will Come” featured Gray, aptly dubbed the “Poet Laureate of the double bass” by New Orleans musician Donald Harrison. Never predictable, Gray may pick, pluck, strum or bow his way through a solo. He effectively uses even the spaces between the notes to take the tune where he wants it to go, and deposits his listeners right back in the groove he found them.

For his part, Artry delivered several blistering solos, notably on Sonny Rollins' "Airegin" which Garcia rightly described as “a burner”. At one point, he was playing so hard a drumstick went flying over his head but there was another in his hand in milliseconds and he never, as they say, missed a beat.

Garcia himself has a great tone, mellow and smooth, which he used to terrific effect in “Blue in Green”. The tune featured Trompeter on piano, and as he and Garcia traded solos, they created a mood that was so delightful the audience ignored the usual knee-jerk response of applauding as soon as one musician stops playing and instead let the music build uninterrupted to the end. But Garcia can also blow those high, staccato sharp ones as he did in "Stella by Starlight" and "ESP."

The festival is several great ideas rolled into one; allowing musicians to pay tribute to Miles Davis by exploring his tunes while bringing their own contributions; creating synergy between the clubs and the Auditorium by offering discounts to the Auditorium concerts for attendance at the club venues; and, finally, by devoting four months to Davis’ legacy.

Mean Jazz

I moved to the corner of Michigan and Roosevelt so I could walk to the Jazz Showcase. I've been delighted to become a regular there - saving the monthly calendars Joe puts on the tables each month and highlighting every performance I've seen.

It's fabulous.

New Year's night, I went to see Roy Hargrove. I caught him at the JS last year, and was blown away. Besides enjoying the music, it was one of the tightest sets I'd ever seen. To me this speaks of a group that cares about professionalism and performance values - and I loved it.

You may have read Howard Reich's review of the first night of this year's set. If not, it was a rare rave from a man whose tastes don't always match mine and you can read it here:

http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2010-12-30/entertainment/ct-live-0101-roy-hargrove-20101230_1_trumpeter-roy-hargrove-hargrove-and-alto-saxophonist-montez-coleman/2

I just KNEW I was in for a great evening of music. And the first set was extraordinary - everything I'd hoped and more. I wasn't thinking I'd write about it, so I didn't keep a set list, but they did several of Hargrove's own tunes. It was terrific.

There were so many people who had reserved for the 2nd set that I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stay, and when I got a seat I was thrilled.

I knew something was odd when Roy came up with a brownie in his hand and spent a few minutes talking about it. But you know, whatever. On the first tune the drummer, Montez Coleman , seemed, well, shall we say EXTRA PUMPED? And I noticed that the pianist, Sullivan Fortner, and the drummer were having their own private joke - trying to catch each other's eyes and making faces and laughing. Ok, still, the music was good and whatever.

During the 2nd tune, Roy left the stage. He came back up to take a solo and then introduced the terrific young Chicago trumpeter, Marquis Hill. Here is a guy that is probably thrilled to be sitting in w/the group. As he starts playing, the drummer decides to abandon the drums and begin to clap in rythym instead. When Fortner joins him, of course, so does the audience. It was odd, but Marquis acquitted himself well. Towards the end of the solo, Coleman jumps back on drums - again with a volume and intensity uncalled for by the tune, but insuring that Hill would leave the stage to great applause.

He was followed by a Justin Robinson sax solo. Coleman is obviously not finished with his joke and begins clapping again. This time Fortner starts to add off beat claps which of course distract from the solo, but not absurdly so. Until they mess up. Now it is just a couple of guys cracking themselves up, and Robinson stops dead in the middle of a phrase. He turns to Coleman and gestures his anger by grabbing his crotch.

Not sure how, but the bass player, Ameen Saleem, was the only one to keep playing, to hold the whole thing together. Of course Coleman and Fortner are able to jump back in at will, and do. Hargrove and Robinson finish out the tune.

At this point I see that Hargrove is having a really hard time opening his eyes. No problem, he plays a ballad - flugelhorn at the ready. I can't recall what the tune was, but its a standard we all know from the American Songbook. It is gorgeous, and as he finishes Saleem starts a bass solo. Hargrove, as is his custom, goes upstage to sit behind the drummer. Suddenly I hear someone talking. It is disturbing and takes a minute for me to see that Coleman is laughing and that Hargrove is shouting out chords to Saleem, who has a frozen smile on his face as he tries to finish while not losing concentration.

So, I leave. I'm reminded of Neal Tesser's comments a couple of weeks ago about Ravi Coltrane's set - that Coltrane seemed to be working out his ideas on a live audience. Tesser felt that when an audience pays for a show, they should get a fully realized show - not a woodshed experience. I think I am stating his thoughts correctly, but you can read them here:

http://www.examiner.com/jazz-music-in-chicago/ravi-coltrane-s-disapppointing-chicago-sojourn

At least with Ravi, there were ideas, though not fully developed. Hargrove's disrespect for his audience, for the Showcase, and for his fellow musicians were totally offensive. Perhaps this is part of the reason that he is not playing concert venues - perhaps he and his bandmates while musically mature are too personally undisciplined to pull off the excellence of which they are obviously capable night after night.

And it left the impression that Hargrove thinks his audiences are not savvy enough to recognize junk when they see it. I'm with Robinson.