At a time when references to jazz in public discourse overwhelmingly link the music to some imagined past, whether in the form of Blue Note reissues or a coffee commercial, the importance of a festival that celebrates the music’s continuing relevance can’t be overstated.
But trying to get a grip on jazz’s contemporary identity is no easy task. Take the Jazz Now Festival’s international guest, Jim Black, for example. The New York drummer says he doesn’t see himself as a jazz musician and that his band AlasNoAxis (which didn’t perform in Sydney) doesn’t really play anything that’s “jazzy”.
“When I hear the word jazz I think of more classic jazz, more of something that is a picture of what jazz was, what made it great,” he explained. “You think of Parker, Monk, Duke Ellington and Coltrane and, yeah, you can almost cap it off there.”
It’s not a new observation. Decades ago Ellington complained that the jazz label was restrictive. “I don’t listen to terms like modern jazz,” he said. “I listen for those individualists, like Charlie Parker was.”
Not that the issue of nomenclature really matters, but it does highlight the fact that jazz as it is currently played is even less cohesive and easily defined than it was when the giants of the music flew the flag for the art form and inspired armies of imitators to follow their lead. Mercurial and unabashedly promiscuous, it has spread globally, melding with forms as diverse as Nordic folk, rock, electronic, contemporary classical, African and Latin music, and in the process making a notional mainstream harder to locate.
Trumpeter Scott Tinkler made the point explicitly when he said before his trio’s dazzling performance that the only two things he can point to that are definitely jazz are perfume and Honda cars, referring to the products that bear the jazz or (JAZZ) name.
The festival celebrates this tension between the term jazz and the increasingly diverse music that is held, sometimes uneasily, in its embrace. Whether or not artists like Black or Tinkler call themselves jazz musicians is irrelevant.
And so to the music. I have to admit that, despite being impressed by Jim Black on record, I felt a tinge of anxiety at the prospect of sitting through a set of solo percussion, the opening night’s featured performance. It was clearly a failure of imagination on my part because his playing was utterly compelling: virtuosity was always in the service of the music and never present for its own sake.
The drummer was a mesmeric presence. His movements almost took on the form dance as he stroked, thrashed and coaxed sounds from his kit and range of found percussion. Thunderous clouds of sound were combined with highly detailed rhythmic patterns, all linked by an undeniable logic. The programmed electronic sounds added both textural variety and a platform from which he was able to bounce off in other directions. Interestingly, Black directly acknowledged his artistic antecedents with a rendition of One for Big Sid, Max Roach’s tribute to Sid Catlett.
Contrary to expectations and despite an impressive start, Black’s quartet, which featured bassist Lloyd Swanton, Phil Slater on trumpet and guitarist Carl Dewhurst, found it hard to get out of second gear. The initial atmospherics, which sounded as though they’d be at home in a David Lynch film, were rich in possibilities but were largely undeveloped. It was a reminder that, even in the most talented hands, improvisation is a precarious business. And that, of course, is why it’s so endlessly fascinating.
In contrast, 20th Century Dog, led by bassist Cameron Undy, quickly found its groove, producing a sonic travelogue through mood and texture. The spirit of the electric Miles was evident but the music had a more contemporary edge with Dewhurst, in particular, demonstrating his impressive vocabulary in a manner that was absent when he performed with Black’s group.
On a different dynamic plane, Bernie McGann and Paul Grabowsky performed an intimate set of standards. The pianist imbued his playing with more feeling than I can remember hearing for some time, while the saxophonist contained his characteristically fiery attack, choosing instead a slow burn. The deep reading of the material was at times ravishing but one sensed that the duo could take their interaction considerably further.
Sometimes too much music – regardless of quality – is, well, too much. By the conclusion of Friday night’s proceedings the Studio was not much more than half full.
The evening started with the Elana Stone Band. I hadn’t heard the singer and pianist before but she has developed a dedicated following by all accounts. Her original jazz-pop tunes – some heavily influenced by Joni Mitchell – varied in quality but were well presented and equally well received. Yet I was left wondering what message the organizers were trying to send in their selection of such a mainstream group. Is Stone really the most interesting jazz singer in Sydney at the moment?
Richard Nunns and Judy Bailey’s ancient-modern duets, featuring traditional Maori instruments and piano, were quite sublime. In a digital age that offers a limitless sonic palette, Nunns’s performance on an array of wind, string and percussion instruments created an other-worldy atmosphere and a sense of wonder. Bailey did a remarkable job, providing both a framework and counterpoint for these haunting sounds. However, the pair were asked to perform for far too long and consequently the music became repetitious and the audience restless. It was no fault of the musicians that there was a palpable sense of relief when the set finally finished.
The night ended with Scott Tinkler’s loquacious trumpet. The blazing energy and seemingly endless flow of ideas emanating from his horn were a festival highlight. But it wasn’t a one-man show. The rhythm section – Simon Barker on drums and bassist Brett Hirst – were ideal collaborators, following his every twist and turn, and consistently creating harmonic and rhythmic pathways along which the trumpeter could charge. Barker’s musical intelligence – his melodic touches as much as his propulsive muscle – was particularly impressive.
Chris Abrahams began his piano solo as though stuck in a groove. But stasis slowly gave way to a thorough exploration of the instrument’s range. Single note droplets became a shower of sound as he produced dense clusters and used his fists as mallets on the keyboard. The arc of the improvisation was so well crafted that you were sorry when it finished.
From the Ornette-inspired opening to the fog-horn close, Miroslav Bukovsky’s The Five Bells Suite performed by Ten Part Invention was a powerful, though overly long, evocation of Kenneth Slessor’s celebrated poem. Tony Barry’s reading of the work was spellbinding. Unfortunately, the images projected onto a screen behind the ensemble added little to the overall effect and were occasionally distracting.
The festival will continue to next year and hurray for that; it’s a wonderful showcase for the disparate musics that claim a jazz heritage. But a final word to the organizers: while the cabaret style set-up creates a pleasant informality, the manner in which the tables and chairs were arranged made for a cramped and uncomfortable listening experience. The standard configuration offers good sight lines and padded seating for all, and is the better option.