Rock Heritage

John Cale and The Heritage Orchestra perform Paris 1919
Royal Festival Hall – 5th March 2010

Having never seen the great John Cale live before, and with the knowledge that he would be performing his superb ‘Paris 1919’ album in full, I’d been eagerly anticipating this concert for some time. I use the word ‘concert’ rather than gig because that is very much what it was – a stately, reverential and, for the most part, somewhat uninspired recreation of Cale’s 1973 hymn to cold war Europe, coupled with a rather short and ungenerous second half of more adventurous pieces for the band.

‘Paris 1919’ is rightly regarded as one of Cale’s more conventional albums. Whilst it has rich orchestral arrangements, it’s very much a set of melodic pop songs and there is very little hint of Cale’s interest in the avant garde, or of the poised confrontation of The Velvet Underground. The recording, however, is beautifully nuanced and with members of Little Feat in the original band, even the languid ballads threaten to tip into a lithe groove.

Yet when the band finally joins the orchestra onstage after a somewhat unprofessional and uncertain pause, the opening ‘A Child’s Christmas in Wales’ simply lacks punch. Perhaps it’s something to do with drummer Michael Jerome playing an unconventional kit, largely sticking to brushes and providing the kick from a cajon. The problem isn’t confined just to this song, unfortunately, with the entire rendition of the album seeming slick, over-rehearsed and lacking any injection of immediacy or inspiration.

The arrangements seemed to suffer from overthinking how best to combine band and orchestra. Perhaps wary of cutting through the string section, guitarist Dustin Boyer repeatedly resorted to a clichéd and grating distorted rock ballad guitar sound that undermined the sensitivities of the songs. Rather than touching or affecting, the album’s ballads ended up overcooked and bordering on histrionic. The album’s livelier moments, such as ‘Macbeth’ (moved to the end of the set presumably to create a rousing finale), seemed to lack teeth. Only ‘Graham Greene’, one of my least favourite songs on the album, seemed to achieve a fresh impetus – less playful but more insistent than the studio version.

If the original recording has a significant fault, it’s that Cale’s consistently double tracked vocals are often uncomfortably flat. Tonight, his voice sounded stronger, more confident and more articulate. The intelligent, wry wordplay of much of the album’s lyrics at least came through with clarity and purpose. This made it all the more unfortunate that the sound of the musicians was so muddy and undefined. At one point, a near constant low level feedback from the horn section threatened to completely destroy the mood.

After a short break (the brevity of which certainly caught out those who insisted on another trip to the bar), the group returned to perform some choice selections from Cale’s career. These included a wiry, claustrophobic interpretation of The Velvet Underground’s ‘Femme Fatale’ (intercut with ‘Rosegarden Funeral of Sores’), a somewhat dreamy ‘Amsterdam’ and an outstanding, clamorous, deeply weird deconstruction of ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. In this short section of the concert, the band played so much more intuitively and intelligently, crafting thrilling and futuristic music. I would have appreciated more of this. Both orchestra and bombast return for a rapturously applauded ‘Hedda Gabbler’.

The concert has been well received elsewhere in the press, and the audience afforded Cale a rather uncritical standing ovation. Yet, to me, it all seemed rather perfunctory and ungenerous – an example of getting a job done rather than anything more artistically adventurous. The performance of ‘Paris 1919’, curiously unsatisfying as it was, didn’t even provide the warm glow of nostalgia one might reasonably expect. Perhaps there is a broader problem with this recent trend of performing classic albums in full – but if classical audiences pay to see complete symphonies, I don’t really see the difference. For a large portion of popular music’s history now, the album has been the nearest equivalent to a full composed work, and reports of its death are no doubt greatly exaggerated. Still, any attempt to produce a tasteful facsimile of the original work, rather than something living, breathing and challenging, ought to be avoided at all costs.

Celebrating a Polymath

Ian Carr - A Celebration of a Life in Music
Nikki Yeoh
Art Themen, Norma Winstone, Michael Garrick, Don Rendell, Dave Green, Trevor Tomkins
Musicians from Royal College of Music, Guy Barker, Tim Whitehead
Nucleus Revisited: Geoff Castle, Mark Wood, Rob Statham, Nic France, Tim Whitehead, Chris Batchelor, Phil Todd, plus guests John Marshall and Ray Russell
Queen Elizbeth Hall, 23rd February


Given his achievements as a jazz musician, a composer, a pioneer of jazz-rock fusion and also as a writer and educator, this concert celebration of the great Ian Carr (who died from Alzheimer’s disease last year) was always going to be an ambitious task. Luckily, it had been carefully planned, satisfying those in the audience who knew Ian well (I myself was one of his students at WAC in North London) and offering a neat snapshot for the uninitiated.

The words often seemed as vital and important as the music. The musings and memories of Nikki Yeoh, Julian Joseph and Michael Garrick captured Ian’s character (his breadth of knowledge, his passions for literature as well as music, his encouragement and his occasionally acid tongue) with real detail and affection, with Garrick even veering into an uncanny impression.

The concert opened with a short solo set from Nikki Yeoh, a star student of Ian’s, who spoke openly and honestly about his inspirational teaching. Her ‘Dance of Two Small Bears’ seemed appropriately indebted to Keith Jarrett (who, along with Miles Davis, represented the pinnacle of musical achievement for Ian), delightfully playful and vibrant but with a deeper, more romantic substance.

Yeoh was followed by a group lead by Michael Garrick, and featuring members of the great Rendell-Carr quintet. The rhythm section of Dave Green and Trevor Tomkins seemed more pensive and less propulsive, but compositions such as ‘Dusk Fire’ and ‘Voices’ still have a commanding resonance. The involvement of the great vocalist Norma Winstone elevated the performance, even if she occasionally threatened to interject too frequently. The appearance of an aged but still powerful Don Rendell drew deserved cheers from the audience.

The second half began with arguably the concert’s highlight, the London premier of Carr’s work for jazz trumpet, saxophone and small string orchestra ‘Northumbrian Sketches’, originally commissioned twenty five years ago. These pieces vividly capture a sense of time and place and the writing, whilst unassuming, is absorbed in the blues and rhythmically driven. Soloists Guy Barker and Tim Whitehead played with clarity and feeling and conductor Mike Gibbs controlled the ensemble with the very minimum of physical effort. Hearing a string orchestra swing will probably always remain an unusual experience. In this case, it was also a richly enjoyable one.

The finale of a very long evening was provided by a large ensemble based on the Nucleus fusion groups of the 70s and 80s. It was extremely loud, and dominated by distorted guitar and a tightly grooving rhythm section (with Rob Statham on bass and the excellent Nic France on drums). Geoff Castle’s keyboards, especially the acoustic piano, were sadly occasionally overwhelmed. The short selection of Ian’s pieces was judicious, including ‘Mister Jelly Lord’, ‘Selena’ (inspired by Miles Davis’ ‘All Blues’ and writer for Ian’s daughter), ‘Lady Bountiful’, ‘Roots’ and a majestic ‘Things Past’. I must admit to preferring the more intuitive and considered improvising of special guest guitarist Ray Russell to the histrionic shredding from Mark Wood, although the roof-raising finale featuring two guitarists and two drummers (John Marshall joining Nic France) was as vibrant and brilliantly chaotic as one of Ian’s WAC workshops. Tim Whitehead’s exultant solo on the closing ‘Things Past’ was both fittingly emotional and musically articulate.

London Jazz Festival 2009

London Jazz Festival Diary 2009

Respecting the Masters
Saturday 14th November

Sonny Rollins/Liam Noble Trio – Barbican Centre

Getting things off to a fabulous start, the opening weekend of the London Jazz Festival brought a performance to treasure from one of the last surviving titans of the American jazz tradition. Rollins still performs with impressive frequency for someone on the cusp of turning 80, but there’s always the feeling that every visit to London could be his last.

Like Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen in the world of pop and rock, Sonny Rollins is such an icon that to pair him with a support act would seem both unnecessary and insensitive. Luckily, the festival organisers have the perfect answer with their series of free gigs. Liam Noble’s Dave Brubeck-inspired trio provided the perfect complement to hearing a true legend perform. Noble is a hugely gifted pianist capable of vivid flights of melodic invention who also has a radical and distinctive harmonic sensibility. His handling of Brubeck compositions, some of which (‘Take 5’, ‘Blue Rondo a la Turk’, ‘In Your Own Sweet Way’) are among the most familiar in the jazz repertoire, is respectful without being overly reverential. He uses Brubeck’s themes as a springboard for original and intelligent extemporisation.

His humorous description of one of the group’s more abstract moments as being ‘like kids messing in a sandpit’ somehow succeeded in being both self-deprecating and slightly truthful. There was a wonderful innocence and naivety to Noble’s rapid flow of ideas but also a palpable artistry in their expression. The empathetic playing of bassist Dave Whitford and drummer Dave Wickins ably supported this imaginative flow of ideas. Refreshingly, this ensemble is a long way from the ‘power trio’ setup that now threatens to become a cliché. Yet it’s also far from the delicate, near-silent trios on the ECM label. Wickins’ lithe and expressive drumming is unobtrusive but highly creative. The result is a dynamic, flexible unit, taking inspiration from a master and generating something new and exciting from it.

Of course, there was a time when every Sonny Rollins gig must have been audacious, imaginative and creatively challenging at the highest possible level. This was not one of those performances. In later life, Rollins has developed his own comfort zone, playing similar sets with a generous helping of heavily stated, crowd-pleasing calypso rhythms.

He ambled onstage uncomfortably, looking hunched and as frail as one might reasonably expect an 80-year old to appear. Yet from the first notes it became clear he still had the energy and air in his lungs to produce a tough, full bodied sound from his saxophone. His accompanying musicians, whilst undoubtedly impressive (especially drummer Kobie Watkins), mostly offered adaptable and willing support for his unpredictable bursts and flurries. For a while, the rhythm section swung beautifully, before unleashing toe-tapping urgency and palpable joy.

The more rigorous side of jazz performance may now be lost to Rollins. He played tentatively over his musicians’ solos, as if he was struggling to keep his place, and towards the end he exploded in an unstoppable, barnstorming tirade of sound, delivered directly into the faces of people in the front row. This felt like a relentless, highly energised rock n’ roll take on jazz, something akin to watching James Brown or The Rolling Stones. What it lacked in formal precision and sophistication, it compensated for in sheer enthusiasm and excitement.

Two Sides of the Musical Coin
Vijay Iyer + Leszek Mozder and Lars Danielsson – Purcell Room, Sunday 15th November

This could be one of the most challenging pieces of concert programming in the entire festival week. For the headline act, the festival brought over from America Vijay Iyer, a remarkable pianist with a PhD in physics and an interest in cultural history, justly lauded for his fiendish rhythmic complexity. Mostly working with a quartet or, more recently, a wonderfully intense trio, on this occasion Iyer performed solo piano. Completing the double bill were the duo of Polish pianist Leszek Mozder and double bassist Lars Danielsson. By way of contrast with Iyer, these musicians had a distinctly European sensibility, seemingly absorbed more in the traditions of classical and European folk music than with the American standard repertoire.

In Mozder and Danielsson, the festival has introduced some previously unfamiliar but supremely able musicians. They played with subtlety and tremendous technical facility but more importantly with a synergy that proved entirely unflinching. Not even some technical glitches could disturb their refined delicacy or the gleeful precision of their rapid unison phrasing. Whilst I’m sometimes suspicious of the overuse of effects pedals, hearing electronic effects applied to the acoustic bass produced surprisingly rich results – with the additional chorus basking the room in a warm aural embrace.

All this impressed the audience greatly, who offered them rousing applause for which they won a surprise encore. In spite of this, there seemed, to these ears, to be something missing. Without wanting to get drawn into a tedious debate over what, precisely, might constitute ‘jazz’, it might at least be uncontroversial to suggest that jazz is a music that requires both tension and release. Dissonance was almost entirely absent and the occasional selections of foreign notes seemed to lack conviction. This music too often seemed firmly rooted harmonically, with a combination of playfulness and serenity that became saccharine and repetitive over the course of a whole set. With his dark clothes, long hair and cross around his neck, Mozder perhaps looked better suited to being in a heavy metal band. He announced the final piece as being called ‘Suffering’ with no sense of irony.

After the interval, Vijay Iyer stated his intent immediately and with percussive attack. The opening ‘Testing’ featured extravagant rhythmic gestures and his trademark complex cyclical structures. He continued with a confounding take on the standard ‘I’m All Smiles’, at once playful and measured. Perhaps some audience members were expecting more of the duo’s benign calm. The minor exodus from the venue at least indicated some frustration or confusion in the ranks of the audience.

Yet whilst Iyer is noted for his intellectual approach to composition and also for his intricacy, he usually couples these characteristics with a strong melodic sense. At his best, he employs all his technique in the purpose of creating a forceful emotional impact. His boyish appearance belies a mature and nuanced musicianship. Sometimes the effect of his music is visceral and unsettling, but it would be unfair to brandish him as alienating or impenetrable, however fearless and radical his ideas are on pieces such as ‘Autoscopy’.

Perhaps this would have been made clearer to those departing audience members had they stayed to hear Iyer joined by Talvin Singh, playing Tablas with fluency and elegance, on a clever and highly physical reworking of Stevie Wonder’s ‘Big Brother’. Even more impressive was Iyer’s surprise choice of encore – an interpretation of Michael Jackson’s ‘Human Nature’ that coupled asymmetrical phrasing with a previously disguised lyricism. He also demonstrated his knowledge of the jazz tradition with a spirited and sincere rendition of Duke Ellington’s ‘Black and Tan Fantasy’. His latest trio album ‘Historicity’ contains new versions of previously recorded originals, brand new compositions and a wide range of interpretations. Iyer now seems to be joining those musicians determined to build a new standard repertoire, an important move that could really help widen the audience to music too often mistakenly viewed as elitist or inaccessible.

For all this concert’s scope and imagination, it also seemed a little tentative at times. It’s possibly unfair speculation, but I wonder whether Iyer is as suited to the solo piano setting as Keith Jarrett or Stefano Bollani. Jarrett always has a massive range of emotion and mood within his reach, from lush romanticism to angular expressions of doubt or loss. He always plays with absolute conviction and confidence. Iyer’s ideas sometimes didn’t quite seem to reach full sustained flourish. Part of the joy of his recorded repertoire so far has been the sheer wonder in hearing his ensembles keep pace with his breathtaking demands.

There can be little doubt though that Iyer is one of a clutch of music taking American jazz to new places, fusing it with influences drawn from his heritage and wider framework of interest. He has a compelling story to tell.

When Whispers are Wrong or Turning Disappointment Into Triumph

Hans Koller Band
The Oxford, Kentish Town – Monday 16th November

A sizeable audience created a rather sweaty atmosphere upstairs at The Oxford, many appearing following rumours (from credible sources) that Bill Frisell would be sitting in with Hans Koller’s group. Sadly, an inscrutable world of political intrigue and contractual issues prevented that from happening. To his great credit, Koller explained the situation, and addressed the disappointment of those hoping to see a legend in such an intimate setting. Again to his credit, Koller’s lively music hopefully enabled those people to go away nonetheless satisfied.

Koller’s arrangements are closer to the lush orchestrations of Mike Gibbs than the tumbling, turbulent energy of Dave Holland’s big band works. Some contrasts in improvising styles amongst the players made for an engaging, unpredictable performance – from the bright, singing lines of Nick Smart to the unassuming but effortlessly intelligent phrasing of Julian Siegel. Koller himself made for a warm and humble presence.

Drummer Jeff Williams and bassist Dave Whitford provided steady support, although Williams proved markedly less interventionist than Gene Calderazzo (who played on Koller’s ‘London Ear’ big band recording). Whilst the performance occasionally lacked a sense of danger or risk, there was plenty of space for the full sonorous detail of Koller’s arrangements to shine.

The Quirky and Quixotic

Carla Bley and The Lost Chords/Julian Siegel Trio
Tuesday 17th November – Queen Elizabeth Hall

This concert seems to have been one of the most rapturously received of the festival, with the Telegraph rather uncritically claiming that Bley’s performance was ‘beyond praise’. Bley’s injection of irony and humour into her music has long made her one of the most distinctive and refreshing jazz auteurs.

Actually, in the event, I was perhaps more impressed with Julian Siegel’s quite wonderful trans-Atlantic trio with Greg Cohen and Joey Baron. Siegel’s themes are simultaneously both simple and complex. He plays inventively with a restricted complement of notes – twisting rhythm and phrasing with playful and stimulating results. His musical personality is restrained and unpretentious, but his technique and imagination are tremendous.

Baron has long been one of my favourite drummers on recordings, so I was glad to finally get the opportunity to see him live. Located centre stage, his imposing charisma, utter commitment to the music and enthusiastic interactions almost threatened to distract attention from his bandleader. Luckily, though, he is a drummer that does not feel the need to fill every space (contrasting hugely with performances from Jack De Johnette and Eric Harland later in the week). His solo patiently and carefully develops musical ideas, and his bizarre disintegrating drumsticks raise a few bemused reactions in the audience. Speaking to Baron in the interval, I discover these sticks were made from rattan and, as a result, ‘decompose’ on impact, but ‘make a really interesting sound in the process’. Baron is as interested in the variety of sounds he can draw from the drum kit as he is in rhythm and phrasing.

Although Carla Bley, painfully thin, looked both physically and emotionally vulnerable, she began her set in customarily comedic mode. Explaining that she would begin with a suite based on ‘Three Blind Mice’, she played the nursery rhyme’s basic melody, claiming we would hear those notes but also ‘many more’. She then proceeded to exclaim – ‘I feel like Wynton Marsalis up here!’ This, perhaps a dig at Marsalis’ tendency to be a self-elected educator and evangelist for the jazz tradition, raised a predictable cheer from her fans.

This may have been the most demanding performance of the entire festival, bookended by two long suites (the aforementioned ‘Three Blind Mice’ and the suite that gives the group its name). These lengthy, highly composed works were full of mysterious twists and turns and bold melodic and harmonic developments. Between them, the band performed brighter, more immediate pieces such as the Lee Morgan-inspired ‘Sidewinders in Paradise’.

The prevailing temperament throughout though is one of subtlety and restraint, which sometimes threatens to conceal Bley’s characteristic humour. Her improvising is delicate and tentative, and sometimes her phrases seem to end too early, without reaching a natural point of resolution. Occasionally, the band echo her uncertainty – there was a point when Billy Drummond and Steve Swallow were feeling beat one of the bar in different places for a long and noticeable amount of time before recapturing the delicate groove. Swallow has, however, retained his graceful elegance on his five string electro-acoustic bass and his mastery of the upper register of his instrument was in plentiful display.

My review of John Surman is on The Write Stuff section of the Jazzwise magazine website.


Expanding the Vernacular

Stefano Bollani and Enrico Rava
Thursday 19th November - King’s Place

For Stefano Bollani, jazz and comedy are closely connected. This makes the experience of watching Bollani play live markedly different from that of listening to his recordings. His work is mostly refined, elegant and expressive, his collaborations with trumpeter and mentor Enrico Rava being a particular highlight. Rava is the special guest at this, the second of Bollani's four night residency at King's Place, but anyone going in having never seen Bollani before could hardly have expected such merriment and mirth.

Bollani started proceedings with his new trio, featuring Danish musicians Jesper Bodilsen on bass and Morten Lund on drums. Even at this early stage in proceedings, the group made it clear that they intended to be more kinetic and driving than on record. Lund's ferocious, all-frills drumming provided much of the momentum, with Bollani spurring him on with his extraordinary technique at the piano. Veering between fast runs, percussive block chords and expansive lines traversing the full breadth of the instrument, Bollani demonstrated precisely why he is so highly praised. He kicked his left leg out and, when particularly energised, even played standing up.

The apperance of Rava added an extra dimension. The relationship between Bollani and Rava is jovial and full of warmth, and they traded jokes in Italian and English. There was a particularly hilarious discussion about Stan Getz living in London as an 'amateur archaeologist' - 'so that's why jazz musicians say I dig it', Bollani wisecracked.

There seemed to be a spontaneous quality to much of the performance, with debates over who would start a particular piece and some simple but clear gesturing to mark out structures. In addition to this, the stating and inventive exposition of recognisable quotes (including tunes as well-worn as ‘The Surrey with the Fringe on Top’) played a major role in the performance, Bollani and Rava seemingly playing elaborate games with each other. Rava's control of sound is breathtaking, both in terms of his microphone technique (he was happy to play off-mic when the musical texture demanded it) and in the range of tones he can produce. The second set proved particularly entertaining, with Bollani and Rava engaging in a frantic duel, and with the memorable encore of 'Bandeleros' even allowing for some audience participation.

How refreshing it is to see jazz musicians at the highest level of artistry working to make a performance witty and joyous. After all, what could be more inherently ridiculous then 4 people on a stage making it up as they go along?

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Troyka – Clore Ballroom Freestage, Royal Festival Hall
Overtone Quartet/Clarinet Council – Queen Elizabeth Hall
Friday 20th November

I really want to like Troyka a whole lot more than I actually do. On an individual basis, the group includes my favourite musicians currently operating on the London scene. Chris Montague is a guitarist with not just a mastery of electronic effects, but also a nimble agility around the fretboard and an apparent love for the dusty resonance of Bill Frisell. Kit Downes is frantically justifying all the hyperbole used in praise of him, playing in a wide variety of contexts and displaying both prodigious technique and sensitive musicality. His trio with Calum Gourlay and James Maddren has made some involving, beautiful music. Josh Blackmore is the mad scientist of the drums, although I prefer it when his supreme articulation is deployed with greater subtlety in Tom Cawley’s Curios.

I’m just not yet sure that there’s a wider concept, purpose or direction behind their particular brand of jazz-rock fusion. Time Out’s supposedly positive description of them as ‘King Crimson for the iPod generation’ actually encapsulates all their limitations. There’s fearsome control, rhythmic security and technique but a quickfire onslaught of ideas that suggests a severe case of attention deficit syndrome. The results are often briefly exciting, but alienating and austere over time. I enjoyed it when they allowed time to develop their ideas, particularly with the unfamiliar sound of Josh Blackmore on brushes on the superb new composition ‘Rest’ and a desert take on Nirvana’s ‘Heart Shaped Box’. Too often though, the intricate, asymmetrical grooves too rapidly disintegrate into murk and fog.

If the paring of Vijay Iyer with Leszek Mozder and Lars Danielsson seemed uncomfortable, this was nothing compared with the double bill of Dave Holland’s new supergroup with David Jean-Baptiste’s ‘Clarinet Council’. A lot of people I spoke to in the interval reacted angrily against this opening act. It’s not hard to see why – chamber jazz is an uncomfortable format anyway, even more so with an unconventional quartet of variations of the same instrument. There’s probably an argument that the humble clarinet deserves some sort of regeneration, but I’m not sure Jean-Baptiste’s project is going to achieve it. This was jovial and endearing to some extent, but rhythmically insecure, overly polite and ultimately, better suited to a corporate function.

Overtone were every bit the powerhouse group you’d expect them to be. New compositions from every member of the group, including extraordinary drummer Eric Harland, proved ambitious and sophisticated, although Holland’s music continues to stick doggedly to his winning formula. The audacity and quality of interaction in the ensemble was at the highest level, with Holland’s relaxed, super-secure basslines enabling Harland to stretch and contract the time feel with consummate ease.

Some sound problems undermined my enjoyment slightly. Jason Moran’s improvising may arguably have been the most original and attacking in the group, but both the acoustic and Rhodes pianos could have done with a brighter sound and more attack. Others in the audience voiced their frustration at not being able to hear Chris Potter’s saxophones.

Potter seemed to have adapted his playing to suit this new environment – less flighty and verbose in his language than in his own groups. Tremendous power remains the basis for his full sound – but here he demonstrated his versatility and restraint. The memoral themes – both lyrical and sprightly, lingered in my mind after the gig’s conclusion, even if Eric Harland’s outrageous, lengthy drum solo threatened to induce a panic attack.

Meditation and Reflection

Tord Gustavsen Ensemble/Andrew McCormack and Jason Yarde
Queen Elizabeth Hall, Saturday 21st November

The preceding days of this superb festival had been heavy on intensity, pace, drive, humour and entertainment. They had been relatively short on reflection and contemplation. This excellent concert went some distance in redressing the balance. The opening duo set from Andrew McCormack and Jason Yarde was both inspired and playful, with McCormack’s crisp and clean right hand beautifully supported by his busy, conversational left hand. He plays the piano as if one hand is conversing with the other, a style that proved particularly beneficial to the duo setting. The duo had a brilliant way with developing simple ideas – as in one piece with a recurring melodic and rhythmic motif subjected to all manner of imaginative harmonic extensions.

I’ve not yet been completely comfortable with Tord Gustavsen’s latest album release but this concert made me glad that I’ve held fire writing about it. I shall return to it very soon. The addition of Tore Brunborg on saxophones and replacement of bassist Harald Johnsen with Mats Eilertsen does not seem to have disturbed the finely tuned equilibrium of the core trio too much. Indeed, Brunborg’s typically Nordic sound actually serves to have enhanced the group’s sensitive dynamic rather than punctured it.

Gustavsen described more than one of his pieces as ‘prayers’ and, indeed, the likes of ‘Tears Transforming’ and ‘Draw Near’ had a spiritual, becalming, perhaps even sacred quality. Singer Kristin Asbjornsen was absent, so the group could only tackle a limited amount of the new material. Still, this provided an opportunity for the group to expand a little beyond its spacious, quiet comfort zone, with a further hint of the energy and fervour of gospel, something that complemented rather than competed with Gustavsen’s spiritual preoccupations. This group’s music is defiantly simple rather than simplistic, and the audience responded to this with jubilant enthusiasm.

Back To Life

Pearl Jam - London O2 Arena 18th August 2009

The feeling at the end of this epic performance was, for Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder ‘beyond words’. It has to be admitted that even for a relative unbeliever, this might have been enough to convert me back to the cause.

I use the qualifications ‘relative’ and ‘convert back’ because, some time in my early teens, I might well have counted Pearl Jam among my favourite bands. I remember waiting for ‘Vitalogy’ to come out with genuine excitement and, even when it turned out to be a rather hit and miss combination of great songwriting, untamed aggression and half-arsed experiments in banality, found that excitement rather uncritically satiated.

Some time after ‘No Code’ (an album that now seems like the key to their catalogue – the point of transition), I switched off. Vedder’s earnest, self-important side seemed to take over and, whilst the band could still knock out serviceable riffs with commanding energy, they seemed to have forgotten about writing memorable songs. In retrospect, perhaps every Pearl Jam album is a little troublesome to digest whole but, whilst ‘Binaural’ ‘Riot Act’ and ‘Pearl Jam’ all have their moments, they somehow seem to veer closer to monotony.

In August 2009, the group seem like a band revitalised. In the early nineties, the group often seemed like the unacceptable face of grunge – the ones who had the ambition to be more than moderately successful and who were also largely comfortable with the results. This year, the obligatory anniversary repackaging of their debut ‘Ten’ has helped remind people that there was always soul and subtlety beneath their mainstream rock sheen. In addition to this, the imminent ‘Backspacer’ seems exactly what is required – a mercilessly concise half hour of new wave influenced pop songs. The three that they tackle during this gig sound refreshingly lightweight and entertaining, free from the burden of clumsy lurches at profundity.

Pearl Jam have clearly been educated at the Bruce Springsteen school of live performance – they’re in absolutely no hurry to finish and know how to get an arena crowd involved. We clap on command and ‘doo-de-doo’ along to the refrain from ‘Black’, proving that nothing unites a huge crowd quite as easily as a break-up song. By the encore, the audience are so enthusiastic that Vedder can afford his own Robbie Williams moment, allowing the crowd to sing the entire opening verse of 'Betterman' for him. The set, at two and a half hours, delivers value for money but also a whole lot more besides. Very few bands could get away with playing for this long without including some of their best loved songs (‘Jeremy’ and ‘Daughter’ are conspicuous by their absence) but Pearl Jam pull off the neat trick of juxtaposing some unpredictable selections with more established gems.

The band play six songs from ‘Ten’ and, save for the half beard denoting some form of maturity, Eddie Vedder has hardly changed much since 1992, still sporting big shorts and trainers and veering between sombre invocations and savage growl (he sounds dignified on ‘Immortality’ but like he’s ripping his own vocal chords out on ‘Blood’). Similarly, Mike McCready, in spite of signs of middle-aged spread, still stalks the stage like a man possessed, unleashing fearsome guitar solos. Much of this music is made for arenas and must have sounded distinctly out of place at their debut London show at the Borderline back in ’92. However, by opening with the otherworldly drone of ‘Release’, the side of the group that veers well beyond stadium rock conventions is immediately emphasised. It’s an odd opening gambit, but it works superbly – the band are left largely unlit for the song’s duration, before the stage lights ignite as the group launch into ‘Animal’. Aside from this, there’s actually very little in the way of big show theatrics here – the visuals for the screens are restrained and sepia-tinged, there are no explosions, no props and no videos. The music is obviously intended to speak for itself.

The first six songs cover the period from ‘Ten’ to ‘Vitalogy’, including a furious ‘Corduroy’ and strident ‘Why Go?’. The group veer straight from this run through their golden period to brand new single ‘The Fixer’, which sits very comfortably alongside those powerful earlier songs. It’s an immediately likeable slice of heavy pop that already looks like a crowd favourite. Vedder precedes it with an endearing bit of amateur psychology, explaining that men always want to find quick fixes to relationship problems when listening and understanding might be the preferred response.

The set takes some bizarre twists and turns as it progresses. Either respectfully or satirically, Vedder introduces a thrilling version of ‘Rats’ with a few bars of Michael Jackson’s ‘Ben’ and dedicates it to ‘a man who was supposed to be on this very stage, doing what he did’. There are several tracks not associated with any album – in the main set there’s ‘I Got ID’ from the Merkinball single released around the same time as the group’s collaboration with Neil Young on ‘Mirrorball’. The lengthy encores feature covers of songs by The Who and Victoria Williams (‘Crazy Mary’), as well as the punk-meets-Motown stomp of B-side ‘Leavin’ Here’ and a rare example of a B-side that has developed a life all of its own, the closing ‘Yellow Ledbetter’. It’s a gorgeous song, strongly influenced by the more lilting and reflective side of Jimi Hendrix, but also dense and verbose, perhaps even a little obtuse. Surely even Vedder doesn’t know what all the words are!

By this time, it’s 11.15pm and Pearl Jam have clearly outstayed their welcome. The house lights have been turned on in an effort to encourage people to leave, but the group are still onstage, Vedder nonchalantly sharing a bottle of beer and a cigarette with the front row, breaking not only the curfew but the anti-smoking law as well. The show has been a celebration of this group’s considerable virtues and their dogged longevity. They are the true survivors of the grunge era, somehow managing to transcend the style at the same time as maintaining it.

Summer Meltdown

Acoustic Ladyland - Clore Ballroom Sunday 14th June
Charlie Haden's Liberation Music Orchestra/The Bad Plus - Saturday 20th June
Ornette Coleman with Baaba Maal, Flea, Charlie Haden and The Master Musicians of Jajouka - Sunday 21st June

The Meltdown festival has become something of a regular fixture in my musical calendar and the presence of the legendary Ornette Coleman as curator for 2009 made it completely unmissable. Sadly, I wasn’t able to catch as much of it as I would have liked but what follows is a brief dispatch from the shows I did attend.

Whilst their musical tropes are by now familiar, Acoustic Ladyland’s new line-up still comes as something of a shock. Tom Herbert departed to focus on Polar Bear and The Invisible some time ago and now superb pianist Tom Cawley has left to concentrate on his own more meditative music. Ruth Goller has picked up the mantle of aggressive, driving bass playing with consummate ease, but Cawley’s shoes must surely be particularly difficult to fill. Sensibly, Pete Wareham hasn’t tried to do that, instead opting for the terrifying presence of rock guitarist Chris Sharkey.

The new music isn’t much of a departure from their now established thrash jazz template, although whilst the group seemed to be treading water a bit on ‘Skinny Grin’, they now sound positively rejuvenated. The title of their new album (‘Living With A Tiger’) seems apt – this is a tougher, louder beast of a band. Seb Rochford continues to demonstrate his versatility by playing at about seven hundred times the volume he would deploy with Oriole or even Polar Bear, with heavy snare drum accents and swashbuckling cymbals in abundance.

The best of the new tracks slow it down a little, but keep it swampy – with what sounds like a pretty heavy Led Zeppelin influence. Space for improvisation continues to be minimal – but Sharkey’s dynamic bursts of noise have given this engaging, attacking sound fresh impetus. The group’s name continues to seem completely incongruous – and the one significant limitation is that it’s all a little one-dimensional. Hopefully one day Pete Wareham will surprise everyone by writing some ballads that are every bit as exciting.

I would have liked to have been able to stay through for the concert that featured Marc Ribot, Evan Parker and Han Benninck and also a surprise support slot from About, the new improvising group featuring John Coxon, Charles Hayward and Hot Chip’s Alexis Taylor. From the other reviews of this show that I’ve read, and from what Alexis has told me about the About project, the upcoming album that the group have produced should be one of the year’s essential releases. It’s encouraging to think that Taylor’s presence might bring freely improvised music to a new, broader audience here in the UK.

The final weekend saw Ornette Coleman himself perform twice, and a mouth-watering collaboration between Charlie Haden’s Liberation Music Orchestra, Carla Bley and Robert Wyatt. I missed the first Ornette Coleman show, although a compelling account of it can be found here: http://mapsadaisical.wordpress.com/2009/06/21/ornette-coleman-and-the-master-musicians-of-jajouka-royal-festival-hall-190609/

Support for Charlie Haden’s project came from New York trio The Bad Plus. My opinion on this group has fluctuated widely from passionate enthusiasm through to complete frustration. Where once they concentrated on creating a modern standard repertoire from pop, rock and dance music (Nirvana, Blondie, Aphex Twin etc), they now seem to have shifted to reinterpreting twentieth century classical music (they performed pieces by Stravinsky and Ligeti). I have no objections to this per se, but there’s increasingly something irritating about their studied quirkiness and intellectual playing. There’s no doubting their brilliant musicianship and supreme technical ability, but I can’t help feeling (as I think I’ve said in more than one previous review), that all this talent is now better served by their own compositions. There was plenty of support for this argument when the group unleashed the beautiful ‘Giant’, composed by bassist Reid Anderson and from their best album (‘Prog’), where some restraint and directness enabled the group to come alive.

Joining Charlie Haden, Carla Bley were a group of London musicians, including Shabaka Hutchings and Jason Yarde, demonstrating just how vibrant the Jazz scene in the capital is right now. Haden began the show by emphasising the political context of his recordings – with albums having been recorded under Nixon, Reagan, Bush Snr and Bush Jnr. ‘Don’t make another one!’ shouted a member of the audience, perhaps missing the point that the albums had been written and recorded as responses to the political climate. I don’t get the impression Haden had ever intended to instigate years of reactionary conservatism in the United States!

Reaction after the show from friends seemed mixed, largely due to some rather shambolic organisational difficulties. Apparently the concert had been timed rather carefully to arrange for an appearance from curator Ornette Coleman, which never actually happened (although he did appear at the end to embrace Haden). Perhaps the rustling to locate sheet music not yet on stage, the spaces that Haden needed to fill with some admittedly hilarious jokes and his struggling to announce the names of the musicians correctly may have turned collective ears against what was actually a rather powerful performance. Reviews in the mainstream press so far seem to have been overwhelmingly positive.

The concert featured music from throughout Haden’s career, but focused on most recent album ‘Not In Our Name’. This material could seem redundant in the brave new world of the Obama era, but a reiteration of the value of music as a means of protest and celebration can hardly be a bad thing. Indeed, whilst a lot of ‘political’ music can seem negative or aggressive, Carla Bley’s arrangements of tunes from the classic American songbook (particularly ‘Amazing Grace’ and ‘We Shall Overcome’) had a joyous potency.

The sound of a group this size is often a source of great joy, but the playing was often full-blooded and rich. There were some wonderful individual contributions too, from Shabaka Hutchings’ fiery and vibrant bursts of ideas contrasting with mellifluous trumpet solos. The dignity and humanity of the music came through in the group’s playing throughout.

As promised, Robert Wyatt joined mid-set for two numbers sung in Spanish, Silvio Rodriguez’s ‘Tale of the Tornado’ and Haden’s own ‘Song For Che’ (which Wyatt himself recorded on ‘Ruth Is Stranger Than Richard’ and curator Ornette Coleman also performed on ‘Crisis’, if memory serves me correctly). If Wyatt seemed slightly nervous and hesitant on the former, the latter demonstrated his familiar and distinctive conversational style in more confident flow. His voice seemed natural and unforced on this beautiful and haunting piece of music. It was a joy to catch a rare onstage performance from him.

The set ended in truly compelling fashion, first with a majestic drum solo – one of those supremely controlled displays that began with a simple piece of phrasing, before developing it around the kit and embellishing it with flourishes both technically accomplished and musically intuitive. Haden of course made his individual statement too, although it was hard to tell whether his persistent requests to ‘turn the bass down’ were part of the by now jokey atmosphere or a serious irritation hampering him. If the latter, it wasn’t evident as the solo developed, characterised by singing lines and some knowing quoting of Coleman’s modified blues ‘Turnaround’.

It was a shame that the intended appearance from Coleman for ‘Skies of America’ didn’t happen, but perhaps an even bigger shame that the distracting hustle and bustle made everything seem a little on-the-fly and disjointed. The first part of the set seemed a little stylistically boxed too – with a Cuban piece followed by an arrangement with a reggae feel. On balance though, this was a powerful, musically thoughtful performance.

On paper, Ornette Coleman’s closing night performance looked potentially dangerous. With guest appearances from artists in residence Master Musicians of Jajouka, Baaba Maal and that well known free improvising jazzer Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers – this had the makings of a rather confused and confounding event. Thankfully, it proved to be nothing of the sort – and was rather a consistently engaging, wonderfully enervating concert experience.

The Master Musicians’ support set must have required some adjustments for most Western ears. I’ve not got a good enough musical ear to identify what precisely is so harsh about their sound – the pipes seem tuned against each other in very narrow intervals and it takes a while to locate the true pulse amidst their complex polyrhythms. Still, though, their visible sense of enjoyment and showmanship was enough to persuade me to immerse myself in their mesmerising and ultimately uplifting sound.

Ornette Coleman took to the stage immensely slowly, with a sense of fragility that made me a little nervous, especially as he struggled to connect his strap to his saxophone. As soon as the first notes emanated from his alto though, it became clear that the concern was entirely unwarranted. What a marvel that this pioneering figure can produce such eloquent phrasing and vigorous sound at the age of 79 (or 82 as someone else quoted, I’m not sure which is correct).

Titled ‘Reflections of This Is Our Music’, this concert might better have been dubbed ‘reflections of an illustrious and radical career’. Continuing to reject conventional harmonic accompaniment in favour of a two bassists line-up (Tony Falanga and Al McDowell), Coleman’s approach somehow still sounds as furious and otherworldly today as it did in the late fifties. Yet deconstructed airings of ‘Turnaround’ and ‘Blues Connotation’ suggest that those who view Coleman’s music as impenetrable or intractable are missing the point – here is a man who remains as in touch with the blues as he is with his own attempts to move away from form. Veering between violin, saxophone and even a brief spell on trumpet, he seemed gleeful, impish and full of ideas from both within and outside the jazz idiom.

Listening to ‘Blues Connotation’ particularly, I wondered whether the term ‘punk jazz’, which provided the title for a Jaco Pastorius composition and has since been lazily dished out to all manner of groups attempting some kind of jazz-rock fusion, might genuinely be apt for this group. They played throughout with a devil-may-care and visceral abandon that left my heart racing and my thoughts buzzing off in several directions simultaneously. Denardo is an unashamedly unconventional drummer, with a relentless but muffled sound that goes against the brightness and verve of most jazz drumming. He seems to have devised his own range of stick grips and frequently veers out of time, forcing Tony Falanga to work his way back into the fold and his conception of swing exists somewhere out on its own astral plain. Yet there’s something lucid and compelling about his peculiar stomp, and it imbues this already captivating music with an undeniable originality, even when the material being performed is the best part of 50 years old.

The choice of music is both richly satisfying (‘Lonely Woman’) and somewhat bizarre (a perhaps slightly hesitant recontextualisation of Bach’s Prelude to Cello Suite No. 1). The collaborations mid-set seemed like the perfect encapsulation of Coleman’s questing spirit and open-mindedness. I had admittedly been prejudiced against the appearance of Flea, but his intuitive playing somehow managed to make the three-pronged bass attack completely invigorating, and extraordinarily physical. His contributions often featured the language of disco and funk, which might be expected. What was less predictable was just how much of a positive impact his propulsive playing had on the overall sound of the ensemble. When joined onstage by the Master Musicians, it seemed as if Coleman and his group were initially grasping at something and not quite finding it but, slowly, a more singing tone emerged from the saxophone responding to the persistent dynamic of the Master Musicians. It was a tremendous, intoxicating cacophony.

After a trio performance with Charlie Haden for the encore, on which Haden’s bass sounded opulent and resonant, Coleman seemed reluctant to leave the stage, thanking the sound crew before embarking on a personal odyssey to shake as many audience members’ hands as he felt possible. Even when his security intervened he didn’t seem particularly inclined to be rescued. Whether this was an act of gentlemanly kindness towards his audience or an egotistical acknowledgement of his iconic status didn’t really matter – this man has earned the right to a long goodbye. Whoever they get to curate Meltdown next year has some big shoes to fill.

The Blinding Light

Antony and the Johnsons - London Hammersmith Apollo, 27th May 2009

This was my first full live encounter with Antony and the Johnsons. I’m prepared to admit that, for many, the novelty will by now have worn off, as indeed it has for me a little on record. Yet there can be little doubt that Antony Hegarty is a distinctive and important voice – unpredictable in personality, but clear and deeply touching in voice. It is a voice that has the power to move in complicated ways. As my girlfriend perceptively pointed out, his songs are essentially uplifting. Whilst they are often tinged with melancholy or deep sadness, the overriding characteristic is hope.

The show began with fifteen minutes of contemporary dance that I have to confess was a bit lost on me. Having said that, it fitted with Antony’s New York art aesthetic and made more sense as an opening than having a conventional support act would have done. When the band took to the stage, most of the musicians appeared as mere silhouettes, so dim was the lighting. I was a little concerned that this would remain the atmosphere for the whole show but the subtle changes in lighting enhanced the impact of the performance, with Antony only gradually illuminated. A glaring lantern near-blinded the audience during ‘The Crying Light’ and again at the end of the show, during the encore of ‘Hope There’s Someone’.

Even the songs I like least from ‘The Crying Light’ seem to come alive in these performances, with nuanced arrangements that are at once both intimate and overpowering. It was an unconventional band set-up – with Antony on piano, accompanied by a musical and dynamically restrained drummer, a bassist who frequently played melodic lines and a string group where one of the violinists doubled on guitar. Perhaps most interesting of all though were the contributions on saxophone and clarinet. This arrangement stripped some of the bombast from the more self-consciously dramatic material but also provided a compelling counterpoint to Antony’s still staggering voice.

These were performances where detail and texture really mattered. In this environment, the fearsome, nasty and explosive guitar solo that threatened to overpower ‘Fistful of Love’ became even more menacing for its contrast with all that surrounded it. I had wondered whether Antony’s vibrato might become tiresome over the course of a two hour set, but placed in contexts that varied from the soulful to the more theatrical, it continued to draw an emotional response right up to the show’s conclusion.

I would have to concede that the songs that mine the subjects of gender, sexuality and androgyny remain the most powerful of his songs. It’s fair enough that he shouldn’t want to mine these subjects forever, but the touching vulnerability that accompanies ‘I Fell In Love With a Dead Boy’, ‘Hope There’s Someone’ and ‘You Are My Sister’ is not a major feature of ‘The Crying Light’. The gently lilting ‘Aeon’ certainly strives for it, but it feels a little more transparent and contrived. Hopefully, ‘The Crying Light’ is a transitional statement on the path to finding new subjects and contexts for that remarkable voice.

Nature and the various man-made threats to it are clearly preoccupying Antony’s mind nowadays, so much so that he makes a quite lengthy speech about ‘Hope Mountain’ being his response to climate change, imagining Jesus returning in feminine form in the hills of Afghanistan. The song itself is far from the most memorable in the set though. Luckily, his talk proved weirdly entertaining, aware of much of life’s absurdity and charmingly self-mocking. On this basis, most people seemed happy to indulge him this protracted digression from the music.

Musically, some of the less predictable moments in the set pointed towards potential new avenues. It was good to hear ‘Shake The Devil’, a more percussive moment from the ‘Another World’ EP that highlighted the saxophone and, in its slightly darker sound, vaguely resembled something The Bad Seeds might concoct. The aforementioned ‘Fistful of Love’ guitar solo was even more unexpected. Perhaps these only worked because of the striking contrast with the gentleness and tenderness elsewhere, but they did serve to highlight the fact that Antony’s voice might be more versatile than many have assumed.

This was altogether a superb concert though – delicately arranged and delivered. Although it was almost entirely devoid of physicality, there was a sense in which it felt more choreographed than the peculiar dance that preceded it. Not only covering all bases in Antony’s career so far, it also produced some compelling variations on his languidly paced, powerful torch songs.

Going Down In Musical History

Richard Thompson's 1,000 Years Of Popular Music, The Barbican, 3rd February 2009

I must admit to being something of a latecomer to the work of Richard Thompson. Whilst I’ve long been an admirer of that superb trilogy of Fairport Convention albums on which he played a major part (What We Did On Our Holidays, Unhalfbricking, Liege and Lief), their appeal was always mainly for the contributions of Sandy Denny and the vigorous reworkings of folk material. His own catalogue, along with the excellent albums made with his former wife Linda, has always seemed dauntingly vast. Where exactly does one start? I’ve started to delve in quite recently, and now have most of his recent recordings (Sweet Warrior, Mock Tudor, Front Parlour Ballads, The Old Kit Bag) as well as the classic albums with Linda (I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight, Shoot Out The Lights), but there’s still so much to devour.

Luckily, this concert didn’t require too much prior knowledge of Thompson’s own writing. The project began as a witty but meaningful repost to the storm of list-making that accompanied the turn of the millennium. Pundits asked to compile their favourite music of the millennium inevitably tended to concentrate solely on the twentieth century. Thompson opted to examine the whole 1,000 years. In doing so, he drew ties between various strands of folk music, and successfully outlined the powerful connections between seemingly disparate musical forms.

Performing with the excellent singer Judith Owen, as well as vocalist and percussionist Debra Dobkin, the first half of the performance consistently fascinated, introducing me to a whole world of music about which I am relatively ignorant. We were treated to pastoral songs, ballads, sea shanties, mining songs and madrigals, all performed as much with fun as with reverence.

Thompson’s engaging warmth and humour was evident from the outset. Beginning on the Hurdy Gurdy, he refused to use it as a tokenistic gesture for just one song. ‘When I get something big strapped on, I like to keep it there for quite a while’ he jested, with surprising frankness. This style of banter continued throughout the show.

His introductions to the material, even the better known songs, proved as engaging and entertaining as the music itself. Before performing a beautiful reading of ‘Shenandoah’ he explained: ‘It’s kind of a call and response thing. I’ll call….and I’ll respond…just to avoid any confusion’. Performing songs in medieval Italian, French and Latin, he often gamely translated, at least giving a strong sense of the music’s themes and preoccupations.

One early highlight was an appropriately eerie version of ‘The False Knight on the Road’. The song is well known in the folk canon, having been performed in a much faster version by Steeleye Span amongst others. Thompson’s slower version has more mystery and power. This song, and many others, benefited from Thompson’s dexterous but always musical guitar playing.

There was plenty of wry and amusing flirtation between Thompson and his co-performers, particularly the entrancing Judith Owen, and he allowed both plenty of space for their own contributions. Owen’s delivery of ‘Down By The Sally Gardens’, an elegant and spare misremembering of what had already been a folk song anyway by the poet WB Yeats. Owen’s performance is achingly haunting, delivered in a pure, controlled voice that sadly gave way to irritating mannerisms in her contributions to the second half of the concert. In writing about Feist’s song ‘Intuition’, I remember observing that whilst there are plenty of songs about break-ups or unrequited love, there are relatively few about the regret that sometimes follows rejected love. Here was a prime example of such a song, a testament to the power of the theme in its endurance. I was struck by its elegant simplicity, both lyrically and musically. Sometimes what is most simple really is most profound.

As an enthusiast for contemporary music of all stripes, I never thought I’d argue this, but with all these riches in the first half of the performance, the second half’s focus on the twentieth century gave it undue prominence. Perhaps it’s just that the journey from the music halls to contemporary R&B traverses more familiar terrain, but I felt this section of the concert also suffered from some errors of judgement.

First and foremost, the movement from Cole Porter standards to Rock n’ Roll and Country seemed to ignore the most important contribution to contemporary popular music, that of the blues. Surely, at the very least, a song from one of the Delta Blues performers would have been essential? Whether intentional or not, what we were left with was a history of popular music that largely sidelined the contribution of black music. But the blues was and still is surely one of the purest forms of folk music.

Also, the restraint and clarity of the performances of the early music, so powerful and meaningful, was inexplicably abandoned in favour of some clattering deliveries lacking in nuance. Maybe this was purely to communicate the new music’s emphasis on relentless rhythm and energy, but Debra Dobkin’s trap set drumming, effective on a handful of songs, quickly became an intrusive nuisance, especially when the tempos drifted. Similarly, Judith Owen’s voice, characterised by real feeling and honesty in the first set, became more affected and abstruse, particularly on the jazzier material (which apparently is where her own interests lie). The beauty of the standard repertoire is that it can be taken on two levels – Owen emphasised the banality more than the insight. Neither Dobkin nor Thompson seemed entirely comfortable with swing.

Nevertheless, the second half of the show was hardly a complete failure. Thompson made some judicious and surprising selections. He acknowledged the influence of the Kinks (originally The Ravens) on his North London childhood by performing ‘See My Friends’, one of Ray Davies’ greatest achievements, also hinting at the contribution of Indian folk traditions to western pop in the 1960s. The closing clatter of Nelly Furtado’s ‘Maneater’, interspersed with a medieval section in Latin, was spirited and fun.

Whilst Thompson has suggested that his purpose in undertaking this project was to uncover some of the ideas and forms buried in ‘the dustbin of history’, I rather suspect its effect has been to do the complete opposite. Tonight’s concert suggested, to me at least, that there has been plenty of consistency in what has made music ‘popular’. Directness and simplicity, in the right hands, can indeed be artful, and often succeed in bringing people together with a sense of common purpose and spirit. There is a rich tradition in musical communication that survives today, in spite of music’s often more nakedly commercial impulse.

Critical Thinking

Critical Distortions - Natalie Clein, Shiva Feshareki, Simon Fisher-Turner.
Kings Place, London, 2nd December 2008

‘Critical Distortions’ is a collaboration between three artists from what, at least on the surface, appear like very different worlds. There’s Natalie Clein, the 1994 Young Musician of the Year winner and virtuosic Cellist, Simon Fisher-Turner, the electronic sound artist probably best known for his work for Derek Jarman’s film ‘Blue’ and the young composer Shiva Feshareki, currently studying with Mark-Anthony Turnage at the Royal College of Music. I’ve been waiting a while for this intriguing proposition to arrive in London and the new Kings Place venue (lovely once you get into the music rooms but rather corporate and soulless in its lobbies) have opted to heighten the ‘look at us, we’re contemporary’ atmosphere by not providing any proper seating. There are beanbags but not nearly enough of them! The floor is hard! Mercifully the music, whilst certainly challenging, is not nearly so discomforting.

Shiva has, somewhat hilariously, been introduced as ‘The DJ’ in some of the publicity for these concerts, as if she is the first and only person to ever spin two records on a set of decks. Actually, tonight’s performance gives some credence to this implication, so inventively does Shiva transform her turntables into a credible musical instrument.

Her piece ‘Critical Distortions’ is the centrepiece of the evening and is an audacious work of real quality. Part of a series of compositions exploring the urban environment of bustling London, it is visceral, confident and aggressive but also rich in nuance and detail. Shiva places strong emphasis on honesty as the essential element of successful composing and performing. She admits tonight that, being human, a lack of subtlety isn’t necessarily negative. It is often good to say what we really mean and sometimes stark, undisguised language is the best means of communication.

Perhaps the piece is unsubtle in its effect, only in that the responses it inspires are as much physical and emotional as they are intellectual. The refreshing aspect of this approach is that there is clearly no need for one to understand the technical aspects of her compositional process – the conceptual and gestural aspects of it are far more significant. She captures the inherent links between experience, feeling, language and environment.

Having said that, it’s clear that the meticulous scoring and rehearsing that has gone into this project have paid dividends. There are some clear reasons why this piece and its performance have worked so well. There’s a strong emphasis on rhythm which makes the music both exciting and insistent. Perhaps more importantly, Shiva has given patient and careful thought to the range of sound and timbre that can be drawn from both instruments, and also to how the two can be most effectively integrated. Exposing that any dichotomy between acoustic and electronic is likely to be false is not a particularly new idea – but it’s rare that a pairing of seemingly disparate instruments manages to sound so convincingly like a dialogue. This is the sort of novel project that in lesser hands could be a total disaster, but Shiva and Natalie have rehearsed this piece so thoroughly that it seems like a real shared experience being communicated to its audience.

I’m not really an expert on classical music and this is the first time I’ve seen Natalie Clein perform, but her playing is a total revelation for me. She seems completely absorbed in the music. Her movements, somehow both completely relaxed and attacking, are transfixing and the sound produced by them even more so. Her reverent performance of part of the Kodaly Cello Sonata, which by virtue of its Eastern European sonority sounds very otherworldly and entrancing to my ears, is quite overwhelming.

Simon Fisher-Turner’s contributions are nowhere near as excoriating as his extraordinary Jarman soundtrack, rather more serene and hypnotic. This makes his role, in spite of the ubiquitous laptop, perhaps the most conventional and comfortable of the three. His duet with Clein starts off disconnected but ends blissfully entwined and somewhat catatonic. Clein seems slightly apologetic for Fisher-Turner and Shiva’s meddling with her tribute to Pablo Casals and the Bach Cello Suites but I felt they worked well by managing to combine playful irreverence with creativity and respect.

The world of contemporary music really needs this kind of boundary breaking, co-operative spirit. Musicians need to seek new contexts and pitch themselves outside their comfort zones if they are to develop further. The music must speak to broader audiences, without losing its artistry, and, through this process, direct listeners into new areas. I feel inspired to explore the worlds of Kodaly and Bach in a little more depth as a result of attending this unique performance.

If this wasn’t inspiration enough – we’re treated backstage to a private performance from Natalie and, once again, I walk out into London’s enthralling night feeling that little bit more alive.

The Price of Genius

Keith Jarrett, Royal Festival Hall, December 1st 2008

If there has been a common thread in much of the live music I’ve witnessed in 2008 – it’s been a strong sense of occasion, rarity and, along with that, financial expense. Credit Crunch be damned - Leonard Cohen, Stevie Wonder and, now, Keith Jarrett – they’ve all been event gigs with very high ticket prices (only Wonder failed to deliver value for money though – two out of three ain’t bad).

These days, Keith Jarrett is as much a self-proclaimed living legend as a widely respected pioneer. He performs infrequently and places heavy demands on his audience. Fortunately for him, they all adore him rather uncritically and are all too happy to be berated and chastised for using cameras or, heaven forbid, coughing. Coughing, apparently, is ‘a sign of boredom and inattention’. I suspect on this chilly evening in early December, it was more likely a sign of a common cold going around.

Even if Jarrett is basically right, his comments surely invite the response that it’s his job to sustain the audience’s attention. Now paid astronomical fees for these one-off performances, he’s probably earning twice as much in one night as many of these affluent punters earn all year (more like five times my annual salary). We have paid our money, and we surely deserve his respect as much as he deserves ours. No star is bigger than the audience that enables them to perform. This doesn’t mean that audiences should not be challenged and have their ingrained prejudices questioned – but that they should always be treated with respect. Also, younger musicians just beginning to build their audiences ultimately have to endure far worse – murmuring conversations during the performance, drunkenness, heckling. The odd cough is ultimately nothing much to worry about in comparison.

He can get away with this kind of contemptible and condescending behaviour because he is, even now, still the very best. Whilst the more hard-working Herbie Hancock has settled into a comfortable and repetitive routine, Jarrett still plays with a physicality and primal urgency that is basically sexual. All those grunts, moans and groans that his critics could never abide, whilst now perhaps less prevalent, are still there – accompanied by quite extraordinary physical gestures. He stands up when he’s especially impassioned, almost humping the piano. There really is as much physical ecstasy as cerebral effort involved in the process of making music for this man.

He has certainly stopped innovating now, performing exclusively with his Standards Trio and as a solo pianist. There have been no fresh contexts whatsoever for many years. Perhaps this is something to do with the effects of the chronic fatigue syndrome he endured for some time, or perhaps it’s inextricably linked with his very conscious rejection of the process of composition. Whatever the reason, this admittedly outstanding concert doesn’t offer much that’s new or unpredictable.

What it does achieve, with a generosity of spirit not evident in Jarrett’s irascible outward personality, is a very contrived but hugely satisfying summary of all the key strands of his long career. The pieces are short in comparison with his brilliant extended improvised concerts that are so revered (Koln, Paris, Bremen and Vienna especially) – but we still have the recordings for that. These concise expositions of his central concerns are expressive and move from the tightly controlled to the unrepentantly emotional.

Jarrett has said ‘the older a person gets, the more simplicity is profound – timing is the complex part of simplicity’. Much of this concert was an inspiring illustration of his point. He plays lush or impressionistic pieces with a very strong harmonic base and occasionally even indulges himself with a twelve bar blues. Yet it’s the way he develops these forms, with a language that is fluent both lyrically and rhythmically, that truly astonishes. He always imbues this flowing, spontaneous music with emotional depth, even at his most ponderous and reflective (as in the opening piece). The blues pieces he performs tonight border on barrelhouse boogie cliche at times (particularly the playful encore), but there’s always an intriguing ambiguity as to whether they are being played with a four to the bar or two to the bar feel, which creates palpable tension.

Elsewhere, there’s an example of his more atonal preoccupations, during which he also gets to exercise his considerable dexterity and four encores which offer concessions to other aspects of his work. There’s a rare outing for one of his most affecting compositions (‘My Song’) and a swooning, thoroughly charming take on ‘Over the Rainbow’. The audience are understandably elated and I’m left speechless with mirth at Jarrett’s pompous long bows and clasped hands act.

During this protracted ceremony I’m struck by the observation that even the very best, with all their ego and conviction, have some kind of vulnerability. After so many years at the highest level, Jarrett still needs this level of rapture and devotion from his followers. If it’s what he feeds on, perhaps this makes his snarly outbursts less objectionable.

London Jazz Festival 2008

As ever, the London Jazz Festival offers a mouth-watering array of musical treats this year. Sadly, time constraints have left me only able to attend a handful of gigs, missing many of the main attractions. I would particularly have liked to see Bill Frisell’s performance soundtracking silent cinema. Never mind though – one of the undoubted plus points of this year’s festival has been the opportunity to wander off the beaten track a little, or to select gigs I wouldn’t otherwise have attended, such as Courtney Pine’s virtuosic and engaging performance.

There’s an impressive array of exciting talent on offer at Jazz on 3’s special late night festival launch gig at Ronnie Scott’s. It seems appropriate that Tom Cawley’s Curios, BBC Jazz Award winners, should open the entire festival with their short set tonight. Cawley’s piano playing is delicate, lucid and emotional, with a remarkable range of timbre and effect. Just as revelatory is the drumming of prodigious virtuoso Josh Blackmore, who not only has impressive technique but also possesses the sheer musicality and creativity to craft dramatic and suspenseful phrases across the drum kit. He must be one of the most exciting and original talents to emerge in London for many years and how encouraging it is that Cawley has acknowledged his potential. Cawley’s compositions are both playful and cerebral and whilst twenty minutes is by no means long enough to showcase the trio’s breathtaking interaction, it is more than long enough to demonstrate the sophistication and charm of their music.

Vincent Herring’s group, who had also performed the main official set earlier in the evening, were less impressive by some distance. They opened with some generic if mildly enjoyable fusion but follow it with dated synth pads and bland melodies that veered far closer to the lite jazz of Grover Washington and George Benson than is comfortable for me. Somehow it all became tremendously bland and disengaging with alarming rapidity. I rather liked the observation of one of my friends in the audience: ‘To play a synth like that is bad enough, but to play it when there’s a Fender Rhodes underneath it is a criminal offence!’ Another friend’s observation about the uncommon situation of the band being all black musicians save for a white drummer sparked a lengthy conversation about race issues in jazz history which proved considerably more stimulating than the group’s music.

Steve Bernstein’s piano-less Millenial Territory Band had a playful quality that somehow managed to treat the American jazz tradition with both respect and gleeful irreverance. The performance came with a peculiar ragged charm and a general sense of off-the-cuff disorganisation. They concluded with a wryly amusing and rousing arrangement of The Beatles’ ‘All You Need Is Love’. This proved that even one of the most overplayed songs from one of the most over-exposed groups can still be delivered with fresh vigour when the context is refreshed.

The unrelenting assault provided by the new trio of Ken Vandermark, Barry Guy and Mark Sanders probably offended anyone with an aversion to free improvisation but, for me, was a visceral and thrilling example of spontaneous alchemy. This is not music completely devoid of rules or strategy, but rather a music whereby a map is being charted in front of our very eyes and ears. In this case, it had a lot to do with experimenting with sound and colour. Sanders manages to get pitched notes from meticulously controlled cymbal scrapes, whilst Guy can vary the mood by oscillating between deep, rich, long notes, bowed bass and a sharp, staccato, attacking voice. Vandermark is a master of the aggressive, angry, volatile form of playing. Perhaps this fiery form of expression could benefit from more tenderness but with such short set times, there’s really not enough space to unravel its full potential.

Even Camden’s tiny but wonderful Green Note venue has been getting in on the Festival action this year, with a mouth-watering line-up of fresh talent. Huw Jones’ Neon Bedroom had a dream line-up, benefitting from the muscular saxophone of Tom Challenger, the expressive but empathetic drumming of Josh Morrison and the warm sound and creative improvising of Freddie Gavita. If the improvising is sometimes uncharacteristically tentative from these more frequently questing young musicians, the compositions are sophisticated and compelling. There’s a niggling sense that a certain spark or dynamism is missing, but this will surely develop over more performances. Following the group is a new quartet lead by saxophonist Pete Fraser which is a thrilling demonstration of exposition and spontaneity. The themes are mostly spacious and the creative playing of the group (which includes Nick Ramm of Oriole and Fulborn Teversham on keys and the outstanding drummer Tom Skinner) brings spirit and charisma to the occasion. It’s an auspicious start for what will hopefully become an established, successful and challenging group.

The pairing of Courtney Pine and Empirical made sense for more than the obvious reason that Empirical are signings to Pine’s label. Both groups seem to be going through a stage of looking back in order to move forward. Empirical now have a new line-up and have changed radically as a result (vibes player Lewis Wright replaces prodigious pianist Kit Downes). Their set tonight is built from their current project researching and arranging the music of Eric Dolphy – as such, it’s a much more liberated group than the hip swinging band of last year. It’s a technically accomplished performance but one that also remains very much in touch with the blues. Perhaps a little more fire and certainty would have been appreciated. A surprising lack of confidence is evident in the lengthy, ill-judged onstage chat, perhaps suggesting that the group have been elevated to a massive commercial prospect a little too early.

Pine’s set surprised me with its vitality, wit and warmth. Whilst I’ve always respected his virtuosic talents, some of his recordings have drifted a little too far into the middle of the road for my tastes. Tonight, perhaps paradoxically, saw him push back to the edges by rediscovering the tradition of the music. His latest project is partially a tribute to the music of Sidney Bechet and, as such, is steeped in the rhythms and nuances of New Orleans. Drummer Robert Forger, with his varied passions for swing and hip hop, is a master of the groove, and Pine plays with renewed vigour. Performing only on soprano sax and bass clarinet, Pine frequently defies the laws of physics in some of the sounds he draws from each. In his hands, the clarinet really does become like a drum. Omar Puente’s violin enhances the free spirited, folksy vibe of the performance and Alex Wilson’s latin-tinged Piano is, as always, rhythmically adventurous, although he could have been afforded more soloing space. Indeed, perhaps the only quibble with this fiery, energetic performance is that there is a little too much of Pine’s dexterity, and not enough individual contributions from his excellent band. The gig ends with something approaching a lecture from Pine, after his group have left the stage – ostensibly to promote the new CD, but also to draw attention to the worthiness of British jazz and the vital role of played by the LJF in promoting it.

The final gig of my festival certainly provided something completely different. A collaboration between the Homemade Orchestra (itself a meeting of minds between jazz saxophonist Tim Whitehead and composer Colin Riley) and children’s poet Michael Rosen, this gig proved not just hysterically funny but also creatively sophisticated. Rosen’s nonsense poems are ostensibly expressions of the simple joys of inventive rhyming, but many of them are not as nonsensical as they might first appear. Their scheming wordplay and sharp observations on commercialism and chaotic modern life offer food for thought for grown-ups too. Whitehead and Riley’s music is sophisticated, but in an apposite way – it is by turns slithery, slimy, frantic and mischievous. The quotations from Match of the Day and The Simpsons theme raise a smile, but the hilarious deployment of various toys and gizmos, combined with unashamedly physical playing provide both support and a neat counterpoint to Rosen’s exaggerated readings. Whilst space for improvising is understandably limited, this provided a brilliant introduction to the worlds of jazz and contemporary composition for the younger members of the audience as well as breathtaking entertainment for all.

So, whilst it seems a shame to have missed the likes of Chick Corea and John McLaughlin, Bill Frisell and Jack de Johnette, this slightly less predictable pathway through the festival proved remarkably rewarding. It’s good to find that the festival continues to offer variety and excitement for a dedicated audience.

Never Likely To Be Lost For Words

Okkervil River - Shepherd's Bush Empire 11/11/08

Will Sheff isn’t wasting any time tonight. He introduces the first song but then directs his band towards blasting through a number of songs in quick succession without so much as a pause. He’s every bit as intense and melodramatic in performance as even a casual listen to Okkervil River’s dense, verbose, highly dramatic songs might suggest. He loosens his tie, flirts with the microphone and bursts on to the drum riser to have a fiery stare off with the drummer. Every gesture is exaggerated and overstated, to the extent that his genuine debt of gratitude to the audience could be misinterpreted as mocking insincerity.

It’s not exactly clear how Okkervil River now manage to fill out venues of the size and grandeur of the Shepherd’s Bush Empire. They haven’t exactly received vast amounts of column inches in the UK, although Uncut’s editor Allan Jones and his wife are visibly enjoying the show from a prime vantage point on the first level balcony. Perhaps it’s the Pitchfork effect (the band’s breakthrough album ‘Black Sheep Boy’ received a justifiably rapturous review from the influential taste-making website) or perhaps it’s simply good old fashioned word of mouth. I’m certainly surprised by the relative youth of the audience – one might expect this rather unhip and literary brand of songwriting to have a slightly older demographic.

Tonight’s performance isn’t perfect – but then Okkervil River is a band that depends on a kind of ragged glory for its impact. The vocal harmonies could do with a bit of work and there are times when Sheff’s lack of patience threatens to undermine the performance – he seems to begin singing ‘The Latest Toughs’ in a completely different key from the rest of the band. The nuances of the songs are also occasionally threatened by one of those drummers who seem to view drumming as method acting. He rarely plays anything particularly adventurous but still seems to make the basic act of keeping time look as physically demanding as running a marathon. He also has a very limited dynamic range – hard and loud to extremely hard and loud. There are times when the group look in danger of becoming a rather conventional soft rock ensemble, anchored by an occasionally leaden pace. It’s inevitable that a smaller working band would miss some of the lavish flourishes of their more ornate studio arrangements – but sometimes this level of bludgeoning is too extravagant.

Nevertheless, when Sheff is in full flight, he brings these extraordinary songs to vivid and cinematic life. He luxuriates in the spellbinding power of language, using each song to tell a story, sometimes pausing simply to linger on the pattern and flow of his words. Even songs which are based largely on an intellectual conceit (the opening ‘Plus Ones’ is based on a string of references to songs with numbers in their titles, adding an extra number to the original – ’97 Tears’, ‘The 51st way to leave your lover’, ‘8 Chinese Brothers’ etc) become something insightful and devastating in his hands. Best of all is his rare willingness to write from a female perspective (the astonishingly beautiful ‘Starry Stairs’ and ‘On Tour with Zykos’). There are some examples of women writing from a male vantage point (the excellent Sylvie Lewis springs immediately to mind), but fewer from the other way around. Sadly not performed tonight, the early Okkervil song ‘Red’ related the story of a female dance yearning for her separated daughter.

The set list is judiciously selected, with most of the key tracks from ‘The Stage Names’ and its more recent sequel ‘The Stand-Ins’ getting welcome airings (although the stellar ‘Calling and Not Calling My Ex’ is a notable omission). For me, though, the performance provided a timely reminder of just how excellent ‘Black Sheep Boy’ was, by comparison barely registering in this country. Sheff’s stripped back performance of ‘A Stone’ (during which he sadly has to command the audience to stop yacking) is supremely moving. The more aggressive ‘Black’ and ‘For Real’ (the latter notable for its visceral stop-start stabs from the band) pack a more muscular punch. Dipping into the back catalogue, Sheff also delivers the morally complex and remarkable ‘The War Criminal Rises and Speaks’ (‘Does the heart want to atone? Oh, I believe that it’s so, because if I could climb back through time I’d restore their lives and give back my own…’).

Sheff’s best songs alternate between an affecting melancholy and a rousing spirit of adventure. The very best ones combine the two, as on the wonderful ‘Lost Coastlines’, which uses seafaring metaphors to detail the perilous experience of being in a touring band. It’s one of the few such self-referential songs to manage to be moving in a much wider sense. It gives a strong sense of human relationships – the way being in a band, where everyone’s greatest passions, not to mention their finances, are at stake, can be unpredictable and dangerous, yet also thrilling. It’s a situation where the bonds of friendship can be severely tested but are most often repaired. It becomes a big audience singalong tonight. During the closing ‘Unless It’s Kicks’, Sheff has no shame in commanding the audience to raise their hands and clap with vigour. In fact, the show’s closing 20 minute stretch is as invigorating and uplifting as I’ve experienced this year.

Even better still is the encore. There’s the haunting, mesmerising ‘Girl In Port’, followed by two much earlier songs featuring two of Sheff’s most compelling narratives. ‘Okkervil River Song’ is about as keening and convincing a description of young lovers as I can remember, whilst ‘Westfall’, inspired by the Austin, Texas Yogurt Shop murders, talks of motiveless killing with dispassionate frankness. It ends with some chilling words: ‘Now, with all these cameras focused on my face you’d have thought they could see it through my skin/They’re looking for evil, thinking they can trace it, but evil don’t look like anything…’ It’s a strange choice of fan favourite.

Lyrically, Sheff is without doubt in the highest league. In fact, this seems to be a particularly exciting time for American alternative rock groups with literary imaginations – Iron and Wine, The Decemberists, The Mountain Goats – all share an unconventional and wordy writing style with OR.

Nick Golding remarked to me on the way home that the sound balance was unusually clear and carefully mixed. Whilst I sometimes struggled to hear Scott Bracken’s trumpet, it’s certainly true that Sheff’s voice came through booming with disarming clarity. It’s far too frequent a problem at gigs that so much reverb is applied to a lead singer’s voice that any attempt at enunciation is obscured. Mercifully, this was not the case tonight. Perhaps this made Sheff’s occasional pitching issues more conspicuous – but this is a small price to pay for being able to hear and understand his lucid, brave and highly original words.

Impressive Chops

Lambchop - Union Chapel, London 3/11/2008

I perhaps don’t need to write too extensively about Lambchop’s Union Chapel performance given my earlier comments about Kurt Wagner’s solo gig at Club Uncut last month. Whilst I thoroughly enjoyed this concert, it has perhaps bolstered the opinions I expressed tentatively in that article. During Lambchop’s career post-‘Nixon’, Wagner’s vocal delivery and performing personality have become ever more compelling and idiosyncratic, whilst the sound of his group has drifted towards the polite and understated. Again, the songs from ‘OH(Ohio)’ (played in its entirety in sequence tonight, interrupted only by a lovely Bob Dylan cover, familiar to anyone who attended the Club Uncut gig) come to more vivid life in live performance, but there remains a sense that the band’s tasteful backing is diminishing rather than supporting their individuality.

Perhaps this is because Lambchop have settled into a more conventional group structure. Where once they benefited from contributions from Pauls Burch and Niehaus on Vibes and Pedal Steel respectively and also had the novelty of two bass players and a baritone saxophonist, they are now a comparatively streamlined seven-piece rock group. Admittedly, this is still a group with a lightness of touch and nuanced understanding of what makes music soulful and moving, but William Tyler’s pretty guitar figures often end up rendering the music less multi-faceted.

Their tranquillity remains deceptive though – and the moments when their coiled intensity unravels provide some of the thrilling highlights of this concert. There’s a sprawling ‘National Talk Like A Pirate Day’ and, perhaps most surprisingly, a barnstorming medley of Wagner’s X-Press 2 collaboration with Talking Heads’ ‘Once in A Lifetime’. Perhaps the latter serves as recognition that David Byrne also collaborated with X-Press 2 on a dance track, or maybe it repays the compliment for his stirring cover of ‘The Man Who Loved Beer’ (which, pleasingly, gets a rare airing towards the end of the set). There’s also a tetchy, irritable version of ‘Up With People’ that closes the main set. Initially, this sounds like Wagner just wants to get it over with – but the additional aggression with which he delivers the words serves as a powerful call to arms on the eve of the US Presidential election. Pianist Tony Crow’s bizarre moments of, erm, ‘sit-down’ comedy suggest that the band, like many other commentators, see this election as an epochal one.

The new songs represent a return to the sound of Lambchop’s earliest albums, so it's perhaps unsurprising to find the few older songs they play tonight revisiting that period. I particularly enjoyed the brisk, energetic take on ‘All Smiles and Mariachi’. The new material once again demonstrates Wagner’s originality and vitality as a lyricist, so it’s pleasing to again be able to discern the words (a real problem with the studio versions). ‘A Hold On You’ and ‘Please Stand’ emerge tonight as the set’s most moving selections.

Wagner ends the set with a gloved fist raised into the air triumphantly, before walking through the Union Chapel’s aisles towards the far exit. He expresses his gratefulness to the audience with transparent sincerity – and one of his many virtues is his ability to build bridges between his group and their listeners. I still wonder whether it might be time for a new phase in his career though.

Tag Team

Fyfe Dangerfield/Tom Rogerson – The Vortex, London 7th October 2008

It’s quite rare to see a shared improvised piano gig, particularly one which ends with three pianists playing together, gleefully sending up the entire process. In that sense, this Vortex gig could be described as self-aware and unpretentious, even if some of the playing could easily have given the opposite impression.

Tom Rogerson is one of this country’s most complete musicians, and it’s criminal that his profile has not yet risen further. Until recently, he has divided his time working with songwriters Jeremy Warmsley and Emmy the Great, neither of whom have really provided an adequate space for his expressive, assured piano playing. I’ve already waxed lyrical here about his group Three Trapped Tigers, who marry the propulsive, angular groove of Battles with the intangible mystery of Supersilent or Food. They are a superb, viscerally exciting group – both technically assured and physically thrilling.

Rogerson’s improvised work occupies a different space entirely though. He rarely, if ever, repeats himself, tonight’s performances demonstrating his debt to classical training as much to a tradition of free improvisation. There’s nothing self-conscious or decidedly avant-garde about his two performances – instead, he aims simply and squarely for playing meaningful music with real feeling. His stance is doubled up and awkward, but the intensity is sincere and palpable. He frequently looks in danger of knocking himself out against the piano as he rocks back and forth, lost in his own substantive reverie.

This sort of insular, self-absorbed world is easily in danger of leaving audiences baffled or bored, but Rogerson finds his own way of communicating. Midway through his second improvisation, there’s a passage of such languid beauty and harmonic simplicity that it could have come from a pop ballad, although the delicacy and nuance with which it is performed elevates it to something haunting and profound. Similarly, when he loses himself in moments of Jarrett-esque minimalism, the violence with which he plays seems honest and convincing rather than a forced piece of showmanship.

It’s hard to feel so confident about Fyfe Dangerfield, more known for his leadership role in Guillemots than he is for solo piano work. His first set seems a little shallow – mostly consisting of long, murky and uninvolving passages holding down the sustain pedal with a dogged and unhelpful resolve. He’s constantly searching for interesting and unconventional sounds from the instrument, but his banging and punching of the keys feels like a gimmick used in place of identifiable musical phrasing. It’s definitely more artifice than art.

If Dangerfield’s first set is a little boring, the second is intolerable. It’s admittedly unclear whether or not it’s supposed to be taken seriously, but it comes across as a piss take of barrelhouse boogie. Clearly, there’s no obligation to perform this music anymore, but irreverence towards it needs to be based on very firm foundations. It also needs to have a clear purpose. Dangerfield’s rhythmic language is tentative and repetitive and his occasional barked interjections (a little like Tom Waits perhaps) seem ill-judged, even if they are intentionally comic. Physically, he seems tetchy, moving his seat snappily when playing at the far extremes of the keyboard. It seems as if he makes too many conscious decisions whilst improvising (demarcating the geography of the keyboard too starkly, moving too rapidly between aggression and reflection, using gimmicky sounds by muting the strings), and all these choices end up doing is restricting his expression.

This gig certainly suggests that Rogerson is a creative and articulate talent making music at the most challenging level that also speaks directly and clearly to its audience. Whilst his work is defiantly unpredictable, the consistent thread is a clear and mostly successful desire to capture feeling and mood through improvisation and composition. Three Trapped Tigers are operating in a musical landscape that can often seem clinical and cold – and they have injected that terrain with a refreshing burst of physicality and sensation. Rogerson’s solo work sounds not just liberated, but also emotionally engaging. So why are more people not yet writing about him?

Radiance

Emmylou Harris, London Hammersmith Apollo, 14th September 2008

It’s taken me a while to get round to writing up my thoughts on my first Emmylou Harris concert experience, so I hope my recollections are not too hazy and distant. With this and last month’s disappointing Stevie Wonder concert, I’m left with very few living legends to see in concert, which hopefully means I’ll be able to restrict myself to reasonably priced gigs from now on.

There has been a lot of debate among Emmylou obsessives about the merits of this latest touring ensemble, The Red Dirt Boys, and her superb previous band Spyboy. It’s certainly true that this band doesn’t attempt to mimic Spyboy’s mysterious swampy grooves, neither do they benefit from a singular talent quite as striking as Buddy Miller. My girlfriend commented perceptively on the limitations of the drum arrangements – the influence of rhythms from around the world, presumably imposed on Emmylou’s music by Daniel Lanois and Malcolm Burn, is now largely absent. It’s arguably appropriate though, given the more tasteful, rootsy nature of Emmylou’s latest album (‘All I Intended To Be’), that The Red Dirt Boys are a group well grounded in the American folk tradition. The strongest link in the band is Rickie Simpkins, who plays a bewildering variety of instruments including mandolin, fiddle and banjo. He’s also a more than competent vocalist, providing strongly supportive harmonies and a memorable duet on ‘Old Five and Dimers Like Me’. The whole group are tasteful, sensitive players who complement Emmylou’s haunting voice, an instrument not just undiminished in its powers, but still developing.

Perhaps most interestingly of all, they play subtly redefined versions of the songs post-‘Wrecking Ball’. These versions go some way toward emphasising the continuity throughout her career rather than presenting that album schematically as a radical seismic shift. Yes, the new emphasis on production values found a new context for her voice – but these songs, including her own, have strong ties with the country tradition. As a result, the show coheres superbly, with Appalachian balladry, bluegrass stomp and, as Emmylou herself admits, a healthy dose of the blues.

It is surely the latter ingredient that is the most significant in her potent mix. Whether she’s drawing something from her own experience or interpreting the work of her most admired writers, there is always an aching sadness and poignancy at the core of her delivery. She admits that she had to exaggerate for ‘Red Dirt Girl’ as her childhood was never quite so painful but claims that the selected Merle Haggard’s beautiful ‘Kern River’ because it’s ‘just so unbearably sad’. After performing a distinctive reading of Townes Van Zandt’s ‘Pancho and Lefty’ (sharper and starker than the original), she quotes Townes’ view that ‘there are only two types of music – zip-a-dee-doo-da and the blues’. Unsurprisingly, she promises more of the latter.

It’s become a cliché to say this about the great interpreters – but Emmylou does indeed make every song her own. Even the Gram Parsons songs, which must come with weighty, personal memories for her, are imbued with fresh vigour. She does ‘Return of the Grievous Angel’ and ‘Wheels’ tonight, two of his most memorable songs, inverting them so that her harmony lines become the lead voice. This initially makes them sound unfamiliar and strange, but by the final verse of each, she has such total command that the original melody begins to sound weaker.

The most striking revelation of the night turns out to be Emmylou’s skill as a guitarist. Anyone expecting her to strum politely throughout would no doubt have left impressed by her graceful finger picking, particularly on a moving version of ‘Bang The Drum Slowly’. I found myself wondering whether this rendition of the song might have been even more effective had it been completely solo. The interjection of swirling synth pads during the choruses did seem a little obvious – a touch of emotional manipulation where evidently none was required.

Two further reservations – in not playing ‘Michelangelo’ or ‘Boulder to Birmingham’ she arguably omits her two finest self-penned songs. The show opening ‘Here I Am’ acts as the sole selection from ‘Stumble Into Grace’, which seems a shame given the rich seam of material that album might provide. This is of course a mere quibble given the show’s near two-hour running time. A more significant obstacle is the amount of reverb added to her voice – it’s a strong enough instrument not to need it, and the effect is to obscure her enunciation so some of the words become lost. With her great emphasis on story songs and personal narratives, the words are often as important as the melodies.

Still, for a woman who claims not to be religious, she sounds fervent and almost evangelical tonight. There’s a strong gospel power to the show’s final stretch, with a striking unaccompanied vocal harmony version of ‘Bright Morning Stars’ and a joyous and rousing ‘Get Up John!’. This starts to make the spiritual strain of her more recent material (especially ‘The Pearl’) begin to make more sense.

It’s also impossible to review an Emmylou performance without mentioning just how wonderful she looks, her angelic facial beauty well preserved and her stunning white hair seeming to flow seamlessly into a radiant white dress. It’s good to see she can still wear cowboy boots too.