On the Beat

On Edinburgh’s Riviera, Big Things on the Beach is an exhibition of public art organised by the people of Portobello.

It was eighteen months since I was last down at Portobello Beach, a place with which I have a strong, deep romantic attachment. Strange that I so rarely go there, really.

( The art is on display in people’s gardens... )

Two concerts on consecutive nights: the tickets booked months ago, when all the plans were different.

( The first was by the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir... )

( The second was Gothenburg Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Gustavo Dudamel... )

I saw Dudamel last night at the Usher Hall, and it was brilliant.

I am going to write a bit more about the music I have seen in this year's festival, but if you are going to the Proms tonight, it should be - well, equally brilliant.

And if you aren't going to the Proms tonight (and let's face it, it must have sold out about three months ago) - listen to the concert on Radio 3!!!

One downside: they are not playing Appalachian Spring tonight, which was absolutely superb last night - it was very moving.

The collaboration between Scottish saxophonist Tommy Smith - winner of a recent award in the BBC jazz awards and Norwegian bass player Arild Andersen goes back a few years; I saw them in the ethereal setting of the Round Church in Bowmore, Islay, which produced a concert of such exquisite beauty that I was a little scared to see them again: how could they possibly match up to that memory, especially with the addition of Cosker on drums?

In Bowmore, the combination of the saxophone and the bass had created a mesmeric, meditative sound that was wholly suited to the setting. Andersen had used his ingenuity and some whizzy technology to set up loops of his percussive bass, providing rhythm to which he and Smith played their gentle melodies. How could drums not contrive to break that spell? Particular since I have seen Cosker play before, and he can be a loud, brash and domineering drummer.

The trio answered my concerns within moments. Andersen played a series of pizzicato phrases, looped them and set up a complex rhythm; and Cosker joined in seamlessly, working abstractly away from the beat. With Smith playing tenor, they created some magical sounds, mixing jazz and folk sensibilities to create their own sound.

It was beautifully contemplative, emotional music, the sounds meshing together to create a vivid soundscape. Stunningly lovely.

I have seen Smith and Andersen twice before – they toured Scotland in the autumn of 2006, when they also recorded together (apparently, they are releasing a CD on ECM this autumn – I don’t know if it was the 2006 sessions that provided the music for the CD) – and every gig I have seen them in was in a church or former church – the Round Church, the Lot, and now the Hub. Perhaps they choose their venues to fit the sound they produce…

* * *

Andersen, Smith and Cosker were followed onto the stage at the Hub by a trio of Brian Kellock on piano, Chris Lightcap on bass and Matt Wilson on drums. They started off very free and open, Kellock scattering notes seemingly at random, Wilson working his kit and an assortment of hand-held percussion in response, leaving Lightcap to hold it together. This worked really well, the three of them creating an abstract space to explore.

After about ten minutes, the pianos chords resolved into “The Way You Look Tonight”, and Kellock started to play it straight ahead in the mainstream. After the experimental start, I thought this would be temporary, Kellock showing where he had come from and that he could play different styles. Instead, they were firmly stuck in the mainstream for the next hour or so.

This was a pity. They didn’t match the interest they had generated early; they played it very straight – it was good, they knew what they were doing, and they played some great standards, but it wasn’t the same.

They were joined for the last three numbers by Lianne Carroll as guest vocalist. I don’t particularly like jazz singers – and as jazz singers go, I though Carroll was all right – the vocals didn’t impinge too much – she was using her voice as an instrument in the ensemble, rather being the dominant voice – but it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

Perhaps I had been spoiled after the wonderful set by Andersen, Smith and Cosker; either, I wasn’t especially enamoured of the trio. All right as far as it went, but they had shown so much more promise.

On consecutive nights, the Hub played host to big names from the States: on Tuesday, the David Murray's "Black Saint" Quartet, and on Wednesday, the Dizzy Gillespie All Stars.

It was an interesting juxtaposition: Murray is, to quote the Bible, "the most formidable tenor soloist of his generation"; the Dizzy All Stars (sans Dizzy, mostly because he died fifteen years ago) reflecting an earlier time, when bebop was revolutionary.

I had seen Murray play a couple of times – but not for about twenty years. Still, like everyone else in the hall, I gave him a star’s welcome – several minutes of applause. He had a youngish band with him – the names (Lafayette Gilchrist – piano; Jaribu Shahid – bass; and Hamid Drake - drums) meant nothing to me. And they started right into it, belting out a raucous tune.

It did nothing for me. Nothing at all. Murray’s tenor sax sounded like a strangled goose, honking away. He was fast – he had a lot of technique – but it communicated nothing to me except that the notes were spilling out, falling in all directions. The band powered behind him, driven by Drake thrashing away (he was loud). Gilchrist’s piano was laying down subtle and not-so subtle chords behind him, and Shahid was plucking awat solidly.

But so what? It left me completely unmoved: it was just a torrent of notes.

They seemed to take themselves so seriously. Murray dedicated one number to “the next president of the United States – Barack Obama!” (everyone cheered); he introduced another – a much softer, slower number featuring his rather lovely bass clarinet playing (the first time I felt engaged during the show) – as the theme tune to a TV series about racism.

After that, Murray was back on tenor, strangling a whole flock of geese as the notes poured – he was very fast. Finally, after an interminable drum solo – jeez, it was loud, fast and boring full of sound and fury, signifying nothing - I had had enough; I left.

I had sat there for an hour, waiting to be entertained or moved. Maybe if I had heard more bass clarinet? Whatever it was – whether it was me or the band, I had heard enough. I reckoned it must be me – the rest of the audience seemed enthralled, loudly cheering the drum solo, hollering between numbers whilst I was left cold: maybe some mood had enveloped me in a fog, obscuring the music.

Either way, my mood lifted considerably when I left.

By the way, before the band came on, they asked that no photographs of any kind were taken; so I left my camera in my bag. Which is a shame – I was looking forward to adding the most formidable tenor soloist of his generation to my collection of saxophonists!

* * *

Following Murray, I didn’t have hopes for the Dizzy All Stars: my expectations were very low. How wrong I was: within a couple of beats they had won my heart.

Perhaps this was down to familiarity: just seconds after coming on stage, they launched into a blistering version of “Salt Peanuts”, and after that they could do no wrong.

The band consisted of James Moody on tenor, Slide Hampton on trombone, with Greg Gisbert having the unenviable task of taking Dizzy’s role on trumpet and a rhythm section of John Lee on electric bass, Eric Gunnison on piano and Vince Ector on drums.

The energy with which they performed was astonishing, given that Moody is 83 and Hampton, 76, had suffered a stroke in June. True, Hampton’s playing wasn’t at its best, but Moody was on storming form, playing.

They didn’t play anything else with the verve and speed of their opening number, but by then they had the audience. A stream of standards followed from Gillespie’s heyday. Gisbert was excellent, but it really seemed Moody’s show: he kept up a banter with the audience, sang a couple of songs (including a rap, surprisingly), and belted out some great sax solos.

So why was this so much more fun than the previous night? Well, it looked like they all wanted to be there: they brought a real warmth to the stage. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. And they played fun tunes. It was – well, just fun.

The second gig was the Stan Tracey Quartet – another band with just saxophone as the solo horn. I love Stan Tracey: when I was discovering jazz, it was hearing Tracey playing in London that helped me make sense of Monk: it was as if Tracey was the missing link between Ellington and Monk, because he sounded like both, simultaneously. (It was only a good while later when I heard the absolutely essential Money Jungle that I realised that, actually, Ellington himself was the missing link between Ellington and Monk: in a trio with Charlie Mingus and Max Roach, Ellington sounds like the most modern of the modernists.) Tracey’s website calls him the “the godfather of British jazz”, and they got that about right.

So I was really looking forward to this gig, although I must admit there was a somewhat morbid reason for going, too: Tracey is now in his eighties, and I simply had to take the opportunity to see him play whilst I could.

The quartet featured Bobby Wellins on tenor; Tracey and Wellins have been playing together for more than forty years. It was themed around Monk, and they covered the repertoire – all one’s favourites. There was a great solo version of Round Midnight; they played In Walked Bud, the onomatopoeic I Mean You; Well You Needn’t; and they finished with a fine version of Rhythm-A-Ning. Wellins led a great version of Monk’s Mood.

Monk’s music is jagged and angular; it sounds like it shouldn’t work – still, after all this time – but it does: the notes fit together and the rhythm somehow meshes. These tunes used to be avant-garde; now they are standards.

The quartet was made up with Stan’s son Clark on drums and bassist Andrew Cleyndart.

Thing is, it was a good set, but it lacked fire. It sounded like they’d been playing the tunes for thirty years, and they knew what was going to happen next. This is hardly surprising – because Tracey and Wellins have been playing these tunes for fifty years. And it did sound good; just not great. It was wonderful to hear the tunes, but there was almost too much familiarity to them now – they have lost the ability to surprise and shock.

It was great to see Tracey and Wellins venture back north, though.

I have now been to see the festival exhibition at the Dean Gallery, “Foto: Modernity in Central Europe, 1918-1945" twice.

It is quite an interesting exhibition: it does exactly what it says on the tin: it looks at photography in central Europe between the wars. This also means that it doesn’t necessarily work as an exhibition: despite the curators’ attempts to provide cohesion and themes, it doesn’t necessarily hang together very well. There is just too much to cover: a large geographical area in political turmoil, an art form newly available to the masses, and economic changes ranging from depression to boom. Inevitably, it is a very bitty exhibition. Many of the images were new to me, as were most of the photographers.

( Read more... )

The Edinburgh Festival finishes in early September, but the major art exhibitions run on until late October; as usual, I left it to the very last moment to catch some of the exhibitions (except one, which I saw back in July - either early or late!).

There were four big shows at the National Galleries; I adored one, loathed one, and found the other two interesting although flawed.

( Read more... )

One of the must-see shows of this year’s Edinburgh Fringe has been Fuerzabruta. Fuerzabruta - brute force. I love physical theatre. So I reckoned I ought to go and see it. It just sounded like if I didn’t, I’d regret it.

( Read more… text and pictures )

I have been to my usual quota of Festival shows, although I can't help feeling they haven't been up to my usual standard. Most of the things I go to I go to because I expect them to be good, and I'm not often disappointed. It is true that I have sat through a few turkeys - but it is a very few. (I think the Pina Bausch "dance" performance Nelken - "carnations" - is the one that really sticks in my throat: it was sold to me as being the best dance show around. I sat there for more than an hour, waiting for it to get better, and then the curtain came down. As far as I was concerned, it had no redeeming features. Not even any nudity.)

( More Edinburgh culture... )