Lucid Culture

JAZZ, CLASSICAL MUSIC AND THE ARTS IN NEW YORK CITY

Transcendence and Trials at Winter Jazzfest 2020

One of the high points of Winter Jazzfest 2020 was a rock song.

Don’t read that the wrong way. Firing off clanging, reverb-fanged minor chords from her white Fender Jaguar, Becca Stevens sang her steadily crescendoing anthem I Will Avenge You with just enough distance to make the inevitable all the more grim. Connections to a famous hippie songwriter and steampunk Broadway show aside, it was validating to see her pack the Poisson Rouge to open last night’s Manhattan marathon of shows.

She’s lost none of the livewire intensity she had in the days when she used to front a surrealistically entertaining cover band, the Bjorkestra, ten-odd years ago. Her own material is just as artsy and outside-the-box: it’s what would have been called art-rock back in the 70s, but with a 90s trip-hop influence (Portishead at their most orchestral) instead of, say, Genesis. Drummer Jordan Perlson and bassist Chris Tordini gave a snap to the songs’ tricky metrics, lead guitarist Jan Esbra adding terse colors, keyboardist Michelle Willis bubbling and rippling and soaring with her vocal harmonies. The songs ranged from an uneasily dancing setting of a Shakespeare text from Romeo and Juliet, to a dizzyingly circling ukulele tune, to Tillery, the subtly soukous-inflected anthem that Stevens typically opens with. “Without love there is nothing,” was the singalong chorus. True enough: that’s why we do this stuff.

A few blocks east at the Zurcher Gallery, singer Sara Serpa raised the bar impossibly high for the rest of the night, or so it seemed at the moment. With barely a pause between songs, she led a tightly focused lustrous quartet – longtime partner and saturnine influence Andre Matos on guitar, Dov Manski on piano and analog synth, and Jesse Simpson on drums – through a glistening, sometimes pointillistic, sometimes shatteringly plaintive set of songs without words.

Serpa didn’t sing any actual lyrics until the unexpectedly playful final song, relying instead on her signature vocalese. While she’s best known as a purveyor of misty, airy, frequently noir sonics, she’s developed stunning new power, especially on the low end – although she used that very judiciously. The most haunting song of the night came across as a mashup of Chano Dominguez and Procol Harum at their most quietly brooding, with a ghostly avenger out front. Matos’ steady, purposeful, meticulously nuanced chords and fills anchored Manski’s often otherworldly textures and eerie belltones as Simpson maintained a steady, suspenseful flutter with his bundles.

Over at Zinc Bar, trumpeter Samantha Boshnack led a New York version of her Seismic Belt septet, playing shapeshiftingly emphatic, anthemic, eco-disaster themed material from her fantastic 2019 album of the same name. The music seemed to still be coalescing, but that observation might be colored by the situation where the bar wasn’t letting people stand in the inner room close to the band, as they had in the past, and what was being piped into the front area through a couple of tinny speakers wasn’t enough to compete with a chatty crowd. The bandleader’s soulful, cantabile tone rose and fell gracefully and mingled with the sometimes stark, occasionally lush textures of violinist Sarah Bernstein, violist Jessica Pavone, bassist Lisa Hoppe, expansively dynamic baritone saxophonist Chris Credit, pianist Kai Ono and drummer Jacob Shandling. Boshnack’s voice is full of color and sparkle, just like her horn: she should sing more. Chet Baker may have left us, but Boshnack would be a welcome addition to the trumpeter/singer demimonde.

That there would be such a packed house in the basement of a snooty new Lafayette Street tourist bar, gathered to see the debut of pedal steel paradigm-shifter Susan Alcorn‘s new quintet, speaks to the exponential increase in interest in improvisation at the highest level. That the band had such potent material to work with didn’t hurt. Alcorn’s tunesmithing can be as devastatingly sad as her stage presence and banter is devastatingly funny.

Drummer Ryan Sawyer – most recently witnessed swinging the hell out of a set by Rev. Vince Anderson a couple of weeks ago – sank his sticks into a diving bell of a press roll that Alcorn pulled shivering to the surface in a trail of sparks. Violinist Mark Feldman’s searingly precise downward cadenza out of a long, matter-of-factly circling Michael Formanek bass crescendo was just as much of a thrill. Guitarist Mary Halvorson echoed the bandleader’s sudden swells and sharply disappearing vistas with her volume pedal.

There was a lot of sublime new material in the set. They began with a poignant, 19th century gospel-infused minor-key number that disintegrated into a surreal reflecting pool before returning, austere and darkly ambered. An even more angst-fueled, lingering diptych began as a refection on a battle with food poisoning, Alcorn deadpanned: from the sound of that, it could have killed her. Later portraits of New Mexico mountain terrain and a Utah “circular ruin” gave the band plenty of room to expand on similarly stark themes. The coyly galloping romp out at the end of the catchy, concluding pastoral jazz number offered irresistibly amusing relief.

Winter Jazzfest has expanded to the point where it seems it’s now a lot easier to get in to see pretty much whoever you want to see – at least this year, from this point of view. Even so, there’s always triage. Matthew Shipp at the Nuyorican, what a serendipitous match…but the Nuyorican is a good fifteen-minute shlep from the Bleecker Street strip, just on the cusp of where a taxi driver would think you’re really lame for not hoofing it over to Alphabet City.

Cuban-born pianist Harold Lopez-Nussa and his irrepressible quartet at Subculture were much closer. There’s always been a fine line between salsa and jazz and for this show, this crew – with Mayquel Gonzalez on trumpet, Gaston Joya on five-string bass and the bandleader’s brother Ruy on drums – sided with bringing the first kind of party. In a spirited duet, it turned out that the bandleader’s bro is a more than competent and equally extrovert pianist, when he wasn’t riffing expertly on his snare like a timbalero. The group shifted from long, vampy, percussive cascades to classically-flavored interludes, including a catchy Leo Brouwer ballad that Lopez-Nussa used as a rollercoaster to engage the crowd. What a beautiful, sonically pristine venue, and what a shame that, beyond a weekly Sunday morning classical concert series, the space isn’t used for music anymore. They probably couldn’t put the Poisson Rouge out of business – who would want that bar’s cheesy Jersey cover bands, anyway – but they could steal all their classical and jazz acts.

January 12, 2020 Posted by | concert, jazz, Live Events, Music, music, concert, New York City, review, Reviews, rock music | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Vivid, Imaginative Live Album and a Jazz Gallery Show From Trumpeter Samantha Boshnack

Said it once, time to say it again: more artists should make live albums. Trumpeter Samantha Boshnack‘s richly melodic, cinematic latest release Live in Santa Monica, with her Seismic Ensemble – streaming at Bandcamp – is lush and sweeping but also bristles with the kind of energy that’s easy to capture onstage but so often gets lost in the rush to wrap up a studio session. Its loosely thematic thread relates to seismic tension in the Pacific Rim, stretching all the way from north Asia to the US Pacific coast. Boshnack is one of the great tunesmiths in jazz and has a thing for unorthodox instrumentation. She likes big, inventive arrangements that still leave plenty of room for individual contributions. She’s leading the group this Sept 9, with sets at at 7:30 PM and 9:30 PM at the Jazz Gallery, as part of this year’s Festival of New Trumpet Music. Fellow trumpeter John Raymond‘s Quartet follows on the bill; cover is $20.

Boshnack and crew open their album with a couple of long, very different, vampy numbers. The first, The Subduction Zone is an uneasily punchy, swaying tune with a catchy trumpet hook at the center, a lustrous, distantly plaintive solo from Boshnack and more of the same from the violinists – Lauren Elizabeth Baba and violinist Paris Hurley – along with some wryly vaudevillian Dan Schnelle drum breaks.

The second, Kamchatka, has terse, bitingly resonant chromatic harmonies – that’s Boshnack, the strings and tenor sax player Ryan Parrish – over an elegantly muted, rat-a-tat Balkan groove, much in the same vein as Ben Holmes’ most recent work. Bassist Nashir Janmohamed takes a purposeful, daincing solo, capped off by a flourish from pianist Paul Cornish. It’s gorgeous, and it’s the best track on the album.

Parrish switches to baritone on Tectonic Plates, following the bandleader’s clear, soaring solo with gritty contrasts over staggered, quasi West African syncopation and jaunty pizzicato from the strings. Cornish’s puckish stairstepping after that completely flips the script as the band blusters and tumbles behind him.

Summer That Never Came opens with a similar smoky/airy dynamic between baritone and strings, then the band rises to a harried canaval-esque intensity before decaying to a wounded, resonant Boshnack solo as the rhythm drops out and then returns, halfspeed.

Convection Current has lush tropical allusions, a buoyant Parrish alto solo, a tightly winding piano solo and lusciously jagged violin over a staggered clave. In the next track, Choro, Schnelle brings back the Balkan flair with his rimshots and tunbles as the bandleader bobs and weaves over the strings’ acidity and smoke from the baritone.

The album’s most epic number, Fuji rises over an allusive Asian theme to towering heights, decays to a spacious and then frenetic piano solo, and finally wistfully incisive solo bass. The stomp afterward has the kind of deviously noisy humor that Boshnack made a name for herself with her B’Shnorkestra large ensemble. The group wind up the album with Submarine Volcano, its series of round-robin conversations, triumphant trumpet and sax. There’s an awful lot going on here, and the fun is contagious.

September 6, 2019 Posted by | jazz, Music, music, concert, review, Reviews | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment