Keith Jarrett and Elizabeth's blue vein

I noticed her as I walked across the BART platform, waiting for a train to take me over to Berkeley to see Keith Jarrett perform his first solo improv show at Zellerbach in thirty years. Everyone noticed her. One couldn't help it- the girl, in her early 20s, with the straight, strawberry-blonde hair, blunt bangs, orange-sherbet-colored lace bustier worn as a blouse and a foam-green H&M-looking jacquard bolero jacket over it. The jacket, like the inexpensive and unflattering jeans she wore, didn't draw any attention from her breasts, which the bustier-as-blouse displayed as if they were extremely rare, exotic, honey-colored melons plucked from some fantastic Eden and placed upon the girl's chest by none other than Satan himself.

Not from around here, I thought, wondering if the girl appreciated the attention she was getting from both sexes, or if she found it annoying. She feigned obliviousness to the allure of the breasts quite well, as if there was a thought balloon over her head  which read What? These? Yes, aren't they nice?

I went over to sit down on an empty spot on a bench, opened up my book, and having ten minutes until the train arrived, read the same sentence about thirty times, all the while noticing people notice the breasts. While I was sitting there trying to read Understanding Toscanini, I was listening to Blue Oyster Cult's Secret Treaties album on my phone. "Career of Evil" came on, and I think I sang along with the line "I'd like... to do it to your daughter in a dirt road..." out loud without really thinking about what the small, elderly Asian woman seated next to me must have thought. She got up a moment later and wandered off.

The train arrived and the breasts were already on board when I stepped into the train, sitting on the seat next to the opposite door, illuminated by the harsh florescent lights of the train- lights that make 98% of the population look like cadavers, but only served to draw attention to a gorgeous blue vein that lay just beneath the stage-left breast, which I'll call Elizabeth. I found myself momentarily mesmerized at the sight of Elizabeth's blue vein- a glorious imperfection which made Elizabeth and her veinless twin all the more perfect in my eyes. So perfect in fact, I sat facing the other way, next to a heavy-set Latino man and across from a guy who looked like Refrigerator Perry who was talking on a cell phone. I went back to trying to understand Toscanini, but my attention was drawn to these two guys, who were obviously marveling at Elizabeth and her sister.

I felt somewhat sad- not only for these two pathetic guys, but also for the bearer of the objects of their desire. I'm judgemental that way. Elizabeth and her sister deserve better from everyone involved. I wish I had a picture of that vein. I'd put it on the wall of my bathroom.

At the Downtown Berkeley stop I got off, and so did the Blonde, who went in a different direction, followed like the Pied Piper by an assortment of admirers. I bet she's thinking about me at this very moment. Life is like that- sliding doors and all that kind of thing.

Zellerbach was packed with Jarrett's fans, a vast portion of which seemed willing to applaud anything he played as if it were the most brilliant music ever performed. And some of it came pretty damn close to that, but not all of it. It took him awhile to find the perfect groove, beginning with a Bach-infused mid-tempo workout which he slowed down to a ballad, with snippets that sounded like  "Someone to Watch Over Me" escaping at moments.

Jarrett paused, turned to the audience and said, "Sometimes subject matter gets in the way," before returning to the ballad, which increasingly took on bop elements, with Jarrett starting to rise from his seat and do his thing, moving into Brubeck territory as he increased the tempo.

He began the next part by slapping out a rhythm on top of the piano, setting a beat, which he sat down on followed on the keys, and here is where the set took off into the rarefied musical expressiveness the audience had come to hear, creating an increasingly dramatic yet melodic web of intricate flourishes drawn with his right hand while the left chugged along in an almost barrelhouse meditation. It soared into a beautiful ballad.

The next part began with a riff that sounded like "All Blues" and I realized the futility of trying to figure out where he was going as I couldn't quite believe that there was something like "Sweet Home Chicago" coming from the man's hands. At that point I just decided to roll along with him and see where it went.

Intermission was followed by an incredibly Romantic-era bit of classical playing that was stunning as much as for its beauty as for Jarrett's virtuosity and I had this crazy thought float into my mind that if a remake of The Seven Year Itch were made, with Jarrett cast in the Tom Ewell role, this is what he would play in the scene where Ewell imagines himself successfully seducing Marilyn Monroe by playing Rachmaninoff. And it would have worked.

After that, he drew a blank on what to play next- as if he had just peaked and he knew it. What followed in the remainder of the set never reached the same heights, but he came close during what proved to be five encores when he acquiesced to numerous shouts from the audience for "Over the Rainbow" and gave the crowd what it wanted and then some. It was gorgeous. Perfectly paced, he played it with a delicate, thoughtful beauty I can't describe in any other way. "Summertime" and "I'm Through with Love" were two of the other encores, and the former would have been more memorable had Jarrett not "sung" along with it. But that's what the man does, and all in all, it was worth it to watch a true master willing to wing it.

The ride back to the City was uneventful, and I managed to understand more Toscanini without Elizabethan interruptions. The concert was presented by Cal Performances. 

Alfredo Rodríguez in Berkeley

Alfredo Rodríguez returned to the Bay Area Sunday night for the first time since 2009, when he made his local debut in a well-received SFJazz show. The hype around the young Cuban pianist hasn't died down since then, though he's only just now about to release his first album, Sounds of Space (on Quincy Jones' Qwest label). Indeed there were many in the house who were at that last show eagerly anticipating his return, this time in Berkeley, courtesy of Cal Performances, and he certainly delivered a performance worthy of the hype and high expectations.

Originally announced as a solo recital, I was pleased to see the stage set up for a trio. Shortly after 7 Rodríguez, bass player Peter Slavov and percussionist Francisco Mela walked onstage and they began with Rodríguez's ironically titled "Silencio." Rodríguez, a classically trained musician who moved into jazz after hearing Keith Jarret's Koln recording, has absorbed a lot of Jarrett's mannerisms at the keys, from the hunched shoulders to rising off the bench almost into the piano. But the absorption has also been a musical one, as the song went into loud, sinewy passages rooted in swing that would veer into territory more closely associated with rock dynamics- at one point the tune sounded almost like an early Black Sabbath song as Rodríguez laid into extended riffs in minor keys, before the song concluded like a runaway train.

The next song was Maria Vera's "Veinte Años," which Slavov kicked off with a funky solo before Rodríguez and Meya slowed it down into son territory, and then refined it further into an elegant, Oscar Peterson-like ballad. Meya, an absolutely phenomenal drummer, played with sticks, brushes and hands as the song evolved into a rumba before closing out in full jazz mode.

Next came two more Rodríguez compositions, "El Guije" and "Transculturation." These pieces covered a lot of musical ground, at one point in "El Guije" the trio had moved far into territory many would label "new music" instead of jazz, as the pianist's classical foundation came to the fore. Mela's aggressive drumming and Slavov's steady bottom would veer from Loussier's formalism to Brubeck's bounce and then leave it all behind to play something completely unique- I found myself thinking I've never heard anything quite like these guys before, then Rodríguez would return to the minor keys, working in the theme from"The Girl from Impanema" and improvising outward until they brought the latter song home with a resounding thump.

Rodríguez took the mic, introduced the players and the previous songs, then they performed "Quízas, Quízas, Quízas" and "Guantanamera"- the first was a slow, hazy shuffle which soon shifted into something much more brooding as Rodríguez again shifted from major to minor chord progressions, working the rhythm back and forth to a point where were it not so intriguing it could have been excessive but never was. The latter classic was so heavily laden with improvisation, played as a breakneck jam, it was almost unrecognizable, and both were compellingly played.

Rodríguez returned to the stage alone for the encore- a devastatingly beautiful rendition of the bolero "Como fue" by Ernesto Duarte, which was accompanied by some one's phone going off in a manner that was particularly egregious, all the more so because its owner refused to silence it while the voicemail options went off through the hall. I almost expected a repeat of the infamous recent New York episode was about to unfold, but Rodríguez played through it, his back to the offender, seemingly unruffled by the disturbance.

Setting the standard

Although no one has designated it as such, the performing arts season of 2011-12 may well end up being remembered as "the year of the pianists." An extraordinarily talented and legendary number of jazz and classical musicians have passed through the area lately and more are on the way. On the jazz front we've already seen McCoy Tyner, Brad Mehldau and Herbie Hancock. Ahmad Jamal will be performing in December. On the classical side Yefim Bronfman, Thomas Ades have already given stellar performances and in the weeks and months ahead Lang Lang, Marc Andre Hamelin, Alexander Melnikov, Christian Zacharias, Leif Ove Andsnes, Murray Perahia, Andras Schiff, Richard Goode and many others will perform locally. It's an abundance of riches, to be sure.

The Keith Jarrett Trio: L to R- Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette, Gary Peacock. Photo by Rose Anne Jarrett

The bar was seriously raised last night when Cal Performances presented the Keith Jarrett Trio at Zellerbach Hall. Comprised of Gary Peacock on bass and Jack DeJohnette on drums, these men have been performing together for more than 25 years and it shows at every turn. The notoriously picky pianist seemed in good spirits as he led them through a 2/12 hour performance of standards which held the full house rapt. With the piano situated onstage so his back was toward most of the audience, his head often bowed so far down toward the keys it couldn't be seen, Jarrett's improvisations were stunningly intricate, with developments you couldn't see coming but always went in the most natural direction, ending in denouements which only seemed inevitable once they arrived.

Peacock was always right there in the middle of it, extremely present yet never drawing attention his playing. His was one of the most subtle and complex performances on the instrument I've witnessed, filling in the empty spaces between the piano and drums with notes which made one pay close attention. At the age of 76 he shows no signs of slowing down.  DeJohnette's drum playing was magnificent, especially when he picked up the brushes during the second half. A fully-integrated component of the trio, not just the timekeeper, his timing and taste are impeccable. As the performance progressed, the trio just got tighter and tighter, each number sounding better than the last. This was jazz at its best.

The concert was comprised of standards, including a wonderful version of "Fever" in the first set and concluded with two encores, the last of which was a gorgeous, intricate take on "When I Fall in Love," which Jarrett dedicated to someone with whom he has recently done just that.

In a season of heavy-hitters, this performance set a standard which will be hard to top. The trio has a new album out called Rio and their tour concludes Tuesday night in Seattle.

Set list:
You Go To My Head
Yesterdays
Bob-Be 
Fever
Once Upon A Time
One For Majid
Life's A Bowl of Cherries
Balled (?)
Sandu (?)
Things Ain't What They Used to Be (Duke Ellington)

Encores:
I Didn't Know What Love Was
When I Fall In Love

The Robert Glasper Experiment

On his most recent album, the impressive Double Booked (Blue Note, 2009), pianist Robert Glasper splits the tracks between The Robert Glasper Trio and The Robert Glasper Experiment. The Experiment tracks have a distinct hip-hop vein running through them, propelled by the drumming of Chris Dave and are, well, experimental. Based on personnel, it was the Robert Glasper Experiment that showed up to play an SFJazz gig at the YBCA Forum last night, not the Trio as billed.

Doesn't matter. With Derrick Hodge on acoustic bass and Chris Dave on the drums, the three of them gave an impressive, humor-laden performance that was as notable for its personal interactions between them as much as the musical ones. Let's just say watching these guys is like hanging out people you've known a long time who are deeply immersed in their own long-running shtick- and Chris Dave is one funny guy, not to mention an extremely talented and inventive drummer.

Opening with "One For 'Grew" from 2007's In My Element, the first set flowed from one song to another across post-bop terrain, infected by Dave's unusual beats and cymbal work. Glasper and Dave were at opposite ends of the stage facing one another during, taunting each another at times, with the imposing Hodges set between them like the beam on a scale, keeping everything centered. Glasper announced what songs they played after awhile, but I couldn't catch them all.

He started messing with the band (and the audience) as he began to play Cyndi Lauper's "Time After Time," prompting Dave to start walking offstage in bemused disgust. Next Glasper tried a little Bonnie Raitt and some Bruce Hornsby, but that didn't play either. After the first notes of "Send in the Clowns" Dave started to dismantle his kit. It was all pretty funny, as Glasper wore a "what? me?" look on his face. It reminded me of the Thanksgiving scene in She's Gotta Have It. Then they got serious with an impressive, extended improvisation of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" which for me was the highlight of the two sets.

The next stops on their tour take them to Kansas City, MO, Cambridge and Northampton in MA, Washington DC, Creedmoor, NC and then a four night stand in Chicago. Check the site for dates and venues. The band is definitely worth seeing live.

Here's a video of the group shot in Paris last year, their musicianship on full display:

Before the show Glasper had a lengthy discussion with SFJazz's Rebeca Mauleon, but the Elder Swede and I missed most of it because we were having dinner and drinks at Credo. Chef Gustavo Romero gave us a duck confit appetizer that fell of the bone and was simply delicious, as was the rest of the meal and the Manhattans.

After the show, we strolled over to First Crush for more Manhattans, and heard one of the funniest jokes in recent memory. Do you know what the difference is between jelly and jam?

Rockit, Herbie

Vinnie Colaiuta took the stage first, took a seat behind the drum kit, and started it off with a funky beat. James Jenus followed, picked up a five string bass, and threw it in behind Colaiuta, solidifying a groove that would would have made Sly & Robbie envious. From stage right came Lionel Loueke, strapping on a guitar with a sunburst finish, and the three began to groove, Loueke chipping in behind the rhythm section with pedal-produced bits of xylophone effects. In the middle of the stage sat a gleaming grand piano, a Korg Kronos synthesizer set at a right angle to the piano's keyboard. Behind the left of the piano a large Apple monitor displayed a psychadelic screen saver, and a Roland AX-7 rest horizontally on a stand next to it.

Herbie Hancock strode onto the stage in black jeans and shoes, a brightly patterned red shirt and waved to the cheering audience in the well-sold house. I can't believe the man is 71 years old- he easily looks 20 years younger. Taking a seat at the Korg, he pulled the band into a tight, funky version of 1974's  "Actual Proof," taken at a hard, funked out bop. Hancock swiveled to the piano and began working with Colaiuta, percolating the song toward a crescendo and when it hits, it hits with a bang but it doesn't stop-  he lets it subside so Loueke can join in and bring it back to another climax. I'm just sitting there, somewhat amazed at how tight these guys are out the gate.

When it ended Hancock grabbed a mike and stood center-stage, smiling.

"You have no idea what it's like to play with these musicians... This is dangerous stuff."

And for the next hour and a half he proceeded to back those words up with some funk-laden jazz that covered a lot of the ground he's explored in his fifty-year plus long career, chops on display all the way.

"Watermelon Man" came next, done in 70's Headhunters-style, rather than the original 60's version. It segued into a tune called "Seventeens"- a nod to the time it's played in, composed by Loueke for the band. In the middle of all of this Hancock grabbed the Roland and had something of a bass-off with Genus, the only section of the show that bogged, depending on one's enthusiasm for lengthy indulgences (my own is obviously not deep). During the extended jam, everyone got their moment to show off in a solo.

Hancock took the mike again, this time to oversell Loueke's coming solo turn, which was impressive, but didn't exactly deliver what Hancock billed it as, which was something along the lines of you won't believe this is only one man and one guitar. Actually, the one guitar part was easy- it was Loueke's processed vocals accompanying it that was truly a surprise. Both his voice and guitar were drenched in effect, delivering some sounds from his native Benin with mesmerizing results, making me regret I missed his recent show presented by SFJazz last season.

Then came the moment I was really looking forward to more than anything, Hancock alone on the piano, performing an improvisation that went deep into conflicted territory before coming to light as "Someone to Watch Over Me"- the extended intro passage in hindsight sounded like a plea, or justification for needing just that.

The band returned and began "Speak Like a Child," but it wasn't long before that turned into a bumping version of "Cantaloupe Island" that kept chugging along for quite awhile, giving both Genus and Loueke generous moments to shine, while Colaiuta kept the beat incredibly tight.

And that was that- almost. The band returned for an encore of "Chameleon" that was just drenched in funk, more than once entering deep P-Funk territory. It was pretty glorious to behold stretching out to the length found on the album version.

Done with it, the band lined up in front of the stage and took a bow. "Rockit" blasted over the PA and Hancock led the band in a little Bros Johnson style move, albeit a Senior's version- it was charming. The crowd rose, gave them a standing ovation, the band walked off, leaving the beautiful noise of Grandmaster DST's scratching to put a smile on everyone's face as they headed for the doors.

The next gigs on the tour are Sept. 23rd in San Diego with this band and then he's performing with the LA Phil at Disney Hall on Sept. 27th. I'd love to see that.

Cal Performances presented on the show. They've an entire Sunday of free performances for the entire family and all tastes coming up this weekend on Sunday September 25th. Check Free For All out.

A night in Treme

On Friday night Penelope and I had dinner at Urban Tavern, where we encountered the "rather strange server" once again. She's not bad per se, but she's not fast and she is rather odd. But I really like the food there, it's two blocks from my apartment, and for a corporate restaurant in a huge hotel chain it's a better restaurant than it has any right to be. The Host(ess) (a mature woman of a certain age) had on a dress to die for. On top of that, and perhaps the number one reason I like it so much is that the bartenders there make great Manhattans which never disappoint. Okay, sorry- way off topic, I know. Did I say the food is good?


Afterward we made our way over to the sold-out SFJazz presentation of A Night in Treme at Davies, the traveling roadshow featuring musicians who've appeared on the HBO program Treme (pronounced Truh-may')- which I've never actually seen because I don't watch enough TV to care about cable, much less subscribing to a premium channel, especially since you can buy seasons of Breaking Bad and Mad Men from Amazon.


You'll likely read rave reviews about the show from everyone else who attended but I'm going to have to say there were two things which kept it from being the rollicking good time it should have been. One was the format, which made the the first half of the gig a let's-school-these-mostly-white-folks-on-our-heritage-and-music.  Standing at a lectern no less, Wendell Pierce, told us what was what and then the assembled players gave us a musical example of what he was talking about. Now the guys (all male) onstage definitely knew what they were doing and some seriously fine chops were on display from Donald Harrison Jr. on the alto sax, Kermit Ruffins on the trumpet, the extraordinary Dr. Michael White on clarinet, and Big Sam Williams on the trombone. No doubt and no complaint there, but just when they'd hit the groove and exhort the audience to its feet, the music would stop, Pierce would start yammering again, and everyone would sit down, only to be told a couple of minutes later get back on their feet and get down for a couple of minutes and then sit down again for more schooling.

When Pierce finally did shut up and let them play for maybe ten minutes max things hit high gear quickly and backed by members of the Rebirth Brass Band, the show finally started cooking like it ought to have from the first note.

Then guess what? Yep, intermission time. Just when things were really getting a groove on.

The second half of the show started off with the musicians entering from the rear of the floor in a second line. Handkerchiefs and parasols came popped up throughout the audience, everyone was on on their feet, and Davies felt like it was about to erupt.

As they hit the stage, the aforementioned talents kept on going, exiting through a side door, waving goodbye, leaving the audience with the Rebirth Brass Band. Don't get me wrong- I like the Rebirth Brass Band, but they tour regularly and they're not enough of a draw for me to make me want to see them headline a gig at Davies. I wanted the other guys to keep playing.

But the second half was a Rebirth gig, and on top of that, the volume and sound simply sucked. From where we sat in the orchestra it was actually painful- too loud and all that brass was horribly distorted and as the band kept telling everyone to get up and dance (which they quite willingly did) it only seemed to get louder and grow more distorted. Finally, and this didn't take long, I turned to Penelope and said let's go see if it sounds better from the second tier, which she readily agreed to and up we went.

Thankfully it wasn't as loud up there, but the mix was still horribly distorted and since the place was packed leaving nowhere to sit nor stand and the upstairs ushers were a bit uptight about keeping the aisles clear, we bailed. I'm sure it was a party, but not one we needed to stay for.

Later on, we ran into a couple toting SFJazz swag bags who said the headliners came back at the end and it was a glorious show. Well, good for them. For us, it was pretty disappointing, especially considering all that talent on hand and the music could have made for one seriously great night. This is the second time in a month the people doing the sound for SFJazz gigs at Davies have messed it up really badly to the point where I'm considering skipping any further shows there which aren't acoustically oriented.

Back to the volcano

In 1983 Rickie Lee Jones released an EP called "Girl at Her Volcano" containing live tracks recorded at the Santa Monica Civic and studio cuts which didn't make it on to her first two studio albums. It had a certain notoriety for encapsulating the singer's altered state at the time of the live recordings, providing an unglossed version of what she was experiencing, or going through, and what her audiences saw at live shows, which were known to be erratic. It's hard to find nowadays, but well worth seeking out.

There simply was no other singer like Jones at the time, and there really hasn't been another one like her since, and to listen to her catalogue is to realize how profound her impact has been upon any woman who stood in front of a microphone in her wake.With the exception of Kate Bush, there really is no other female who has been a more influential vocalist on the pop or jazz scene since Holliday, Fitzgerald or Franklin in their primes. I don't care if you believe this or not, know this or not, it's just a fact.

Tonight, courtesy of SFJazz, residents of the Bay Area got to see Jones return to the volcano once more and witness a concert that was a different kind of melt-down for a performer who seemed poised to stage to triumphant comeback, though it had nothing to do with altered states.

The program featured her eponymous first album from 1979 and its follow-up, the masterpiece entitled Pirates (1981),  which many fans consider her finest moment (though I would cast my vote for the much maligned and misunderstood The Magazine as the apex of what has without doubt been a brilliant career), played in their entirety.

A few years back, I can't remember how many at the moment, Jones came to San Francisco and played five straight nights at the tiny Cafe Du Noord, each show featuring a different ensemble tackling songs from her entire catalogue. The first night sucked, to put it bluntly. If I hadn't already bought a ticket for the second, I doubt I would have gone back for more punishment, but in the end I was glad I did, and I ended up attending four of the five shows, which reaffirmed my belief that Jones is a genius, though not an easy one.

That first night at the Du Noord, she had some guys backing her she'd obviously never played with before, as if she had passed by Oak Street and asked aloud, "who can play around here, I have a gig in an hour?"  The next night some axe men showed up who had played with her before- and importantly, seemed to know her idiosyncrasies, and the result was magic. The entire stand, as musicians rolled across the stage depending on the whim of Jones' mood that day, turned out to be captivating and compelling, though greatly uneven.

Fast forward to 2011, and I was surprised but pleased to see Rickie Lee getting an obviously prestige gig at Davies Symphony Hall, the night before Tony Bennett was to take the same stage under the same sponsor. SFJazz  has a solid reputation for presenting consistently high quality shows- their name on a gig is almost an imprimatur of quality few Bay Area performing arts organizations can boast of. Though with live performances there's never a guarantee, it's been my experience in the past three or four years that an SFJazz show rarely disappoints.

And yet Jones' shows was a mess from the first moment when she was announced over the PA at a volume that was shockingly loud. Starting off with "Chuck E.'s in Love," Jones' band seemed incapable of playing the song with any nuance, overfilling the arrangement of a song in which the empty spaces say as much as the notes and lyrics do. It wasn't a different arrangement, or at least it didn't sound like one to me- it just sounded like Jones, picking out the tune's riff on an acoustic guitar she was displeased with from the moment she first hit a chord on it, was the only one onstage who had any idea what it should sound like. The over-amplified sound mix was not only too loud for Davies, but from where we sat toward the back of the orchestra, it was unfathomably distorted, giving none of the musicians a break.

Jones' problems with guitars continued as she switched back and forth between a couple, and I almost felt pity for the hapless tech who was trying to make it right for her in what turned out to be a vain attempt as the singer grew increasingly frustrated with first her instruments, then the volume of the band, then the band itself. By the time they made it to "Weasel And The White Boys Cool" the band looked like it had little hope of getting it together.

When they began the material from Pirates things got even worse. The songs on this album are deceptively complicated in their arrangements and the band just floundered, with the three-piece horn section even completely missing their entrance on the title track, forcing Jones to start the song over again, which they had already done for "Living it Up." The drummer got an almost constant berating to speed it up or down, or just to follow her, and even though Jones went over and kissed him on the cheek afterward to make nice, the fact that the band was completely unrehearsed was laid bare on the stage for all to see. I could go on with a list of more that was completely off, but you get the point by now. As for Jones, while her voice hasn't aged well, what she no longer has in clarity she makes up for in her inimitable idiosyncrasies and phrasing. On top of that, she's still a magnetic presence on the stage.

The audience, which deserved a lot better than they got, seemed swayed by that magnetism and refused to acknowledge that at least for this gig, the Duchess had no clothes on. While I observed a slow but steady stream of exits during the show, at the end Jones and the band received a prolonged standing ovation. I have no idea why, but there you have it- I guess they "like it like that."

Later, while the Duchess of Reseda and I were talking about the show and much more at the bar of Sugar, Heidi Melton walked in, looking absolutely fantastic.

Smooth Operators

Saturday night I had the pleasure of seeing Max Raabe and the Palast Orchester perform for the first time. The dapper Raabe crooned his way through the two-hour set while the twelve piece orchestra dazzled the audience with exquisite renditions of songs from the 20s and 30s. The setting, Oakland's Paramount Theatre, added an aura of authenticity to it all and was buzzing with people in period dress. It was like taking a step back into a past most of us only know from the movies.

The set was comprised of Weimar- era and American songs sung in German or English. Raabe, a baritone who sang mostly in falsetto, introduced each song in a deadpan demeanor, often with a wry joke. His movements are minimal and when not at the microphone he would step back to lean against the piano and watch the others. All of the musicians played more than one instrument and some of the changes were quite surprising, for example when one the horn players pulled out a violin and and strode to center stage. While Raabe's a captivating center, the personalities of the musicians emerge throughout to make the show much more than a singer with a back-up band. It's truly a flawlessly choreographed show performed by 13 people. Among the many highlights were Weill's "Alabama Song" and Berlin's "Cheek to Cheek,"  which prompted the octogenarians seated next to us to sing along.

My only complaint was the lack of a dance floor for some foxtrotting, but that's a small quibble- this was one of the most delightful performances I've seen in recent memory.

After the show, the Minister's Rebellious Daughter, Chad Newsome, Axel Feldheim and I went around the corner for drinks at the very lively Flora, where we spotted Raabe at the bar.

The concert was presented by SFJazz.

Gabriel Angelo

On Friday I was walking home from work and I came across this kid playing the trumpet at the corner of Stockton and Sutter. Actually I think it was a coronet.

I asked, "Are you the kid who played with Arturo Sandoval awhile back?"

The kid said yes, and proudly showed me the details on the inscribed instrument which Sandoval gave to him. This very talented young man's name is Gabriel Angelo and yes, he has a blog. I walked away and as I crossed the street he began to play "Moon River" in a way that sounds distinctly his own. At eleven years old! Keep your eyes open for him.

Go Gabriel- blow your horn, and I wish you much success and joy in your art!

Arturo's Party

Saturday night Penelope and I caught Arturo Sandoval's concert at Herbst, a holdover from SFJAZZ's fall season rescheduled from its original October date. I should say Penelope unequivocally loved this show, and it appears everyone else did too, but I found it only mildly satisfying. Certainly not bad- Sandoval's band- the tremendous Ed Calle on sax, Manuel Valera on piano (who has one of the best left hands I've ever heard), Alexis Arce on drums and Armando Arce on percussion are all crack musicians. I was more ambivalent about six-string bassist Dewayne Pate, whose amp was initially way too loud in the mix and whose playing sometimes often sounded hyper-busy, especially in the first set.

But let me tell you what was undeniably great- Sandoval is a master of the trumpet, with a range and tone beyond anyone else I've ever heard. What he can do with it is close to astonishing. He's also an incredibly warm, welcoming, generous, humorous performer, with zero pretense- at times this show felt like we were all hanging out at Arturo's house on a Sunday afternoon with his pals. This was magnified by Sandoval's decision to not only play the horn, but the piano, an electric keyboard, timbales, he sang, he danced, he did the human beat-box. Really. He brought  eleven year Gabriel Angelo come up onstage and play "Moon River" (the kid was great and Sandoval promised he'd send him a cornet).

He and the band played with an air of spontaneity that one should expect from proponents of Be Bop yet it also felt as if everyone knew where they were in the music at all times. So far all this should sound great, right? Yet I found  the set list weighted far too heavily on bop and slower tunes, with things really only heating up Latin-style toward the end, which was disappointing to me but nobody else really seemed to mind. My other quibble is while Sandoval can do all the other instruments and routines well- or at least be entertaining while doing them, he's best at the horn. But it's his show, and after performing for almost 50 years, who's going to deny him? Not me.

SFJAZZ Spring Season picks

As I mentioned earlier, SFJAZZ's Spring Season is an embarrassment of musical riches. With 46 concerts to choose from, it's difficult to narrow it down to a dozen or so and I would happily attend at least 30 of these shows. It's like having to choose between a date with Sophia Loren or Marilyn Monroe and not even getting the chance to think about choosing Elizabeth Taylor instead.

or...

However, after careful deliberation, below are ten I wouldn't want to miss. Hard choices to be sure, but the criteria basically involved the opportunity to see and hear something rare, unique, and different. With the exception of Rickie Lee Jones and Marcus Roberts, who are too good to pass up,  I decided I would leave out any performers I've seen before, which will account for the absence of what many would consider obvious first choices.

My 10 picks:

Marcus Roberts Trio  3/17  Roberts is one today's best pianists and his trio recently released New Orleans meets Harlem. They'll likely hit it hard and hit it smart.

Yasmin Levy  03/20  SFJAZZ brings some of the most arresting international performers to the Bay Area- these shows are usually my favorites. Levy "melds Ladino melodies with vibrant cadences of flamenco, a style with shared roots in Spain’s Moorish past."

Madeleine Peyroux  04/08  Peyroux evokes an ineluctable place somewhere between Billie Holiday and Rickie Lee Jones.

Max Raabe & Palast Orchester  04/09   The Weimar Republic is alive, well and will be present on the stage of the Paramount Theatre.

Gabriela Montero  05/01 Jazz intersects with Classical on solo piano, with improv. As an admirer of Jacques Loussier, I think this show looks really promising.

CéU 05/06 Brazil's latest intriguing singer has a sound that brings samba to places it hasn't been before.

Lionel Loueke Trio  05/20 Guitarist Loueke brings a distinct West African influence to highly intricate arrangements, blurring the line between traditional and adverturous.

Rickie Lee Jones   05/27 She'll be performing her eponymous debut album and Pirates in their entirety for this show. Enough said.

A Night in Treme  06/10 A musical portrait of New Orleans featuring musicians who have appeared on the acclaimed show.

Ana Moura  06/25 Portuguese Fado. Another gig which promises to transport the audience to another place.

Tickets are now on sale.

A great singer, San Francisco's most obnoxious bartender, and very good sushi

Soprano Leah Crocetto was the featured artist this evening at the Salon put on by San Francisco Performances at the Rex Hotel. On my way to the hotel I espied Axel Feldheim, and we were soon joined by the Opera Tattler and seated in the third row of the low-ceilinged, acoustically challenging anteroom with marvelous portraits of writers surrounding us and a sizable, eager crowd.

Crocetto entered the room with her accompanist on piano (and good friend) Tamara Sanikidze, warmly greeted us, and let us know she intended to sing her favorite songs for us, which included arias by Floyd, Rachmaninov, Strauss, Puccini. Of these, I enjoyed the Strauss (beautifully played by Sanikidze) and the Rachmaninov works the most. There was also a gorgeous composition by a member of Chanticleer, who was present in the audience but whose name and title I didn't catch (if you have this information please comment- though I'm sure Axel and the OT, who were taking notes, will have that information in their posts- I didn't want to take notes because I thought the idea of the three of us seated up front taking notes would be too much in such close quarters).

Crocetto charmingly related the influence her father's eclectic musical taste left on her, leaving the arias behind to make the second half of the performance all about jazz. Martin and Blane's "The Boy Next Door," Arlen and Gershwin's "The Man that Got Away," "Fly Me to the Moon," The Girl in 14G," and other tunes from the American songbook really displayed range in Crocetto's voice. No one will likely agree with me, but I preferred her jazz voice- it seems like her natural idiom and as a self pronounced "musical-theater geek" Crocetto interprets these songs with greater emotional investment that the operatic material. The fact that she can do both well is a strong testament to her talent.

Afterward there was a brief Q & A, where she was complimented profusely and Sanikidze told some endearing anecdotes. One gentleman made quite the hyperbolic statement who apparently has never heard Sondra Radvanovsky sing Verdi before. Afterwards, the OT introduced me to her and I said I hoped to hear her at Martuni's one Sunday evening, which she indicated may happen one day.

Penelope then joined us and we retreated to the bar, where the worst bartender in the world holds court. Really, what is wrong with the management of the Rex that this woman still has a job? This is the second time in a month I've encountered the exact same terrible attitude and poor service from this bartender, who without a single soul seated at the bar, requested we come over to her to order our drinks. When I went up with our order, there was a lone man blathering on about something. No eye contact, no acknowledgement of my presence nothing. Eventually I asked her to let me know when she was ready and sat back down at the table, which was maybe six feet from the bar. Finally, she was ready. But I had to give her the simple order twice.

When Axel and I walked in I saw her and said to him, "Oh, she's still here- the worst bartender in the City." Initially he thought my statement to be hyperbole on my part but he soon agreed this was really ridiculous service, as did everyone at the table, who found the humor in it, but since this was my second go round I was just annoyed. Even though we were seated very close to the bar she asked us for a credit card before serving our drinks (she did this last time too), in effect giving us the impression we were going to do what? Run out on our $30 tab? This all would have been fine and understandable had the place been busy, but there were less than a dozen people there. We only had one round, and the only reason I would ever order another drink in this place would be for the convenience of doing so before or after a show there, and only with reluctance. Which is too bad, because it's a nice room with a warm, inviting ambiance- but there are plenty of bars like that downtown staffed by people who understand the service industry.

Axel related his experience over the weekend attending the 1000 minute performance of Longplayer, which I was sorry to miss after hearing about it and I explained the illogical motivation behind my recent rant at San Francisco Opera (now removed) which the OT explained to me was probably not the best use of my time for myriad reasons.

After our beverages we went to have sushi over at Sakana on Post at Taylor. The food and service were excellent. Try the mackerel selections, which come from Japan. They also have very good sea urchin- normally a dish I'm not too fond of. Their kitchen is open until at least 11:30 every night and it's much cheaper and quieter than the nearby Ryoko's- we all found it a good place to dine and converse.

Esperanza Spalding: Chamber Music Society, Alive and Amazing

On Sunday night more than 2000 people showed up at Davies Symphony Hall and got to witness something that is going to be hard to describe without resorting to hyperbole. So fuck it. Esperanza Spalding was phenomenal.

Performing her most recent record Chamber Music Society in it's entirety, Spalding and her accomplices took what was already an impressive album and turned it into a masterpiece. I seriously hope the shows on this tour are being recorded. Accompanied by a string trio comprised of Sara Caswell on violin, Lois Martin on viola and Jody Redhage on cello, Spalding's bass made it a quartet of a different kind. Playing in tandem with the very talented Leo Genovese on piano and the fantastic Terri Lyne Carrington on the drums, this was essentially two completely different kinds of bands creating music together at the same time - a glorious blending of jazz and chamber ensembles woven together so seamlessly it comes across as a natural evolution without a trace of novelty.

Both configurations-quartet and trio, are anchored by Spalding on bass. She's a musician with long experience in classical music and is a natural jazz player. On top of that, scatting and singing effortlessly in three different languages, Spalding is one of the finest vocalists I've ever heard. Also accompanying the group was backing vocalist Leala Cyr who was very impressive in her own right.


After a theatrical entrance, Spalding and crew slid into what became "Little Fly," Chamber Music Society's opening track. This beguiling song, the lyrics of which are a poem by William Blake, features Spalding in a plaintive yet whimsical vocal mood, playing descending, bluesy notes on her bass while Caswell follows behind her with a sad melody on the violin. They stretched it out into something much deeper and more beautiful than the version on the album.

And then they kept going through the tracks, expanding melodies, stretching out interludes into twisting spirals of sound that became simply rapturous when Spalding added her soaring vocals to the mix. I know it's hyperbolic- but they were that good. "Wild is the Wind" was turned into a tour de force. I had to wonder if they hit this level regularly or were we witnessing one of those all too rare performances when musicians take it unwittingly to another level and don't even realize it until it's there- right in front, surrounding them. Out of the hundreds of concerts I've seen, perhaps thousands, I've only seen that happen perhaps a dozen times- when a a gig crosses from a performance over an invisible line into something special- almost mystical, which you can only see as its happening, but more importantly you feel it. This show felt like that and yet it seemed so effortless I suspect there is something genuinely unique about this band, and its incredibly special leader, that allows them to hit this level regularly.

That's really all you need to know. This was their last U.S. gig before they take off for a European tour. They'll return to the U.S. in December and will perform through March across the country. Check out their website and get yourself a ticket. Do not miss them. With almost three months to go before the year ends and lot of things to see and hear before then, I suspect I may have already seen and heard the best musical performance I'm going to this year. With this show Spalding catapulted herself into a small group of performers whose concerts I'd really hate to miss. Her company? If you really want to know, Martha Argerich, Leila Josefowicz, Patti Smith, Prince, Rickie Lee Jones, AllenToussaint, Joyce DiDonato and Karitta Mattila are on that short list.

SFJazz, who put on the show, is only two weeks into their fall festival and they have some fanstastic artists lined up for 30 some-odd shows over the next few weeks, but I have to ask them- can you top this?

Yeah. Phenomenal. And she's only 25- this is going to be a fascinating musical career to watch.

Jimmy Scott at Yoshi's and a night that becomes a debacle

The night held such promise. I seriously don't know what they hell was going on in the universe that caused what should have been a delightful evening to be one that had nothing but arguments and strife going on all around. It started with an agreement that Chad Newsome, Mr. Chang and I would meet at Morton's after work to partake in their delicious $6 sliders and some drinks. I got there first, followed by Chad, with Mr. C bringing up the rear, leaving enough time for Chad and I to order Anchors and blue cheese fries. Now I generally like the bar at Morton's except for two facts: they have televisions in it, which I loathe, and the San Francisco Morton's is the only one in the country which doesn't have drink specials to match the food and I think that pretty much sucks. But the sliders are tasty and at the price they make a great meal. Besides that, it's just blocks from my apartment on my way home from work.

Mr. Chang is one of two close friends I have whom I would label a "conservative," though I try to not hold this against him, because other than that he's a perfectly great guy and at times is downright hilarious. We are seated near one of the TVs which is tuned to Keith Obermann, or whatever his name is, whom Mr. C has a problem with, and proceeds to tell Chad and I about it. Having just read two lengthy articles in the NY Times and the New Yorker about these ridiculous Tea Party people who seem to represent the latest twist in the long, sad, American tradition of "great awakenings," my patience for such discussions is pretty much non-existent and I refuse to allow Mr. C to spout this Fox/Beck/Rush/Newt drivel unanswered, which leads us inevitably to Sarah Palin. The problem here is that Mr. C is trying to link Obama's use of a teleprompter as somehow being equal to Palin's crib marks in her palm. I categorically think this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard which takes us down the rabbit hole for an hour and a half of heated discussion which just bores the shit out of Chad, a fellow liberal Berkeley grad like myself, who has just endured a day that included 6.5 hours of sitting in useless meetings while in the employ of the West Coast's largest bank. While I have empathy for his situation, Mr. C has really raised my ire with this, so let me be perfectly clear: if you think Sarah Palin is qualified to be President of the United States you are an ignoramus. Period. In fact, you are an extreme ignoramus- ignorant- a chump! I won't say you're stupid, but you obviously need an education. This has nothing to do with Obama, congress, or anything else currently going on in American politics. The fact that people take Sarah Palin seriously is frightening, and frankly, it's embarrassing. Okay, enough of that.

So we finished our argument and food and left, with Chad beating a hasty retreat as we had just exhausted him further and provided zero fun for him after a long, crappy day. I can't say I had a good time either, because what fun is it to argue over common-sense basic facts? It's not. Even Mr. C didn't enjoy this, because he's not used to me calling him out in a heated fashion, which I have to admit I did. But I figure the best way to make your point with a right-wing military veteran is to essentially call their position that of one only one a "pussy" would take and if he doesn't like certain things about the country that's just tough shit. Deal with it, or put yourself in a position of power where you can exploit the rules that favor the elite. Life is short, there probably is no god, so get on with your life and have a good time.


And on that note, I headed over to Yoshi's to see Jimmy Scott. The last time Scott, who is now 84, had a gig scheduled in town it was cancelled because he had to go to the hospital. The fact that he's still performing (and recording) at this age is something of a miracle, but he has probably never been more popular than he is now because over the past twenty years or so his genius has finally gathered some attention due to some great late-career recordings. The show was sold out.

Scott's a natural contralto. The first time I heard him I was dumbfounded to learn I was listening to man. If you can compare him to any singer, which may be a mug's game, it would have to be Billie Holliday, who was a huge fan of his and saw all of his shows whenever they were in the same city. Since Scott's been singing since the 40's, I'll leave it to you to decide who influenced whom. He has some affliction and has never stood more than 4'11", so he's often referred to as "Little Jimmy Scott," a moniker conferred on him back in the days when he used to sing with Lionel Hampton. Yeah, the dude is old. And he looks terribly frail- like he's going to die any minute. Since he's wheelchair-bound it's hard to tell how much he's shrunk in his old age, but seriously, when his wife wheeled him out onstage my initial thought was "Gollum Sings the Blues."

But there simply is no other voice like his. No one sounds like him. It's a voice as immediately identifiable as Billie's, Louis Armstrong, Lisa Gerrard, Joni Mitchell, Bon Scott or Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It's just that unique of an instrument. Miles Davis, Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Scott- all in the same league.

He's touring with a four-piece band called the Jazz Expressions, who open the show with an Ellington number done at a level that doesn't embarrass but doesn't impress me, either. It's just a ho-hum opener. But what can one expect with such a generically named outfit [nb- the line-up on the website is different than the line-up which performed at the show]? Seriously- that's the best name you guys could come up with? What is noteworthy is that the show starts about half an hour late (more on this to come). Scott's wheeled onto the stage sometime after 8:30 to a standing ovation.

The set features a number of tunes showcasing Scott and the band to increasingly effective effect. By the end of the show the Jazz Expressions have proved themselves to have some serious chops, with the exception of the piano player, who always seemed to pitch his solos in a key or two higher than really fit the music. But I liked these guys, and at one point I wished they would just ditch the whole thing and launch into "C-Jam Blues"- a tune they seem born to play- but didn't.

Scott is a prime example of how looks can deceive. I seriously thought he could die at any moment- that's how frail he looked. But there he was, in total command, on top of every tune, wringing the nuance out of every lyric and most impressively, his timing was impeccable. I don't believe I've ever seen a singer with such a natural understanding of where and how to turn a phrase, lift a note, stretch one out and convey emotion with nothing more than a slight shift in key. Does that mean he sounded great? Unfortunately no, but he sounded pretty good. There were definitely some rough spots, and he held the mike too close, which, encumbered by a bad microphone mix, made him sound less than pristine. Still he impressed, and then some. Still he was Jimmy Scott, up there on the stage, making jokes about his wife, his age, and in total command of everything going on around him. Yes, it was impressive. The Jazz Expressions seemed to gather strength and steam with every song, each one actually jamming better and with more force than the last, and by the time they drew it all to a close over an hour later, this quartet had seriously rocked the house.


So what the hell was wrong? Oh lord, plenty. I'm about to delve into an area which fascinates me but is bound to be a bit of a contretemps. Yes, let's talk about racial and social interactions in contemporary America. So, when I get to Yoshi's the place is pretty much already full. I take a seat near the back, centered toward the stage, prime for what's available. Yoshi's has a weird "reservation" policy about certain tables which I've never quite understood, and it's in full-effect tonight. There are three black women (just for clarification I never assume a person is African-American- how would I know where they are from based on the color of their skin?) seated at a table to my left, who were there before I arrived. Later on, two white women, approximately in their 40's, a redhead and a blonde, take one of the reserved tables in front of me and the black women. The redhead is overweight by anyone's definition.

As I mentioned, the show starts late. What is interesting to me at this point is how many people keep trickling into the club. Hello? Where have they been that they are entering a show with a published start time of 8PM a half-hour, an hour, or an hour and a half late? Mid-way through the show, another black woman joins the aforementioned group and they start to chat. Not loud enough so one can hear what they are saying, but loud enough to notice without trying to do so. The overweight white woman seated in front of them tries to "shh" them. Mistake number one, girlfriend. First of all, you are in what has historically, and now politically, been deemed a neighborhood that is central to the Black history of this City. Two, have you so little life experience that you don't know that a white, fat woman shhishng a group of black women out on the town is going to get you nowhere at best? The women ignore her and continue to chat amongst themselves until the redhead turns around and hisses "Shut up!"

Oh lord, mistake number two, and it's on. And here I was, just wanting a nice evening of good food, some booze, the company of friends and some great music. Now I'm I'm hearing one of the black women say "You shut up, you fat bitch!" and really, the evening is pretty much ruined at this point. Floor managers are summoned by the white women, who are now put in a position of having to chastise the equivalent to their mothers, which they are not going to do to the white women's satisfaction, and it just goes on and on and on in an ever-escalating bit of white cat/black cat hissy fit. No one wins, the tension is rife for everyone seated nearby, and it sucks. In the meantime, a terribly obese, 60-ish white guy with white hair and a two-inch long pony-tail sits next to the black women and since in reality he doesn't have a chance in hell of scoring with red nor blondie, no matter how fat or old they are, he takes the side of the black women and eggs them on, which makes the whole thing that much worse. Really, I just wanted to hear the music. which Little Jimmy Scott is obliviously delivering with gospel force and ancient grace from the stage.

When I leave, I notice a great exhibit of posters in the lobby from 70 years of "race films" on display to commemorate Black History Month. The posters are fantastic, though my stupid Google phone's camera app can't do them justice. Some of my favorites are below.

Finally, I've seen a half-dozen shows at Yoshi's in the past year and whether or not the shows sucked or they were great , the venue has always impressed me because it was so well-run. Not tonight. Disorganized, bad service and generally shitty all-around, Yoshi's (and San Francisco) had a bad night tonight.

Oh well- there's always tomorrow to look forward to.

Jessica Goldstein- can you explain/translate the above poster for me?

This one was truly gorgeous.

Goodnight everyone.

Bad waiter, bad Nellie

Sometimes expectations are exceeded. Sometimes they're not. This past weekend contained both for me. Friday night they were exceeded by an exceptionally enjoyable performance of La Fille du Regiment at SF Opera that was much better than I thought it would be. As I mentioned in the previous post, it really was a delight.

Saturday night the Ginger, Mademoiselle MG and I went to celebrate MG's birthday at Greens, the City's legendary vegetarian restaurant at Fort Mason. Overall, the food was excellent and between the three of us we sampled a large quantity of items available on the prix fixe menu and thankfully the birthday girl's choices were the best, though nothing was a disappointment.

The service however, was appallingly bad. Once we were seated (close to half an hour after our reservation), we were there for another two and a half hours. Not that we were in a hurry in any way, but the long amount of time spent at the table was not because we were having a long, leisurely dinner but because our waiter just really didn't care about our table at all. It was really odd, especially since he had time to tell his life story to the tables around us (we couldn't help but observe this). He took almost half an hour to arrive at our table, and when he finally did, it was to drop off the amuse bouche without a word of introduction or any word at all. I asked if he was our waiter, which he affirmed, and was about to leave when I asked if we could order some drinks, which seemed to annoy him. The level of poor service remained throughout the meal, with only the arrival of the check being handled quickly. I left a tip that would cover the host's and busser's payout, and no more. Too bad, because the setting and meal were great, but I don't think I'd ever return.

Thankfully the company was terrific and we enjoyed ourselves despite the terrible waiter. I should add that MG has the ability to summon some interesting forces around her and the bad waiter thing has happened to us previously. So while she may have the uncanny ability to bring unusually warm and sunny days anytime she arrives in San Francisco, she may also be a magnet for seriously bad waiters, though when we had dinner at Sauce on Friday the service was excellent (and by a woman).

Sunday night we went to see Nellie McKay at Yoshi's. MG really liked the show, but I didn't, so since it's my blog, I get to write the comments. First of all, The first few songs were done in a consistent whiny pitch that reminded me of someone doing a bad impersonation of Dido at a piano bar (not that I dislike Dido- I just disliked the constant whine). McKay bills herself as quirky, and she is, but for me the  Doris Day on crack routine (which is supposed to be a tribute to Day) wore thin quickly, and some of the arrangements were just awful. Had  I been alone I would have bailed after the third song. At the end, McKay switched vocal gears into a Rickie Lee Jones mode that worked well on the last couple of numbers, but it was too late to win me over. The rest of the audience seemed pretty pleased by the show- so maybe it's just me, but I thought McKay's show was too much shtick, too little chops.

Allen Toussaint at Herbst

New Orleans 71-year old music legend/ rock and roll hall of fame inductee Allen Toussaint showed up at Herbst on Saturday night as part of SF Jazz's final weekend and gave one of the most flawless and sincere performances I've ever attended. He received a standing ovation when we strolled out on stage, sat down at the piano and proceeded to make sure the gesture from the crowd was justified. The next hour and a half can best be summed up with one word: authentic.

Playing a mixture of his own material, both old and new, along with other tunes I at least didn't associate with him (a very poignant version of Paul Simon's "American Tune"), Toussaint gave everything his unique signature by playing with care, grace and emotion without ever having to reach for a flashy note. He let the music do the talking for him- and it spoke of the deep history of New Orleans music and America's beyond it.

He gave an extended solo segment during "Southern Nights" that incorporated Chopin, barrelhouse, funk and blues then segued into "Ya Got Trouble" from the Music Man, which proved to be delight in his hands, before bringing it all back home again.

Echoes of Professor Longhair, Dr. John, the Nevilles all percolated through the set, but it was an unpretentious exhibition of his own legacy and his impact on the music of New Orleans. His back-up band was superb- especially Roland Guerin on the bass, who was giving his own masterclass on laying down a groove and anchoring the rhythm, and Renard Poche on guitar, sporting a very cool retro 70s look. Drummer Herman Lebeaux and percussionist Clarence Toussaint kept the music chugging along with finesse and I especially admired Toussaint's light flourishes on various triangles and chimes- so delicate they floated behind the music adding small but distinct and deft touches.

I almost wish this show had been held at a venue with a dance floor, because the funk served up certainly made me want to move. That's my only quibble about a show that was pretty damn perfect- well, I would have like to have heard "Yes We Can," but I guess we couldn't.

Using the essentially the same musical line-up as the previous evening's Hiromi Uehara gig, though with an extra percussionist in tow, the juxtaposition of these two shows back to back really provided an interesting display of musical versatility- and how far the boundaries of jazz extend. The instruments making the music were the same, but the two sets may have well have originated on different planets- or at least musically, they were worlds apart.

Those who missed this one missed out.

Hiromi's Sonicbloom

SFJazz put together a pretty impressive closing weekend to their spring season that began Friday night at Herbst with a 2 1/2 hour show featuring Japanese pianist Hiromi Uehara with David Fiuczynski on guitar, Tony Grey on Bass and Martin Valihora on drums. The back up band hails from the states, England and Brazil, respectively, so the entire line-up brought a few different sensibilities with it to remind one that jazz in no longer a distinctly American musical idiom and hasn't been for a long time.

Uehara is a fireball on the piano who may play faster than anyone I've ever seen, and can play with precision, I didn't hear a lot of emotion in her playing or ever really get a sense of feeling from the pieces, which tended to abruptly shift in time and direction. Since it's her band, she's running things and that was problematic as the songs themselves didn't contain a lot of musical ideas, just a lot of music. I'd like to see this gifted player work with someone else running the show and see how she stretches out and develops within a piece, rather than watch her continuously light a fire over an over only to extinguish the idea before it really starts to burn.

There were also numerous solos from each player, an element of the concert I found taxing. I can't think of a better way to kill the momentum of a show than to stop everything in its tracks for a bass solo, let alone three in a single show. The bass is a rhythm instrument- if you want to play lead, pick up a guitar.

That's not to say that Grey can't play- he's a good musician, as are Valihora and Fiuczynski, but in my mind the four musicians present onstage never gelled together nor succeeded in creating a distinct sound by building off of each other's strengths and making something whole out of the elements. They never came together as an ensemble.

They performed an interesting version of Sukiyaki, but I think next time they should just go whole hog and do a cover of Karn Evil #9. But as friend once pointed out to me, just because one doesn't like what the performers are doing, it doesn't mean what they are doing is necessarily bad, and the audience for this show ate it up and gave the musicians hearty ovations- including after each the numerous solos. So count my opinion as the minority and from someone who would much rather listen to Hendrix than Satriani.

One last note: I heard tonight Uehara will be touring with bassist Stanley Clarke in the near future. Clarke's experience and stature will influence any project he's a part of and will likely give Uehara the breathing room to stretch out. That would definitely be a gig worth attending.

Charlie Haden, Bobby Hutcherson and George Cables at Yoshi's

I caught the late set by this trio at Yoshi's on Wednesday night thinking it would be a nice jazz diversion amid all the Berg and Schubert I've been listening to and and something different before I started attending the summer operas.

First of all, all three players are very talented musicians and Hutcherson and Haden are living legends on their respective instruments (vibes, bass). Cables, however, was the center of the trio as far as I was concerned. Not too interested in placing form over feeling, he opened the set with a solo that was the high point from my perspective. Note I said this happened at the beginning of the set. From there it was pretty much all downhill, though with some brilliant virtuoso moments scattered throughout the next hour and ten minutes.

This is an odd trio format to begin with, and when half the set is taken up by vibes and bass solos, I'm sorry, but no matter what level of proficiency the players involved possess, it becomes pretty tedious, especially the bass solos.

Hutcherson is an interesting player to watch, the only one onstage who obviously likes being the center of attention, and Haden and Cables were only all too willing to cede the stage to his mugging and preening. This could be entertaining, but it also at times felt like showboating in such an intimate environment.

By the time Haden was on his 3rd solo, I was just hoping it was all going to end soon, but it didn't end soon enough for me. The decent-size crowd for a late Wednesday show, a pretty diverse mix by the way, seemed to have a different opinion than mine, and seemed very responsive and appreciative of every indulgent moment. I guess that's why Yes and Kansas are still touring. Some people will applaud for anything I guess.

As for me, an hour of Cables alone at the piano would have been the best of all possible outcomes. Alas, this wasn't his gig.

Michael Feinstein at Davies

Photo: Scott Mitchell

Michael Feinstein rolled back into town Sunday night to give us folks in the Bay Area a nice opportunity to take our mothers to a great show for Mother's Day and my sister and I took advantage of it. I didn't even know this show was part of SFJazz Spring Season, which may account for why it seemed so under publicized. SFJazz puts on some really great shows, but unless you're plugged into their mailing list or still read the Chronicle, you're unlikely to see much publicity surrounding their often world-class concerts.

Feinstein's show is called "The Sinatra Project," which generally means he's mining Frank's old set lists for the crowd favorites along with more obscure songs he performed but never recorded. Feinstein makes this work rather impressively and thankfully the the show steers clear from becoming "A Tribute to Sinatra." Backed by a super-tight big band led by Bill Elliott (unfortunately never completely introduced nor listed anywhere I can find on SFJazz's website despite what is says in the program), Feinstein essentially sings in the style and range of the 50's Capitol-era Sinatra while the band goes for a Nelson Riddle, 60's Reprise-era sound.

This is a smart and savvy combination. Feinstein's tenor really sounds nothing like Sinatra's baritone at all, but since today's audiences seemed more predisposed to like the larger and louder Riddle-style arrangements over the more subdued stylings of the Tommy Dorsey era (which would be a more natural fit for Feinstein), why not combine the two?

It works really well, especially since Feinstein has the smarts and talent to play to his own considerable strengths. There probably is no living singer who is better with this material. Avoiding all the cliches except for "New York, New York," which he succeeded in owning outright, the show started off strong with "Luck Be a Lady" and stayed there. Particular highlights included Sammy Cahn's "All My Tomorrows," "Begin the Beguine" and "The Man that Got Away." His voice was simply fantastic- smooth and powerful, with hardly ever any vibrato inching into many of the songs extended climaxes. He pretty much killed it on every tune.

Feinstein thanked San Francisco as being the place he got started 20 years ago and this comment made me long for the good old days when there were still quite a few piano bars in town, almost all of which are now gone or devoid of any reason to visit. This is such a loss for the City. At one point in the not-too-distant past you could go out on any night of the week, in a few different neighborhoods, and listen to very talented local people singing this repertoire for the cost of a drink. Now there's pretty much just Martuni's, which can be anathema for a purist depending on the night. It was very nice to see Barry Lloyd, one the best of the remaining local talents, in the lobby before the show.

By the way, my Mom loved the show, as I hoped she would.

Happy Mother's Day Mom- you're the best.