Luke Winslow-King Trio and the New Jazz in Kalamazoo

From left to right: Jason

I am falling in love with everyone as people remove their shoes and begin to prance about barefoot, violating any number of fire, culinary, and social regulations. Luke Winslow-King with his Johnny Cash inmate V-neck undershirt whispers into his mic up on stage, fingering his guitar as Jak Jurzak inflates his holy tuba shofar with enough air to keep Atlantis alive for at least another half-hour. Then there’s Richard “Fingers” Levinson strumming up and down his washboard with the thimble on his middle digit as an old woman mistakes my delirium for sulking against a pole and in an effort to dance spins herself around underneath my outstretched arm. This is where the hipsters have come to barnyard swivel under these reddish lights of the Strutt, a little salsa, some polka, and of course the Individualist Rumba! as I lean against my post watching swaying stomping and dipping, beautiful people generally acting like mating velociraptors. I fade into this haze of sex as a man, forty years old, dressed like an up-and-coming vitamins salesman explodes out into the front of the crowd three feet from the stage and whips out his iPhone. He stands there with a smile on his face like this is the most ridiculous thing he has every seen, tuba, washboard, sentimental James Dean with a guitar strung about his neck, man gleaming with his beer slowly tipping forward in his hand as he snaps flash-less photo after photo from his rolled-up white collared sleeves.

Old/New Baby cover art by Anna Powell

But really this music hasn’t changed much at all since the 1920s or maybe even before that because this jazz music progresses along to the rhythm of life. What Winslow-King has done is put a modern pop to it, and a lot of this comes from his beautiful speak to me in my pillow voice and thoughtful lyrics. It is this date-night romanticism powdered over the spitting surging sousaphone and bric-à-brac washboard that has thrown this packed audience into a trance usually reserved for sounds more rooted in the Aughts than music spearheaded a century ago. Not that there’s a wrong way to dance to music, but people here love the waltzes because anybody can waltz and a waltz is a set thing. As for the rest it’s karaoke improvisation which is cool if you’re flyin’, eliciting the same choreography for church song spirituals as for parade party music as for a sedentary street corner stomp. This summer, the beautiful girl to my left now in dancing blue jeans and billowy white top was wearing the black pants of a bar waitress as she and I walked home along the railroad tracks, saying our goodbyes without ever catching a name.

I shove out the door squeezing past this girl now smoking cigarettes huddled against the band out in the cold, content that the music is moving forward through new interpretation befitting my eclectic-hearted generation. I do the Bed-bound shuffle home through the oily puddles of Burger King with Old/New Baby pressed deep into my pocket while “Birthday Stomp” shouts for joy, “Dragonfly, Dragon Flower” invites a drink and a cigarette, and “Searchlight Waltz” is the lovemaking of loneliness ending in the prayer of “Your Eyes, Your Eyes.” The album is important because the pop of the sound masks the holy sentimentality of the music enough to get the hipsters swinging bouncing off of each other on a Thursday night in Kalamazoo. It’s an evolution of the music into the acoustic age of guitar-strumming sweetheart-wooing that refuses to be a Marsalis jazz historian album like his venerable but jaded From the Plantation to the Penitentiary. Old/New lets the music breathe in the present like opening a bottle of red and letting it sit in the open air before optimal consumption, adding horns, auxiliary strings, and an accordion while Winslow-King’s voice flirts with the demure. Full credit is due to LWK and his team of of song writers for the complete set of original tracks found on Old/New Baby, tunes that could easily pass as everything from old standards to nursery rhymes to songs AT&T should monopolize to add an idealized atmosphere surrounding their 3G coverage commercials. Even down to the cover art rests a sense of the serene-despite-the-world as Anna Powell’s ghost-like New Orleans house comforts with solidarity amidst the deluge of post-Katrina culture forever entrenched in the modern patchwork imagery of the bayou. With Luke Winslow-King, it is an empty porch because conversation has ended, and everyone’s gone off to play music.

I’ve been to two concerts at the State Theater in downtown Kalamazoo.  The first was in October 2007 when I saw Modest Mouse with Man Man.  Talk about a terrible show.  This year, however, I was graced with a free ticket to see Bela Fleck and the Flecktones.  The Flecktones are one of my favorite bands and probably my favorite act to see live, although most of their audience tends to be an annoying breed of yuppie-hippy hybrid.  Despite that, Bela Fleck and the Flecktones is the most revolutionary, and perhaps the most unappreciated band of the last two decades.

The Banjo-Blazer Himself

The concert began with a newer number.  The four familiar members of the band took the stage in a modest sort of lighting which suggested that they were comfortable enough with their ill-begotten appearances to know that they’re amazing musicians.  The awkwardness was clear, the audience didn’t even know if they should applaud, a rudimentary action when any headlining act takes the stage.  When the music began, however, all doubt about the protocol was removed.

Bela Fleck, chief songwriter and banjo player, blazed up and down his fretboard in a prototypical finger picking style that would leave most competent acoustic guitar players in the dust.  On his right stood Victor Wooten, who has been named the Best Jazz Bassist of all time by several reputable music publications.  The honor is warranted; typically, a six or seven minute segment of the Flecktones’ set is devoted to a solo from Wooten, who almost always receives a standing ovation afterwards.  Across the stage stands Victor Wooten’s brother, who is known simply as Futureman for his eccentric appearance and even more peculiar instrument.  Futureman plays a self-invented instrument called a Drumitar, a box-like instrument with a long neck and colorful buttons which produce the noises of a drumset.  Futureman also plays alongside a regular drumset, which he sometimes plays with one hand and the Drumitar with the other.  His style is necessarily unique because the band often plays in complex time signatures.  The final member of the band is Jeff Coffin, a virtuoso horn player who often puts two saxophones in his mouth to perform his own harmonies.  Coffin, although his talent is perhaps the most often demonstrated in the band’s lengthy compositions, is probably the least interesting guy to watch.  When you have the best bass and banjo players in the world standing next to each other along with an instrument that you can’t really wrap your mind around, you tend to ignore the tenor saxophone.

Alash

After the intermission, the Flecktones brought to the stage a band called Alash from the small Republic of Tuva, a region located in south-central Siberia.  Alash was less a “band” than a collection of Tuvan musicians who excelled at their traditional folk instruments and vocal techniques, the latter of which was an impressive combination of throat-singing and overtones which sounded like vey high pitched whistling.  The concept isn’t unfamiliar to the West, just not very well known: large male acapella groups often have implicit overtones.  Alash played three songs alone and a couple songs with the Flecktones, including a Tuvan-American rendition of Jingle Bells.  Their presence with the Flecktones, the band which the audience paid to see, is a testament to Bela Fleck’s insistence on surrounding himself with the most talented and interesting musicians in the world.  One of these Tuvan musicians also appears on the Bela Fleck and the Flecktones’ DVD Live at the Quick, along with a protégé steel-drummer and an Indian drummer who participates in a percussion-banjo duel.  Definitely worth checking out.

The set was about 150 minutes long and incredible to watch, although about half of it was traditional Christmas music Flecktones-style.  Despite cat-calls from the audience and some awkward moments (I really don’t like the fact that the State serves alcohol), Bela Fleck and the Flecktones performed with their usual and distinctive abilities.  The band tours extensively, so if you have the chance, you should check them out.

For tour dates and other information, see http://www.flecktones.com/.

For Alash, see http://www.alashensemble.com/.

A good show took place Saturday evening in Dalton.

The specters of jazz greats Duke Ellington and Oliver Nelson were definitely present in last night’s Jazz Band concert season opener, Stolen Moments.

Under the direction of Dr. Tom Evans, last season’s jazz band sported a tight group of senior members. This quarter’s jazz band was young, of the fourteen members in the ensemble eight are first years, and this concert would prove to be the make or break moment for the Band’s season.

The set began with an upbeat number called Got Rhythm by Doug Beach.  Throughout the evening, Dr. Evans engaged the audience with his anecdotes on the personnel and the music. He posed Got Rhythm as a challenge to the ensemble, who play the head and shout chorus unsupported by the rhythm section. All three soloists, one of the three being Dr. Evans, himself, proved they did indeed have rhythm.

Towards the middle of the set they performed Michael Mossman’s mambo flavored arrangement of the Duke Ellington standard, C-Jam Blues. Standing all of 4’11” without the additional podium and heels, Margaux Reckard, First year First Trumpet, led the section skillfully. Her chops are yet another reminder that size doesn’t matter. The piece featured a great portion of the line-up, including the masterful cowbell player, Ian Miller, and as the audience tapped their feet and bobbed their heads, it made one wish for a dance floor and a willing partner.

They followed up C-Jam Blues with the surprising addition of third trumpet turned vocalist, Amanda Patton, for How about You? It was a standard 1940s pop hit, but under Evans direction and Patton’s brassy vocals it still struck a chord and highlighted the versatility of the group.

The concerts title piece, Stolen Moments, was set off by the band’s desire for “mood lighting.” With the lights down low and the cool jazz wafting overhead, the obvious temptation was to be lulled to sleep, but the hot line of soloists prevented the possibility. Aaron Parach on alto sax headed off the piece that ended with a drum solo by Mike “Iggy” Ignagni.

Evans ended the concert with a piece called Back Burner that featured the sax section in a new light. First year Tenor sax, Joe Barth, played into the credenza and left me wondering what that kind of young talent was doing outside of the conservatory.

Having proven themselves worthy by occasionally channeling a few jazz greats, the band capped off the night with an encore of an apparent band favorite, Buffalo Wings.  As the audience exited into the chilly November air, they expressed their awe and favor to one another, looking forward to a spring concert which would surely yield a more tempered and tight-knit group. The predominant question: how much better could these very talented individuals get?