Jazz Revelations on the Curve
Today has been a revelation. I have been on the arc of the
curve. The learning curve. The jazz learning curve.
I went to an excellent Iain Ballamy Quartet gig last night
at the wonderful Bristol Fringe and have spent most of today educating myself
further on so many of the musical experiences I had there.
I knew a little of Ballamy, some from my YouTube research as
I knew I was going to see him, and a little from memory of him being in Loose
Tubes which I recall being a loud and lively jazz ensemble that I saw and
recorded from a TV programme in the early 1980s. Last night he played a set of
covers with a great trio in support – songs whose names I just can’t remember
because of sieve-qualities in my noggin – but his playing was distinctive in
its mellowness and the many rolls rather than outbursts that seem to be his
style. There was a warm rapport with the fine support - Mark Whitley on drums,
Percy Pursglove on double bass, and Jim Blomfield on electric keyboards – and each
had moments of soloing that always impressed, not least Pursglove when he
suddenly began to play flugelhorn [hadn’t seen that coming] and blew us all
away [I know, I’m sorry….].
Indeed, this is where much of my further YouTube and other
research went today: finding out about Pursglove and listening to music of his
from
Far Reaching Dreams of Mortal Souls here, as well as Blomfield and music
from his
Wave Forms and Sea Changes here, Blomfield delivering some knock-out solos
during the night. Mark Whitley has been harder to track down, but his range of
rhythmic foundations for last night’s music was impressive, including, as
Ballamy praised so genuinely, his use of brushes.
What I liked particularly about Ballamy’s playing was the
breathiness of it at times which reminded me of Benny Golson who I reviewed
here recently. As I have said, there were no eruptions of sound but the virtuosity
was in its delicate, maybe even understated gentleness for most of the time,
though a long number that played on a pulsing staccato rhythm by all the guys
was hypnotic as well as lively.
My further research on Bellamy today introduced me to his
electronic work in the ensemble Food as well as Molecular Gastronomy. One piece
Becalmed with a favourite of mine Nils Petter Molvaer introduced me to more of
his extensive work across contemporary jazz work. It just seems such a
privilege to see this kind of talent at a small and intimate gig in Bristol.
And this is where I will mention the surprise of the night
but in the context of my abject ignorance. Norma Winstone was present and in
the second set she got up on stage and performed two numbers with the band, How
Deep is the Ocean and Lional Hampton’s Midnight Sun.
I hadn’t heard of Winstone and am quite ashamed to have
learned today of what a jazz vocal legend she is, a contemporary of Julie
Driscoll and clearly influential as an artist in the 60s and 70s and throughout
her career. I am listening to her 1972 album Edge of Time as I write this, and
I have been listening to other powerful work with Kenny Wheeler and John
Taylor, especially Azimuth. And much more thanks to YouTube. Last night she did
some trademark scatting, and now in her 70s, she displayed a sure tone and
empathy with the band. On the one hand my ignorance is irrelevant as I couldn’t
help but recognise and enjoy her talent, but on the other I would like to have
known at the time what a privilege this was too on a night where live music entertained
so thoroughly.
As I typed that last line I have been listening to the track
Erebus from her album: astonishing! The vocal scatting and screaming within the
big band crescendo is electrifying. One of the greats, and another line learned
on the glorious never-ending curve.
