Free Jazz in Fortress America

by Anthony Medici in Concert Reviews, Musician Reviews, Opinion Posts

On a frigid Friday, I set out from Our Nation’s Capital to the City of Brotherly Love to attend the Marshall Allen-Han Bennink concert, part of the Ars Nova Workshop series.  Leaving the DC area took on the trappings of departing from one of those doomed cities one finds in sci-fi movies, like “Escape from New York.”  Massive security procedures for the Inauguration have turned DC into a bunker complex:  bridges and roads closed; transit system overwhelmed and confused; people warned to stay away.  I needed a change of scene. 

The Allen-Bennink concert was at the Vox Populi Gallery on N. 11th St, a dank and dismal location.  The Gallery is on the 3rd floor.  Getting there, one climbs three flights on the dank and dismal outside stone stairwell.  I’m sure Dickens saw such buildings in the East End of London in the 1800s.  Once inside the Gallery, one finds a clean, well-lighted room (thanks Papa H).  There was a small exhibition of Bennink art, mostly drawings in a Dadaist vein.   Bennink was sitting in the gallery space talking casually with those in attendance.  His tall, lanky frame -perhaps six feet, 3 inches or 4 inches, seemed to recline even as he sat.  He reminded me  of William Burroughs.  He seemed dapper and cool,  

That changed abruptly when he tossed his shirt and slid behind the drumset.  Within a very few minutes, one realized there was a madman on the kit.  Yet one also realized there was plenty of method in his madness.  The ferocity of Bennink’s attack was evident when he quickly tore the skin of the snare drum, forcing Bennink to play more on the tom for a while, until a helpful audience member reversed the snare so that Bennink could play on the undamaged side.  At some points, Bennink hardly seemed to need the drum; he played on the floor, his chest and his shoes (large boots for those who must know).  Bennink’s madness was infectious.  Really, it was a marvelous display of technical and musical prowess. 

His partner in this endeavor, Marshall Allen, was simply overmatched.  It pains me to say so, for Marshall is a lovely fellow, and at 84, an elder of the jazz community.  Marshall’s service with the Sun Ra Orkestra will forever be admired; however, he does not have (or maybe no longer has) the chops for solo performance.   In addition, Marshall might very well have the worst tone on the sax in Free Jazz.  It’s really very flat.   Marshall has taken to playing an electronic instrument, the E.V.I, an echoplex sort of device.  It provides a range of electronic flute-like sounds, including a very high pitched sound that must have enraged ever dog in the central Philly area.  Occasionally, Marshall obtained some decent musical effects on it, but generally consider me among the non-believers. 

The concert drew an SRO crowd, which was good to see.  I suspect many came for an Orkestra type experience; alas, that was not the case.  Marshall told me he would be the honoree at this year’s Vision Festival.  That’s unofficial, of course, but if true, you heard it here first!

On the way back, I passed numerous highway alert signs all along I-95, warning me of “MAJOR TRAFFIC DELAYS INAUGURATION EVENTS 1/20, AVOID, AVOID, AVOID…….”  I felt guilty sneaking back in the early morning hours.

Glutton for punishment that I am, I headed out Saturday to the William Parker/Gerald Cleaver/Craig Taborn concert at An Die Musik in Baltimore.  The group’s set consisted of one long, uninterrupted piece, lasting about 70-80 minutes.  It started very low and slow, with a multitude of little sounds and gradually built in volume and intensity.  I thought that was rather cliched. For a while, I thought this was going to be a free jazz Bolero or Diminuendo and Crescendo shtick.   Eventually, the piece moved off in other directions. For most of the piece, a strong rhythmic undertow was maintained, but eventually that was abandoned as well.  Parker and Cleaver are masters of their instruments.  Cleaver must be one of the very top drummers in jazz today.  Unlike Bennink, he plays with a controlled intensity and a respect for the musical architecture.  If Monk played bass, he would be William Parker. Parker has a great sound on the bass.  I suspect there is nothing he cannot do with the instrument.

In my estimation, Taborn was the weak link of the trio.  He seemed to channel a host of pianists:  Monk, Cecil Taylor, Dave Burrell, Matthew Shipp.  I just did get enough of Taborn himself.  If one considered the long form piece as a series of episodes, it was satisfactory enough, but I found nothing in the piece itself to justify this long form approach.  Not sure what the goal was here.  The piece seemed to be always going somewhere, but never quite getting there. 

Maybe it was an appropriate piece for the circumstances:  as the Northern Virginia- DC- Maryland area gets locked down for the Inaugural, as travel is restricted, as people are herded into pre-approved, screened, searched and controlled spaces, as the government flexes its security muscles, “free” might still be a destination out of reach.