It's All Folk Music: I Never Heard a Horse Sing

LOUIS HAYES turned 89 a week ago, so this run was a way for him to celebrate with his band which reflects his collaboration with Cannonball Adderley, including on the album Phenix from late in his career where I absorbed much of his book. It was with HAYES that I first heard/saw VINCENT HERRING who plays the Cannonball role well, having played with Nat Adderley after his brother’s death. While some of his solo work feels self-indulgent, here and in collaborations with Eric Alexander or the Heavy HItters, he has structures and contexts. Certainly, here he has extremely strong material to work with and the help of Jeremy Pelt on the front line. I like Pelt’s playing very much, particularly the ballad work in the Art of Intimacy project. But he gets big quite formidably as part of similar projects, including the Mingus Big Band with Herring. Rick Germanson is also a regular on piano; his comping is spare and solid, so are his solos, but differently so. His chords are propulsive while anticipating the horns deftly while his solos spin out languidly, though he shifted to a higher gear on Victor Feldman’s Lisa.

But, it was HAYES’ band and he made his presence felt in wonderful little ways. Like Germanson, he has all sorts of chops which, though you know are there, only serve the ensemble. He is spry and driving with crisp cymbal work. Indeed, his solos began with insistent ride cymbals setting the groove.

Lots of groove in the Adderley book. Of course, they did Work Song, though Herring told a mordant story about getting sick on a gig and his bandmates being jealous that he got out of playing IT. Rather like David Bromberg talking about how he and Jerry Jeff Walker would do horrible things to Mr Bojangles after hours or how Bruce Hornsby will jam into The Way It Is in a usual ways. This performance was not perfunctory for all the foreboding protestations. HERRING took a ballad turn without Pelt on an unnamed tune by Billy Reed whom he too knew little about; nicely done and, again, focused even without Pelt there for balance. The opener was Quincy Jones’ Jessica’s Birthday which had the appropriate hard bop swagger to get things going. I expected/hoped Randy Weston’s Hi Fly would show up and it did in the second slot. Then it was the Feldman, the ballad, and Work Song which could have been but wasn’t the closer. Instead they took What Is This Thing Called Love at a fast clip. That too was a bit of a faux ending as Pelt drove a hard bop outro which gave HAYES a final statement.

19 September 2009, St Louis

Kim Kleinman, Contributing Writer, WGTE’s Jazz Spectrum

Sonny Rollins was active from 1947 to 2014. He played a lot—gigs, practice, jam sessions, practice, at least 45 studio recordings as a leader, and practice. I want to focus on just nine minutes out of all those hours and hours of playing jazz at the highest level.

Those are not necessarily special, though that Sonny, so often dissatisfied with his own playing, released it to us eager listeners says he thought it was at least okay. However I was present at that performance, so it is pretty damn special to me. Let me endeavor to use those nine minutes to evoke a glorious 67-year career.

I was not as immersed in jazz in 2009 as I am now, but I knew I could not miss the chance to see Sonny Rollins when he came to St. Louis. I was captivated seeing a stooped 79-year old man shuffle onto the stage, but then magically become nimble and spry as the music came over him. I do recall there was a calypso, but it wasn’t “St. Thomas.” I didn’t recognize the standards as usual, sadly. Yes, there was a Duke Ellington composition, but I even had to be told it was “In a Sentimental Mood.”

Nonetheless, that bit of Ellingtonia gave way to a cadenza that didn’t seem at the time out of the ordinary. That’s just what Sonny did right? I picked up his “There Will Never Be Another You” when it came out in 1978 and played the nearly 17-minute title cut repeatedly. For the first half, he led a driving ensemble version with Tommy Flanagan on piano, Bob Crenshaw on bass, and both Mickey Roker and Billy Higgins on drums. But Sonny wasn’t through and went on by himself for just as long spinning idea after idea, playing for himself going off mic, seemingly wandering around the Museum of Modern Art whose garden was the performance space.

Famously, Sonny played on the Williamsburg Bridge by himself from 1959 to 1961, honing his craft. I can’t help but think that what he did what he did there was what he did at MoMA, what he did on all those nights when he free associated taking flight from whatever tune the band particularly cooked that night through intricate permutations of a special phrase, extrapolations from another phrase to any of the vast number of standards and not so standard tunes that he knew, amusing us but also himself at the relation between high art and hokum.

I had come to see Sonny; Clifton Anderson on trombone added an interesting other voice but he didn’t intrude. Having Bobby Broom on guitar and the venerable Bob Crenshaw now on electric bass seemed to be pandering to modern taste even as I missed their jazz bona fides. Still I know I was tickled to have such a tour de force on my night even if I missed so much of what he was saying.

Having these nine minutes of “Solo Sunny” on his Road Shows Vol. 3 release makes it possible to revisit his interior monologue. Thanks to repeated listening, I have grasped a little bit more. There’s probably “Tennessee Waltz” in there, definitely “Someone To Watch Over Me,” and a kid’s earworm that I finally placed as “This Old Man (he played one/he played knick knack on my drum/with a knick knack paddy whack give the dog a bone/this old man came rolling home).” Undoubtedly, there were the thematic improvisations à la “Blue 7” which Gunther Schuller celebrated in his famous essay (see https://www.jazzstudiesonline.org/files/jso/resources/pdf/SonnyRollinsAndChallengeOfThematicImprov.pdf ) Certainly there was the rich tone, high virtuosity, and wit and whimsy and magic.

Even if it was just another Sonny Rollins cadenza, it captured this giant’s artistry.

TERRELL STAFFORD/TIM WARFIELD with Bruce Barth, David Wong, and Johnathan Blake (!), 28 MAY 2026

I walked into the club and noticed the cymbals on the drum kit set distinctively low and flat. Johnathan Blake was the drummer on the gig and I was thrilled. His is a special talent conveying complex and powerful rhythms seemingly effortlessly while completely attuned to what the rest of the band is doing. He never intrudes, but he sure does command attention. There was other amazing magic going on around him, but, even so, I kept being drawn to watching him.

TERRELL STAFFORD and TIM WARFIELD played on Tuesday, not a regular day for JAZZ ST LOUIS, because that was the actual 100th anniversary of Miles Davis’ birth. They are strong players with lots of Miles in their musical DNA, but they were very much themselves. STAFFORD did use a mute as expected on Bye Bye Blackbird, but even there he climbed into the upper register just as he did unmuted on the slinky cool Seven Steps to Heaven closer. But he could also be buttery on the ballad Old Folks, for Shirley Scott whom he and WARFIELD played for, for Sonny Rollins who died that week, Kenny Barron and Charles McPherson—still alive but elders, Roy Haynes, and Kiyoshi Kitagawa who played with Blake and Barron before his death earlier in the year. They invoked Rollins on Dig as he played with Miles and Jackie McLean on the original recording, one of those early ‘50s Prestige albums I don’t know well enough. They leaned into the Sweet Georgia Brown, both changes and melody, for which Dig is a contrafact. Woody’n’You was in there too.

WARFIELD had plenty of moments, but deferred to STAFFORD who handled the announcements. Blake propelled his flurry On Green Dolphin Street; he was punchy on Woody’n’You; and he soloed first on Dig and Seven Steps.

Bruce Barth is their regular pianist and he’s a force. His comping is solid and supportive, but unassuming, so when he swaggers out as a robust soloist it is a treat. He and Blake hooked up to give his solo on Woody’n’You a rumba feel that Blake made even more Latin. David Wong was with this band last year and, though the junior member, he got space on the opener, a Blackbird duet with STAFFORD, and another solo on Old Folks.

But again it was Blake who made the gig for me. He is part of the description of almost every peak moment. So I was glad to have the opportunity to chat with him afterwards. I always lead with my deep appreciation of all the times I’ve seen him on the streams. He too is impressed with how professional Smoke Jazz Club is with theirs. I also expressed condolences re: Kitagawa and, frankly even more, concern for Barron. Blake is in touch with him regularly and said it’s been hard because Ray Drummond, his bassist in a trio with Ben Riley, also died recently. I said I hoped they’d be back to St Louis. Blake was hopeful but didn’t, as I pipe dreamed, reveal the new bass player.

Again, getting a chance to thank such a hero is a huge treat.

I was in at ARI HOENIG TRIO on the Smalls Live calendar. Having seen HOENIG recently with Billy Childs (and Matt Penman), I was planning to listen to his playing with his regular trio (Gadi Lehavi and Ben Tiberio) in those same architectural/compositional terms. That trio, with Alan Broadbent from Mezzrow at the same time and Michael Kanan the next night, were going to be a comfort food like run of favorite trios to help me settle into summer.

No such luck.

Even better luck.

Just as Spike Wilner had Anat Cohen join his own Monday night early trio slot a couple of times, once again the phenomenal Miguel Zenon with his SF Jazz Collective colleague/HOENIG’s Billy Childs partner Matt Penman grace this gig. Like Cohen, Zenon is not to be missed, particularly when he’s swinging without the net of a chordal instrument. So the comparison is not to Broadbent and Kanan but to the Lew Tabackin gig with Steve Davis, Dezron Douglas, and Tony Jefferson.

Like the previous gig, this one leaned into significant composers. No Duke Ellington even once (Tabackin did two), but Wayne Shorter’s Fee Fi Fo Fum to open (I figured out it was Shorter, even sensing it was on Speak No Evil, so I sorted it to genus but not to species) and Thelonious Monk (Evidence, but also only to genus). From HOENIG’s regular book was the newish original March of the AI which had a quirky line that made me wonder if it was Ornette Coleman and Cherokee as a ballad (the regular trio slows it way down and barely acknowledges the melody whereas Zenon filled in the spaces of the slowed down chord changes with the usual number of notes). The closer was the Penman/Zenon SF Jazz Collective arrangement (admittedly for trio not octet) of Michael Jackson’s Blame It on the Boogie which gave Penman a fat enough line to emerge from the Smalls Live room sound and Zenon lots to dance over. Here and throughout it all there were nifty conversations between alto sax and HOENIG’s architectural drums. He plays melodies on drums often and certainly is attentive to the structure of the tunes; Zenon is a dancer.

LEW TABACKIN is a gruff eccentric, but here he was with steady and smooth Steve Davis on trombone and Dezron Douglas whose bass is ample enough to fill in for guitar, vibes, or even piano. After 30 years co-leading a big band with Toshiko Akiyoshi, I have seen him at SMALLS playing his reeds with just bass and drums. With Davis adding—or more likely, simply reinforcing—something architectural to his sound. I could both begin to hear the big band but also hear what I’ve heard of late from Billy Childs, Allison Miller, and Barry Stephenson, how a band and the material they play build a structure. TABACKIN still goes off on his own weird tangents but there’s a distinctive sound.

They opened with Yesterdays with TABACKIN irrepressibly on flute. Nicole Glover with Stephenson (and Freddie Hendrix on flugelhorn) was limited to section work. TABACKIN had Davis’ even deeper trombone, but he soloed within the tone and timbre of the flute but also an almost Dolphy like etherealness. Davis was familiar and grounding here and throughout, adding a structure that TABACKIN both referenced and ignored.

Ellington’s Black and Tan Fantasy had lots of blues and New Orleans from Bubber Miley, but also Duke’s programmatic story telling. Here I heard vestiges of TABAKIN’s big band days reinforced by Davis’ trombone adding a color that evokes arranging possibilities even in this small band. The closer was also Ellington, In A Sentimental Mood, a tune so open that improvisers will gladly tackle it with the sparest of accompaniment, not needing a big band. But the likes of Sun Ra, Charles Mingus, and Akiyoshi/TABACKIN grasp the architectural heft of a big band’s palette of voices, even as they leave open room for the explorations. The third tune was a Monk, so in yet another sense this was a foundational set.

There was a slight chance I might not have seen both sets, but favorite Nicole Glover had a flute (!!) on the band stand. BARRY STEPHENSON promised that he would have her play it in the second set as he was making band introductions late in the 7 pm set. He also reminded us that she had established herself as a loyal interpreter of his music—and I suspect the times I’ve seen him have coincided with her presence in his bands. I recall him in several of the early streams during Lockdown and the early aftermath; he was a steady presence but I lost track of him mostly. I’ve seen his buddy Anwar Marshall more often but they have a synergy. Sealing the deal was the presence of Luis Perdromo who is probably even more connected with Miguel Zenon than STEPHENSON and Marshall are. He was skillful not only as a soloist and accompanist but as ensemble player (STEPHENSON’s tunes sometimes have a compositional/programmatic character which need such sensitivity). He took on the role of a bemused elder while aiding the rhythmic lilt STEPHENSON and Marshall leaned into. Freddie Hendrix probably had the same chronology as Perdromo but he was too often the diva trumpeter too quickly seeking the upper registers.

The composed through character of some of the tunes set up some guardrails and Hendrix played those parts well, including on flugelhorn. He was on the bigger horn when Glover read her flute part. But she did not improvise on this new instrument. She and Hendrix had some appealing contrapuntal interweavings, both written and planned improvisational sections. I’m sure they soloed equally but, between noting the ensemble parts and being irritated at Hendrix, I came away wishing for more Glover. Still, she was by turns throaty on the soul jazz and nimble on the tuneful hard bop. STEPHENSON’s compositions, like Allison Miller’s which I was hearing live in person while these sets were being streamed, were straightahead and appealing but not at all simplistic. I invoke “hard bop” as a probably too vague a descriptor, but 1960s Blue Note albums by the likes of Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, McCoy Tyner, Bobby Hutcherson are quite satisfactory role models.

ALLISON MILLER is a joy to watch as not only an energetic multi-layered drummer but also a bandleader who drives her band with exuberance and encouragement. When Anat Cohen was in Artemis with her, they were a powerful team. I’ve seen MILLER at JAZZ ST LOUIS with a workshop band, Artemis twice, and now for a second time her own BOOM TIC BOOM. This time around she brought back Jason Palmer (a confident tasty trumpeter) and Shamie Royston (deceptively powerful on piano). Jorge Roeder had a remarkably spacious sound on bass instead of longtime member Todd Sickafoose and Caroline Davis, an altoist I make a point of catching when she plays at Smalls Live as a leader or side woman, in place of Nicole Glover, Artemis bandmate and a longtime don’t miss favorite. If Glover wasn’t along, I’m glad to been able to see Davis in person. I took the opportunity, as I try to do, to let those on the streams how important they are to me and surely many others. She was gracious and, I think, grateful.

Early iterations of BOOM TIC BOOM were ostensibly quirkier with Myra Melford on piano, Ben Goldberg on clarinet, Jenny Scheidemann on violin, and Kirk Knuffle on cornet. While it is now an ostensibly (again) a hard bop quintet. There are fun edges from MILLER’s compositions and the energy she exudes from the kit as she gives a strong band lots to work with.

The opening celebration of parenthood Congratulations and Condolences (and reminding me of the spirit of Ari Hoenig’s Goldenschatzes (Golden Treasures) for his own kids but echoing what his grandmother called him with equal measures of exasperation and affection) was a bright rousing start—Palmer digging in as MILLER prodded him; Davis fluid; Royston as she so often did stepping out forcefully after being both unobtrusive and subversive as an accompanist. Beans and Rice had a quirky lope that, on seeing the stream (see the first comment), had a bit of Nawlins in it. She still hasn’t renamed Slow Jam but it built from a big woody Roeder exposition that hinted at least briefly Spanish music before setting a pulse for everyone. Palmer got an extended tastefully dry solo. Get Some Good Dreams is from the new project; it’s programmatic, topically chaotic, and this band can squeak and be punchy and of course MILLER has a cascade of sound to wrest from the drums. Royston didn’t lose her swing but one bit but her soloing and comping were nicely edgy. It went out with a strong backbeat groove. What Would Dexter Think was a Rhythm Changes derived from a contrafact melody itself derived from her own playing, that is, a lilting Rhythm rhythm. They paid tribute to Miles Davis and John Coltrane with a medley that started with Miles’ version of Round Midnight with Palmer in the lead and then a Royston solo, just enough Monkish, that made way for the horns intertwining. I guess we were by then in Coltrane country as Davis and Miller had a very punchy conversation that set a modal groove which gave Davis further room to open up. The closer was more brisk hard bop via Royston’s Circulo, strong for everyone but the composer was appropriately prominent.

MILLER makes fresh exciting music. The violin, clarinet, cornet were not gimmicks and they gave her a different palette for earlier compositions, but there’s just as much adventure with Royston, Palmer, and Davis.

(Photo by friend Don)

The semester is over!

SCHOOL

I attended a final meeting of the general education program that was such a high point of my university career that I continued as a volunteer these past three academic years as part of the asterisk in my retirement*. It was innovative, exciting, and transformative; we really built a movement providing a training ground for young faculty who are now Deans, department chairs, and Faculty Senate presidents while opening up space for advisors, librarians, and faculty development staff. Such projects are usually tacking against the wind anyway, but we caught some wind for a while. I’m proud of what we did.

My classroom experience this semester was odd. I had about half the class right with me and the other half, some of whom still did impressive things, attending on a strictly voluntary basis and seeing homework as optional. So, while I don’t think I’ve lost my touch exactly, the real successes were tempered with as much frustration as Fall 2024 where the international students came in planning to transfer.

In any case, I’m not teaching in the fall to see how much I will miss it. And, I know I’ll miss it. I’ll keep in touch with the Honors Program even during our extended stay out of town.

SUMMER

We have spent lots of energy and bandwidth on preparing for that extended stay Up North. We have been typically methodical and are well prepared.

It is going to be exciting to set up and become part of a new community. But we will once again have community baseball, chamber music, cooler temperatures, and water to look at.

Ahhhhh.

Plus I’ll just transport all my usual activities up there. Like,

WRITING AND READING

I look forward to launching the work on the fourth volume of my mash up of Sherlock Holmes and Charles Darwin. I wrote very little, one time for 475 words, but I identified the three stories and researched the first one which allow me to use Ralph Vaughn Williams to explore my interest in English traditional folk music. The research into RVW and finding a song to pin my story too has been rewarding already.

Reading mysteries is working on the project too, right? I am cycling through three series: Lindsey Davis’ second series with Flavia Albia taking over for her father Marcus Didius Falco; the psychologically dense and therefore rewarding Three Pines novels by Louise Penny; and, taking the place of Rex Stout/Nero Wolfe as palette cleansers, Donald Westlake’s Dortmunder capers. I also got caught up on Allison Montclair’s Sparks and Bainbridge mysteries. I will await new ones of those and the Elliot/Vesey Homefront Sleuth series. Over this semester, I worked through jazzer Ethan Iverson’s must read Stout/Wolfes and will still pick up one of those from time to time. I have some one offs in the pipeline—LeCarre’s A Perfect Spy (yeah, probably his best—done), a look at Oliver Twist through the eyes of Fagin The Thief, Len Deighton’s Ipcress File (another Iverson recommendation and a further exploration of spy thrillers), and Hamnet on which the recent movie is based. Mysteries, literary pastiches—all good homework.

MUSIC

If I didn’t write fiction, I sure did make a lot of my souvenirs of music performances. 53 of them for 73 shows, amounting to 27,302 words. I know that because in addition to posting them on FB and archiving them on Tumblr (because I’m too lazy to move to Substack), I have a running Google Doc. Obviously, these are productive writing prompts and also focus my listening. But, I really do like seeing music performed and do want to remember highlights like Roscoe Mitchell, the Miles Electric Band, Sean Mason’s Lift Every Voice and Sing, and Chuco Valdes. All of these were live and not livestreams, but Smoke Jazz Club continues to put together fine performances (standouts include Cyrus Chestnut and Fred Hersch) and Smalls Live is even more of a go to with Jazz Cultural now joining Smalls and Mezzrow. Again, I’m struck with how the streams allow me to have a feel for the New York jazz scene. It is a kick to tell folks I’ve seen on the streams (Sean Mason, Monty Alexander’s rhythm section of Luke Sellick and Jason Brown) how important those streams are.

Playing music often gets lost in the shuffle, particularly down the homestretch of the semester, so I will want to pick that up over the summer. But, I played the resonator and then the parlor in Drop D often enough to keep that fluidity and have some flat picked fiddle tunes still there after the gaps, both indicating some fixing of an intuitive sense of some scales on the fret board. I play piano even less (up north I want to get one and have it on the main floor), but I now seem to be playing more than the basic triads and adding the 7ths, be they major or dominant. That too gets at some getting deeper knowledge and theory in my hands. Finally, I will look into bass lessons up north.

GAMES

One interesting obstacle to playing music has been puzzles, thanks (or no thanks) to an upgraded NYTimes subscription. I confess to a bit of a compulsivity about them, particularly getting to Genius on Spelling Bee so that it can loom over the day. Sigh.

And thanks to a freebie from our cell phone carrier, I can see out of market baseball games via the MLB app. I still don’t have the patience for full games but a few innings here and there is very pleasant as I get to recognize players Joe Posnanski celebrates and see the little chess matches inside an at bat. My modest return to Major League Baseball is supplemented by a new service that sends old fashioned box scores and stats, the stuff of agate type and the Sporting News, as a daily email. But, up north, I’ll have Sunday afternoon games with the community league teams.

SELF CARE

Some evidence that the regular work outs are paying off is that a body scan indicates that I have put on about two and a half pounds of muscle over the past three years. Going three times a week adds up. I’ve had a run of pelvic floor physical therapy to counteract my completely benign prostate hyperplasia. Those core exercises are keepers and one impact is that my balance which was problematic in yoga (haven’t done that enough, so a summer resolution to do so) is much improved now that I have the core strength.

Once again, I didn’t capo for time zones and came in 20 minutes into the set. To be fair, SMOKE too has moved things up an hour, but for the second week in a row, I forgot the earlier stop time. So I came in in the middle of the second song, Carefree, my favorite off of this band’s new album Triumvirate. On the replay, I found out that it borrows from Neal Hefti’s Girl Talk, hence its catchy lilt. On the replay, I got to hear it again.

BILLY CHILDS is a very fine improviser and, with Matt Penman and Ari Hoenig, he has a band of players. But he is also a composer and arranger with accomplishments in “classical music” (through composed? European Tradition Art Music?). His jazz swings hard and appealingly while having intricate challenges for players and listeners. The tune structures are vivid and logical and the melodicism is grounding. I came away with the distinct impression that, particularly with a working band, a trio at that, CHILDS is up to something orchestral. Penman is a smart bassist who plays big and asserts himself. Hoenig, a long time favorite, is, I realize, very architectural in his drumming, not simply dividing up time in complicated ways or playing melodically on the kit. He is engaging with the structure of the tunes. Again, CHILDS gives all of them compelling frameworks not just to explore but to cultivate. And that logic informs his own playing. At the same time, I came away this time, even more impressed with him as a pianist in a narrower sense. But, I have an intuition that there’s more going on, that he’s thinking bigger than many.

It is fitting that they opened with Bill Evans’ 34 Skidoo from 1964 with Chuck Israels and Paul Motian. It has sections in three and four and has some of the spirit of CHILDS’ own work. Then came the glorious Carefree which among other things included a brilliant transition by Hoenig from sticks to brushes even as he was coming out of his showcase—a sort of solo over his leader’s not simply vamping. CHILDS added much rhythmically himself. Also from the new album was the moderately brisk Like Father Like Son which really helped me see his composer’s mind. Then was a tune from earlier in his career; my notes are “bright,” “light,” “cool.” The closer was moody and programmatic befitting the dark chaos of “New World Disorder.” It had some gnarly edge while remaining coherent and controlled.

Friend Bob had told me about this new New Music ensemble’s first performance this morning a couple of weeks ago. I was curious and glad to have his company for three compositions that suited a nicely shaded two row small circle by a creek in St Louis’ park where the Zoo, Art Museum, Science Center, History Museum, Tennis Center, Muni(cipal Opera), and golf courses are and the 1904 World’s Fair was. We were a small but mighty crowd, the same size as the ensemble after a husband and toddler son left. A few people stopped to watch curiously for a few minutes. But we were mighty. Bob had the organizer as a student and has his own creative modern compositions; the fellow sitting next to me played bass with Roscoe Mitchell a few weeks ago; and I guess I have some bona fides for big ears on the basis of these souvenirs.

First up was PAULINE OLIVEROS’ Rock Piece where the musicians, arrayed around us struck rocks against us in deliberate and deliberately irregular rhythms cycling around one another and the sounds of the breeze in the tree limbs, traffic, songbirds, and the creek. In time, they assembled in front of us. It was pleasant and ambient, particularly for New Music. I couldn’t help but share that opinion with Bob adding that it could even have been a little boulder. Alas, even a wicked punster like him couldn’t hear the spelling difference.

MICHAEL PISADO’s Harmony Series 16a was a series of three chords/notes building deliberately from cello to violin to a second violin to trombone to alto saxophone with the full array lasting the length of the horn players’ breaths. His 16b in the same series started with the saxophone and eventually reached the cello.

EVA-MARIA HOUBEN’s ECHO FANTASY V (three of the six pieces in the suite, I’m told) began with a sustained note from all. The strings bowed languidly and the horns sustained notes as long as they could as all the musicians, save the cellist for obvious reasons, moved into the audience and around the performance space so that the sounds came at us from different places in different combinations.

It was very interesting indeed, particularly with Bob’s insights about how PISADO’s notes formed basically the same chords and what the musicians told him about the space. I had that debriefing and finally a similar synthetic conversation about the Roscoe Mitchell performance with Damon Scott who filled in about what Mitchell is doing and how the gig unfolded (poet K Curtis Lyce started in with the poem early but it worked so they used it in the second set; Snuggie’s essential role) and expanded to him name dropping Wadada Leo Smith, Tomeka Reid, and Henry Kaiser among others. It was another window into realms of the music that I visit too occasionally.

I saw CAMILLE THURMAN in February 2024 at Jazz St Louis. It was a strong jazz set with husband Darrell Green’s quartet of young up and comers. THURMAN’s tenor work impressed while I was typically, for then but probably still, tepid about her vocals. I liked her more than, say, Grace Kelly or Bria Skoenberg. But I hadn’t seen her since as she isn’t big enough, probably, for Smoke and, heretofore, hadn’t mixed it up in Smalls Live world. I figured she and Green had a satisfactory circuit and that was that. But here she was with none other than JEAN-MICHEL PILC, at once impish and no holds barred at the piano with a nearly manic flurry of ideas. THURMAN more than hung with him through spontaneous compositions, standards, and deconstructions of same. Her tenor work was robust but spacious; her vocals/vocalizations were ethereal but not precious, just (?!?) another jazz instrument.

Set one opened with an improvisation, not yet frantic but serious already. He opened that one, while she sketched a second melody that he picked up. They picked up the pace with an adventurous jam that was not just obviously Wayne Shorter before locking in on Footprints. PILC rumbled and roared and THURMAN danced back in to resurrect the melody. She sang in the middle of the set with Body and Soul with both lyrics and not; then a spontaneous composition that she started; and finally Bye Bye Blackbird that hinted at several other songs. She was back on tenor for a McCoy Tyner tune and what might well have been Love For Sale to wrap up.

The second set opener began with PILC strumming inside the piano and THURMAN holding pedal points. It remained cool and quiet while becoming more abstract. The fluid vamp of the second tune at least hinted at All The Things you Are with some very busy two handed work from PILC. The first vocal tune was wordless but he had his spectacles on to read a lead sheet, so it was something. The second one was Charles Mingus’ Duke Ellington’s Sounds of Love which he read until he didn’t need to, spinning a solo that honored the sophistication of the composition and the tribute to Ellington. THURMAN hit an amazing note as part of a very high run, virtuosic but fully in the service of the tune. The final vocal tune was improvised on the spot. Back on sax, she started a very boppish line that he morphed into All Blues but then she brought back to, I’m guessing, a Charlie Parker blues. She was back with her voice on In Walked Bud which PILC built up.

JEREMY PELT’s rich tone, commitment to the tradition, and, related, vast knowledge of the repertoire has captured my attention since discovering him as I was finding the streams. Probably the first one was a trio date at Mezzrow with George Cables and Peter Washington capturing his Art of Intimacy series. There have been other drummerless ensembles at Mezzrow but also all star ensembles with Wayne Escoffery and Vincent Herring and sideman dates with heavy hitters like Al Foster. On top of that, his now seven Griot books have engaged generations of musicians in reflecting on what it means to be a jazz musician in American society, if jazz even is the right term. I’ve gotten to know heroes better from his interviews and made new ones.

He is articulate and has much to say, so he also speaks at length to introduce the band and the tune. But that is yet another way of being a Griot himself.

And he is right this is a dream band for his latest project, Our Community Will Not Be Erased. I knew Buster Williams and Lenny White first from fusion projects like Herbie Hancock’s Mwandishi band and Chick Corea’s Return To Forever in the 1970s. Of course they were steeped in the tradition then and have fifty plus more years. White stood toe to toe with Corea, Stanley Clarke, and Al Dimeola; here he didn’t have to be as flamboyant but he sure put subtle twists on the pulse. It was both always there and, simultaneously, apt to go sideways at any second. Inside of the keyboard/synthesizer/three horn front line swirl of Mwandishi, Williams too moved around foundational bass lines. With Pelt, the tunes breathed more, so his bright, assertive tone could dance even more. Together they were formidable—telepathically attentive to one another and fully engage with PELT and Orrin Evans.

I’ve enjoyed the pianist since his debut (here in St Louis) in The Bad Plus 2.0. He brought an earthiness to that band and some great tunes, like The Red Door. His scope was wider, in his own way a Griot like PELT. His Captain Black Big Band and other projects have shown his skill in creating a sound that is like, say, Andrew Hill’s. What grabbed me here was a lighter, more nimble piano sound. He had Williams and White behind him and PELT’s rich lyricism in front, so, in the middle, he could fly in special ways. He and PELT wove intricate lines with and around each other.

And PELT was PELT with a buttery tone and melodic lines. The set was framed by tunes from the new album. Forgetting to adjust for time zones, I caught the end of the set in real time, catching Sandman (written for street tap dancers) and a wistful Fathers and Sons, a vamp for the rhythm section to dig into and trumpet and piano to chase one another. Then I reset and caught the gig straight through. For The Culture was the opener and properly showed what this band was about. Of course, I had the end of the set as a preview, but the album material really was defining. The middle of the set included PELT’s lush Nephthys; an If I Were A Bell that danced around the melody and its Miles-ness, celebrating both fully while being wholly original; and a relatively rare ballad from Marian McPartland, There Will Be Other Times, that PELT took justified pride in “discovering.” And then I got Sandman and Fathers and Sons again.

I wanted this show on the calendar as an ear stretcher; as with Chuco Valdes from Cuba, NDUDUZO MAKHATHINI would bring South Africa into the mix. I know that strand of the music too little, but it is not surprising that there was more than a little of Abdullah Ibrahim’s mix of Ellington, church, and the townships in MAKHATHINI’s music. But he also has Xhosa singing and recitations as well as effects.

The pre-show recordings (uNmohkubulwane and early releases from the upcoming Myths We Choose) were promising but more tame and atmospheric than the powerfully dynamic performance we saw. MAKHATHINI is a Zulu healer who sees music in a very organic way, tied to ritual, healing, and a way of being wherein the aim is an ongoing rehearsal, study not performance. He spoke at some professorial length after the opening suite (uNmohkubulwane has three such); he is a recently enough minted PhD from Stellenbosch University for a dissertation on Breaking Into Sound: Dis/Locating Ntu Cosmology and Improvisation in South African Jazz. There were poetic densities in his talk, snippets of rich suggestive phrases—that music is usually played at night as it is close to a dream state and that there is a fugitiveness in this music.

The opening suite had modal element and the whispers of his vocalizations, the atmospherics of the recordings. But, while long time bassist Zwelakhe-Duma Bell le Pere was left with droning figures within static chord shapes, Kabelo Mokhatia, though on brushes, was beatific and exuberant allow MAKHATHINI to turn surprisingly muscular—Ellington’s orchestra via Ibrahim. There was clearly something programmatic going on and they conveyed a narrative arc. Then there was the most heavily effects laden tune with a vocoder but also a thick distorted bass pulse from the small keyboard. Bell le Pere started bowing but then also got a proper probing bass solo. The next tune had the song structure of a standard, though if it was one I of course couldn’t place it. MAKHATHINI really opened up with his solo that included a subtle conversation with Mokhatia. The drummer had even more fun on the rollicking finale with a proper solo out of propelling his leader into a particularly dense and gnarled solo. Ecstatic applause for all the energy.

Before the encore MAKHATHINI dropped another poetic phrase, that they play for innertainment not entertainment. The tune had a church-like sobriety but, from the same source, a joyousness that created magic as he succeeded in getting us to sing along (or at least harmonize) in Xhosa without any of the folk music conventions of teaching a sing along. It was beautiful and fragile and a wonderful end to the concert.

VERONICA SWIFT with EMMET COHEN, Yasushi Nakamura, Joe Farnsworth and guest including Brad Mehldau!, LIVE FROM EMMET’S PLACE, 27 APRIL 2026

Most fearless? Fair question. VERONICA SWIFT has a nimble and powerful voice who can scat relentlessly, knows the book, and can really sell a song. She has worked with EMMET COHEN before including on her album Bitter Earth and appeared at previous LIVE FROM EMMET’S PLACE episodes. But this is the first one with her from Power Station NYC/Berkeley and not actually Emmet’s place as he started during lockdown.

Still it has a home-y feel with folks in the room including a mix of guests. Brad Mehldau was the heaviest hitter and there was magic when he led a trio tune after accompanying SWIFT on There Will Never Be Another You and later some four-hand work with COHEN helping some young players with a standard. Trumpeter Mejedi Owusu and tenor Lucious Crawford went on too long but the tune was salvaged by proper solos by Mehldau and COHEN.

But SWIFT was a commanding presence opening with The Man I Love and Lover Come Back To Me and closing with Someone To Watch Over Me. She and COHEN and Joe Farnsworth too share a crackling energy and sheer love of the music and tradition. She also rescues tunes like Look Down That Lonesome Road which has been covered by both Doc Watson and Frank Sinatra and the ballad Prisoner of Love. Also from the Bitter Earth Album was The Sports Page which was clever but not quite a novelty number. The most striking tune was Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again from the Phantom of the Opera. That showed her power cabaret side as it was naturally theatrical, especially as she tied it to losing her father Hod O’Brian when she graduated from college. Add that she, though not in white face, had stark black eye make up and a Pierrot like ruffled collar to go with a t-shirt for her band DAME with partner Brian Virglione with whom she has toured before. That evidently isn’t strictly jazz and she showed that side by covering Led Zeppelin’s Going To California.

There was plenty of jazz and SWIFT is a strong jazzer who complements COHEN with infectious energy and consummate craft.

I immediately went to snap up my livestream pass for my usual 8 pm set so I could see a favorite alto saxophonist in a rare leader’s gig with Renee Rosnes playing a prominent role as arranger. How could I not? But they didn’t charge me. Huh? It seems that Jazz Times was underwriting the streams, so, well, gee, let me get the 6 pm set too.

Leaders hire STEVE WILSON for the intelligent lyricism he brings to their gigs. But he hasn’t himself led, certainly not on record but not at Smalls Jazz Club at least either. That makes this gig and recording special.

Jackie McLean made an album in 1961 entitled A Fickle Sonance. That WILSON’s sound/songs are instead Enduring is telling. Evidently the album started as a ballad album and that ontogeny is certainly present, though there are other kinds of gems of tunes included. Taken together, the material is relaxed but not tame, lush but not delicate.

Because I got the 6 pm set too, I was able to hear/see the tune I was most interested in, George Cables’ Helen’s Song, one of his treasures, perhaps so personal that it isn’t often covered. WILSON gave the melody its full due; Rosnes can, but didn’t, play as fully as Cables does but she did capture some of the Lyle Mays/Pat Metheny feel I’ve often heard in the tune. Throw in Joe Locke’s vibraphone and there was an overall lightness to the sound. Next up was Michel Legrand’s Pieces of Dreams via Stanley Turrentine and Johnny Mathis which was fully in the spirit of lush melody. Legrand can be too much and I missed Turrentine in the 1970s as my impression was, like Donald Byrd, that he was doing something more popular. In both cases, I denied myself exploring their earlier work where they earned their standing. But, if Turrentine was playing in a more popular vein, digging into Legrand’s melody was a good fit. Not on the album was Rosnes’ Mirror Image from her Beloved of the Sky which included WILSON. He played flute and I heard hints of Chick Corea in her solo. I saw Gino Vanelli open for Stevie Wonder and found him annoying, so I went out of my way to not listen to him. I missed his The Surest Things Can Change, but WILSON didn’t and again found an appealing melody. Bassist Bill Lee wrote How Long for son Spike’s Do The Right Thing and again we had a catchy tune that released out of a vibes swirl, some space for Bill Lee to solo on bass, and let WILSON get edgier. The final tune, we were told, didn’t need to be introduced because, as Duke Ellington told other audiences, we were too hip. We’ll not me, but it was brisk, an occasion that Rosnes and drummer Kendrick Scott rose too. She was fluid and fleet; he soloed in the spirit of the gig, neither rushing things nor being flamboyant. There should be more drum solos like that.

The 8 pm set opened with Billy Childs’ Quiet Girl that, if not quiet per se, purred rather than growled. WILSON took this one on soprano. He was back on alto for a relaxed swing on Too Young To Go Steady (with maybe a bit of The Way You Look Tonight in his solo) from the Great American Songbook. Eliana Elias’ A Volta from the album was appropriately rhythmically complex and driving, but not over the top. The front line soloists all had particularly interesting things to say with the help of the sympathetic rhythm section. Quincy Jones’ Eyes of Love was a slinky ballad. With one tune to go, only Milton Nasciemento’s Franscisco was left from the album. But instead of that they played You Don’t Know What Love Is which opened up nicely; Locke, the arranger, was exuberant and got great help from Rosnes for his second solo as she did from Anderson. He got his own solo as did Scott who opened the tune using his hands on the drums. WILSON led with a probing solo with a nice edge.

FELIX LEMERLE and Neal Miner, MEZZROW, 30 APRIL 2026, 6 pm set

GABRIELLE STRAVELLI and Pat O’Leary, MEZZROW, 21 APRIL 2026, 7:30 pm set

On Tuesday night, I saw MICHAEL KANAN with his regular trio mates, Greg Ruggiero and Neal Miner. That gig was familiar and wonderful, friends exploring a repertoire of gems pulled both from interesting parts of the Great American Songbook and the tunes jazz players write to give themselves vehicles to improvise on. Their long collaboration provides a telepathy and balance that clearly doesn’t just happen.

FELIX LEMERLE took Ruggiero’s place and put his guitar even more forward within the same framework. He’s a charming and proficient player. At first blush, if anything more old fashioned. He’s French, so maybe things that aren’t gypsy jazz sound like Django Reinhardt. The opener sure did, but it was an original for his cat for which KANAN had to put on his specs to sight read. But then he, like KANAN does, he found compositions by the likes of Kenny Burrell, Illinois Jacquet, Hank Jones (from a date with Coleman Hawkins), Thad Jones—and Neal Miner. He plays an archtop with one pick up and no cut away—one I’d like to have, but jazz players usually want the cut away to get up the neck. He and KANAN had some nicely intricate lines in common/harmony. The set grew on me and KANAN certainly delivered his satisfying elegance, not immediately flashy until it sneaks up on you.

He and GABRIELLE STRAVELLI with Pat O’Leary are also a working group, self-described song nerds, who did a couple of Irving Berlins, an Alec Wilder, a Cy Coleman, and a Harold Arlen, none of them specifically familiar but recognizable to type. Fran Landesman’s Spring Can Really Hang You Up was a lushly known quantity, well delivered. It stood out for its ache, beautifully rendered, but she/they emphasized more upbeat tunes. Her curation quietly but determinedly put forward the work of more obscure songwriters, many of whom were women—Landesman, Caroline Leeks, and Clara Edwards but also Marvin Fisher and Sam Koslow. She acknowledged discovering these tunes from Sonny Rollins, Nat King Cole, Sarah Vaughn, and Ella Fitzgerald; still it’s a service to keep these tunes played.

ALAN BROADBENT with Harvie S and Billy Mintz, 27 APRIL 2026, 6 pm set

MICHAEL KANAN with Greg Ruggiero and Neal Miner, 28 APRIL 2026, 6 pm set

I’ve seen each of these working trios many many times as I am often in the mood for their solid craft and taste. They rarely disappoint—and didn’t this time either. To say there was nothing surprising undercuts the delight of discovery that defines this music. So while there’s little new to say here, still both ALAN BROADBENT and MICHAEL KANAN put into words what these gigs mean to them and their bands.

BROADBENT a bit sheepishly explained that they played these beloved standards again and again (on this night, Charlie Haden’s Hello My Lovely, Hank Mobley’s This I Dig Of You, Johnny Green’s I Cover The Waterfront, Harvie S’s No Sadness Today, Gus Kahn’s I Never Knew, Tadd Dameron’s If You Could See Me Now, and Miles Davis’ Solar) without arrangements, but with their feelings this night to guide them. They are at a transcendent point where the instruments, the notes, the compositions, the music, the band become mere (mere, ha!) vehicles for their emotional exchange—and their exchange with us the audience.

Similarly, KANAN, in introducing a sit in from vocalist Laura Anglade, said that as a trio they only have these gigs and the time on the bandstand is precious. So to welcome someone like Anglade means they have to be special. She was—with Make Someone Happy better suited to her range than This Can’t Be Love. Earlier they played I Want To Be Happy and after her sit in, KANAN said, now, I’m happy.

I don’t want to leave things quite so ethereal. Harvie S’s No Sadness Today had, not surprisingly, an intricate bass line and was more noirish than Haden’s tribute to Raymond Chandler. KANAN et al started with Duke Ellington’s Love You Madly and closed with Neal Miner’s Like Butter, meaning that both bassist’s are tune makers. Greg Ruggiero made even more of an impression than usual.