Another "In and out of jazz" story

I recently had the opportunity to make my second trip ever to lovely Greenville, South Carolina. If you’ve never been there, downtown Greenville is a nice little place, where many years ago, they had the foresight to narrow Main Street from four lanes to two, and widened the sidewalks and installed a bunch of greenery. The result is a quaint little boomtown, where sidewalk cafes, restaurants, bars, and snack shops proliferate. The two jazz clubs that I saw, however, we’re not proliferating. Both were closed.

L to R: Gage Banks, Garrett Graettinger, Morgan McGee, Roman Holder, Riley LePere. Damn! Are those great jazz musician names, or what!? 

Then I went to the first night’s reception of the event I was attending, the 40th annual SEUS-Japan Conference, and what do you know? There was a jazz band about to set to swinging. This jazz band was a quintet of young men, with the unusual instrumentation of alto sax, baritone sax and rhythm section. Of course, I had been drinking and I have no reservations about anything when jazz is involved, so I walked right up to them and said, “Play 'Scrapple from the Apple' ”. They looked at me quizzically, as this was not in their main repertoire from what I could gauge from their reaction. In fact, the leader, their pianist Morgan McGee looked at me funny and said, “What?” I repeated my request and they still looked confused. Then I goofed.

“You know, Monk!”

Roman takes a solo, while Riley plans his. (Morgan had already set them up with his bluesy lead.)

At this point, I think they wanted me to go away, but I didn’t. I said, “No, wait. That’s Charlie Parker. Play some Monk.” This they could relate to. They swung through a pretty terrific take of “In Walked Bud”, including piano and both sax solos. I complimented them and their solos, told them to play Miles when they saw me coming out, and left for the dinner. That, was that.

Riley and Roman go to the head ,with Garrett holding them up in back.

Or so I thought.

At the next night’s reception, there they were again, but I was on the other side of the venue windows. I waved, got their attention, made piano motions and mouthed “Monk, Monk!” Once inside, I introduced myself and my blog, and later on they did play “In Walked Bud” again, as I sat there and enjoyed myself and Mrs. S proceeded to ingest oysters that would eventually give her food poisoning.

Your blogger with the young saxophonists. I'm the fat one on the left.

So, I compliment Greenville on at least trying to have a jazz scene, and I compliment the young gentlemen you see pictured here on their pursuit of one of America’s greatest art forms (I would say, “the greatest”). Next time they see me, I’ll probably say, “In walked me, so you know what I want!” I’m sure that "Bud" will be close behind.

Worth the struggle

The musical heroes of our story, L-R: Eric Marienthal, Chick Corea, John Pattitucci

Last week, Mrs. S and I closed out our week and kicked off our symphony season with a jazz fusion concert, checking out the Chick Corea Elektric Band at the Schermerhorn Concert Hall. Despite leaving our house for the 100-mile trip two hours and fifteen minutes before our dinner reservation, we fell victim to the Predators’ opening night hockey crowd, plus, construction, plus more construction, plus the regular Friday-night-in-Nashville hullaballoo and nearly didn’t get seated at The Farm House for dinner. (Mrs. S ran two blocks to hold the table while I drove the last two blocks in fifteen minutes.) We forced ourselves on this battle because we had front row seats, right in the center, for Chick Corea's Elektric Band, making it hard not to go.

Chick Corea about to break his 0-for-4 autographs streak

To be honest, I’m only vaguely familiar with Chick’s electric stuff, and Mrs. S not at all. I remember a few issues of Keyboard magazine from the 1970’s that I may have skimmed the articles about Chick’s gear and music, but I just don’t know their songs, which are jazz to be sure, but lean heavily toward the rock side of the spectrum. After a rousing and rowdy start, where the crowd just screamed for the first thirty seconds of the show, the set sort of lulled in the middle of the show. After working fourteen hours the day before and spending an extra half hour on the road for the local high school’s homecoming parade to go past our subdivision, I too was starting to get lulled into a stupor of sorts, but the crowd continued to encourage the band, and they played some of their biggest songs to close out the set, which brought the whole crowd back to life, including me. One of the closing pieces included an audience participation call-and-response segment that The Music City crowd, along with me, pretty much nailed, no matter how challenging Chick tried to make. They even did an encore, which was exciting if only because it was so unusual for that type of concert.

Eric Marienthal gushes on, and autographs, a CD he didn't even perform on

As always, we came prepared to seek and receive autographs, but Chick has not done much in the way of autographs at other of his concerts we’ve been to, so I just had the “Now He Sings, Now he Sobs” CD at hand. This turned out to be quite lucky, because after the show, Chick lingered on stage and did in fact start signing autographs, and I was successful at getting him to sign the booklet right on the front. By the time he was finished, bassist John Pattitucci, who plays with Wayne Shorter and Danilo Perez, and the exemplary saxophonist Eric Marienthal, lead alto of the Gordon Goodwin Big Phat Band, had come out on the other side of the stage and were signing autographs. Even though neither of them played on the CD that I brought, both were kind enough to sign it and have a picture with me. Eric even said it was one of his favorite albums.

John Pattitucci and fan

Had I known that Eric and John would sign autographs, I would have brought some Gordon Goodwin and Wayne Shorter Quartet CD booklets with me. As it is, I still ended up with a Chick Corea signed CD booklet – which is a good get – along with some extra names you wouldn’t expect to find signed on that. It’s pretty cool.

The autographs, L-R: Eric Marienthal, Chick Corea, John Pattitucci

Next trip to Nashville, we are giving ourselves three hours to make the trip. If we get there early, we can always kill time in a bar, and that extra cushion should make it much less nerve racking getting to dinner and the concert on time. When Nashville gets some hotels built and gets all the construction scaffolding out of the streets and when they do something about that ridiculous roundabout that leads into and out of the city, it will really be a destination city. For now, it is a congested hellhole to get to, but truly a magical musical city once you are in.

Five happy musicians at the end of a fantastic show. Yep. That was our view from front row center.

Chris Botti sticks it to me…twice

So call this the resurrection of Late to Jazz.

Back in April, we drove up to Nashville to catch our third Chris Botti show. Chris continues to try and build his reputation with an electric show of stunningly talented musicians playing an eclectic mix of jazz standards and less often heard songs, calling upon a diverse group of singers and soloists to add spark and interest and surprise. In Nashville, the biggest surprise was the appearance of young pianist Taylor Eigsti, an up and coming virtuoso who is recognized almost as much for his good looks as for his stunning pianistic skills. Of course, Sy Smith made an appearance, and the ever reliable Richie Goods, who I met a few years back, holds down the rhythm section.

L-R: Taylor Eigsti, Chris Botti, Richie Goods (Nashville)

Speaking of rhythm, Chris seems to have parted ways with his longtime drummer Billy Kilson, a percussionist of limitless talent who many, including myself, would have considered irreplaceable. But the man taking over the stool, Lee Pearson, is a force of musical nature unto himself. Besides incredible technique and force, he brings an originality and unique approach to his playing that adds so much more dimension to the music. His solo, utilizing everything from mallets, sticks, castinets, and even his hands, elbows, and head, leaves anyone who knows anything about music and drums just shaking their heads in amazement.

Sy Smith, Lee Pearson, and drumsticks during pre-flight.

Of course, he plays so fanatically, drumsticks occasionally go flying. And being in the front row, they end up tantalizingly close. Chris even picked one up and handed it to me. Then, with one laying on the stage as they strode off after their encore, I yelled to Lee to toss me the stick that was laying in front of his bass drum, and he did! We hung around just long enough to still be stage side when Lee came out to clean up a bit, and he was kind enough to sign the sticks. We almost got a photo of him doing so, but our goofy Nikon picked the wrong mode to use for the shot. (It does that a lot.)

Provenance: Lee Pearson signing a drumstick. Blurred image and lack of focus courtesy of our point-and-shoot piece-of-shit Nikon.

Then two weeks ago, we traveled to Atlanta to see Chris again, this time with Joshua Bell doing a classical bit up front, followed by a shortened version of Chris’s show with Joshua putting in a couple of appearances. Lee again did his solo, also a little shorter, with two sticks flying at the end. I was in the second row and this time, Chris just kicked the sticks to the front edge of the stage, well removed from me. At the end of the show, I casually wandered over there and asked the guy doing the breakdown if I could have the sticks. He said, “I’m sorry. They aren’t mine to give away.” Then he kind of looked away and said, “But I didn’t see anything.” I said, “I heard that,” and picked up the sticks. Just then, I noticed an usher at the end of the row heading toward me. I thought about hiding the sticks, but there was no sense, since he’d already seen me grab them. He said, “Those will make a really nice souvenir for someone.” I told him that I asked for them and that anyway, it was my second set from Lee. He just said, “Oh really?” and left it at that. I mean, I guess he figured that at that point, I wasn’t going to put the sticks back, they didn’t need to be put back, and somebody had to pick them up.

The mixed pair of drumsticks from the Nashville Chris Botti conccert, signed by Lee Pearson

So I’ve got four of Lee Pearson’s drumsticks.

The Atlanta concert, by the way, was the debut concert of a tour that Chris and Joshua are doing together. The classical bits that Joshua did with the orchestra were sort of in a traditional vein, with a bit of modernity thrown in with some lesser well-known pieces on the theme of the four seasons. (The show started with Vivaldi’s “Spring” and “Summer”.) Joshua kept it light, more or less setting the stage for Chris to rock out the place.

Joshua Bell and Chris Botti (Atlanta)

Chris’s numbers are definitely getting repetitive for me, but he continues to demonstrate incredible mastery of his instrument as his musicians help him and each other to dazzle. Geoffrey Keezer, who I also met acouple of years back, was on piano, and he was sensational and bluesy as always. He actually was another highlight of the jazz set, as he seemed to be crafting some edginess and surprises to throw in at unexpected moments. I think part of it was that he could see the orchestra, so he was helping his bandmates stick with the orchestra with musical signals. I noticed Lee had to keep turning around a lot and motioning with his eyes, head, and occasionally arms and hands. I won’t say the orchestra was missing their cues, but I think the conductor, Maxim Ashkenazy may have been a little out of his element.

L-R: Geoffrey Keezer, Chris Botti, Richie Goods (Atlanta)

Still, it was a great privilege to attend the first ever Chris Botti/Joshua Bell 2016-17 (?) tour concert, and we had a really great time in Atlanta. And I got four bashed up drumsticks for good measure. Not a bad deal all around.

Are you inspired?

It’s a simple question, but presented to someone who is aspiring to become something they are not, (jazz musician, sports star, Hollywood actor, etc.) asking if they are inspired is a question that is riddled with thorns of interpretation. Let me try to explain.

The set up: Yamaha C-7X, top removed (looks smaller that way)

Last night Mrs. S and I went down to Birmingham for the first time in well over a year to attend a concert and hear banjo player Bela Fleck perform a duet with pianist Chick Corea. It’s a wonderful combination of consummate performers, who we have seen perform together in Nashville. Besides a number of works that they have performed together, such as Bela’s Waltse for Abby, Mountain, and Children’s Song #6, they stretched out a little bit playing some pieces by French classical composers (Dutilleux), and Italian Baroque composers (Scarlatti). There was also a new Fleck composition that Chick said helped him with his “bluegrass piano chops”. It was all quite captivating, interesting, and revealing.

Toward the end of the performance. Two observations: Jazz musicians are lucky to not have to spend a lot on clothes. And it's hard to focus a camera while taking surreptitious photos from the second row.

A little more than halfway through the last set, I was thinking to myself, well, I guess this is where I’m supposed to make up my mind to work harder, set myself to the task, and draw some motivation, if not inspiration, from the concert in order to up my playing, learn more about jazz and piano playing, and become a better pianist. The thought sat there at the top my spinal cord, sort of looking for a gap to slip through to get to my consciousness, but my consciousness just went, you know, you’re 50-something, Chick’s 70-something, and even if you live that long, you’re never going to play like him, so, just put that thought away and enjoy the music.

Which I did.

After the concert, walking back to the car, Mrs. S and I were chatting and she goes, so, are you inspired. I just said, no, it’s too hard to be inspired knowing that Chick Corea was way beyond my current capabilities at my age, and that if I live to be 100, I’m never going to have anything more than a shadow of his musicality. So, no, I’m not really inspired. Would I like to play better? Sure. Do I realize the only way to play better is to study and practice? Yes. Am I probably going to play the piano two or three times longer today and tomorrow and next week than a typical Saturday, Sunday and work week? Yes, probably.

Here's a shot of the back of a guy's head. Oh, and me shaking Chick Corea's hand. (Did I look that pathetically desperate to touch a star? I guess I did.)

If one of the thorns of interpretation of the word “inspiration” is: doing things differently from before to try to get better than you are, then yes, I guess I am inspired. But my aspiration is not to be like Chick. It’s to be a better version of me.

I printed out a score of the Scarlatti piece they played last night. That’s real inspiration in my book. We’ll see how far it gets me.

At least I got to shake the hand of one of my heroes. And so, we move on.

Hanging in NOLA – Travel Log – Part Deux

There’s never a shortage of live music in New Orleans, however, finding the kind of live music or the artist that inspires you is not always easy. Thankfully, Mrs. S’s forte is figuring out what’s going on, finding what we are interested in, and then telling me so we can work on the logistics together. One of our favorite places to go is Snug Harbor, but the lineup for the three night we were there was not that attractive. Making things more difficult was the fact that we had reservations at three swanky places over the three nights, so logistics was going to be more of a challenge in any event. But Mrs. S found that Jason and Ellis Marsalis were performing at Irvin Mayfield’s Jazz Playhouse, just a stone’s throw from our hotel, and starting at 8PM on a night when we had a 5:30 dinner reservation just ten minutes or so down the road. She even put our name on the guest list and told them to keep something down front available for us.

Piano mediocrity meets piano greatness (again): Me and Ellis Marsalis

After a fantastic dinner at August, we made our way to the club, where to our dismay and trepidation, they were turning people away at the door. No worries. As two couples did their about face, I told the woman at the door that we were on the list, gave her our name, and she smiled brightly and said, “Right this way.” She showed us a cushy table with padded seats and generous area, but right in front of that was a tiny table barely large enough for two drinks and two chairs on either side. I asked if we could sit there and she said sure. And there we were again, in the best seats in the house: front row.

The view from behind our table: That's our table right in front of the piano there.

Turns out our table was also right next to the Messrs. Marsalis’ table, so I went ahead and shook the elder Marsalis’ hand and had our picture taken prior to the show. The show was a captivating program of Christmas music, with Jason on vibes and his father playing piano (obviously), though Jason of course got behind his trap set for their rousing version of Little Drummer Boy. I don’t know if it was part of the act or what, but every tune, Jason announced as if nobody in the place had heard Christmas music before. It was really kind of laughable to hear somebody , in a deadpan serious voice, go, “That was a tune called ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’. Now, here’s ‘Away in a Manger’.” Thanks, Jason. What was amazing was Jason would grab their CD, look at the back, call out a tune and a key signature, and Ellis would kick it off and away they went. Again, not sure it was part of the act, or what. The show was somewhat disrupted by a table of four in the front on the other side of the stage, who were yelling, laughing, and carrying on, and who had no idea who the Marsalis’s were. I wanted to tell them to shut up, but I figured if Jason wasn't bothered by them, neither would I be.

Drummer vibraphonist meets pianist vibraphonist (someday): Jason Marsalis and me.

The night ended paying $20 for a $10 CD so we could get it signed and have some more photos taken with the Marsalises, so it ended up being a night worth remembering in a lot of different ways. Hopefully Mrs. S can keep her concert going radar up and running during future trips to the Big Easy.

What I learned by watching the exact same Tony Bennett concert twice in two nights (Part 2)

If you missed part 1, here it is

Some other things I learned, kind of:

4) If you can sing a song in a four story performance hall that seats 1856 people, without a microphone and still fill the place with sound at the age of 88, you must be Tony Bennett

"Fly Me To The Moon", with guitar, without microphone. Unbelievable.

I don’t think anybody else 88 years or older anywhere can do that. It’s like a Guinness Book level feat, if you think about it.

5) The best seat in the house is the front row

This will be my space for the next two hours, thank you very much. Also, note the person with the black hair and white shirt at the very upper left. That was Mrs. S's seat on Friday night.

You can stretch out your legs (and arms, and hips, and anything else you want). You can walk right up to the stage and lean out over it and pretend you fell off the stage and are trying to climb back on. You can talk to the cello and violin players. You can hear the best. You can see the best. People think you’re important. People know you’re a patron. The ushers remember you and don’t bother you about anything. Pure and simple: If you are not in the front row, you might have good seats, but you don’t have the best seats. Period.

No, really, I'm with the band!

This is the view from our box on Friday night. Same price as front row, waaaayyyy different view.

6) The technology cannot be stopped and everyone has it in their pockets. Soon, there will be no attempt at preventing people from photographing at concerts.

View from front row on Thursday night. Yep, that's better

Note to performers everywhere, I have a high resolution camera, video recorder, and sound recorder. It’s right here, in my pocket. If you tell me I can’t take your picture, I won’t. I actually believe in the rules that keep our society livable. If you tell me I can take photos without flash, then don’t tell me I can only take photos when the house lights are up. And if you aren’t going to stop the people in the third balcony above the stage (who are actually using flash), then guess what? You’re screwed and I’m probably going to take your picture from the front row, regardless of announcements, warnings printed on tickets, or anything else. And anyway, Mrs. S is the concert photographer. I’m going to just sit here and enjoy the show. It’s her you have to worry about. (What I mean is, pretty soon, the entire planet is going to be continually photographed, for any or no reason. Performers need to embrace the technology and let their fans take photos. That’s it.)

What I learned by watching the exact same Tony Bennett concert twice in two nights (Part 1)

It’s not much, but, here goes.

1) The program in the program may or may not be the actual program

My personal concert program always includes a cocktail and wine prior to the show.

The program for the Tony Bennett concert included four pieces by the Nashville Symphony, and those were correct. For Tony’s portion, it said “Selections will be called from the stage”, which is standard jazz lingo for, “We’ll tell you what we’ll play, just as soon as we decide.” The program also listed “Featuring special guest Antonia Bennett”, who is Tony’s up-and-coming daughter. When she wasn’t there on Thursday night, I was sure she’d be there Friday. But no. Friday’s show was the exact same as Thursday’s, mistakes and all. We thought about going to the box office, telling them we came to see Antonia, not Tony, and we want our money back. Then we decided we didn’t want anyone to laugh at us that much, and even more, we didn’t want anybody to think we like Antonia Bennett better than her dad.

2) If you don’t practice out the mistakes, the mistakes don’t go away

The man himself. If you think the crowd didn't go absolutely bananas when this octogenarian strode purposefully to center stage,  you obviously don't appreciate what it means to be in the same room with a living legend. And note the big video screen prompter tilted on the front speaker. That's the one he didn't pay any attention to.

First of all, I’m not bemoaning the fact that an 88-year old guy forgot a few words of a few lines of songs he doesn’t sing all that much. And to be fair, lots of singers much younger use prompts and earphones and whatnot to help their singing and lyrical comprehension. And let’s also be clear: Tony doesn’t need any help with the songs he’s been singing for 20, 30, 40, 50, 60 years. He’s got those. But on Thursday night, when he sang “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” with “..friends who are near to us, will be dear to us, once more”, you could see him looking at the prompter, trying to squint it out above the spotlight, and then look around to see if the audience caught the problem, and then (no doubt), he thought, (correctly) “they didn’t notice, and if they did, they didn’t care”. But when he made the exact same mistake on Friday, well folks, I’m sorry to call BS on a legend, but that’s just sloppy. 

3) It must be EXTREMELY hard to play the same exact set, night after night

One line that Tony Bennett can never use: "Stop me if you've heard this one before." He sings any song that made him a bajillion dollars at some point in his career, and that's like a bajillion songs.

And by extremely hard, I mean extremely easy, and by extremely easy I mean, it’s easy to hit the notes and cues and hard to make it sound interesting. If you’ve never heard it before (Thursday night), everything is fresh and lively. If you’ve heard it before (Friday night), it starts to sound flat and finished, almost artificial. It’s like the second time you watch a movie you liked and you notice the shadow of a boom mike on one of the characters in the background. From that day forward, every time you watch that movie, you’ll be waiting for the shadow of the microphone. (It also kind of explains why they didn’t practice “Have ... Christmas”, because, who wants to play from the set list when they’re practicing?)

"You're beautiful!"

There are a couple other things I learned, and some better photos coming in part 2.

How to swing Christmas

Add one freaking awesome singing group, one pair of front row tickets, and a two hour drive through a rainstorm (which was bad, but not quite the tornado level storm we drove through to see WyntonMarsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra). Then sit back and enjoy the show.

The somewhat dated (I thought) Manhattan Grinches on screen behind stage.

Manhattan Transfer has been doing this kind of show for years, but this is the first time I had the opportunity to see and hear it for myself. Despite the recent death of the group’s leader, they had a phenomenal back up who they've been singing with for years in different iterations of this group, and the harmonies were as tight as ever and the one hour forty five minute show just flew by. They sang all the Christmas standards you could want, from Mel Torme’s “The Christmas Song” to “Frosty the Snowman”. Plus they sang a bunch of their hits and a few New York themed Christmas things (which admittedly, fell dead on the Nashville crowd for the most part).

The set. They didn't even have a band, just what I would call a rhythm section. They were amazing.

Their musical director, Yaron Gershovsky, was pretty much the highlight of the show for me. Playing on a Steinway grand (a smallish one) and an occasional riff on a Korg, Kronos synth, he drove the rhythm section and could pretty much play any style and stylistic solo he had to.

No, we did not take surreptitious pictures during the show. But this is pretty much exactly what they looked like, except Janis was wearing her contacts.

I guess after all is said and done, Janis Siegel is still my favorite. Her solo bits were edgier and more complete than her band mates’, and she at least put on makeup and had her hair done before the show. (Cheryl Bentyne looked like somebody woke her up from a nap just in time for the show.) Anyway, it was a good time, and definitely worth the drive through the pouring rain to hear this legendary group while they are still together and performing.

This was Janis at the Blue Note, again highlighting a Christmas show, when we were in New York three years ago.

Next up is Tony Bennett, which Mrs S this morning informed me will be a two hour (or so) show with an intermission and Tony only singing during the second half of the show. She thought I would be disappointed, but it is pretty much what I expected. The guy’s 88, so if he gives us a good half hour and four or five of his hits, that will work for me.

As close to being on stage at the Schermerhorn as I am likely to get.

Damn, I just realized: I could have put something in the seats next to mine and played some kind of joke on whoever sits there Thursday night. Maybe. Oh well. Better to be inconspicuous down front anyway.

November’s over. Here comes my month!

Although I am not particularly looking forward to turning 51 in a couple of weeks (something about being exactly a half century old that I like), I have a lot to look forward to this month. Thanks to a quirk in the calendar, not only do I have five piano lessons this month, I get paid three times, too. As the year is winding down, I’m taking off more time to use up vacation, and of course, working in automotive means year end shutdown from December 23 through January 4. (January 5 will suck, but that's next month.) That’s not all though.

What I’ll be doing with some of those days off is spending a lot of time in Nashville, starting Friday December 5 to see Manhattan Transfer. The founder of the group may have passed away, but the show must go on. I’m looking forward to seeing this renowned group for the first time. Less than a week after that will be Tony Bennett, and we are going to catch both his shows. For the second show on December 12, we’ll be up in a loge box (right above the stage) for the first time. That will be a good experience because by comparing the two shows, I’ll get to learn a little about performance nuances from one of the greatest performers of our time.

That's front row center, front row center, stage side loge front row. It pays to be a patron of the arts!

October was a nasty month, but November was better. Now comes the best month of the year. I’m so damn happy I might even put up some Christmas lights, just for the heck of it. We can certainly decorate the inside of the house because then, I can listen to my big band Christmas CD’s while doing it.

Haul out the holly, it’s going to be a jazzy December (as always).

Kyle Eastwood's First Trip to Alabama

Serious fans of Clint Eastwood, and probably a good many not so serious fans of Clint, know what a jazz fanatic he is. They know he frequents jazz clubs, has an extensive rare jazz record collection, has directed movies about jazz, and just generally has been a supporter of America’s music. Less well known is that he has a son, Kyle Eastwood, who is an accomplished jazz bassist, composer, and performer in his own right. With the benefit of Sirius XM radio, I have known about Mr. Kyle Eastwood for some time, and though I've always enjoyed his music, I wouldn't say I was a fan or follower of his. Nonetheless, when I found out the famous movie star’s son who calls Paris home would be in Alabama to give a concert, and there was an opportunity for a meet and greet for VIP ticket holders, I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea to try to take in the concert. Unfortunately, I had an off-shift 4:30 AM meeting scheduled for the morning after the concert, so I was not sure expending the energy and effort was a worthwhile pursuit, but after Mrs. S saw a couple promotional picks of the good looking Kyle, she started pushing. I decided to at least call around and find out what I could about getting tickets.

Having a nice chat while I make Mr. Eastwood do some work.

So first, I called local chamber of commerce sponsoring the event. They had no idea about the VIP package and thought the tickets were $175 each. They directed me to the tourism board who also had no clue about the VIP package. They did, however, know the promoter (lady) who set up the concert. Turns out she knew Morgan Freeman, Morgan Freeman knew Clint Eastwood, and Clint knew his son (obviously). Anyway, she was able to give me the lowdown on the tickets, and through a stroke of good fortune, she was eating at a restaurant only ten minutes from my house the following night, saving me a two hour round trip drive just to go and buy the tickets. We were set for our next star musician meet and greet.

Eric, Kyle, and Mrs. S. Why they made him stand in front of a garage door for the photo op is completely beyond me. For the retouched version with a nice background, visit Mrs. S's Facebook page.

Juggling my schedule, we were able to make the one-hour drive late on Wednesday afternoon and enjoyed a sushi dinner near where the concert was being held, on the campus of the University of North Alabama. We arrived at the auditorium early enough to be ninth and tenth in the line, but still had to wait around for 30 minutes while everything got organized. Kyle is a very cool guy. I was the only one who brought CD’s (3) to have signed, and he was quite surprised. (“Wow. You've got a lot.”) We chatted about how his blue shirt matched my tie, and I thanked him profusely for making the trip to Alabama. He was very personable and pleasant.

Kyle Eastwood in concert. (Photo © Mrs. S)

The concert had one very good country western opening act (duo), then a blues trio that was excellent. They played way too long, though, as no one was really there to hear blues and a little blues guitar (E-A-E-B-A-E, etc. etc. etc.) goes a long way. Then came a four man jazz trio, and they played a great version of “Blue Bossa” and the piano player, Harvey Thomspon, satisfied the crowd with a nice rendition of “Last Date”, among their four tunes. Then came Kyle.

One of the worst and one of the best piano players in north Alabama, me and Harvey Thompson.

He has a great band, with two horn players, piano, drums, and him on bass. He also played all his good songs, mostly the opening tracks from his last three albums. He was extremely talented and capable. He didn't show up at the after party and nothing at the after party was included with the ticket, so that was a bust. We drove the hour and ten minute drive home and got to bed by 1AM, and two hours and forty minutes later, I woke up to go to work. Was it worth it? Sure it was, but I’m getting too old for this. Making arrangements for and getting to and from these spur of the moment concerts will be much easier when I’m retired. I look forward to my next career as a jazz musician and music writer.

When jazz isn’t enough

Last week, I had the privilege to hear Bela Fleck perform his Concerto for Banjo with Orchestra, only the second performance ever of this piece which debuted last year. Now, banjo is certainly not my favorite instrument in the whole world. In fact, if not for the steel guitar, it might well be my least favorite instrument. But Fleck is a blues-minded bluegrass guy with a decided bent toward and numerous accomplishments in the world of jazz, so I figured, why not go and listen to him play with an orchestra?

This turned out to be quite fortuitous, as I also got to hear a piece by Puts that was reminiscent of Smetana and a strings only piece that was so highly original, ethereal, and charming, it wasn’t reminiscent of any other piece I’ve ever heard. Then came the concerto. I really enjoyed it. I won’t bother to describe the piece (such things never quite doing justice to a piece of music you know probably 98% of your readers have never heard – and besides, one can Google it and get a rundown on it elsewhere), but I will say this: for something that was only performed once before, and to play it without sheet music (as Fleck did), even given the fact that as the writer of the piece you expect him to know it as well or better than anyone, Fleck’s mastery of the concerto and his instrument was beyond phenomenal. Even Mrs. S felt that last Thursday’s concert was probably the best concert we’ve been to this season, with the only possible exception being the New York Phil’s concerts.

Which makes me thankful that for a guy like Fleck: jazz, or bluegrass, or whatever he’s considered mainstream in, isn’t enough. It brings me opportunities to experience music I would otherwise never have experienced. Heck, I might even buy one of his creepy jazz banjo CD’s. (Maybe, someday.)

And for those of you tuning in to learn about my antique piano restoration project, I wish to formally announce that I have abandoned said project, as I have become convinced that piano will never be playable as it sits in my dining room today. I’m in the process of trying to sell the beast and am hopeful to have it gone soon. Should I be unable to sell it, I fully intent to gut it and make a bar out of it. (Yes, a piano bar.) Hopefully, a motivated buyer will save me from the ignominy of that arduosity. We’ll see.

New York Jazz Club Reviews - Part 4

Birdland –  On our last  day in New York, Friday December 9, it seemed that our chances of catching the late show at Village Vanguard to see and hear Bill Frisell was not going to work out. It was far away from where we were, and the guy taking our reservation couldn’t spell Sedensky to save his life. Since Birdland was close to where I was going to be and the thought was that Mrs. S would get out of her concert early enough to make time to get to the jazz venue, that’s what we reserved. Dinner was far more of a challenge. With the concert and musical to break up the evening, we didn’t really want to do a heavy dinner late, so we were leaning toward a light dinner early. Unfortunately, 3:30 on Friday afternoon is not the best time to be making reservations for 5:00 on that Friday evening. Faced with no choice and a long walk to the theater, I convinced Mrs. S to just walk down the street and see what we could find. We found a decent sushi place and ate sushi then headed to the concert/musical. Mine was a lot farther away and I had to navigate Times Square, and, stupid, I went looking for where Birdland was before I realized, I needed to get to the theater. I made it with enough time to go to the restroom and find my seat just as the lights were going down. It was great seeing Brooke Shields in The Addams Family musical, even with the drunk lady in the front row ruining the show. (Amazing that a house filled with families of small children was besieged and disturbed by a 50-year old drunk woman. Mercifully, they kicked her out at intermission.) After the musical ended, I headed straight out, made my way the two blocks over and one block down, and arrived at Birdland to find, they didn’t have my reservation. Fortunately, there were plenty of tables and I was quite early, plus it wasn’t that crowded, so I got a prime rail-side table overlooking the front row tables, right behind the piano. Mrs. S showed up after I was halfway through my first beer, and we ordered up beer and wine and sliders: 

That's Brooklyn Lager, the best beer I had in NYC, and don't those sliders look scrumptious!

We then settled in to hear the Frank Wess Quintet play one set. I’d never heard of this guy, but they played mostly originals and everything was good. I would say, however, that the show was too expensive ($20 to see Frank Wess, which would have been $40 if we didn't get half price for having a Broadway show ticket stub - Bill Frisell, by comparison, was just $25 at the Village Vanguard) and they only played one short (hour and ten minutes) set. 

The Frank Wess Quintet lights up Birdland.

‘Course old Frank turned 90 years old that week, so, we didn’t complain. At least he didn’t die on stage. Unlike the Blue Note, Birdland I would do again, as long as the performer was somebody I wanted to see.

New York Jazz Club Reviews - Part 3

Cleopatra’s Needle – This club was recommended to us by my contact at McGraw-Hill, where I review business books for them. (You can check out my blog at businessbooklook.blogspot.com.) She sent me three possibilities, and while Mrs. S was at her concert on Thursday, only staying for the Joshua Bell portion, she told me to pick a restaurant/Jazz club and make the reservations. The plan was for me to meet her at intermission and we would then go to the club for dinner and music. While any of the clubs would probably have been fine, I went for the one that was most convenient to the subway where we’d be and that looked casual and relaxing. (Seriously, who would go to a jazz club that makes you wear a jacket?) It turned out to be an inspired choice. First of all, Mrs. S and I had been talking about getting Greek food while we were in NY. Of course, we don’t have any ideas about where any Greek restaurants are, much less whether they are any good or not. But when we sat down at our comfortable, window-side corner table, the first thing Mrs. S noticed was the menu said “Mediterranean Cuisine”. Jackpot! Turns out the place is authentic and run by an Egyptian who’d been there a number of years and is a jazz fanatic. They had a full bar, intimate but not overcrowded tables, and a piano trio playing there.  We ordered up Moussaka and Kofta Kebab and Tambouleh, with a bottle of decent red wine and the best damned baklava on this continent. Here's me and the food:

Clockwise from closest dish to me: Kofta Kebab, Tambouleh, Moussaka (kind of cut off).

 The music was great, very vibrant and close. The pianist was an older guy and the drummer and bassist were two younger guys, and I assume Burt Eckoff is the piano player, as that was the name of the trio. They kept it swinging. 

The Burt Eckoff Trio at Cleopatra's Needle.

The food was wonderful, probably as good a Mediterranean as you could get anywhere in New York. In many ways, our time at Cleo’s was one of the best, and the meal was one of the best, making this a sure highlight of our trip. It helped that we had good weather that day but regardless, we would definitely go back there any time.

A(nother) Night with Joshua Bell

For the third time in eleven months, the virtuoso violinist Joshua Bell made his way to Alabama, and so, for the second time in about eight months, we made the trip to Birmingham to see him and hear him play. I think if Mrs. S could have written a script of how the night would go, it would have gone pretty much like last night did. Here’s the rundown.

The drive from Madison to Birmingham was uneventful. So much so, we had time to scout out the dinner location prior to the beginning of the cocktail party, which started one hour prior to the concert itself. Even with all that, we were still the first to arrive for drinks. So, we had some. They had some good finger foods there, too, (smoked turkey pita pockets, anyone?) and though we were reluctant to fill up on them prior to the concert and post concert dinner, we ended up eating our fair share of them (which turned out to be a good thing, for reasons which I will soon divulge).

The concert (I thought) was average. I just didn’t think the songs were that exciting. Of course, Mr. Bell’s performance was top notch, as was that of his accompanist, Sam Haywood. I suppose the only notable event at the concert was the mad rush to the stage to try to find the horsehair that fell from Josh’s bow during the final suite of songs. (Nobody could find it.) We stood in line to get an autograph before heading to the post concert dinner.

The dinner was held at an old house at Birmingham that had been converted to an arts studio, with music studios, dance room, poetry room, the works. It was a lovely old house and held the fifty or so dinner guests comfortably. We mingled with the guests while sipping California wine and toured the building on our own. We met lots of interesting, influential Birminghammers. When Mr. Bell arrived, the remainder of the party obviously revolved around him. Mrs. S. wanted to take a bunch of pictures and get her picture taken with him, so while most of the rest of the folks headed off to the buffet, we stood around drinking and watching other people chat with JB. Eventually, we got our chance to chat and take photos before he himself headed off to the buffet.

Mrs. S and Joshua Bell

All that standing around translated into us being the last to hit the buffet. By the time we were ready to sit down and eat, several people had already moved into the living room, as most of the seats in the two dining areas were taken. But there were, in fact, two seats available at one of the tables, right next to Mr. Bell. And we were welcomed to sit, so Mrs. S plopped right down next to her idol. It was a fast and fascinating dinner. Mrs. S couldn’t take but a few bites of her meal, partly because it wasn’t very good, but also because she was so excited to sit next to Mr. Bell. JB, for his part, is an amiable, charming personality, and he obviously knows a lot, has many interesting stories, and is very indulgent of his fans. I would guess we spent a good seven or eight minutes, just chatting with him. He signed a personalized autograph for Mrs. S. and answered questions about whether he would so some more jazz projects (maybe) and why he comes to Alabama so often (“Because they keep asking me”). He left after the hostess’s birthday cake came out. We drank champagne and ate cake before hitting the road. At 11:00 at night, on a frigid mid-week evening in mid-January, I was able to lock the cruise control at 75 and we made it home at exactly one minute before midnight.

Honestly, I was a little amazed at how much fun I had. We became patrons of the arts in Birmingham Alabama for one night, and it was exhilarating. Like I told the hostess, who said it must be rough to drive down from Huntsville to Birmingham and back for the event, “If I could do this every week, I would.”

Recent New Orleans trip schedule = Beginner's guide to the "Big Easy"

Oddly enough, it took me five trips to New Orleans before I finally got around to doing all the things that tourists are supposed to do when they visit there. So my most recent NOLA travelogue is really a list of stuff that you should do if you’re visiting “the Big Easy” for the first time:

See the inside of St. Louis Cathedral – It is the oldest continually operating Catholic church in the United States, and the inside is far nicer and just as photo-worthy as the often depicted outside. Mrs. S and I went inside to hear Ellis Marsalis play a free Christmas concert, accompanied by the rest of his quartet including his drummer son, Jason. The chords that Mr. Marsalis played when he tackled “Oh Tannenbaum” were spine tingling. During the concert, filming and photography were not allowed, so we came back the next day to take photos. Don’t miss it. (Keep your distance from the guys on the bench outside with the 16-ounce malt liquor cans in paper bags.)

Have beignets and coffee at Café Du Monde – This is probably the staple of the New Orleans tourist experience, and again, we had never done it. The beignets were tasty and a plate of three with two large coffees was just the right amount of food and drink for Mrs. S and I to go away satisfied, yet craving more. We went back on our second morning of the trip as well. Bring cash. It helps if you speak Thai (but since you can only order one thing to eat and maybe five to drink, communication is not an issue).

Eat a meal at the Acme Oyster House – This we had actually done before, but not in a while. We went on our first full day for lunch. We had some char-grilled Gulf oysters that were phenomenal, along with two different Po-boys and a glass of local beer. We enjoyed it so much, we decided to do it again the next day, doubled up on the oyster order, and got two different Po-boys and another local beer to wash everything down. Highly likely that in future trips to NOLA, we will eat all our lunches here.

Tour a rum distillery – Yes, there is a rum distillery in New Orleans. It’s not much of one, but it is a rum distillery. (Okay, it’s a shabby warehouse with some tanks that can be used to make booze.) They do three tours daily (call ahead) and they are a little out of the way in a seedy neighborhood by a cement factory, but the rum is tasty, they serve samples, and although the tour is pricy at $10, you get $5 off a bottle of rum if you buy one (and you will). Definitely something different to  do, especially if you are newly devoted to spirits, as I am. Which leads to our next tourist “must-do”:

Have a cocktail at the carousel bar at The Monteleone – If you are not up on your cocktails, you can order the signature drink, The Monteleone, which is a variation on a martini (I think). That’s what Mrs. S had. Made her drunk enough to lose her scarf. I had a Sazerac, another New Orleans cocktail. It takes about 15 minutes for the bar to go around once, so drink slowly or have two.

Me and my Sazerac (photo © Mrs. S)

Listen to jazz at Snug Harbor – There’s nothing like real live jazz, and all I can say is, you may want to do Preservation Hall for the tourist’s touristy jazz, but I would recommend Snug for the “in-the-know” tourist’s jazz. We heard Delfeayo Marsalis lead the Uptown Jazz Ensemble, a 17-piece band that played on a stage that wasn’t more than 15 by 20 feet in a room that couldn’t have been more than 50 x 20 total. An awesome experience and only an $8 cab ride to and from just about anywhere in the French Quarter. You can keep your costs down by not ordering too many $8 drinks.

Dinner at Stella – I’m pretty sure this is the best restaurant in New Orleans. If you buy the cheapest wine on the list, two appetizers, two entrees and two desserts, you won’t get away for much less than $250 – 300. The tasting menu is something like $125, plus another $95 for the flight of paired wines. If you’ve hit the lottery, you can try one of their $150 vodkas or the $3000/ounce caviar.  With the Acme Oyster House, this is the only other thing on the list we did not do for the first time (and hopefully not for the last, either).

That’s it. Two and a half days, three nights. Really, the perfect trip. Geaux, geaux, geaux to New Orleans! (Author is not provided with compensation by any party affiliated with the city of New Orleans.)