Balance: The Cape Town Jazz Festival

The festival began with a Wednesday night jol, a free promotional concert at Greenmarket Square. The main act was Dave Koz, who had me quite literally running for my life. Cape Town loves its smooth jazz. I, uh, avoid it. I dug one of the opening acts, a rapper known as HHP. HHP pushes what one could rightly call a dialect of rap. HHP seamlessly weaves between several languages. I also have mad respect for any rapper that performs with a live band. Now that’s music!

 

HHP dons the stage in Greenmarket Square

A “jazz festival” is not just jazz anymore. The Cape Town Jazz Festival was sold out this year not because of the jazz line up. Headliners tend to be the likes of Sting, Kanye West, or in this case, Lauryn Hill (subbing for Jill Scott), rather than big jazz names like Wynton Marsalis or Herbie Hancock. I’m frankly okay with this. I just like good music.

Herbie Tsaoeli on bass. Soulful.

Friday was the first official night of the CT Jazz Festival. It started high, but ended low. Herbie Tsaoeli (bass) started off the evening, promoting his fresh album, African Time. Herbie’s sextet, full of young talent, played his soulful work with honesty and heart. I kicked it with Herbie in Jo Burg. I even blew over a few of his compositions. I dig them all! The highlight of the show for me was Herbie’s personable solo playing accompanied by his rich voice. It won him the crowd. But, much love to his side men—Nduduzo, Mthumzi, Ayanda and Malcolm—who showed me such a sweet time in Jo Burg.

 

From Herbie’s gig I caught the end of saxophonist Steve Dyer (sax, Zimbabwe). The group featured Cape Town musos I’ve come to know quite well by now. Lwanda Gogwana on trumpet, Shaun Johannes on bass, and Bokani Dyer on piano (Steve’s son). The music was meditative and sought to wrestle with the difficult realities of Africa.

 

Jean Grae, a conscious rapper.

Friday continued with few jazz acts. Jean Grae rocked a show that almost blew away in a ferocious wind torrent. The daughter of the great South African pianist Abdullah Ibrahim performed her first homecoming concert (she was born in Cape Town, though she grew up in NYC with many young hip hoppers my generation reveres today).

 

The festival has some issues. Sound problems were ever pervasive. Scheduling and timing were careless at times. Because of scheduling and timing issues, I missed the stellar pianist Alfredo Rodriguez from Cuba. Many jazz musos singled him out as a highlight of Friday night. The following morning, after his press conference, I chatted with Alfredo about relations between Cuba and the US. His story has an unfortunate air of familiarity about it. Alfredo defected from Cuba to the US to push forward his now rolling jazz career (produced by Quincy Jones). He can’t return home now. The day he does marks the day when US tourism will spoil this truly unique and culturally rich country. Alfredo’s story is analogous to a South African story. Apartheid forced the exile of many of South Africa’s greatest jazz musicians. Louis Moholo, a legendary drummer, expresses his sentiments on the matter with a simple, poignant statement: “To be in exile is a motherfucker.”

 

The rest of Friday was either too smooth or too loud.

 

— — —

Day Two: Saturday

A lens into the Andre Peterson Quintet

Saturday saved the festival. The music was cooking. It must be if you forget to eat and sleep. Local pianist Andre Peterson led a quintet that was sonically refreshing. The acoustic band featured an array of talent and background—Reggie Washington on bass, Dre Pallemaets on drums, Marcus Stickland on sax, and Chantal Willie on vocals. The collective remained cohesive throughout, even when the power went out briefly (a truly acoustic show!).

 

Jazz heads moved straight from Andre’s show to the Marcus Miller gig. Marcus is shamelessly smooth at times, but man he’s a bad cat. His band was just as raw, and channeling a late Miles sound. Marcus even unleashed the bass clarinet on modern take of “In a Sentimental Mood.”

Xia Jia performs with his trio.

The Xia Jia Trio gave me my first ever dose of Chinese jazz. Xia’s compositions were lush—a beautiful sense of melody. His trio played with much poise. But the music was too safe. Jazz needs heavy dynamic contrasts; it demands risk and edginess. The Xia Jia Trio, though beautiful and quite commendable, played too conservatively.

Hugh Masekela and friends pay homage to a South African legend.

Next came the party. Hugh Masekela paid homage to Mama Afrika, the greatest of greats, Miriam Makeba. Hugh led the gig, but musically took a backseat role. Because the front seat was packed! A cast of heavy singers, Vusi Mahlasela, Zolani Mahola of Freshly Ground, and Thandiswani rocked the main stage with covers of Makeba’s best. The show featured a choir several thousand people strong: the audience.

This brother can’t help himself. He loves Makeba too much!

Scheduling issues forced a tough choice between a trio of Ron Carter (bass), Donald Harrison (sax) and Lenny White (drums) or David Sanchez. Both were phenomenal, I chose the Ron Carter gig.

Ron Carter on the great Basil Moses’ bass.

Ron Carter is one of my favorite bassists. Until now, I’d never heard him live. A Kenny Werner phrase comes to mind with respect to this Trio: effortless mastery. The Trio weaved in and out, around and about, and over and under a set of familiar standards. Ron Carter and Lenny White were one. Donald Harrison flew.

 

Lauryn Hill closed the festival. She’s so damn talented. But the poor sound quality had her flustered and a bit psychotic. She walked off stage several times, but always to return. She took a dwindling audience through all the hits, from the Fugees, to Miseducation to Bob Marley. I only wish she hadn’t counted off every song at twice the original speed. The show was starting to become a rave.

 

The after party rocked. A jam at the Mahogany Room and the Waterfront had me home round about sunrise. The energy was hectic. Thanks to Saturday, the Cape Town Jazz Festival will remain a memorable weekend, and a wild capstone to my time in South Africa. One love to all the musos! My time is up, for now.

.

Next up: Brazil.

There And Back Again

A settlement along the Eastern Cape’s Wild Coast.

Kef Kek Break

I left the city for a breath of fresh air in South Africa’s Eastern Cape. I’m addicted to hiking on coastlines. I traveled to Coffee Bay on the Wild Coast via Nelson Mandela’s hometown, Mthatha. Coffee Bay is just one of many non-urban areas in South Africa. Still, my time there left me with a more realistic picture of how people live in South Africa, and how music lives with them.

Music is a daily dose. It’s something people share–an activity, a past time. There is no art to it. Traditional South African languages didn’t even have a word for art until European settlers arrived. So there is no concert hall or formalities to music. You play, they dance, or vice versa. It has changed with greater influx of foreigners to the Eastern Cape. With it comes a market for musical performance. A phenomenal young local percussionist (19 I was told) rocked a backpacker spot in Coffee Bay. This young man will soon face a dilemma: to stay put or seek more in a city.

Amandla! A march on Parliament in Cape Town.

The city is cooking. Music is as ingrained in social and daily life as it is in the countryside, only in different mediums. I encountered a march on Parliament in Cape Town. Different factions of the mob sang, some even with harmony, while dancing up Plein Street. I’ve marched in Seattle before. This would not happen there, or perhaps anywhere I’ve traveled to so far. It warmed me to experience music outside venue walls. But I couldn’t help to notice an irony in this protesting. The African National Congress (ANC) supporters proclaim their grievances to the government. The Western Cape is controlled by the Democratic Alliance (DA), but in my understanding, the issues at hand are national. The national ruling party is the ANC. Good ol’ politics.

— — —

From the Eastern Cape I continued to Johannesburg, or Jo Burg, or Jozi. The financial and (I’d say) cultural capital of South Africa has a fast tempo, and more energy than a chilled-out Cape Town. Historically, Jo Burg is where jazz really began blossoming in South Africa. Time passed. Few clubs and venues remain. But musicians carry on. Jo Burg’s scene reminds me of Bombay’s. I caught two gigs during my stay, the second of which I sat in with a great local trumpeter Marcus Wyatt. Check out his Language 12 project:

Marcus’ gig later transformed into a high-energy jam. The crowd was bubbling. The local musicians were boiling… Mthunzi Mvubu on sax; Nduduzo Makhathini on keys and Ayanda Sikade on drums—both of these cats are releasing fresh albums very soon. And of course many more… so many more. I had little time to see much (even eat). It was all music all the time—lekker. I left Jo Burg only wishing I had more time. Shit, I wish that for every place I’ve been to. I arrived back in Cape Town for the beginning of the SAJE Conference.

Jazz.Edu

The meeting room at a past SAJE Conference.

The South African Association of Jazz Education (SAJE) hosted their 11^th International Conference this week: Jazz as a metaphor for change, collaboration and innovation. Musicians and scholars from the UK, Brazil, Italy, USA, Estonia, and of course, South Africa, congregated at the University of Cape Town (UCT) College of Music. Busy myself—with gigs, jams, and preparations for Brazil—I was only able to catch a few presentations. Ups to Diane and Mike Rossi for organizing and running the whole thing!

A highlight for me was two documentaries. The first, “Dave Brubeck: In His Own Sweet Way” was produced by Clint Eastwood and presented by Brubeck’s three sons: Darius, Dan and Chris. A Dave Brubeck documentary is long overdue, but then again, Brubeck is still kicking at 91. The film is a bit dry. Clint Eastwood got a bit too much face time as well. But, Brubeck’s story is an incredible one. (Darius joked that the only reason a biopic wasn’t made is because Dave did none of the bad stuff… no drug addiction, no conflicts, no movie). It isn’t difficult to understand why his story inspires me personally. Dave Brubeck’s global tour in 1958 heavily influenced his infamous album Time Out.

Dave and Clint at the bench.

After an insightful lecture on the great trumpeter Kenny Wheeler, UK scholar Jonathan Eato presented the second documentary, “Legacy,” an edited (and by edited, I mean very artistic, improvisational editing at work here by Aryan Kaganof) interview with three South African jazz legends—Tete Mbambisa (piano), Louis Moholo (drums), and Zim Ngqawana (sax). Simply put, the film is enlightening. I only wish I had a clip to share. One quote I do remember well, imparted by the late Zim Ngqawana. Paraphrased (waiting for a transcription): “I’m not so interested in my traditions or traditional music. I’m interested in the conscience.” Zim is truly a South African musician. His words cut deep. Conscience is the core of music, not the instruments, the style, the rhythm, the feel, the tradition… it’s the conscience. All else is secondary. Dig on Zim!

I played my own part in the SAJE Conference, performing with Mac McKenzie’s Goema Ensemble to cap a presentation on the history and development of goema, or “the sound of the city” (of Cape Town). I’ve written on goema already. For a refresher, read my post “The Goema Heartbeat.” US scholar John Edwin Mason gave a historical outlook as well as his vivid photography from a previous Cape Town Carnival. Check his blog! Paul Sedres, French musician and the director of SAJE, then spoke with Mac about the development of goema by tracing Mac’s own musical career.

The Cape Town Carnival. Photo by John Edwin Mason.

The 11^th SAJE Conference is also a great and timely lead up to the Cape Town International Jazz Festival, which takes place this weekend. I can’t wait to share what I hear with you all.

— — —

I grabbed a drink at Tagore’s on my way home. A couple muso friends are there. We’re having what Afrikaaners call a jol when Tony Cedras emerges from the back of the small venue. Tony is a local Cape Town music legend, a pianist and trumpeter. He’s been living in NYC. Tonight, he’s in Cape Town, jamming in the backyard of Tagore’s with another great local cat Hilton Schilder. As Tony exits, a hilarious breakout of song ensues. We all start rambunctiously singing his hit song “Ngena,” a Cape Town jazz standard (the recording of which featured a young Chris Botti). I liken this to singing “Message in a Bottle” if you ever encountered Sting. Good times at Tagore’s.

–RE

Flavors of the Cape

The Kwela Mafia running the streets.

Kwela

Kwela is Zulu for “get up.” It’s happy music. It’s something I’ve noticed in Cape Town: the music is happy. Iconic Cape Town jazz compositions like Winston Mankunku’s Yakha’inkomo (“The Crying Bull”) are, despite sad and atrocious inspirations, musically joyous. Perhaps it’s in spite of. The music heals. Who wants to hear a sad song after a sad day in the life. It’s like the ‘blues mentality’—you might be down, but you can always get up. Kwela!

Kwela began as street music featuring the penny whistle, which is inexpensive, versatile, and conveniently fits in your underpants as you travel around. On a any given day, one can hear groups like the Kwela Mafia perform in the city center.

Check out their jams on myspace: http://www.myspace.com/thekwelamafia

Clinton Heneke (playing percussion with the Kwela Mafia in the picture above) learned kwela and other local music forms by playing with street musicians. He now lives in Berlin. Yet, whenever he visits his hometown, he heads right to the streets to play. Clinton promotes local veteran street musicians with CAMA’s “Street Music Project.” The Kwela Mafia are among those featured. In Clinton’s own words:

“Through the Street Music Project, CAMA has set about uncovering a special group of ‘unsung heroes’ for whom music making is an essential part of life – music makers who are either hidden, unheard-of or simply unacknowledged. They are old and young, play on the streets, or for their township communities. Some of them do not perform at all, but keep their music a treasured secret. Their talent and musical ability could well stand beside better known names in South African music.”

 The penny whistle in action.

Mbaqanga

The Kwela Mafia has evolved. The traditional penny whistle has been replaced with a saxophone. Sadly, very few penny whistlers remain. Western instruments became popular and joined kwela, so someone began calling this new sound mbaqanga. Mbaqanga follows a simple, melodic I-IV-V harmonic progression (fundamentally, the blues) first heard in yet another style called marabi. The repetitious harmonic sequence of marabi is immediately recognized by most anybody in Cape Town. More to come on mbaqanga in the future.

The Xhosa Sound

Dizu’s promo pic.

Dizu Plaatjies performed with his 30-piece Ibuyambo Ensemble. Ibuyambo means a renaissance, or rebirth, which is literally what Dizu is doing for traditional Xhosa music. Really, the ensemble champions a multiplicity of music traditions of the greater South African region. Why be exclusive? I must say, Ibuyambo is the most astonishing show I’ve seen in Cape Town. I’m unable to upload my own video clip right now (which features some wild dancing). Below is a more mellow selection already on Youtube.

 

Goema… revisited

Last week, I had the great pleasure of performing at the Mahogany Room with Goema maestro Mac McKenzie, whose life work has been reinventing Goema through rock, jazz and Western classical music. I connected with Mac via his Cape Town Composer’s Workshop. Unfortunately, with limited rehearsal time, we weren’t able to get together two fresh pieces of my own, written in India… another time, perhaps. But the gigs were hip. There’s nothing like blowing over a Goema groove. And Mac has a lot to say with his pencil. Below is a clip from one of our shows. The energy and contribution of the audience fuels the music. I think this captures the spirit of goema.

 

A segment of NamaQua with Mac’s goema group.

— — —

Cape Town Natural, a local music/arts blogs, covers the local music being played yesterday, today and every day after. Gregory Franz, the blogger, tirelessly covers the Cape’s jazz scene. I see him at almost every late night Monday jam at Swingers with his camera. Don’t remind him about his day job. His photos, thoughts and local artistic events are presented on Cape Town Natural. I smiled when Gregory mentioned he knew a past Watson Fellow who visited the Cape–Aisha Fukushima, who is making (bigger and bigger) waves through Raptivism (Rap Activism).

— — —

Music is a mirror of a culture or people. Through it, we understand each other better. Look into your own musical mirror. You might see yourself more clearly too…

Dancing About Architecture

Rolf Erik Nystrom is “On The Edge of Wrong”

The Mahogany Room hosted the 7^th annual On The Edge of Wrong festival in Cape Town this past weekend. On The Edge of Wrong bridges different musical approaches of Norwegians and South Africans. As the name suggests, this festival pushes boundaries—personal, collective, improvisational, and the comfort zones of audiences and musicians alike. Morten Kristiansen, who organizes the festival both in Cape Town and Oslo, and a Norwegian jazz artist himself, studied at Cape Town’s College of Music. He created the festival to keep his ties with another country he loves, and I suppose to promote great music too. My immediate question, a musician’s first question, where do find the funding? Unsurprisingly, it’s mostly the Norwegian government (and a few other sponsors). After I asked this, Morten laughed and admitted, “I’ve never made a dime off this, and probably never will.” Big ups!

In an interview, Morten gave a nice analogy of his festival’s name: On The Edge Of Wrong is like a perfect conversation; one where you speak openly, honestly, without censorship of feelings and ideas, that directly connects two different bodies, that is less about content and more about the sheer engagement. And then time flies.

 .

 This year’s promo.

Rolf Erik Nystrom, a Norwegian saxophonist pictured in the beginning of this post, was featured at this year’s installment of hte festival. As you’ll hear for yourself, he straddles the edge of wrong. Nystrom collaborates with many musicians all over Africa, and now has a few more friends in Cape Town: Dizu Plaatjies and Errol Dyers.

 

Nystrom performs a solo piece.

 

Nystrom performs a duet with Dizu Plaatjies, a maestro of Xhosa traditional music and instruments.

— — —

In August 2011 I took a train from Sweden to Norway to catch the Oslo Jazz Festival and get a taste for a country known well for its free approach to jazz and music in general. It’s a freer expression of the more straight ahead Nordic Jazz Dialects I soaked up in Stockholm. You can read my thoughts on it here. South African tabla/percussionist Ronan Skillen, while performing at On The Edge of Wrong, candidly admitted how intimidating is is to play free music for so many Norwegians, who can hear this music on the radio in their own country.

The Norwegians I met in Cape Town were not impressed when I told them I attended the Oslo Jazz Festival. It’s too commercial by Norwegian standards. Well, if the Brian Blade Fellowship is commercial, then commercial jazz must be pretty hip in Norway.

The Norwegian-South African connection immediately intrigues me. I’m not an ethnomusicologist. I’m not focusing on any one region or type of music. I’m not even concerned with just jazz anymore. The end all is a meaningful musical dialogue between vastly different countries and traditions—a perfect conversation.

This year, On The Edge of Wrong featured a Norwegian journalist posing questions to local and Norwegian artists and musicians. One of the interviewees was the editor of Chimurenga, a “pan-African publication of writing, arts and politics.” The publication supports the Pan-African Space Station, which archives local live shows as Youtube videos. The video below is of Lwanda Gogwana’s quartet live at Tagore’s, another venue that pushes quality jazz. I was fortunate enough to sit in that night… so the clip features two trumpet players.

 

 

The editor of Chimurenga was asked if he had qualms writing about jazz in his publication, specifically considering a Thelonious Monk quote: “Talking about jazz is like dancing about architecture.” The notion does sound silly. Music needs no language. It’s deeper, a supremely direct expression. It makes us dance, smile, laugh, and cry without a word.

But I laughed when I heard this Monk quote. People, and myself included, always have to talk or write about it, whatever it is. So I laughed at myself. For seven months now I’ve been writing about music in my off time. I laughed much later when I concluded that, if you thought like Monk did, your only response would be, Well… what’s wrong with dancing about architecture? Nothing. It’s just not normal. But somehow writing about music is at least not abnormal.

I look back at the (commercial) Brian Blade Fellowship concert at the Oslo Jazz Festival, where I sit at a table with two jazz critics. They work for All About Jazz. I must laugh for these guys too. This is their life. I sat by and listened as they one-upped each other for fifteen minutes, retelling and embellishing their favorite jazz concerts, arguing about elite guitarists today, or how they foresaw Esperanza Spalding becoming the next big thing (a modern diva). I bet these critics would laugh with me. They, like most jazz heads, worship Monk. We all do because Monk was, at least in his day, on the edge of wrong. Which somehow means, retrospectively today, that Monk was the most right.

Well, my feet are tired. I’ve been dancing too long now about architecture. But I have some more music to share. Don’t hesitate to write to me about it.

 

Reza Khota Trio at Ibuyambo.

 

Reza Khota (guitar), Shane Cooper (bass), Jonno Sweetman (drums) perform at Ibuyambo

— — —

Happy Feet at Boulder’s Beach

The Goema Heartbeat

Local guitar hero Steve Newman (far left) turns 60, celebrating with his musical family: (from left) Tony Cox, Greg Georgiades, Errol Dyers and Clinton Heneke.

— — —

Bom-Bom. Bom-Bom. Bom-Bom.

Goema is the heartbeat of South African music. Although just one style, and by no means the only South African style, Goema is unmistakeable when heard. In the past month, while familiarizing myself with Cape Town, its music, and its scene, I’ve heard Goema everywhere in many different musical contexts and orchestrations.

.

Acoustic guitar quartet meets Goema at Steve Newman’s Birthday Concert

.

Goema was beating strong at Steve Newman’s birthday (pictured above). Check out the recording above! Steve, and many of the musicians accompanying him, are dedicated to preserving Cape Town’s traditional music, often at the cost of gigs. For them, quality trumps quantity; good music trumps good money. I was fortunate enough to sit in with Steve on an impromptu take of “Summertime,” as well as one other piece with those pictured above. Claude Cousins, a young drummer in Cape Town, told me a week later that he saw my photo from this concert in the local newspaper alongside guitarist Errol Dyers. Check out the article online!

A woman dances at a tribute concert to the great Wintson Mankunku. The Sax Summit featured many of Cape Town’s sax greats. Playing is Errol Dyers (guitar), George Werner (piano), Mark Fransman (sax), Spencer Mbadu (bass) and Ivan Bell (drums).

If Goema doesn’t make you move, then something is wrong with you! The Goema is a drum used in Cape Town’s beloved street parades. Like most forms of traditional music in Africa, Goema is music you dance to. Sometimes I wonder what really came first: the dance or the music?

.

Segment from Mac McKenzie’s Goema Symphony

.

Another veteran in Goema is Mac McKenzie. I’ve gotten to know Mac in the past two weeks. He’s gone from traditional Goema, to rock n roll Goema, and now is pushing Western classical Goema. Above is a segment from his new project: The Goema Symphony. I’m excited to collaborate and perform with Mac at the end of February. Mac is also featured heavily in a new documentary about Goema in Cape Town called “Mama Goema.” It isn’t released yet, but I was able to borrow a copy in private circulation. For now, check out the trailer!

— — —

Mark Fransman performs with his trio at Mahogany Room

.

Mark’s Tribute to Winston Mankunku

.

Mark Fransman performed original music written in dedication to South African jazz greats with his piano trio. The above composition is, harmonically and melodically, modern jazz. Still, Goema is unmistakeably the heartbeat of its groove! Mark’s gig was at the Mahogany Room, a newly founded jazz club in Cape Town (the first gig was a week before I arrived). It’s great to see a club owned and run by jazz musicians dedicated to showing quality jazz music. It’s also now a go to hang out spot for many musos.

Goema is simple music. But I love simple. It gets right to the heart of the matter. In music, language, in almost anything, we only  hide the truth with complexity.

— — —

I hoped to present more South African music in this post. I really did, especially because Abdullah Ibrahim performed with “his” big band this past Saturday. This is difficult for me to write, because I really dig Abdullah’s past work. His music is one of many reasons I chose to come to South Africa in the first place. But what I witnessed on Saturday was bad enough to leave at intermission, despite a costly ticket. And I’m someone who never leaves at intermission no matter how odd the music is.

Abdullah’s words were as puzzling as his piano playing. “We bring people to the music, and music to the people!” he exclaimed after a solo piano piece void of any melody. I laughed to myself. Are you kidding me? The ticket prices and concert location alone financially restrict “the people” he refers to from coming. One set of unrehearsed big band music was enough. The band even train-wrecked, having to restart a Monk-inspired composition. A train-wreck is the worst of the worst that can happen to a big band. Adbullah’s presence on stage seemed to disorient and confuse his fellow musicians more than anything. At this point, I concluded that “the music” was not being brought to any of people. This was no “musical journey” (his words). Worse, the audience laughed off the trash they were hearing. And so did Abdullah. How can Abdullah Ibrahim have such immunity?

I spent much of the ensuing night in a disheveled state, wandering to different jazz clubs pondering such questions. At the clubs, I spoke with many local musicians about the concert, about Abdullah. My experience was validated again and again, and then some. There is a completely different side of Abdullah Ibrahim, one that undeniably counters his music and his message.

If you have an opinion on the matter, or a relatable experience, please leave a comment below or email me directly.

— — —

A sign at the top of Table Mountain. I usually ignore such warnings. Such warnings intrigue me more than anything. In South Africa, “not easy” can equate to “bring your rock climbing gear.”

Soutpiel Segueway

The lapidary Lion’s Head in Cape Town

I’ve crossed the Indian Ocean. Although physically in Cape Town, much of my thoughts are still with India. I feel in between. To borrow from the big book of Afrikaans slang, I’m a sort of a soutpiel—neither here not there; one leg in South Africa, the other in India. (Though this is my figurative translation, the real meaning is far dirtier). The meat of this post is to sum up my work in India. On behalf of Cape Town, I’ll simply say it’s pleasant to be back in the first world (at least relatively speaking), it’s exciting to see such a vibrant, open jazz scene with jams a plenty, and I have little doubt I’ll have a rockin’ time. My work here is just beginning …

 

 

I hear Echoes already. Cape Town’s own Babu, an Indo-jazz-rock quartet of tabla/percussion (Ronan Skillen), drums (Kesivan Naidoo), guitar (Reza Khota) and bass (Shane Cooper) rocked the newly opened Mahogany Room jazz club. The above track presents one of their newest compositions, featuring some beautiful melodic bass playing by Shane (dig on the end).

 

 

On the subject of Indo-jazz, I have some serious backlog to get out the way. The above clip is from the George Brooks and Ronu Majumdar show in Bombay I already posted about in Accha.

 

I’ll also give a little taste of big band jazz mixed with Carnatic (above). RA Ramamani & Germany’s BuJazzO youth ensemble conducted and arranged by Mike Herting. Check out my former post on this concert, “New Music” & Human Tetris.

— — —

— — —

And finally, a recapitulation of some sweet sounds I myself was involved in. Literally the day before I left India for Bhutan, the sitar-guitar-trumpet project recorded a video performance. It’s especially remarkable given we had no rehearsal and two new/guest members. The percussionist on the left, Vaibhav Wavikar, and my stunt devil on the right (aka “Tale of Two Basses” Zeustis aka Dal-Bhat-Gave-Him-Da Bleustis). Yes, my brother Ian was kind enough to visit Bombay from his happy home of Kathmandu, Nepal to witness my new found life of Bollywood stardom and go on chai dates with MTV hostesses.

… Now, to sit back, and analyze India. Please read what is below carefully. I invite feedback in any form.

— — —

— The Trouble With Indo-Jazz ‘Fusion’ —

I’m in Chennai. Through a sporadic cascade of events, I’m jamming with a santoor player. Except, at this very moment he’s on tabla. He’s laying down addhe—a nice eight beat tal cycle. In a moment of musical acuity, it clicks. I suddenly get how Canartic music kicks. The rhythmic displacement of rag-based melodies over the tal creates rhythmic and melodic tension. As the tal cycles around and around, we finally land in unison on the downbeat—Da! The release!

 

Oh, shit! This is fun!

The lasting excitement is short lived. A reality sets in. It will take far longer than three months to really internalize anything Carnatic. It’s not even why I’m here, really.

— — —

Genre-ing is tough to do these days. What we have is an emerging set of umbrella genres—the likes of fusion, global music, or world music. The ambiguity is necessary. It allows a lot of grey area, a musical fudge factor. The best new umbrella genre I’ve heard is “new music.” At least it isn’t trying to be anything more than it is. See, haphazard labeling is becoming more and more problematic. 90% of it is the industry. The rest is carelessness.

All these umbrella genres are driving at the same idea: the globalization of music, the creation of a universal music. Music is forever evolving. A wedding of two different music traditions will bear a new musical offspring. And so forth. Is that not the origin of jazz, the origin of Hindustani?

I see two ways music will significantly transform in my lifetime. The first is the former: the fornication of different musical traditions. This has been done a lot already. But believe me, there is much more work to be done. The second is the use of electronics, or engineered sound. We hear this plenty in popular music today. It’s even audible in acoustic music, in jazz and Hindustani. Either way, the modern musician is becoming an avadhuta musician—one who dabbles in all, never quite settling on one specific sound, style, or tradition.

— — —

I came to India to explore the mix between Indian classical (both Hindustani and Canartic) and jazz. The premise is that both traditions share a common approach: improvisation, or kalpana sangeetharri. But that’s about it. To keep things brutally simple, Indian classical is a melodic improvisation while jazz is, relatively speaking, a harmonic improvisation. What is remarkable about both Indian classical and jazz is they’ve each reached a heightened state of musical complexity via different improvisational approaches. This divergence results in neither tradition being quite intuitive to the other.

What does all this mean?

I’ll borrow an umbrella genre: fusion. Fusion in the U.S. was a mix of jazz with rock, funk, and anything electric. Fusion in India is the U.S. rock-fusion mixed with elements of Indian classical.

For a fusion to work, it requires each musician in question to have a genuine mutual understanding of the others’ respective traditions. In this case, each musician should understand jazz-rock and Indian classical (the extent of this mutual understanding is what most immediately sets limitations). Otherwise, there is no real fusion: it’s just a cut and paste job of two different things. Having attended my fair share of fusion concerts, this cut and paste phenomenon is all too audible.

My best analogy for fusion is a literal one: the fusion of metals. Steel, a fusion of iron and carbon, is much stronger than plain old iron. But some things don’t mix easily. Either they don’t belong together period, or people just aren’t mixing them correctly. Any engineer would argue the latter. With respect to fusion music, any half decent musician would too.

The beauty, and challenge, is there is no right or wrong approach. The right or wrong is only discernable in the end product—is it one, or is it a cut and paste job.

Louis Banks is a jazz musician. He is not an Indian classical fusion player. His approach is that of a jazzman’s. He’ll use a rag to compose melodies or to improvise, but ignore any traditional rules of that rag’s use. A jazzman makes a living breaking such musical rules. The result is jazz influenced by elements of Indian classical—it’s still jazz. Louie’s mix, his fusion or whatever-you-want-to-call-it, is right because it is one sound.

I can understand why an Indian classical musician might find it wrong. I know because I’ve experienced the reciprocal, when Indian classical musicians attempt jazz. Fundamentals are immediately broken. They can’t swing. They can’t hear harmonic progressions. But I can’t hate because reciprocally, I know squat about Indian classical. Walking to the Blue Frog with my sitar friend, Hindol, I remarked how I came up with a hip symmetric syncopation over a 7 beat tal cycle. After singing it, Hindol shook his head. “Ahh… that’s super cliché, man. You know what is hip though? Put 10 beats over 7.” I still can’t do that…

The conclusion is that a compromise is always in order. And this is exactly why the Bombay guitar-sitar-trumpet project I was involved in was so fun. Through unabashed experimentation I began to see the fruitful, and the fruitless avenues of mixing jazz with Indian classical.

I’ll leave you with one simple idea to chew on. All music comes from the same source—people.

Also, do you ever wonder why certain instruments, created in completely different parts of the world, in completely different musical traditions, can sound so glorious together?

.

— Namaste: Spirituality in Music —

 

Indian classical music is spiritual. It is, at least traditionally, a way of reaching out to the sublime. As India gets more and more saturated with foreign music traditions, the practice of religion through music will undoubtedly become more cultish for some, and obsolete for others.

I’m walking on shaky ground here, but I believe more and more that spirituality strengthens music. Yes, the endless gestures to the divine in an Indian classical concert are a bit extreme—many young Indian musicians I met whole-heartedly agree (and so the youth diverges). I’m not even particularly fond of gospels or spirituals in Western music.

But what if we consider spirituality separate from religion? Because really, music itself is the religious institution for the musician. So it’s not a question of who you worship. The real matter in question is how you worship. This explains how Pandit (Hindu maestro) Ravi Shankar and Ustad (Muslim maestro) Ali Akbar Khan maintained one of the longest and most fruitful musical partnerships in Hindustani music. It explains Coltrane’s A Love Supreme. It explains why any church service without music sucks.

Spirituality, in one form or the other, is a human necessity. It allows escapism from a world that doesn’t always play nice. It can be Christianity, Islam. It can also be philosophy, music, nature… even drugs for some. I’m not saying go find Jesus. I’m not saying go drop acid. I’m only saying that spirituality is a healthy endeavor. Choose your own vehicle, but share the road.