Walking to the DuSable Museum of African-American History, I see fire trucks, police cruisers, random ordinary cars, and cops directing traffic outside the University Medical Center, and I never find out what it was all about.
Davis and I see Ken Chaney's Awakening, who in one hour perform the most intense collective music anyone could ask for, six men who have obviously been doing this for years, decades, in perfect harmony. The standout is Ari Brown, whose compositions "Wayne's Trane" (where he combines two melodies into one cogent whole) and "Groove Awakening" are catchy and complex, inspiring flights of sheer fancy.
Trombonist T. R. Galloway stands at the side of the stage, unsure in the shadows, while the band plays a song he wrote about his wife, hands in pockets, a little bemused, nervous, insecure smile playing on his lips.
When I was in the Boardman Orchestra, during practicing the bass, whenever I got bored (sadly a usual occurrence) I would take off on various musical ideas inspired by the original sequence of notes and keys...they were incredibly simple ideas usually based around repetition, but listening to Lorin Cohen's downright funky soloing, there was little difference between what he was doing so brilliantly on stage and my goofing off. That may be the true brilliance of jazz, understanding music enough to have an infinite number of combinations at your fingertips, but always knowing exactly which one to play for maximum effect. Sort of like the superego filtering out the id...no, I won't go there.
Davis and I walk over to the Midway and I trod on the grass for the first time ever. It feels nice. I eat half a red pepper, mixed greens, goat cheese, carrots, and raisins sandwich. It tastes nice. Peter joins us, having slept in after the dinner party, and Karen and Teresa follow. The company is more than nice.
James Wagner, who founded the Festival, died a few months ago, and Ari Brown and Willie Pickens lead an all-star band on the Midway. The day has been brisk, gray, and cool, but as the group plays Wayne Shorter's "This Is For Albert," the sun breaks out for the first time and never goes away. Of course, Mr. Brown warms us all up with a sizzling "Naima..."
Davis departs for a violin band at Rockefeller Chapel, and the rest of us go see Tatsu Akoi. Picture this...in an oak-paneled Oriental Institute lecture hall, an ebullient Japanese man whose smile never fades begs us to buy his CDs. Three saxophonists, including avant-garde legend Ed Wilkerson and Mwata Bowden on the unusual trip of bass sax, clarinet, and didgeridoo. Three very young girls playing the traditional kaito drums, three feet tall and booming with the thunder of God...and the music that comes out sounds exactly like the most glorious Blue Note sides of the 1960s, solos bopping like mad, drums keeping the rhythm, and Akoi laying out the foundation on his bass, happy as the man whose girlfriend said yes or who cradles his newborn or who holds his Ph. D. or who just had a really great day. Never seen anything like it, never heard anything like it.
I pick up my black-eyed peas for Melissa and Mika's dinner party (that's another post) and wrap it up by catching Willie Pickens solo with his trio at International House's grand but over-AC'd assembly hall. The repertoire is just that, a little Monk, Coltrane, Golson, Powell, Shorter, Jimmy Heath, but Pickens sounds like a reincarnated Oscar Peterson, 77 year-old fingers rhapsodic one moment, bangingly percussive the next, playing "Four In One" as if it's the last song he'll ever do and he needs to squeeze in as many notes as possible.
Everywhere I went, these musicians had smiles on their faces. No brooding Trane or Miles. Jazz really makes you happy. Made me happy.
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