Further reflections on highlights of the festival’s first weekend:
Gonzalo Rubalcaba opened the first major concert of the festival with a band of young sidemen who are in the thick of the latterday New York Latin jazz explosion that is producing some of the most important music of the new century. The virtuoso pianist’s quintet is twice or three times removed from the Charlie Parker-Dizzy Gillespie generation but it has a distinct bebop lineage, particularly in the ensembles. The rhythms are manifestations of the various Cuban traditions of which Rubalcaba is a master. The Rubalcaba band’s melding of the two strains produces harmonic astringency and irresistible time feeling. Alto saxophonist Yosvany Terry, bassist Yunior Terry and drummer Ernesto Simpson are Rubalcaba’s fellow Cubans. Trumpeter Michael Rodriguez is a New Yorker fully immersed in the Latin mainstream and, like Terry, a soloist who seems bound to become a major figure.
A typical piece in a Rubalcaba concert begins with the pianist unaccompanied in a meditation at the keyboard. Gradually, his playing takes on rhythmic character that intensifies as bass and drums undergird the time. Trumpet and alto saxophone express the melodic line harmonized or in unison, then solo at length. In some pieces there are drum or bass solos. Rubalcaba often chooses to go last in the solo sequence.
The other night, Yosvany Terry blew billows and clusters of notes with a vigor that often bordered on ferocity. Rodriguez was more considered in his note choices but played with nearly equal force and with excursions into the stratospheric range that seems to be standard equipment for young trumpeters. Simpson’s roiling drum patterns urged them on. There may be no pianist at work today with more technique than Rubalcaba. He astonishes listeners with his command of the instrument. And yet, when he solos following the elation of a drum, bass, trumpet or saxophone solo by one of his sidemen, the level of passion drops. It may be that he means to create contrast. In any case, for all of the beauty of his playing, in his solos the emotional level of the music subsides. Judging by their reaction, the Portland audience didn’t notice that, or it didn’t matter to them. Rubalcaba and the band received thunderous applause and a standing ovation.
The second half of the opening night concert was trumpeter and composer Terence Blanchard’s post-hurricane lament for his home town, New Orleans. As in the CD of the work, “A Tale of God’s Will (A Requiem for Katrina)” presented Blanchard’s quintet and a 40-piece orchestra. Written by Blanchard and members of his band, the music expresses the grief, anger and frustration that dominated the city in the wake of Katrina and the Bush administration’s botched response to the disaster. Painfully, New Orleans is recovering from both. A thirteen-movement suite, “A Tale of God’s Will” has uplifting moments as well as dirges, but Blanchard delivered the uplift on waves of anger expressed not only in his playing, but also in spoken sentiments onstage. Still, passages of quiet beauty remain in the mind, notably in Aaron Parks’ “Ashé” and in “Dear Mom,” Blanchard’s portrayal of his mother’s ordeal in the flooding of New Orleans.
Blanchard’s orchestral writing, still evolving, sometimes bypasses the potential for harmonic depth and variety in the string section, but when he brings in the brass, he achieves moments of swelling grandeur. It is mystifying why Blanchard or the concert producer thought it was necessary to amplify the orchestra. In the good acoustics of Schnitzer Hall, the balance between soloists and orchestra would have been better au naturale. Blanchard’s excessive use of slurs and scoops in his playing has always disturbed me. In “Levees,” with its echoes of “St. James Infirmary,” the slurs were effective. Nonetheless, as they accumulated through the concert, they amounted to a distraction.
Bassist Derrick Hodge and drummer Kendrick Scott have been with Blanchard for some time. Pianist Fabian Almazan and young tenor saxophonist Walter Smith are new to the band. All played beautifully in a work whose substance should give it a life beyond its timeliness as commentary on a tragedy.
In her concert at the Schnitzer, Dianne Reeves did what she does best. She sang good songs simply. Accompanied by her trio and the Oregon Symphony orchestra conducted by Gregory Vajda, Reeves avoided the gospel and soul affectations that have sometimes marred her work and employed her glorious voice in the interpretation of standards appropriate to Valentine’s Day. She included “I Remember Sarah,” which she wrote with Billy Childs, and followed it with an engagingly self-deprecating anecdote about her first encounter with Sarah Vaughan, her idol, when Reeves was a teenager.
Thad Jones’ “A Child Is Born” and Gerhswin’s “Embraceable You” were high points. Both had affecting piano solos by Peter Martin. Martin, with her other longtime trio members bassist Reuben Rogers and drummer Kendrick Scott, backed Reeves with what may have been extrasensory perception. It was, hands down, the best I have ever heard her sing. Reeves’ performance was an emotional experience for her and her audience.
At the Portland Art Museum, guitarist John Scofield had bassist Matt Penman and drummer Bill Stewart in his trio. With the tonal qualities of a hip hurdy-gurdy, his daring intervals and thrilling runs, Scofield delivered a concert packed with intensity and good-natured swing. Continuing his ubiquitousness, Joe Lovano sat in with his old friend and recording partner for a not-quite-impromptu meeting of their mutual admiration society. Lovano, who evidently either never forgets a tune or can absorb and perform one simultaneously, was in lockstep with Scofield on complex melody lines. They had a great time entertaining one another and the audience. Penman and Stewart were in equally fine fettle.
Meanwhile, at the Art Bar of the Portland Center for the Performing Arts, the cooperative trio of tenor saxophonist John Gross, pianist Dave Frishberg and drummer Charlie Doggett were playing to a modest crowd until the Scofield concert ended. Then, the bar in the PCPA atrium filled up with thirsty musicians and others, some of whom paid attention to the music, which was a good idea, because it was remarkable. Gross, who made his mark in the most avant garde band Shelly Manne ever had, is a tenor saxophonist who calmly and with a rich tone plays iconoclastic ideas. Frishberg is a celebrated performer of his own songs whose policy is never to sing in Portland, his home town. He does, however, accept gigs there as a pianist. He is one of the best pianists in the mainstream. Doggett is a young drummer who accommodates himself to the extremes of Gross’s and Frishberg’s styles and helps fuse the trio into a cohesive and coherent group. I had to come and go during their three hours on the stand, but heard their performances of Thelonious Monk’s “Ask Me Now;” Gary McFarland’s “Blue Hodge;” Bob Brookmeyer’s “Dirty Man;” and three Ellington pieces, “Dancers in Love,” “Strange Feeling” and “Scronch.” Some of those are on their only CD, which I have recommended before and recommend again. It was a pleasure to hear them in person.
That’s enough for now. In the third and final installment of this Portland report, I’ll give you a few words on McCoy Tyner, Don Byron and Lionel Loueke.

What to add to the hundreds of tributes to Louie Bellson in the wake of his death last weekend? The outpouring of accolades emphasizes what anyone who ever encountered him knows: he was full of warmth, generosity and the largest available portion of human spirit. Dozens of obituaries are quoting Duke Ellington’s assessment of Bellson as not only the world’s greatest drummer but the world’s greatest musician. There are excellent obits by Howard Reich in the Chicago Tribune, Nate Chinen in The New York Times and Don Heckman in The Los Angeles Times. 

The grins on the faces of Hinton and Bellson when Earl Hines was in full flight.

Despite difficult economic times, Royston (pictured) said, overall attendance at the two-week

festival so far has been down only twelve percent compared with the 2008 festival. Tickets for the Wilson-Moran concert lagged despite Ms. Wilson having won a Grammy award last week. Royston said that other weekend concerts will go on. Among the headliners are Bobby Hutcherson, Lou Donaldson, Aaron Parks, Pat Martino, Jane Bunnett and Kurt Elling.

Last weekend, it seemed that, except for a few empty rows in the backs of the halls, the concerts were well attended. Portland’s weather, which can be rainy at this time of year, was cold and dry, making for exhilarating trips through downtown between concert halls, clubs and restaurants. Since I last attended the Portland festival in 2007, it has made a significant improvement in the way it presents music. The prime-time evening concerts now take place not in hotel ballrooms with boomy acoustics and frustrating sight lines, but in performance halls designed for satisfying aural and visual experiences.

“We’ve grown in that regard,” Royston told me. “It was time.” Most of the concerts were in the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, home of the Oregon Symphony, or in the auditorium of the Portland Art Museum. One exception to the no-hotel policy was a concert in the Pavilion Ballroom of the Portland Hilton. In the gargantuan ballroom in the hotel’s nether regions in previous years, performances were all but unlistenable. The Pavilion is a cozier hall with good acoustics and a lovely little stage.

Before I give you brief impressions of what I heard, I must observe that the festival’s eye-catching logo should do wonders for the hairdessing and soprano saxophone industries.

In recognition of Blue Note Records’ 70th anniversary, the festival was heavily populated by musicians signed to that label, with Blue Note president Bruce Lundvall and executive producer Michael Cuscuna avuncular presences through most of the weekend. Cuscuna was on several panels. Introducing one concert, he said, “My voice is going. They’ve had me talking since I got off the plane two days ago.”

My first event was an hour chatting with Joe Lovano and an audience. Lovano might be described as the festival’s house saxophonist. In an introduction, Royston called him ubiquitous. As articulate and interesting talking about music as he is playing it, Lovano participated in four concerts and two extended gabfests, in addition to unofficial and

entertaining after-hours discussions at the bar. At the art museum, he unveiled a new group called Joe Lovano Us 5, previewing Folk Art, the CD they will release in May.

With a wireless microphone on his horn, roaming the stage, bear dancing, conducting with body language, Lovano was riveting to hear and fascinating to watch. The band had James Weidman at the piano, Michael Formanek on bass, and two drummers, Francesco Mela and Gerry Hemingway. Lovano was the star, but inventive interaction among all hands was the rule. The drummers did not engage in battles, but traded the primary percussion role and had drum conversations in which listening was as crucial as reacting. With Hemingway and Mela, it was a cooperative venture in rhythm and mutual appreciation, the opposite of one-upmanship. The same principle applied in interchanges between Lovano and the drummers, between Formanek and Lovano, between Weidman and the drummers. The pieces, all Lovano compositions, were mostly new but also included the ballad “The Dawn of Time,” recorded on his Symphonica and Universal Language CDs. Here, it took on new levels of abstraction.

The interaction continued and intensified when Lovano’s wife Judi Silvano sat in. A vocalist of

 astonishing range, control and accuracy, she and her husband improvised melodic lines in unison, paralleling one another with timing tighter than split-second. Two nights later, in her own concert, Silvano sang with Lovano, Formanek and Hemingway as her sidemen. A dancer, Silvano uses gestures, eye movement, turns of the head and subtleties of shoulder motion as she does wordless singing that seems like speech, captivating audiences for whom music so experimental and daring might otherwise be mystifying.

Preceding Lovano at the Friday night concert were pianist Jacky Terrasson and his trio. Terrasson played a succession of pieces in which the hard edge of his technique

ruled. For all of his considerable harmonic knowledge, the piano under Terrasson’s hands was primarily a percussion instrument. Even an original ballad with melodic touches suggesting “Skylark” developed into an exhibition of keyboard power. Toward the end of his set, he reverted to subtlety in the development of a calypso piece that had harmonic suggestions of Sonny Rollins’s “St. Thomas.” Building on astringent harmonies, Terrasson constructed a towering edifice of sound. As he shifted back down, it turned out that the piece had indeed been “St. Thomas” all along. He simply chose to withhold its identity until the end, a surprise the audience accepted with enthusiasm.

One evening following a concert, I walked twenty blocks or so to the Pearl District, where drummer John Bishop, guitarist John Stowell and bassist Jeff Johnson were playing at the Rogue Pub. I found them in a corner with their backs to plate glass windows on two sides, playing to a packed house of Portlanders in a mood to celebrate, drinking lots of Rogue ale. About six of the patrons were listening through the loud conversations of the other hundred or so. Stowell, who is capable of the greatest refinement in his playing, cranked up his amp, Johnson and Bishop adjusted their volumes accordingly, and the trio known as Scenes wailed. All of the tunes I heard them do, with the exception of “Solar,” were original compositions by members of the band and all of them were intriguing. During a break, I asked Bishop how he liked working under those conditions. “Great,” he said. “it’s a gig.” They are easier to hear on their CD, which also includes tenor saxophonist Rick Mandyck. More on the Portland festival in the next post.

The Rifftides staff was surprised and pleased to find Rifftides praised in Beckey Bright’s “Blog Watch” column in today’s Wall Street Journal. Ms. Bright also singles out Ethan Iverson’s Do The Math and Jeffrey Siegel’s Straight No Chaser. Her other topic today is weddings. 

Gap Mangione writes from Rochester, New York, about the deaths of saxophonist Gerry Niewood and guitarist Coleman Mellett in last Thursday’s plane crash near Buffalo. The three were to have played a concert that night in Buffalo with Chuck Mangione: 

We gathered at the hotel Thursday night. Chuck flew in from Florida to conduct and play a concert with the Buffalo Philharmonic. Janet and I drove in so that we could have a Valentine’s dinner that night and so that I could play and solo in the concert on Friday. Kevin Axt (bass player) and Dave Tull (drummer) flew in from LA via Philadelphia (with a dicey landing in Phila.) and lead trumpet Jeff Kievit, who handles Chuck’s orchestra library, drove up from New Jersey so that he wouldn’t have to deal with carrying all the cases of music books on a plane — the one the others were on.

Kevin, Dave, Jeff, Janet and I met in the lobby and were excited, happily anticipating the fun of doing an orchestral concert with all its challenges and opportunities. 

But a very joyful evening turned horrifically tragic in a way of which nightmares are made…

 
Although Gerry Niewood usually played and recorded with Chuck, he played on my last three CDs and had great solos on all of them. He also has played concerts with my big band in Rochester and Buffalo. We’ve played together in a variety of settings and formats, mostly with Chuck, for more than four decades. 

Gerry Niewood            Coleman Mellett

Coleman Mellett had a way of playing extremely difficult music of all genres and styles, with creativity and capability well beyond his 33 years. It was truly a joyful musical treat to be next to him on stage as we were for the 2007 Friends and Love concert at the Eastman Theater (with Gerry) and the November 2008 pair of concerts with the Syracuse Symphony. We would groove off of one another, reaching for things musically, and nodding and smiling when we got there. 

The world lost two most wonderful people and two magnificent musicians.

Three days of music are echoing in my head. My notebook is full. As I drive through the gorgeous Columbia River Gorge on the way back to Rifftides World Headquarters, I’ll be thinking about how to boil down hours and hours of listening into a cogent report or two. For now, suffice it to tell you that the Portland Jazz Festival, saved more or less at the last moment from extinction, rallied, is a success and has matured into one of the finest jazz festivals in the world. As I motor along, I may be a bit distracted by scenery like this.

In the next day or two, I will also post thoughts about drummer, composer, band leader and mensch Louie Bellson, who died on Saturday.

(Portland, Oregon) – At the Portland Jazz Festival between concerts and after hours, much of the talk among musicians is about the death of Gerry Niewood. The saxophonist was one of 50 people who died in a plane crash Thursday night near Buffalo, New York. He and guitarist Coleman Mellett were on their way to Buffalo to perform with Chuck Mangione’s band. Mellett was also killed in the crash.

Niewood was a childhood friend of Mangione. He and the trumpeter played together in youth bands and became even closer musically at the Eastman School of Music in their native Rochester. Niewood was not on the celebrated Mangione Feels So Good album, but his association with Mangione’s huge success brought him attention and admiration among fellow musicians. That never translated into wide popular acceptance after he became a leader of his own group. He developed a successful career as a free-lancer on several reed and woodwind instruments and through the years rejoined Mangione for tours and in concerts recreating what became known as their Friends and Love music, which has retained popularity through four decades.

Respected for his technique and solid tonal qualities on all of his instruments, Niewood said in a 2006 interview with Rochester’s City Newspaper, “I don’t start to play until I hear something that I want to play. I try to develop it and have that thread of continuity. I’m not big on the use of pyrotechnics. I’m a melodic player, a rhythmic player, a harmonic player. I’m not a flashy player.”

In Portland, a group of musicians and friends who knew Niewood stood at the Arts Bar of the Portland Center for the Performing Arts listening to the John Gross Trio with Dave Frishberg and Charlie Doggett. Between tunes, much of the talk was about Niewood. Joe Lovano was particularly warm in his admiration for his fellow saxophonist’s musicianship. Judy Cites, the tour manager for Mangione’s band when Niewood was a member, recalled him as one of the most natural and unaffected people she has known.

From Rochester, a longtime friend of Niewood adds a memory from their early careers. The friend is Ned Corman, head of a national organization called The Commission Project, which is devoted to jazz education for children from grade school through college age. In his days as a saxophonist, Mr. Corman worked with Niewood and the Mangione brothers.

Some of the best music I was part of was a ten-piece band Chuck Mangione led in the late 60’s.  Chuck and Sam Noto were the trumpet section.  I don’t remember the trombone section. Gap Mangione, Frank Pullara and Vinnie Ruggerio were the rhythm section. Gerry, Joe Romano and I were the saxophone section.  Gerry was also part of the FRIENDS AND LOVE concert, perhaps the only time I was fortunate to make music with Marvin Stamm.  A  piece of information little known beyond Penfield High School music students: Gerry did his student teaching at PHS and Denonville Middle School. Students took lots of pride that Gerry was their teacher as well as a star with Chuck Mangione. 

Gerry Niewood was 65. For an obituary, go here.

Addendum, February 16: For an interesting insight into Niewood’s and Mellett’s lives as itinerant musicians, see Nate Schweber’s piece in today’s New York Times.   

Early this morning, I’ll be off to Portland, Oregon, one of my favorite former home towns. I lived there for three years long ago when my television news career was getting into gear — the second-gear phase, I suppose. The occasion is the first weekend of the Portland Jazz Festival, rescued from the budget shortfall that canceled it for a time. For details of the bailout go here. It has nothing to do with the Obama stimulus plan. For the festival lineup, go here. 

Dave Frishberg writes with important information on a matter raised in the previous entry. 

I’m reading the Rifftides discussion about Blossom Dearie and Bill Evans, and who influenced who. I’d like to add my comment:
During the late sixties I played a couple weeks solo opposite the Bill Evans Trio at the Village Gate on Bleecker St, and had some conversations with Bill. I asked him how he came upon his piled-fourths voicing of chords, and his immediate answer was that he heard Blossom Dearie play that way and it really knocked him out. Then he did a little rave review of Blossom, naming her as one of his models of piano playing. It was such a surprising response that I never forgot it.

A decade or so later Blossom and I were doing a two-piano act, and I got to see what he was talking about. Blossom showed me some voicings she was using,  and then I sat down at the same piano and tried them out but it didn’t sound like Blossom. I told her, “It sounds better when you do it.”  She said, “Oh well, I know this piano, I’m used to it.” The truth is she seemed to get her special sound out of any piano. Also, she could play softer than anyone I ever heard. The accompaniment she gave herself was all carefully composed, and she played it note for note every night.  Why not? It was perfect.

When Blossom Dearie died at 82 over the weekend, we lost a brilliant musician whose subtle artistry and private nature conspired to limit her popularity. There was nothing about her “teacup voice,” as Whitney Balliett described it, or her sophisticated harmonic sense at the piano that could have led to mass adoration. Nonetheless, for decades she was idolized by a substantial base of listeners charmed by her singing and of musicians who admired her integration of vocal performance with self-accompaniment. No singer has been better at playing for herself. 

Blossom’s piano playing was probably influenced a lot by Ellis Larkins. She voiced like he did, and had that same delicate touch. Bill Evans’ early playing reflected a lot of Lennie Tristano… I’m sure he must have heard Blossom when she was around the Village, but I think he worked his ideas out pretty much by himself.