Musical madness
James Carter leads an exploration into the heart of jazz
Nicholas MacMahon, Staff
An uber-confident gentleman in a stylish, pin-striped suit imitates sounds from the animal kingdom, while a giant shows his appreciation by producing a low, jolly farmer’s chuckle with the pluck of his behemoth violin. A slender, slinky younger fellow looks on from the corner of the room, using twigs to casually assault some hollow, cylindrical pieces of furniture. A portly, bald wizard watches on with approval, fluttering his fingers at the helm of an empty black coffin, as cascades of glorious sounds erupt from within. This is not a snapshot from arts and crafts time at St. Boniface’s psychiatry ward. No, no. I open my wallet and my mind for lunatics like these, inspiring me to find a kernel of truth in the words of the late John Cage, “If you develop an ear for sounds that are musical, it is like developing an ego. You begin to refuse sounds that are not musical and that way cut yourself off from a good deal of experience.”
On a field trip from their respective asylums, James Carter (baritone sax), Cyrus Chestnut (piano) and Adam Cruz (drums) frolicked under the supervision of Winnipeg’s go-to bassist, Steve Kirby (U of M’s own director of jazz atudies) at the Berney Theatre. And what better way to open up a zany set of bebop than with a couple of tunes by the jazz pianist pioneer and unofficial spokesperson for the insane, Thelonious Monk (Check out clips of Monk in Clint Eastwood’s documentary Straight No Chaser — he would abruptly stand up during other musicians’ solos and start dancing, punching his fists slowly by his side, spinning in circles muttering and humming to himself). The quartet captured Monk’s spirit, soloing over the infectious groove of “Bemsha Swing” and the endearing “In Walked Bud.” Cyrus Chestnut adopted Monk’s discordant chord slapping accompaniment, giving both tunes an authentic feel. Carter, however, won the audience over by the end of his first solo of the evening.
This guy is brimming with inspiration — to call it channelling would be an understatement, as everything appears somewhat premeditated, moving his torso along in rhythm and sheer delight, yelling out arguably cocky affirmations — “Yea!” If anyone deserves to be cocky, it’s this guy: he displays utter mastery over the saxophone. Before the show, I thought great jazz musicians were a dime a dozen, but Carter is in a league of his own. He’ll gently caress you with his vocal-like tone and phrasing, only to tease you with donkey or elephant-like squeal. Then there’s the quacking, barking, whimpering — a myriad of bizarre random sound effects, though always a suitable placement. Of course he can also accelerate to near-fatal speeds, which he happily reminded the crowd if attention waned. Carter graciously stepped aside to make room for the other musicians throughout the night, although he could have just practiced scales alone on stage for the rest of the night and still received a standing ovation.
Chestnut balanced out Carter’s firestorm with a more romantic, sensitive side to the evening during his solo piano piece. It evoked the image of a broken heart, sitting in a lonely café on a quiet evening (queue the faint drizzle) — an image that has been imparted on to us by classic film directors like Woody Allen, who almost exclusively uses jazz ballads on his soundtracks. Chestnut played with stark honesty, letting his tears flow, only to fight them back on each wavering note. I approached the stage with my handkerchief for the poor pianist . . . security gave me a reality check, and gently whisked me back to my seat.
These two jazz giants couldn’t have triumphed without the help of the solid, dynamic rhythm section of Cruz and Kirby. Cruz seemed reserved, but his genius lies precisely in the subtlety of his playing. He interacts without intruding, sometimes as basic as a slight accent here and there on the high hat, over his steady, loose swing. Never breaking his smile all evening, he brought the party, adding some Latin salsa spice with his hand drumming and rim shots. Kirby was in his element, feeling right at home playing alongside Chestnut, who he has toured with in the past; and Carter’s intimidating solos just made him dig deeper, pulling out some of the freshest solos I’ve ever heard from the man.
Lunacy, to me, is the uncensored expression of the full range of emotions, thoughts, and perceptions of the human spirit, and I’m ever grateful for jazz musicians, like Carter and friends, that continue to bask in it.
