Pete Benson Organ Trio at Andy's Jazz Club, Chicago, June 6.
Expecting happy-hour standards with a traditional organ trio in a comfortable kickback hole, we got just that, but at a high level. Pete Benson grooved easy on the Hammond, making our martini slide down aaah. But the leader wasn't even the star; that was guitarist Kyle Asche, who assailed his hollow-body Gibson with aggro complexity on the opening Horace Silver riffshaker "Song for My Father." Although Asche had finished another set an hour earlier, to warm up on a brahma arrangement like this took stones, and the guitarist maintained the cool heat through a subsequent Grant Green number and onward. Deadpan drummer George Fludas soloed with the kind of bumpin' musicality that makes you hear a tune even when nobody's defining the melody. Most memorable picture: The springs beneath Fludas' snare snapped loose, and instead of skipping his spotlight, he reached under and slapped 'em against the underskin of the drum in syncopated time. The improvisation was slick enough that until he stepped off the stage after the song and returned with a new snare drum, we assumed the gymnastics were part of the act.
David Sánchez's Carib at the Jazz Standard, New York, June 8.
At first we were puzzling, hmm, ain't David Sánchez weighting things too much on the milky side? Dignified pianist Luis Perdoma showed mastery of touch and melody; babyfaced Norwegian guitarist Lage Lund stood quiet to the point of absence; and flamboyant Puerto Rican tenor man Sánchez himself blew soft and fluid, kind of Trane Lite. All no more than topnotch pleasantry so far. Then Sánchez dropped his horn and sat down to slap skins with his drum section (Obed Calvaire, Jhan Lee Aponte, Markus Schwartz), and damn, the rum came gushing. Sánchez beamed pride about his new "Carib" record, justified more and more as Perdomo's harmonics deepened, Lund's tales got twistier, a thoughtful ballad provided contrast, and bassist Ricky Rodriguez reinforced his position as musical fulcrum. Mainly, those Caribbean drums boiled the cream into a potent froth, and the audience was shakin' all over, wishing there was room to dance. Did Sanchez's live thing rock downer than the record? Of course -- that is a Law of Jazz.
John Zorn's New Masada Quartet at the Village Vanguard, New York, June 9.
It felt like a pop-up gig when extreme conceptualist John Zorn announced a 3pm matinee reinventing his '90s Masada foursome at the ancestral home of the NYC avant. The event sold out quick, but your visiting MetalJazz correspondent took a chance to loiter by the fabled red awning in the standby line, finding himself 20 minutes later at a tiny table under the 7-foot black basement ceiling with a Brooklyn Lager in his fist. An avuncular, bespectacled Zorn joshed with his band and flailed boogaloo hand gestures to pull energy from the drums of yesteryears' Masada conscript Kenny Wollesen, whose rolling tomtoms, reminiscent of Ed Blackwell's, provided a warm thrust that encouraged this edgy combo to relax and connect. Wollesen's special credentials include membership in the New Klezmer Trio, and klezmer figures heavily, along with bop and free blowin', in the Masada repertoire. Jorge Roeder held the center with articulated bass riffs while Zorn pulled his entire arsenal from his alto sax -- long, crisp lines; subtle shadings enhanced by circular breathing; and an array of nasty multiphonics, often achieved by tilting back his head and biting like a piranha at the edge of his reed. Zorn snapped from fear/anger to love/longing to ecstatic possession, coming off not as an actor but as a man strongly connected to his emotions. And: Let us marvel at the fourth member of New Masada, Julian Lage. Previous live exposures to Lage (paying tribute to Jim Hall and exploring his own ultrasensitive wavelengths) had left lasting tattoos on us, but here he made it look like there's nothing this boho Montgomery Clift can't do as he executed tuff parallel lines with Zorn or carved his own startling, expressive way through the thorns. Lage looked delighted to fill the role established by trumpeter Dave Douglas or guitarist Marc Ribot, and Zorn looked just as jazzed to ally with such a deft and responsive foil. The whole band, in fact, radiated a joy that shot straight into our privileged hearts and stayed there.
* * *
DAVID SANCHEZ PHOTO BY FUZZY BORG.