Being in no mood last weekend to take notes or criticize, MetalJazz just wanted to soak up some nonviolent music in a nation that was honoring dead soldiers whilst killing civilians with weapons designed for soldiers.
Steely Dan at the Hollywood Bowl
This was supposed to be Steely Dan and Steve Winwood, but Winwood slunk off to do his own tour. Snarky Puppy subbed, and I went anyway, what the hell.
Snarky Puppy is a bad name for a collective of proficient college-educated jazz/funk musicians no longer quite young, musta been 10 or so onstage snappin out harmonically and rhythmically sophisticated compositions designed to accentuate their debt to The Dan. They left me cold despite (or maybe because of) their energy and goodwill.
Danwise, Donald Fagen piled behind his keyboard, lips stuck out, shades ever peering upward at the darkening Hollywood sky, like a blindboy cross between Stevie Wonder and Ray Charles. His sneer of a voice cut through okay, and what he lacked in sustain was expertly mixed over via his excellent trio of female backup singers. When he spoke, he sounded nervous. Though he strutted around pretty good with a melodica sometimes, frontman duties have never been his candy.
Which matters not, because he owns such a ridiculous pile of quality material, tonight arranged with tart freshness. (Old punk fans, by the way, invariably sequestered with Steely Dan before chopping their hair.) Fagen picked at least one from each Dan record ("Black Friday"; "Babylon Sister"; surprising to hear "My Old School" after the Uvalde massacre; the background singers made "Dirty Work" their own); and a few from his solo albums.
Four ace horns including saxist Walt Weiskopf and trumpeter Michael Leonhart. Keith Carlock slammin the skins. Extra keys.
Notable moment: The wide smile on the face of guitarist Jon Herington when he and the other guitarist momentarily bollixed the complex twin harmonies on the late-set "Reeling in the Years." When you're the musical director of a famously tight band, and you've been nailing your shit for an hour and a half, it must feel good to let go in front of 23,000 oblivious jokers -- just for one breath.
Poncho Sanchez at Catalina's
Poncho Sanchez, scant hair under a little hat, stood behind his three congas, his fingers all taped up. Sometimes he would stand to the side to strike a dinger with a stick, and let a younger untaped guy assume the drums. Each tune started with an easy sway, and got jinkier as the timbales in back kicked in. On piano, Andy Langham brightened up the color with percussive Latin solos, and added McCoy Tyner chordings to Sanchez's Coltrane-themed recent material. A bit o' Ellington, too -- this wasn't a hardcore sweat night, though everybody in the audience was smiling and a few were dancing. Sanchez honored an attendee in a wheelchair, but I couldn't hear who it was. Pure enjoyment.
Notable moment: Sanchez thanked the audience member who offered $800 to play Herbie Hancock's "Watermelon Man." Well, Poncho has been nominated for several Grammys and won 2, and has been the king of L.A. salsa for 50 years. He has recorded the song, and it is no stranger to his live sets, but does he take requests? Sanchez stroked his beard. "Let's see." He pointed to each member of his band. "800, 800, 800, 800, 800, 800, 800. OK. One, two, three, four." Daaaaa . . . wat-er-mel-on man.