Bob DeVos and Don Friedman Nyack Library Carnegie Room Nyack, NY June 29, 2012
The spate of live performances that expressly pay tribute to various figures from bygone eras of jazz raises a number of complex questions about the music and the business which surrounds it. Do concerts and club dates in honor of musicians ranging from Duke Ellington
represent a marketing ploy to attract listeners who are reluctant to venture out to hear performers with unfamiliar names? Are these events exercises in recreating the music's storied past? Or, are they a tacit admission that jazz is dead? Conversely, if jazz is indeed alive and in a constant state of transformation, where does this leave artists who have tied themselves to the name recognition of the greats? It is possible for these occasions to serve as a point of departure for players who deliver something more than familiar, neatly packaged versions of classic material?
In the case of two sets by guitarist Bob DeVos and pianist Don Friedman
, all but the last of these questions were rendered moot. From beginning to end the duo made it clear that paying tribute wasn't synonymous with imitating the honorees' sound, grammar and syntax. Moreover, in contrast to the original Montgomery and Kelly collaborations, captured on record by Full House (Riverside, 1962) and Smokin' At The Half Note (Verve, 1965), the drummer-less trio sacrificed precise, tightly knit, unrelenting swing for an ensemble sound that was more flexible, adventurous, and open-ended. In short, despite DeVos' and Friedman's obvious respect for the material, the differences outweighed the similarities.
Taking advantage of the room's excellent acoustics and a superb Yamaha grand piano, Friedman displayed a deeply-rooted, encyclopedic knowledge of the songs, an eagerness to bend their designs to his own purposes, as well as a near telepathic rapport with DeVos. Throughout the head of the standard "Come Rain or Come Shine," he refused to conform to any fixed role. At various points he adhered to DeVos' traditional rendering of the melody, jumped out and led the guitarist, and offered a number of provocative comments. During DeVos' take on Montgomery's "Full House," Friedman rummaged through the melody, picking and choosing parts of interest while executing chords and single notes. Although the pianist was capable of comping in a conventionally supportive manner, he often challenged DeVos in a way that at times suggested counterpoint, and in other instances something asymmetrical and idiosyncratic. His chords and single notes leaped away from or ignored the beat, rang out in odd places, and occasionally evoked laughter or other unconventional sounds. Some of the evening's most satisfying moments occurred during group improvisations following the out heads, such as on Montgomery's "Four on Six," and "Full House," where Friedman and DeVos engaged in sprightly, intelligent conversations, wrapping around one another's phrases like gleeful co-conspirators.
The wisdom of not including drums in the ensemble was particularly evident during Friedman's solos. Playing to the beat of his inner drummer, even as he remained loosely attached to DeVos and McGuirk, he restlessly zoomed in and out of the pocket. While maintaining a semblance of continuity, Friedman evinced nearly constant changes in touch, dynamics and velocity. He always paid homage to conventional swing, yet took frequent detours. There was always an element of risk in the ways in which Friedman impatiently searched for new directions. He often truncated a serviceable idea, and neat transitions were virtually nonexistent. During "Come Rain or Come Shine" a lone, sharply voiced chord yielded to wobbly single notes that moved in and out of time. A long triplet run led to another one that was choppy and uneven. One low, stabbing chord morphed into a brief interlude in which his right hand chased the left. Despite all of the permutations, Friedman consistently hinted at and alluded to the tune's melody.