NYC Winter Jazzfest occupied the center of Greenwich Village on Friday and Saturday nights, holding down five clubs in a two-block radius, imposing its thoughtful ruckus on the normal Bleecker Street weekend: Long Island girls in microminis, corner dope dealers, 40-year-old boys taking in the Jets-Bengals game at a sports bar and then communing with Skynyrd covers over at the Back Fence.
Now in its sixth year, the festival served several ends. It showed off 55 bands for the attendees of the convention of the Association of Performing Arts Presenters, those who book festivals and concerts around the world. It gave the rest of us, for a $25 all-clubs, all-night ticket, a deep index of new jazz. And the attendance 1,200 on Friday night, 2,500 on Saturday created a mob. A mob breeds rumor; rumor off-gasses buzz.
And jazz needs buzz. There are always music-school students whose lives are being overturned by some saxophonist they saw somewhere; given the chance theyll tell you about it. So will club owners, promoters, spry neighborhood sages and the odd obsessive-compulsive or critic. But jazz, frustratingly, is still not quite right for MySpace and MP3 listening its too performance-oriented and makes teenagers gag so on-the-street buzz remains in short supply. Sometimes, given the economy and the shortage of middlemen, you have to find out about musicians from the musicians themselves, which makes jazz feel kind of 17th century, pre-movable type.
Now in its sixth year, the festival served several ends. It showed off 55 bands for the attendees of the convention of the Association of Performing Arts Presenters, those who book festivals and concerts around the world. It gave the rest of us, for a $25 all-clubs, all-night ticket, a deep index of new jazz. And the attendance 1,200 on Friday night, 2,500 on Saturday created a mob. A mob breeds rumor; rumor off-gasses buzz.
And jazz needs buzz. There are always music-school students whose lives are being overturned by some saxophonist they saw somewhere; given the chance theyll tell you about it. So will club owners, promoters, spry neighborhood sages and the odd obsessive-compulsive or critic. But jazz, frustratingly, is still not quite right for MySpace and MP3 listening its too performance-oriented and makes teenagers gag so on-the-street buzz remains in short supply. Sometimes, given the economy and the shortage of middlemen, you have to find out about musicians from the musicians themselves, which makes jazz feel kind of 17th century, pre-movable type.
