30th Annual Detroit International Jazz Festival

Matt Marshall By

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Hank Jones / Corea, Clarke & White
Sean Jones / Dave Brubeck Quartet / Brian Auger's Oblivion Express
Alfredo Rodriguez / Dennis Coffey / Wayne Shorter Quartet
Chuchito Valdes / Stefon Harris & Blackout
30th Annual Detroit International Jazz Festival
Detroit, Michigan
September 4-7, 2009

The Detroit International Jazz Festival celebrated its 30th anniversary over Labor Day Weekend 2009, using the occasion to honor one of Motown's greatest jazz families. Adopting a "Keepin' Up With the Joneses" theme, the festival shone a light on the legacy of Hank Jones, Elvin Jones and Thad Jones, while taking a look at jazz families in general.

Pianist Hank Jones, the only surviving brother of the three, kicked off the festival with his trio on Friday night, and music and talks throughout the weekend focused on the impact of each Jones brother. Additionally, there was a host of "family reunions" scheduled: Dave Brubeck with his sons Brubeck Brothers Quartet, The Heath Brothers, Jimmy Heath and Albert "Tootie" Heath, John Pizzarelli and Bucky Pizzarelli, Larry Coryell and Julian Coryell, Pete Escovedo and Juan Escovedo, Clayton Brothers and Brian Auger's Oblivion Express, which currently features his daughter Savannah and son Karma. It felt an appropriate way to celebrate the festival's rich history as one of the largest free music festivals in the world, where the door is wide open and everyone is welcome.

September 4: Hank Jones

In getting the festival underway, 91-year-old pianist Hank Jones and his trio ran through 13 easy-swing and bop numbers that were mostly of a piece: technically proficient, graceful, charming, but also rather programmed and rarely helping the blood to race.

Some exceptions to this formula were the trio's take on Ben Tucker and Bob Dorough's "Comin' Home Baby" and the Ned Washington-Victor Youngstandard, "Stella by Starlight." Jones opened the former with a repetitive chord figure that emphatically handled the rhythm on its own. To this he added some skipping right-hand lines that, like a world-class sprinter, were swift without ever showing their effort. With Jones tight on the rhythm, bassist George Mraz was free to explore the upper reaches of his instrument, an exercise he later took to melodic heights on "Stella." Drummer Carl Allen, whose solo work in this setting rarely broke from a marching-corps routine, also turned in his most diverse and expressive statement on "Stella," whisking his brushes over the trap set to create a hushed starlight mood.

Jones, nimble throughout the set, fashioned an especially tender interpretation of Thad Jones' "A Child Is Born," and cut from tender to a keep-the-party-going Latin beat on the encore, Thelonious Monk's "'Round Midnight." Would that we could all be so defiant as the nonagenarian and push aside time at last call.

September 4: Corea, Clarke & White

The headline act for the evening was introduced as "Chick Corea," with the indication that the pianist could introduce the others in the trio. But once the music started, there was no question that this was a three-name act, with all players on equal footing.

Bassist Stanley Clarke especially impressed (and was, after all, positioned at center stage). His extra-worldly skill ran roughshod over the length of his strings, his right hand resorting at times to palm smacks, thumb swats and other—unknowable—manners of attack to augment his bright, fluid lines with percussive snap and guitar-like strumming. Drummer Lenny White shown on Monk's "Straight No Chaser," in which his left-hand stick rocked steady on the cymbal throughout, refusing to flinch even on the solo, where White's right hand simply went to work. More than just an astounding feat of control and stamina, it created a distinct, layered effect of dual drumming—the visual and sonic spectacle meshing to elicit a powerful response.

All this is not to say that Corea sat idly by, resting on Steinway laurels. His solo piano opened many of the tunes, as he worked from soft melodies or cutting block chords into jumping, articulate statements that traded his famous electric keyboard hum for the more bracing tones of the acoustic ivories. During even his most forceful attacks, Corea's hands would float up from the keys, hover for the slightest instant, then lovingly descend, like pollinating bees—it was difficult at times to reckon the soft motion with the rash of sounds it produced. And his interplay with Clarke, especially on "Straight No Chaser," was chest-expanding, the two musicians looping in completion of or engendering one another's thoughts.

After a handful of tunes, the trio returned to the stage for an anthemic yet playful take on Corea's "Spain" that ended with the pianist conducting a call and response from the crowd: the thousands in attendance singing several of Corea's improvised bars back to him. Detroit had certainly been warmed up for the weekend.

September 5: Sean Jones

Not only has trumpeter Sean Jones arrived, he's settled in and is busy changing the wallpaper and drapes. For those wondering where mainstream jazz is heading or those already crying over its demise, Jones' set was the event not to miss at this year's festival. The trumpeter and his quintet came out hard and didn't let up for six rounds.

Opening with two original compositions, "Transitions" and "Life Cycles" (the latter inspired by Microsoft Windows' four-tone boot-up and shutdown music), Jones and saxophonist Brian Hogans led the group in establishing a melodic yet riff-heavy foundation in the hard bop mold. Jones, who switched to flugelhorn for the second number, opened each of his solos with soft, heat-tempering breaths—contemplative but kinetic—that brushed clean his canvas. He then filled it again with bright slashing colors, long broad strokes and rainbow spit. The sleepy-eyed Hogans favored halting, Bird-like bop passages and R&B swoons that were picked up by pianist Orrin Evans. The numbers bespoke force, but were mere kickings in the sandbox compared to the strong-armed throttling that was to come.

On John Coltrane's "Resolution," the group reached a fever pitch—and quickly! Evans opened the piece, bending heavy on the keys. And after the horns stated the theme, Evans leaned in harder, working repeated right-hand blues figures and angular left-hand block chords into a tremor that made his piano—and the crowd along with it—jump. Jones wasted no time building here, but entered from Evans peak and went up, trilling in the high register and piercing with bright metal swaths. Hogans twined flurries of notes into a rolling ball of music, snipped only by the occasional squawk into a lower register. He took chorus after chorus, not letting up till he'd had his say and then exiting to the corner of the stage, victorious but dazed like Muhammad Ali after his 14th round with Joe Frazier in Manila. Drummer Josh Davis took it from there, fashioning a multidimensional crashing that led back to the theme.

The group followed with two melodic numbers, Hogans' "Summer's Spring," into which Jones worked the tender, fluttering warble of a newborn chick, and Jones' "Mama," a soulful dedication to the trumpeter's mother. They closed with a last hard bop number, "The Storm," but the hurricane had already blown in their masterful, passionate reading of Coltrane.

September 5: Dave Brubeck Quartet

Iconic pianist Dave Brubeck's best musical years are certainly behind him. At 88, no one's expecting him to make a 50th-anniversary follow-up to "Time Out" (Columbia, 1959) that will once again knock the jazz world off kilter. Some may turn out to his shows simply to see the man—to pay homage—while others are perhaps more morbidly curious to see what he's got left.

Well, the answer is, quite a bit. While not as dexterous as he once was (he shied away from extended bits on his groundbreaking "Blue Rondo a la Turk" and "Take Five," for example), he knows how to lead a band and to work within himself to paint beautiful, emotive music with surprising misdirections.

A pretty, minimalist "Mood Indigo" jumbled time dreamlike (and, to be sure, Brubeck-like), leading organically into a "Take the A Train" that was carried primarily by saxophonist Bobby Militello. Brubeck broke up the crowd by faking a heart attack at the sound of a mike stand crashing over and passed the bulk of the set with a broad smile on his lips, thoroughly enjoying his own musical contributions and those of his mates, as if he were just discovering the magic of making music. He pumped his fist to celebrate one of Militello's passages and frequently leaned in over his piano to get a better listen at what the others were doing—studying, seemingly, ever-learning and ingesting—and loving every minute of it. Then giving back, as in the group's rendering of Jerome Kern's "Yesterdays," which Brubeck opened with showman, time-shifting flare, then took back at its close, completely and effortlessly changing the texture to exit on classical lines that were nonetheless singularly Brubeckian.

Brubeck's sons, trombonist Chris and drummer Dan, and their band, who had played earlier in the day, joined Dad for three pieces, including "Blue Rondo" and "Take Five." It was a family affair welcomed and shared by the crowd, and one that added interesting new wrinkles to the Brubeck classics, most notably in the adventurous harmonica work of Peter "Madcat" Ruth and in the extended, furious drum solo from Dan on the "Take Five" closer. Yet, throughout, it was Dave Brubeck's contemplative, still exploratory and exuberant tapping of the keys that sparked the music and showed that the master hasn't yet pulled all of the rabbits out of his hat.

September 5: Brian Auger's Oblivion Express

There's no resisting Brian Auger and his Oblivion Express. Now working with his offspring, singer Savannah and drummer Karma, and bassist Andreas Geck, the fiery 70-year-old keyboardist is still, in his own words, "out here kicking your ass!" The Oblivion's music is hard-charging soul, sparking a thump and expansion in even the most marble of chests. If you don't loose a scream, a fist pump, a "hell yeah!" or, at least, some serious foot tappin' during an Oblivion set, you're simply not human.

Herbie Hancock once praised Auger for his "unparalleled and relentless" energy on the Hammond B-3. Auger's right hand digs into the keys as if to keep them at bay, his left punching the beast's body and swatting its tail. Sporting a bright blue-collared shirt graced with the large heads of Manga characters, the keyboardist led his group through their usual suspects, including Eddie Harris' "Freedom Jazz Dance," "Straight Ahead," "Season of the Witch" and Gene McDaniels "Compared to What." But routine mattered little—the energy, the power, was always fresh. Savannah's clean, soulful voice soared on "Witch" and "Compared to What." Karma, always striking the serious, if not downright pissed, visage, busted thunderous solos on "Indian Rope Man" and, especially, on "Whenever You're Ready," where his fury grew from a cow-bell-infused tropical beat. "Indian Rope Man" also featured a funky guitar-like bass solo from Geck, who has been given more space to stretch during longer sets.

And at the edge—the head of the table, as it were—sat or stood Pops, pumping out swamp-fed electric soul, blues and funk, sweating and grunting over his work one moment, then turning to eye the crowd in the next, gauging their reaction—their groove—then digging into the teeth of his beast to take the groove higher.

September 6: Alfredo Rodriguez


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