Red Hook Jazz Festival 2016
Urban Meadow Community Garden
Red Hook, Brooklyn
June 12 & 19, 2016
This ninth edition of the Red Hook Jazz Festival appeared to draw its biggest crowd yet. Not that it's a large- capacity event, but perhaps a setting close to the water's edge at Red Hook makes it seem psychologically inaccessible to the lazy New Yorker, involving an actual 15 minute amble from the closest subway station. Plus, the always enticing line-up involves acts that doubtless appeal to the more specialised jazzer. The Urban Meadow Community Garden is a small grassy oasis, surrounded by houses, with vast shipyard loading gantries looming in the distance. The festival enjoys a downhome vibration, peopled by local vendors. The pickled gherkins-on-sticks were particularly sought after.
Mike Golub is still at the helm, with general organisation, but guitarist James Keepnews
now plays a significant role, sharing out the work-load. The festival is divided into a pair of Sunday afternoons, on adjacent weekends, each involving five bands. Last year, the second half was rained off, being rescheduled for the end of the summer, but this year, both scorching days went ahead as planned. Sunny though the first half might have been, it had to contend with some quite severe winds ripping up unexpectedly, providing challenges for those players who were referring to their (flapping) pages of music. Everyone persevered in adversity, and some spectacular sounds resulted. Joe Fiedler
's Big Sackbut opened the proceedings on the first day, leading a band designed to satisfy trombone-lovers, and also featuring a bonus tuba. The band-name makes reference to the 'bone's early music ancestor, the sackbut, which hails from the 15th Century. Fiedler's music sounds much more modernised, even though the first tune was the "Sackbut Stomp." It made for a jostling intersection of jollity between the combo's three trombones and single tuba, as the players valiantly battled against the blustery dangers, the gaps between each number extended whilst they secured their scores. That day's headliner was to be Sexmob, and their slide trumpeter Steven Bernstein
was already arrived, and ready to guest on "King Of The Road." This was originally penned by country singer Roger Miller, but subsequently tackled by countless artists, notably George Jones and Dean Martin. It was an unexpected choice of material that sounded bright and optimistic in this verdant encampment, Bernstein inserting his mute for added sensitivity, Fiedler adding a buzzing-tread backing. The Big Sackbut preened carefully, spacing out phrases, with Jose Davila
harrumphing deeply underneath Ryan Keberle
, Luis Bonilla
and Fiedler himself. Tomas Fujiwara
& The Hook-Up played next, a band that essentially features Thumbscrew as its core, the drumming leader joined by bassist Michael Formanek
and guitarist Mary Halvorson
. Horns were provided by Jonathan Finlayson
(trumpet) and Brian Settles
(tenor saxophone/flute). The wind buffeted even harder, artists hanging onto their music stands, microphones and cymbal stands. Instead of spoiling the set, this situation added a positive sense of tension to the music, and certainly greater suspense in compositions which were already coiled with dramatic tightness. Most of the pieces were dense with activity, but there were also breakdown sections for the bass, which eventually wove in with trumpet and guitar tendrils, tenor added later. A stately section acted as a partner to the shoreline whoosh, Finlayson giving a trumpet fanfare as Fujiwara scattered drum patterns in urgent response.
The Pakistani American guitarist Rez Abbasi
can sometimes sound quite smooth and mellow, but his Junction outfit offered a surprisingly gutsy texture and a volatile construction. He was joined by Mark Shim
(tenor saxophone), Sam Harris
(keyboards) and Kenny Grohowski
(drums). Synthesiser basslines and a dreaded ewi (electronic wind instrument) landed the music back in the 1970s, but the noodling was frazzled rather than overcooked, blessed by a careening complexity, drums skipping and juddering. Abbasi solos in the Larry Coryell
or John McLaughlin
modes, reflecting these guitarists at the most scabrous ends of their vocabularies. He sent out spiralling lines, halting then spouting, the only problem being that Shim and the leader occasionally cancelled each other out, operating within similar sonic parameters.
It wasn't such a trial to predict the heralded special guest with singer Judi Silvano
's Zephyr Quintet, given that her husband is saxophonist Joe Lovano
, choosing to bring out his soprano. Silvano's slick vocal impressionism was very straight-ahead, as she scatted around the hovering guitars of Kenny Wessel
and Bruce Arnold
. Lovano snake-charmed above a guitar that sounded rather like a crunchy Fender Rhodes electric piano, but Silvano's verbal acrobatics began to sound slightly irritating at length.
The lords of the garden were, not surprisingly, the mighty Sexmob, with the constantly wisecracking Steven Bernstein capitalising on the afternoon's bonhomie. By this time, running slightly late, it was getting into the early evening, and the wind had subsided, the pickles having run out completely. A kitschy Egyptian-style opener slinked in, with altoman Briggan Krauss
squalling and scrabbling, Bernstein cutting sharp, alternating with a Tony Scherr
bass vamp. They all reached an agreement, jumping into a headbanging section, Krauss soloing further, with a free raggedness. The mood turned Balkan, microphone deep into bell, bass tones magnified, switching to a Moondog
-ed sparseness, becoming very tranquil. Bernstein announced that they've just made a cd "that you can't Google," before dragging the orientation down to New Orleans, holding a six-year-old kids dance contest down at the front of the stage, the prize being a pickle. Perhaps they'd reserved a secret stock-pile. "No pickles for children," Bernstein bemoaned. "Go home and play computer games instead!." A Prince
memorial celebration was held in the form of "Sign O The Times," getting into a deep house feel as Joe Fiedler brought the day full circle, guesting with the Mob. An understated, fluttery exchange between the horns took it down, as Bernstein called out "Kenny, your big solo!," sticksman Wollesen sensitively smashing the tiny gong cymbals laid out on his skins. Sexmob aren't massively active nowadays, but there's still life in these old members yet...