The Tierney Sutton Band
Summer Jazz Festival
San Francisco, CA
July 17, 2016
When Tierney Sutton
holds a note it sucks the listener in like the gravity of an object slowly accumulating mass. Breaking the rhythm of her spare, surgically precise vocal brushwork, Sutton occasionally freezes on a certain pitch, taking the audience captive until they are forced to regard the intricacies of her timbral landscape. After a second or two, the drone ceases to sound like a human voice at all. The sound Sutton produces is so preternaturally consistent that it grows to seem fabricatedabstracted to a sourceless texture like a word uttered repeatedly until the phonetic aspects outweigh the semantic ones. The texture of her voice is as gorgeous and commanding as a vintage instrument, and when she isolates it for such prolonged stretches the overtone patterns that make it so singular begin to seep to the foreground.
Sutton's gift for commanding utter attention through simple gestures was apparent from the moment she perched on stage at the SFJAZZ Center's Miner Auditorium. Like many master performers, her stage personalitywitty and patientreflects and resonates with her musical identity. She began the performance with a period of listening, resting with her head bowed as the band gradually waded into a hymnal rendition of "Shenandoah." The three instrumentalists, Ray Brinker
on drums, Christian Jacob
on piano, and Kevin Axt
on electric double bass, faded into the song with ruminative licks and drones, like an orchestra that unearthed a knack for improvising in the act of tuning. Sutton joined in the meditative fray with tasteful delicacy, nearly inaudible at first. Draping limpid, monotone hums over the mix, she lent her voice as a fourth instrument supporting the group's sound. It was therefore clear from the onset that Sutton's singing was meant to elevate the music, not to take advantage of it or relegate it to mere accompaniment.
Most of the time, in fact, it was not obvious that she was the bandleader. The Tierney Sutton Band speaks as a unit, playing with a cohesive vigor rarely achieved by vocalist-led groupslike an instrumental quartet where one member happens to wield her own voice in place of an instrument. Indeed, many of their arrangements cleverly incorporated the voice as a textural element rather than the sole melodic focus. Sutton's iconic style of vocal improvising (it would be too much of a stretch to call it scatting) focuses more on timbral experimentation and atmosphere production than on the rapid-fire runs and licks that have dominated the tradition since its dawn. On "Wayfaring Stranger," the singer built intensity by oscillating up and down a semitone, evolving her tone by gradually changing the shape of her mouth. The statement was so grippingly simple that every miniscule adjustment hit hard, and when she ended the breath with a wry twist upward from the corner of her mouth, the move cut through with style and potency. Sutton's minimalism left ample space for the other three players to stretch out, and the band celebrated each of her well-crafted notes with energetic and sensitive outbursts.
But while Sutton's graceful humility is largely responsible for the group's mutualistic accord, the primary culprit is time and commitmentthe band has been consistently playing together for over two decades, and the years show. The group's unique and accessible arrangements are their forte, and they craft them collectively. The band played no originals at SFJAZZ, but their spins on standards and lesser-known classics are out of the box enough to practically qualify as new compositions. The Gershwin tune "On Broadway" featured one of their boldest and most effective arrangements. Centered around a clean but incisive groove, the song slinked forward with a wink and a sharp contemporary edge. Jacob calmly laid the groundwork with a repeated four chord motif that Sutton hummed along to, warming up her voice. When Axt dipped his toes in the water, plucking out a monotone rhythm in the upper register, the singer augmented his riff by spitting out syllables in coy whisper. Their pinpoint unison gave the impression of a single instrument, its vaguely electronic texture foreshadowing the hip-hop beat that Brinker dropped like a bomb. All three parts were intensely syncopated, with almost no hits on the downbeat, and Sutton confidently drifted over the interlocking pattern with expressive microtiming. The band veterans were not only locked in, but clearly grooving to the same stylistic wavelength, resonating off one another like the strings of an instrument.