On the 16.12 to London, to see American jazz saxophonist Branford Marsalis at the Barbican.
Arriving at St Pancras.
A quick electric taxi ride to the Barbican Centre. Electric cabs now outnumber diesels in the city, and the LEVC TX has a great panoramic roof window for improved sight-seeing. Our driver was female (only about 2% of London cabbies are) and of East Asian extraction (an even tinier proportion), the ride was smooth and enjoyable, and the taxi was easily the nicest smelling one I've ever been in - none of your garage-bought cheap air fresheners here - this was like walking into a branch of Jo Malone or Diptique.
To Bonfire at the Barbican for a couple of cheeseburgers (tasty but only just acceptably warm):
and then onto the Balcony (seats C55 and C56) - not brilliant, but the best I could get:
Not for the first time I was struck by how many people find the concept of row and seat designations almost completely unfathomable and take forever to identify where they should be sitting. Somewhat disappointingly, a significant proportion (30%?) of the seats on the balcony were unfilled throughout the concert.
And so to the concert itself.
The first time we went to a jazz concert together was
Saturday, 16th July 1994, when we went to see the American trumpeter
Wynton Marsalis at the Royal Festival Hall.
Marsalis's septet had performed at the Royal Albert Hall the previous
August as part of the 1993 Proms season, and their performance had been
recorded and broadcast by the BBC. I
still have a recording, transferred from video tape, of that concert, and it
was that performance that had encouraged me to book the tickets to see him.
Some fifteen years later, we went to see Wynton's older
brother, the saxophonist Branford, at the Queen Elizabeth Hall at the South
Bank Centre. Since then, we have also seen
him in 2014, 2017 (with Kurt Elling) and 2019. If you think you've never heard of Branford,
you're probably right; if you think you've never seen him, you may need to
think again – he appeared with Sting at Live Aid in 1985:
So what of the music? Of course, it couldn't be faulted, and the rapturous reception from the crowd and the review listed below confirm that. BUT. Why did we come away with a faint sense of unease? Was it because the performance was SO polished, so slick, so "produced" that it lacked some of the sense of musical risk-taking that often characterises the best (IMHO) live jazz? Did it just feel "safe"?
Many years ago, Branford's brother Wynton had become embroiled in a spat with the trumpet legend, the late Miles Davis. The essence of their argument might be distilled down to the fact that throughout his life, Davis strove constantly to develop his music, embracing elements from rock, hip-hop and even pop (in his latter years, Davis covered tunes by both Michael Jackson and Cyndi Lauper), whereas Marsalis seemed to find such developments an abomination, and gave every appearance of wanting to preserve jazz almost as a musical museum piece. This was one of the reasons that I had maintained relatively little interest in Wynton's music over the years.
I was reminded of this as I watched Branford – for all the fearsomely good musicianship it felt almost as if he was looking backwards – a view seemingly confirmed when the band returned for their encore and he announced that they would then play a medley of two Duke Ellington tunes. During the second of these tunes, Joey Calderazzo gave up the piano stool to British jazz pianist Julian Joseph, who came on with British vocalist Cleveland Watkiss –a 'gimmick' that they have employed on at least two previous occasions when playing in London.
Of course, overall we enjoyed it, but as we left we both admitted, with some regret – "maybe next time we can give it a miss?".
The band offer their 'farewells' - (L-R): Watkiss, Calderazzo, Joseph, Marsalis, Revis, Faulkner.
Out onto Silk Street ahead of the crowds, and we were able to hail a cab less than 100m from the venue.
We got chatting with the driver, Richard, who was both amazed and impressed that 1) we had come down from the Midlands for a concert, 2) that we do this as a matter of routine, and that 3) we wouldn't be in bed much before 02.30.
And then, one of those perfect, almost legendary, "I 'ad that wotsisname in the back of my cab once" conversations for which London cabbies are famed. "I 'ad some bloke called Rebello in the cab once…", said Richard. "…'e was a jazz pianist. Told me 'e gave it up to become a monk and then jacked that in and went back to music".
Jason Rebello is a classically trained British pianist, songwriter, and record producer. After enjoying prodigious early success as a jazz musician, in his mid 20s he stopped playing and for a time had plans to become a Buddhist monk. Fortunately for music, his interest in a monastic life faded, and in the late nineties he developed an interest in rock music. He spent six years touring and recording with Sting and, after that, a further six years touring and recording with Jeff Beck – while also working with such artists such as Chaka Khan, Phil Collins and Peter Gabriel. Eventually, the lure of jazz became too strong and he returned to his roots – which was to our great advantage, as he was the pianist who was playing with the American saxophonist Jerry Bergonzi when we went to see him at the Soho Pizza Express Jazz Club back in February…
Safely deposited at St Pancras we had a quick trawl around the shops, allowing Amanda to pick up a couple of paperback bargains from her 'wish list' in WH Smith, and then headed off in separate directions - A to Costa for a coffee and a yoghurt pot, and me to Starbucks for a large Earl Grey and a cinnamon swirl.
Up to the platform level, with at least an hour and three quarters to wait for our train, enjoying our refreshments and watching the world go by.
Onto the 23.35 to Leicester. Not long after boarding we were joined in the coach by a couple who started playing videos loudly on one of their phones. Trying to decide whether to remonstrate about the breach of the peace, or simply to move to another coach, we realised that they had been to see The Who at the O2 and were excitedly checking out the videos they had recorded. Nothing like going to see rock Gods from about 200m away and then reducing the view still further by watching it on a 4" screen... Their excitement waned, peace was restored and we settled down for the 2+ hour journey...
A prompt arrival at Leicester, where we were disappointed to find that the station has now started leaving the car park barriers down all night, requiring us to actually pay for our parking - the very nerve... A very quiet drive home through the almost empty streets and bed by around 02.15.
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