Aaron Wilkinson

You couldn’t miss it. She was vintage. All black and chrome. Gleaming under the streetlight. Probably mid-80s, but who knows. The guys had a bus. Rolling from gig to gig in comfort, if not style. Not flashy. The sight of that thing parked smack in front of the Mint on Pico (couldn’t fit it in around back) was pretty sweet. Not about ego, all about pride. For a band that has been a staple at Jazzfest for years and hitting their stride, it had to feel pretty good to be back in LA under their own power.

Chris Mule and Garland Paul

After making their Southland debut last June (see my post of that show deeper in this blog), HISB returned with a generous (2+ hour) Friday night set. The tunes are familiar, the vibe upbeat. Everyone seems to leave an HISB gig pretty damn happy.

Sam Price, sharp dressed man

The band is back in the studio aiming for a late spring release to add to their 3 album catalog (their eponymous 2007 EP, 2009’s Wishing Well and 2010’s Good To You), and the set had generous helpings from all their material. The raucous “Till the Money’s Gone”, the jammy “Wishing Well” and the front porch fun of “Natural Born Fool (all from Wishing Well) made for a satisfying night in themselves.  And “Josephine” and “Country Girl” from Good to You took a little bit of the February chill off with a summer kegger for grown ups feel. Strains of Black Crowes, Steve Miller, Petty, even the Eagles, stirred in with the band’s bayou roots give HISB some real kick that’s original, not derivative.

Aaron Wilkinson and Sam Price, front porch style

No horns for this performance, so the sound was a little leaner than their last Mint show (which featured Karl Denson working on all cylinders). All the more room to showcase Chris Mule’s slippery slide work and the brotherly interplay between Mule and Aaron Wilkinson. Sam Price’s usual stage exuberance was matched by his pulsing lock step work with Garland Paul and the rest of the band, including Trevor Brooks on keys, who added a lot of flavor throughout the night.

Chris Mule, a man and his Strat

The encore set ended with shots for the band. Well earned. Their ride wasn’t going anywhere and their dorm room was steps away. Nothing like Sunday dawn on Pico Boulevard. Seriously good times. More to come.

Galactic hitting the G spot after midnight

Bill Graham spoiled me. The man knew how to throw a New Year’s party. 4-5 hours of cosmic Dead jams, epic substance abuse and 6,000 or so of my newest friends. The calendar would turn, Uncle Bobo would descend, Sugar Mag would kick in and all was right with the world. OK, so that was 30 years ago. Still, that ecstatic pull set a high bar few 12/31s have matched since. These days when milestones are counted in decades, New Year’s is often kept in quieter company and places, and indulgence swapped for reflection. But damn, the echo still haunts and the spirit craves a hit that only a hard wired all night jam or funk groove can provide. Add a few hundred people (or thousands or multiples thereof) primed to kick last year in the ass and anything’s possible. Call me a seeker.

2012 becomes Stanton Moore

Such was my latest NOLA pilgrimage that landed me at Tip’s in the waning hours of 2011 for Galactic’s annual year-end bash. With Eric Lindell’s Trio opening and billed guests including Anders Osborne, Corey Henry from Rebirth and Corey Glover of Living Colour (both Coreys vets of the last Galactic tour), prospects for New Year’s salvation seemed reasonable. Galactic’s newest release “Carnivale Electricos” is described by the band’s web site as a “carnival record that evokes the electric atmosphere of … whole cities – vibrating together all on the same day”.  Sounds pretty 3 AMy to me. Throw Anders Osborne and Lindell into the mix and confidence was high going in.

What 12:01:01 looks like

Lindell’s trio delivered a healthy solid set to get the room closer to midnight. Spirits were high as the last hour of 2011 approached and the crowd was appropriately exuberant (deliberate choice of words).  Galactic landed with “Boban” (from the 2011 release, The Other Side of Midnight:Live From New Orleans) and didn’t let up from there, in what turned out to be the first of (count ‘em) 3 sets.  “Hey Na Na” from “Carnivale Electricos” cranked up the energy a little before midnight when we all reverted to the timelessness of Auld Lang Syne because we could and that’s what you do. 2012 was inaugurated with Lindell joining Galactic to romp through Steve Miller’s “Jet Airliner”, a killer cover that gets better each time Lindell busts it out. Other first set highlights had Corey Glover working the crowd into a lather (and in an argyle sweater vest, no less) with “Heart of Steel” (from 2010’s “Ya-Ka-May) and Stanton Moore elevating for the first time in the show.

Going all night long

Announced guest Anders Osborne went straight for “Darkness at the Bottom” (from his 2010 American Patchwork release) to start Set 2, one of my favorite rip your soul open Osborne tunes. Jonny Sansone joined Anders with just plain nasty harmonica turns on his own “The Lord is Waiting and the Devil Is Too” (from the 2011 release of the same name). Anders and Sansone stuck around to cover “Who Took the Happiness” (featured on Moore’s 2008 release, Take It to the Street) to wrap up a killer set within a set. Much of the second set featured Corey Glover, but the band really had me with a loose and frenzied “Manic Depression”. Ben Ellman moving from baritone to ballsy harp wasn’t too shabby either.

Anders Osborne and Stanton Moore, brilliant "Darkness"

With just enough in the tank to start the third set, I profess to not making it all the way to the end, but an appropriately funky cover of Lee Dorsey’s/Allen Touissant’s “Night People” and the Arabian-brass-prog-metal tinged flavor of “Garbage Truck”(from The Other Side of Midnight) were perfectly suited for the hour. Somewhere along the way Corey Henry stepped into the crowd and climbed atop the bar never missing a note. Exhausted, satiated, I left Tip’s past 3, ready to take on a new year. Spiritual awakening, nah. Uplift, hell yeah. That’s good enough for me. Think I’m ready to kick some 2012 ass now.

Corey Henry works the room

Stanton Moore, Robert Mercurio and Ivan Neville in full swing at the Mint

“Supergroups” are described by Wikipedia as one “whose performers are already famous from having performed individually or in other groups”, citing a 1974 Time article that such configurations are an “amalgam formed by the talented malcontents of other bands”. Wiki does not know all, but the concept of taking a bunch of disparate talents of some repute, throwing them together and expecting them to live up to their progeny is typically a recipe for failure, or at least a really lame experiment (or an overt attempt to cash in). They’re not always stinkers, as this year’s “SuperHeavy” project, or the legacy of the “Travelling Wilburys”, and even “Blind Faith” exemplify. But what some may call a “supergroup” is often just another night in NOLA during Jazzfest, when the best of the NOLA music scene can’t stay away from each other and keep going ‘til dawn cracks the sky. These loose jam sessions don’t always click. Overly familiar material, too much noodling and no cohesion are not unusual. But other nights, magic gets sprinkled and familiar material becomes musical epoxy for epic jamming that can’t be bottled, or more daring tunes work their way into the mix. NOLA musicians form so many different constellations during the Fest it borders on incest, but it really is just the natural order for players who love to flat out play wherever, whenever they can.

Stanton Moore, he gets around

Which brings me to Dragon Smoke. Neville. Moore. Lindell. Mercurio. Names not as familiar west of the Mississippi, but NOLA royalty be it as Galactic, Dumpstaphunk, the Nevilles, Lindell, Garage a Trois and others. Formed in 2003, they have played every Fest since, but rarely travel west to bring their 3 AM spirit around a corner that’s not on Frenchmen, Napoleon, Peters or Oak. The lineage speaks propulsive, jammy funk meets soulful vocals as one would expect with the Galactic rhythm section, stinging Lindell leads, swampy Neville keys and alternating Neville/Lindell voices.

Ivan Neville, smoke and fire

At Wednesday’s Dragon Smoke gig at The Mint, I went looking to see if the whole would be bigger than the sum of its parts, and whether the vibe and sound would be more of the loose one-off of funk covers variety, or filled with the swagger and punch of seasoned vets excited to find a fresh voice.  Surprise.  From the first tune through last of two full sets, the band played as a singular unit totally conversant with each other, and were tight, tight, tight all night long.  Opening with Lindell’s “Country Livin’”, (from his 2009 Gulf Coast Highway release) these guys jumped right in and never let up.  Lindell was in strong voice and coaxed the right twang out of his SG (not an easy thing to do), trading licks with Ivan Neville, then stopping on a dime for a cascade of Stanton Moore fills.  The straight up funk of Dyke & the Blazers “Let a Woman Be a Woman” nicely showcased Ivan’s straight from the early 80s clavinet chops.  Lindell’s “It Won’t Be Long” (from the 2006 release, Change in the Weather) and Ivan’s father Aaron’s “Hercules” continued the nice back/forth between Lindell and Neville arranged tunes. Ivan and Stanton Moore brought some nice seasoning to “Injuns, Here They Come”, with Moore’s snare really leading the way.  Later in the set, Neville brought just the right touch of churchy keys to complement Lindell’s Anders-esque vocals on the tender “Lullaby for Mercy Ann” (from Gulf Coast Highway). The first set closed with a rollicking and hard edged cover of Steve Miller’s “Jet AirLiner”.  So far, so good.

Eric Lindell, his tunes, chops and vocals right at home with Dragon Smoke

After a refreshingly reasonable break, the band returned for the next set.  Despite pushing midnight for a mid-week show, everyone stuck around, and no doubt, glad they did.  The second set had deeper grooves, and some extended playing.  Not loose single-minded solo excursions, but concise all for one explorations that allowed the quartet to settle into just the right pocket with each other.  A cover of Bill Withers’ “Grandma’s Hands” had some great moments, especially slinking around every note of Ivan’s clav and keys, creating plenty of space for Lindell, Moore and Mercurio to reach, punch and throw more into the stew.  Delicious.  Lindell’s “Lucky, Lucky” (from the 2011 release, West County Drifter) brought a “Sugaree” reminiscent feel with some compact and very tasty turns on his SG.  The jazz-blues inflected “Valerie” (made famous by Amy Winehouse) was perfectly suited to the Dragon Smoke treatment and covers of “Slippin’ Into Darkness” and “Papa Was a Rolling Stone” were completely gratifying.  The set wrapped with Lindell’s “It’s a Pity (from his 2009 release Low on Cash, Rich in Love) with the sickest jam of the night – all four guys just hugging the minor 7^th-ish change for all it’s worth.  Everyone stretching out one more time, the whole unit bringing an almost Derek & the Dominoes cum NOLA infused feel to the Lindell tune. That’s high praise. The band came back for the upbeat soul of Lindell’s “Nothin’ Can Stop Me” to cap it off.

Stanton Moore at The Mint

Far from being thrown together, the four musicians that make up Dragon Smoke are meant to play together – each bringing something to complement and wring the best out of the other.  They just fit. The band intends to lay down some tracks soon, but in the meantime their recently released live CD, “Live in New Orleans” is available on Amazon and iTunes, and features many of the songs featured at The Mint.

Ivan Neville and Dragon Smoke, a beautiful relationship

Some songs, some artists, never go away. That’s not always a good thing. Times change, everyone ages, life gets tougher or better, and we go on. Since I was probably all of 8 the first time I heard “For What It’s Worth”, I was too young to really understand it, but still old enough to feel something. I knew the world was pissed off and somehow I grasped that music was more than a soundtrack to the events around me.

At a recent stop on Stephen Stills’ Fall tour, the 60-something Hall of Famer (twice, on the same night) introduced “For What It’s Worth” as for the “99s”. It’s 2011, the world is still angry and artists from Tom Morello to Crosby and Nash have taken up musical arms with OWS. Some songs age well, even if the audience and performers don’t. Some find new life in new times.

I wore the grooves down on every CSN/Y platter in all their permutations. The harmonies were the hook, but Stills’ fret mastery reeled me in and I’ve been an admirer of his playing and songwriting ever since. His wah-wah laced exchanges with Clapton on “Go Back Home” and dark blues encrusted wailing on “Black Queen” (from his eponymous debut) are still chill inducing, and I’ve no argument with his ranking at 47 among Rolling Stone’s top 100 guitarists. Sure, CSN had me (and the rest of humanity) at “Suite Judy Blues Eyes”. Only it was Stills’ intense, flying, punctuated acoustic work, more than the soaring vocals of the three that gripped me. That just about every instrumental track off their debut album was handled by Stills is often overlooked.

The light/dark tableau of Crosby/Nash harmonies and Stills/Young fury, fueled jams and music tabloids for decades to come, and the CSN/Y dance often played out like overripe “Behind the Music”. CSN’s constant touring could be taken for a creaky nostalgia trip some years, but collectively and apart, they all kept coming back to that well, and still do (their aborted covers project will hopefully have a life after producer Rick Rubin’s departure). Earlier this year saw a brief tour under the Springfield banner with the Stills/Young chemistry fully intact. The sight of these two getting in each other’s faces while scorching through “Bluebird” was something to behold. The slimmed down Stills was on his game and ready for anything Shakey threw at him. Neither backed down and the interplay was still furiously epic.

Some serious Strat slinging from Stephen Stills

Stills has been on the road the past month or so with East and West Coast dates and set lists sprinkling in a few unexpected covers (Dylan to Mudcrutch) with the usual Springfield, CSN, Manassas, Stills touchstones. With no LA dates scheduled, I headed to Anaheim for the show at the City National Grove.  Backed by long-time CSN drummer (and Joe Walsh alum) Joe Vitale, Todd Caldwell on keys and Kenny Passarelli on bass (new rule – matador pants do not = rock fashion), Stills launched right into “Bluebird” to kick off the first of two sets to a packed house. Switching to his trademark Gretsch for “Helplessly Hoping”, he established a relaxed, warm tone that flowed throughout the first set. His vocals have been road worn and ragged in recent years but he was far from dialing it in. To the contrary, he reached and pushed through his more limited range with conviction and emotion. Pegi Young joined Stills for “Long May You Run”. He seemed delighted to share the stage for the signature tune from the only collaboration under the Stills-Young name. Stills shared stories throughout the night, including his purchase of a rather large home replete with gardener ala Peter Sellers (in fact, it’s former owner was indeed, Peter Sellers) – cute trivia to tee up “Jonny’s Garden” from the first Manassas album. Stills then went unplugged for “So Begins the Task” and a beautiful take on Dylan’s “Girl From the North Country” that has been a staple of this brief tour. The latter with simple single note soloing that suitably echoed the longing of the bard’s lyrics. “Blind Fiddler” followed, a forlorn traditional tune well suited for Stills’ repertoire. That the set would close with the inevitable “Suite Judy Blue Eyes” was established earlier when Stills alluded to Judy Collins recent book portraying him as “nicer than he really was”. That it would be bookended with Stills’ solo reading of the Beatles “Within You, Without You” was unexpected, and I found, a little gutsy. By the time familiar passages of SJBE rolled over the crowd, the balding 50-something dude in the front and the barely 20-ish dude with the lid a few rows back were singing in sync. Stills respectfully reached for the higher notes and nailed a few, at which he paused with a rehearsed admonition of, “I’m just as astonished as you are”.

Stills and Young in harmony

After a brief break approaching many of the elder demo’s bedtime, Stills and band returned for a more up tempo set that kicked off with a spunky version of “Woodstock”, his playing generating some real sparks while working his way up the neck of the vintage Strat. A languid “Southern Cross” included a few obvious flubs in his soloing that didn’t seem to bother anyone, though Stills appropriately stepped back from the edge of the stage at just the right moment. Having arrived at that point in the show where he would really cut loose was signified by Stills taking off and pocketing his specs before the predictable blues roll of “Wounded World” (from his last solo album, 2005’s “Stills Alive”) into “Rocky Mountain Way”, with Stills and the crowd clearly having a good time with this. “Want to Make Love To You”  (also from the Stills-Young “Long May You Run”) began with jazz inflected picking, trademark muted soloing and understated whammy flourishes. Like many of the best, he knows when touch trumps burn. By this time, Stills returned to prowling the front of the stage and playing to the crowd to close with “Love the One You’re With” (group hug, anyone?). Much lore surrounds Buffalo Springfield and “For What It’s Worth” (those words never appear in the lyrics) and there is no other encore for a Stills show. There shouldn’t be – the power of the lyrics fermenting with contemporary context.  Stills grabbed all of it, driving the song with a slow cook and heavy reverb that lingered well after the lights went up.

Kenny Passarelli and Todd Caldwell getting behind a Stills solo

Pegi Young and the Survivors opened the show with a set featuring songs from her just released third album “Bracing for Impact”, with fine backing by Muscle Shoals and session vet Spooner Oldham on keys, Kevin Holly on guitar, Phil Jones on drums and LA fixture Rick “the Bass Player” Rosas (late of the very brief Springfield reunion and husband Neil Young’s recent tours).  Holly shredded up “Bracing’s” “Lie” early on and the set featured a touching cover of the late Danny Whitten’s “I Don’t Want to Talk About It”.

Ms. Pegi and Rick the bass player

Those of us in this middle mojo of life have kept the concert industry going by supporting the same acts for the past 30 years. Some of us fare better than others as the orbits pile up. It ain’t about staying young. Stephen Stills brought all that he had to an appreciative audience basking in tunes they know by heart and can’t get enough of.  Not exactly a tearing the roof off night, but kicking a little age appropriate ass felt alright for all.  I probably was not the only one thinking, long may we run, as I made my way to the door.

Stephen Stills, the songs and the playing endure

Chick Corea, Jean-Luc Ponty and Stanley Clarke

There are only so many seminal musical moments in one’s life, and the first time I saw Return to Forever live was one of them.  I felt as if my head cracked open and exploded from the inside.  But I digress.

As a teen of the 70s, I was drawn (without explanation) to artists signed to Manfred Eicher’s ECM (e.g., Edition of Contemporary Music) label.  It wasn’t just the stunning zen like imagery on the cover of every pressing.  And I was probably still too young to fully appreciate the unprecedented freedom Eicher the producer afforded his international roster of artists any time they entered the studio.  Still, something about the utter musical liberation completely unmoored from tradition and the mainstream got its hooks into me.  Even if some of the music was so arcane and outside to my ears, I took pride in my ability, if not patience, to expose myself to such intellectual pursuits that aimed straight for the head.  I didn’t read Kerouac or Ginsberg (at least until later), I listened to Jan Garbarek and Terje Rypdal.  This from a kid who had been spinning Zeppelin, the Allmans, the Who, the Stones and anything else guitar driven and blues influenced since I was a wee lad.  It was truly a new universe of possibilities.   I had heard Miles, maybe a little Coltrane, and some of the more mainstream CTI catalog like Freddy Hubbard, George Benson (before he tunefully opened his mouth) and Hubert Laws, but my jazz vocabulary was limited to about, well, what you would expect for a musically curious 14-year old in the earlyish-70s.  ECM blew that door wide open and I was introduced to the likes of Gary Burton, Pat Metheny, Ralph Towner, John Abercrombie, Keith Jarrett, and yes, Chick Corea, for the first time.

Light as a Feather (released on Polydor), didn’t blow my mind, it blew me away.  This was world influenced jazz not bound by tradition, but grounded in the rich humus of an ancient rainforest and stirred to flight to move body and spirit. Flora’s ethereal refrains, the killer sound of Chick’s Fender Rhodes running fleetly in step with Airto’s can’t keep it in frenetic pace.  The quieter moments when the ensemble steps back and Stanley Clarke’s tone is as fat and satisfying as a deep blue lake, then moves and hustles like a greyhound while never losing that same tone.  Joe Farrell’s tenor and flute a perfect foil to all, with solos that breathed and inspired.  This was jazz as I’d always wanted to hear it.

Flash forward a year or two, and the influence of guitar heavy rock was absorbed by jazz players everywhere, for which many a critic hold Miles’ ”Bitches Brew” accountable and certainly the alums of that project, Chick Corea and John McLaughlin among them, embraced with great enthusiasm.  This was hyper-attenuated, black hole dense stuff not for the faint of heart.  Of course, I took to it like a narcotic, the denser, the more complex and precise the playing, the better.  I ate it up.  Mahavishnu Orchestra’s Birds of Fire or Inner Mounting Flame, or RTF’s Hymn to the Seventh Galaxy were not exactly meditative and introspective.  My unhealthy attachment to jazz fusion was an acting out, not a cry for help, but a need to be different.  It was my ‘90s grunge phase, just 20 years earlier, it didn’t get me a lot of dates, but I made some good male friends with similar musical tastes.

Which brings me back to the first time I saw RTF live.  Somehow, my 15-year old self and a buddy found our way into the legendary Troubadour for their first tour with Al DiMeola.  We were seated at the foot of the stage and to open the show, Scatman Crothers, who must have been in his mid-60s at that point, came out armed with nothing more than a ukulele and a lot of courage.  He entertained the room for a half-hour or so.  Herbal substances may have been involved and the incongruity of the billing had my not so nimble mind confused, and the anticipation for the headliner on high boil.  This was the “Where Have I Known You Before” tour and from the moment these four guys hit the stage, it was lights out.  I had never experienced music so physically imposing live.  The room could not contain the intensity.  The barely out of his teens DiMeola had recently replaced Bill Connors and Chick was a long way from the gentle Fender Rhodes sound of Light as a Feather.  This was knife edge stuff.  Lenny White must have had four hands and Stanley Clarke was simply a force of nature.  The world looked different, brilliant, potentialized after this show.

Not until recent years have I dared to revisit much of this music, fearful that time would not treat it kindly in the 2000s.  To the contrary, our downloadable era of forgettable singles, classic rock pimped to the extremes, faux playback that fills arenas and Garage Band, reflects rather well on the jazz fusion pioneers of the ‘70s.  In fact, the in your face compositional and technical brilliance expressed by RTF and others stands out as strikingly immediate, pungent and real.  So, it was with great anticipation I headed to the Greek to hear the fourth gen of the band (billed as RTF IV).

After a 30-year break, this tour is the second RTF reunion in 3 years and has a slightly different look.  The core of Corea, Stanley Clarke  and Lenny White remains intact and is interestingly augmented by ‘70s fusion pioneer in his own right, violinist Jean-Luc Ponty, with Frank Gambale stepping in for DiMeola.  The buzz for the tour has been very strong, the band reaching back to cover signature compositions including Corea’s “Spain”,  Ponty’s epic “Renaissance” and Clarke’s “School Days”.  Sets for earlier dates had been consistently 8-9 tunes in length ensuring ample exploration from all.

The Greek was filled.  A great sign to begin with that this music still has a strong audience.  And it was an appreciative one at that.  The performance was introduced by none other than RTF aficionado Kareem Abdul Jabbar.  Kareem, not known for his public verbosity was warm and chatty, and that’s saying a lot right there.

Master of Ceremonies

Opening with “Medieval Overture” (from 1976’s Romantic Warrior), RTF IV launched headfirst into what would be an off the charts night.  With Ponty effortlessly blending into the band, and interestingly enough, lending the same instrumentation that defined Mahavishnu (with whom he played in the band’s later years), the virtuosity of the RTF unit was on full display and would remain so throughout the 100+ minute performance.  The control and finesse to take the composition through its entire dynamic range, each player matching the other note for rapid fire note was pretty staggering, as it was for “Captain Senor Mouse” (from 1973’s Hymn to the Seventh Galaxy) which followed.  “Captain Senor Mouse” had Chick standing and ready to jump with the composition’s Spanish influenced flourishes and synth runs, accompanied by Frank Gambale’s uncanny ability to turn on every twist and accent.  Dipping again into Romantic Warrior (three of the nine tunes from the performance were off this album) for Lenny White’s “Sorceress” and then segueing into “Shadow of Lo” (from 1974’s “Where Have I known You Before”), the piece began with a lengthy intro featuring fine work by Ponty that morphed into a funk groove.  As the cool night air met the intensity of the stage, steam was emanating from all the players, and Lenny White in particular appeared to be the answer to the country’s energy issues.  With the segue into “Shadow of Lo”, Chick seamlessly moved between has Yamaha grand and synth/electric keys.  The bridging/blending of acoustic and electric throughout the evening was a pleasant surprise and a trick to pull off, given the character and intensity of the band’s overall sound and compositional approach.  On these (and other) tunes, each player found new ways to converse with one another with great moments of interplay between Corea and Ponty, and especially Corea and Clarke.  RTF IV are giants of musicians and the touch and finesse they bring to material that could so easily become heavy handed is beyond impressive, it’s a feat that defies science.  Yes, I’m speaking superlatives, but it was that good.

Chick Corea, where have I known you before?

A moment about Stanley Clarke.  Few living musicians have transformed the bass into a lead instrument the way Stanley Clarke has.  Period.  And the man is in fighting shape. Heck, until he stood next to Kareem, I’d almost take Clarke to get the better of a one-on-one between the two.  For Ponty’s”Renaissance” (from his 1976 Aurora), Clarke pulled out his upright and Ponty put down his trademark blue electric as the whole band went acoustic.  Clarke played below the bridge, top of the neck, slapping, thumbing, fingers moving faster than the flying horsehair of Ponty’s bow.  His solo was a highlight in a performance full of highlights.  As the audience found out later in the evening (with all but Gambale taking turns as emcee chatting warmly with crowd), Clarke had many friends and family at the show and no doubt even more inspired to be at the top of his game.  On his “After the Cosmic Rain” (also from Hymn to the Seventh Galaxy), Clarke’s fingers were dancing faster than a flamenco master while RTF moved from galloping Spanish dance to total swing and back again.

Stanley Clarke and Frank Gambale, sheer mastery

The title cut from Romantic Warrior displayed glimpses of Chick’s classical side with Clarke later pushing him to swing again, harder (perhaps Ponty’s influence brought these occasional swing elements into the mix).   Corea’s “Spain” (from 1972’s Light as  a Feather) is easily considered a contemporary jazz classic, with many varied interpretations through the years (including his own).  Beginning with an almost somber intro by Ponty, the entire RTF unit simply flew from start to finish with Lenny White engaging Corea in a brief duel of sorts to punctuate and play with the song’s familiar time.  Perhaps most impressive, however, was the ability of Corea to engage 5,000 people in a jazz sing along.  Not a few la-la-las, but up and down and around the composition’s complex melodies, echoing Chick’s keyboard runs.   Corea was introduced earlier in the set as simply “The Maestro”.  After pulling that off, I couldn’t put it any better.

The Maestro

Clarke’s “School Days” (from Clarke’s 1976 album of the same name) provided a raucous “encore” to the evening with opener Dweezil Zappa duking it out with Gambale, and Clarke practically shredding his 4-string to pieces.  The interplay with Ponty, Clarke and Corea was dazzling and there were enough 256^th notes (or so it seemed) to go around for everybody.  As the set finished and the house lights went up, RTF remained on stage greeting friends, shaking hands with fans and hanging out.

The Zappa legacy replete with full circular motion

Zappa Playing Zappa was an appropriate first act, especially with Jean Luc Ponty’s connection to Frank (Exhibit A, 1970’s King-Kong: Jean Luc Ponty Plays the Music of Frank Zappa).  Chick Corea joined the band mid-set for  “King Kong” to Moog it up, and trade licks, wails and squelches with Dweezil.  The elder Zappa’s SG playing is legendary and under-acknowledged and Dweezil eerily matches that guitar voice and fury.  In fact, he custom built his SG to replicate his father’s and the replica is so accurate, it is often mistaken for Frank’s original guitar by fans (so says Wikipedia).  Many Zappa “hits” ensued including “Don’t’ Eat the Yellow Snow” (replete with full circular motion), “St. Alfonzo’s Pancake Breakfast (from 1974’s Apostrophe) – where I stole the margarine, “Dancin’ Fool” (from 1979’s Sheik Your Booti) and “Pojama People” which opened the set (from 1975’s One Size Fits All).  Ben Thomas’ vocals were uncanny in capturing Frank’s inflection and humor.  This is a musical legacy that truly lives on, however acquired a taste.

Dweezil gets some air

RTF still plays as if possessed by a single Vulcan mind meld and the performance at the Greek was nothing less than astonishing (another superlative).   I latched on to the cerebral appeal of the music when I was younger and am now celebrating its maturity, cohesion and warmth.  Yes, warmth that comes from generations of playing together, that pushes and challenges each individual, and the exuberance from everyone on stage at the Greek.  Cohesion that comes from balancing quieter moments of introspection and thunderous power to a satisfying resolution.  Maturity that comes from almost unexplainable intuition and nuance.  For me, it really was a return.  A reminder of the sheer power of contemporary music and its timelessness.  Return.  To Forever.

Postscript:  A special shout out also goes to Yamaha, to which Chick Corea has been a loyal customer for many years, and whose sponsorship helped make this tour (and blog post) possible.

Jackson Browne and Ben Harper doing good

A friend asked me to describe Ben Harper’s sound and the best I could come up with was world-infused, surf-influenced, rhythm, roots and soul.  Harper is a singer/songwriter/guitarist who defies description and has a relentless following (pun intended).  I’ve seen Ben Harper a few times – almost two decades ago in The Mint, when it was half the size and maybe 150 people squeezed in, and then in 2009 before 50,000 some odd headlining the Acura Stage at Jazzfest.  I am a fan, but more from afar, not knowing his deeper catalogue.  That same friend mentioned how influential Ben Harper’s music had been on her high school years, and I felt old, as the rise of this musician from the IE with the Weissenborn guitar that created such a stir is still freshly emblazoned in my musical memory.  Reflecting on the Mint show of the early 90s, I thought the cat who sang “Momma’s Got a Girlfriend Now” (from 1994’s Welcome to the Cruel World) with seemingly straight up truth, then busting out some wicked slide on a lap guitar that looked closer to a dulcimer, was pretty damn cool.  No airs, this one.  That stayed with me.

Ben Harper, straight up truth y'all

Not long after, the world took notice and Ben Harper was the man.  When I last caught him at the 2009 Jazzfest (with the Relentless 7), he took the stage as an internationally known, two-time Grammy winning, politically inspired headliner and had a huge crowd right there with him.  His contributions to benefit projects and causes reads like a classic moveon.org resume, and that’s not a bad thing – he embodies the social power of music.  And he’s fearless with killer chops, great combo.  Case in point – few could stand shoulder to shoulder with Eddie Vedder covering the Freddie Mercury parts of the classic Queen/Bowie collaboration “Under Pressure”, as Harper did at last year’s Hard Rock Calling Fest in Hyde Park.

True to form, Harper made a very rare club appearance at The Mint, a room he knows very well, to raise money for Babette Ho, the wife of close friend and master surfboard designer Jeff Ho, who is ailing from cancer.  I relished the opportunity to see Harper again in such an intimate setting, coming full circle to the earliest parts of his career.

There was a knowing vibe that portended a special night.  It was no secret by the time doors opened that Jackson Browne would be doing a set before the headliner.  After the Ooks of Hazard (4 ukes + percussion = chimey melodies) warmed the crowd, Ben Harper introduced Tal Wilkenfeld and Jackson Browne to the stage.  Yes, Ms. Wilkenfeld first.  For those who did not catch this monstrously talented bassist touring with Jeff Beck at the tender age of 21 (and projects/appearances with the likes of Chick Corea, the Allman brothers, Prince, Rod Stewart), suffice it to say that Jackson Browne had the low end covered when the two took the stage a little after 10.  Hearing JB play his signature tunes in such a relaxed and intimate setting had many reliving the best of their high school days, they were that much of a soundtrack.  “Doctor My Eyes” (from his self titled debut), a song older than most in the room, never loses its world weary wisdom and showcased Ms. Wilkenfeld with some elegantly creative soloing.  Browne’s “Alive in the World’ (from 1996’s Looking East) soon followed.

Tal Wilkenfeld

JB expressed a lot of love for Los Angeles and his roots throughout his set, reflecting that  “The Pretender” was written in his Echo Park days – a song that retains poignancy, perhaps even more so in an economy and culture that seem to have completely lost their footing.  This was living room familiarity as demonstrated when JB briefly served as his own keyboard tech by the light of a borrowed Blackberry.  Not your average Hall of Famer.  He then proceeded to cover Leonard Cohen’s  “1,000 Kisses Deep” before Ben Harper joined him for Harper’s “Steal My Kisses” (released as a single in 2000), the audience right there with the feel good chorus.

No Pretender

Around 11, Harper and his crew started their set, but not before an expression of thanks for coming together to help Babette and Jeff Ho, and their family and friends.  PLUG: If you surf (which I don’t), buy a Jeff Ho board.  Buy more than one, tell your friends.  It will change your life.  PLUG OVER.

So, here’s a disclaimer.  I wasn’t expecting more than a satisfying night of solid sincere music.  I did not expect to get religion.

Harper launched into a tender take on Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love” with guest Joan Osborne and I was already smitten.  These two brought new/old soul and earth to this classic Morrison tune.  Harper stayed in the same lower key by following with a cover of Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire”.  Then the set exploded with intensity probably familiar to many Harper fans, moving from almost ska-like grooves baked in southern blues to sick Hendrix like runs from his Asher lap steel guitar.  As one fascinated by traditional instrumentation voiced in unique ways, whether it’s Robert Randolph’s sacred steel or even going back to the late Jeff Healey, Harper’s intensity and punch at The Mint was a knockout.  “Diamonds on the Inside” sparkled, indeed.  I love this tune.  Harper followed with a new song “Masterpiece” inspired by Jeff and Babette, slow and touching with the refrain of “loving you is my masterpiece”.  Jackson Browne returned to join Harper again for “Pray that Our Love Sees the Dawn” (from 2011’s appropriately titled, Give Til Its Gone), which they had only played once before on the Letterman show.

Ben Harper and Joan Osborne

The entire R7 had come out of the gate red-hot and that intensity was reflected especially well with muscular turns by Jessie Ingalls on bass and Jason Mozersky’s sharp and twistedly sonic playing throughout the night.  You know it’s a good night when the audience is at complete attention for the drum solo, especially when in the hands of Jordan Richardson.

“I Shall Not Walk Alone” (from 1997’s “Will to Live”) was full of the burden and beauty imparted by the lyrics.   Well past midnight, Harper then sat alone center stage with his Weissenborn and introduced a song by Neil Young.  His solo take on Ohio was shiver inducing and uniquely Ben’s, some 40 years after Young first wrote it.   “Don’t Give Up on Me Now” (also from Give Til Its Gone) featured more soaring finger work by Mozersky.  As the set moved past 1 AM on a Tuesday morning, Harper had one other guest to bring out.  Tom Morello, in full Nightwatchman mode, and Harper, could not be better suited for each other on Morello’s “Save the Hammer for the Man”.  With that, the house lights went up, but the glow remained.

Harper and Morello, meant for each other

The evening would not have been possible without the good folks at The Mint and at Red Light Productions, who ensured that everything ran smoothly and the performers could give it their all without too many distractions.  Much love for The Mint was expressed, especially from both Browne and Harper, and for Harper it is a rousing homecoming from playing Monday nights almost two decades ago.

Earlier in the evening I asked a Claremont local (Harper’s hometown) by way of Kentucky to describe the pull of Ben Harper’s music.  “He writes his emotions, it’s all real.”  After experiencing this set, with its fiery peaks and introspective reflection from beginning to end, I could not agree with her more.  Music matters, life matters, Ben Harper is its witness.  Amen.

As a native Angelino, attendance at any of the Santa Monica Pier Twilight Dance Series performances truly is a rite of summer.  Gorgeous nights, ocean air, sand between your toes.  Hard to beat.  Despite a rap that Southern California indulges in the frivolous and expensive – 8 figure “homes”, 6 figure cars, $15 cocktails, every summer Los Angeles and environs offers abundant opps to hear great music for nothing from downtown to Hollywood to the beach, and we are spoiled for it.  2011 marks the Pier Twilight Dance Series’ 27^th year and if the last performance is supposed to mean that summer is almost over, it’s so not true.  We all know SoCal doesn’t really bake until October while the rest of the country tastes the first chill of autumn and winter ahead.

I profess to only catching a few Pier shows the past few years, but could not miss Jon Cleary and his Philthy Phew (aka, Piano, Bass & Drums) with Donald Harrison’s Electric Band for the series closer on September 8^th.  NOLA funk, meet Santa Monica mellow.

I’ve seen Donald Harrison, Jr. in many configurations at Jazzfest, be it in full Indian regalia or blowing straight ahead in the Jazz Tent, and was rather looking forward to what he would pull out with his electric band.  He took the stage dressed in a crisp white suit and black collared shirt as the warmth of the day lingered after sunset.  He wouldn’t have looked out of place in South Beach, either.  Unbeknownst to me, Harrison, Jr.’s Electric Band has found success on the smooth jazz charts, an idiom to which I am musically allergic, and when he introduced 2003’s “Tropic of Cool” with a crowd query of who listens to “The Wave”, I feared the worst (full disclosure – when the Mighty MET, KMET, went down, only to find the WAVE in its place, it was a day of radio mourning never to be forgotten).  I do not besmirch any performer for finding success wherever they can, especially one as supremely talented and integral to the lifeblood of contemporary New Orleans music and musicians, as Harrison, Jr., but my disappointment was rising.   This was a side of Harrison, Jr. where he is clearly comfortable, his sharp, twisting tenor right at home with the mainstream material.

Donald Harrison, Jr., setting the mood

Backed by a band mixing NOLA vets and younger, powerhouse players, including Detroit Brooks (g), Max Moran (b), Joe Dyson (dr) and Zaccai Curtis (p), the tone soon shifted to the familiar New Orleans crowd pleasers that sprinkle so many sets these days – Aiko, Aiko, Cissy Strut, Hey Pocky Way and the inevitable Treme song and obligatory Saints.  These tunes are all feel good music, no doubt, and Harrison, Jr. wrapped his playing around their themes with precision and passion.  Detroit Brooks always plays with class, touch and soul and the rhythm section of Moran and Dyson embodies a powerful force of youth and experience.  Zaccai Curtis, who was showcased on several numbers, stretched out amply and concisely, climbing and resolving his solos with fiery satisfaction, leaving my ears begging for “please sir, may I have some more” (no surprise to find him on Christian Scott’s Rewind That, one of my favorite jazz releases of the past 5 years).  The Donald was all smiles, all night (when isn’t he), clearly having a good time throughout.  Me, love the beach, but I’ll take the Jazz Tent any time.

Zaccai Curtis, up close and personal

Enter Jon Cleary and those Phew (wildly famous Treme actor and bass/sousaphone player extraordinaire, Matt Perrine, and Doug Belote on drums), and mellow got seriously funked up.  Cleary has been working with the trio format for a while and it suits his barrelhouse style to a tee.  Didn’t take long for Cleary to be schooling the crowd on Professor Longhair, and that was well before he launched into a rollicking version of Tipitina (now that’s one I never get tired of hearing).  “Help Me Somebody” from 1999’s Moonburn, put Cleary’s blue-eyed soul sound on full display early in the set and the as yet to be recorded “Bringing Back the Home” was dedicated to the people of NOLA and the gift of New Orleans music to the world.  Got the message, he can be the messenger, anytime.

Jon Cleary, schooling us with feeling

The stage was warmed, the mellow vibe more energized and then it got really philthy.  Not quite hide the women and children philthy, but not far from it, either.  From a B-flat shuffle to churchy influenced chunks of joy, Cleary relished each and every tune, even managing to get these denizens of the beach to feel a little Mardi Gras in their bones.  The R&B groove of his soulful nature really shined on “When You Get Back” from 2002’s Jon Cleary & the Absolute Monster Gentlemen, especially when his solo took flight Caribbean style – a beautiful sound, indeed.  With more homage to the Professor on “Go to the Mardi Gras” (featured on 2008’s live Mo Hippa recording), Donald Harrison, Jr. joined the Phew and you could hear Frenchmen calling.  With further nods to Earl King and Jellyroll Morton, the healthy set moved from heartbreak to history to straight up, grab your ass messy, syncopated funk.  Cleary’s take on Little Richard’s “I Can’t Believe You Want to Leave” even left me wondering if the Beatles may not have copped a little for “Oh, Darling”.

Harrison, Jr. and Cleary make some philthy noise

As the set ended and Angelinos scattered for another summer, I reflected on the musical legacy of the great city of New Orleans and an unlikely British minstrel spreading the word of Professor Longhair.  Crazy World, huh.  Just don’t call it another day at the beach, or I’ll have to smack ya philthy.

Celebrity, Matt Perrine, taking in the sea air

The esteemed Pete Sears, with Roger McNamee

August 6, 2011

“Moonalice is a band of seasoned musicians who feel that live music should be a communal experience where the listener and musicians feed and derive inspiration from each other. Their songs try to speak to everyone, mixing a variety of genres with extended musical improvisations that evoke a sense of adventure and exploration.”  So says their story on www.moonalicetv.com, the first HTML5 driven band site that allows fans to HD stream any live performance to their iPads, iPhones, etc.  What, are these guys from the future?  Well, for sure, behind the mythology that is Moonalice, behind the gloriously handcrafted homage posters for each and every show, behind the jam rock immersion and the Dead elephant in the room, stands a band of the now.  Look under the hood, and you see great touring musicians of 30+ years, the likes of which just only seem to be getting better, and no doubt, they lean heavily toward their tied-dyed twirling brethren.   The Phil and Friends, Other Ones, Dave Nelson Band, Hot Tuna, Jefferson Starship, Bruce Hornsby CVs merely fortify the obvious.  But Moonalice is not just of, or about, the past.  Wrong.  They climbed on top of the social media age and turned traditional music industry business models on their collective asses.   Not a lot of self-proclaimed hippie bands can credibly sit side-by-side with the next generation’s ProTools and banjo indie hipsters to provide total accessibility to their music and shows free of industry pollution to build their audience…and make it not just work, but fly.  This bird has wings, musically and beyond.

Moonalice CTO, and multi-stringer, Roger McNamee

Led by Roger McNamee (and de facto CTO), Moonalice has morphed from a band of shifting personnel to the nimble intuitive unit that seems to grow a seventh, eighth and ninth sense with every gig (and full disclosure, I’ve been to a few).  There is both wisdom and discovery here, and it shows.  Bass player/keyboardist Pete Sears is royalty as far as I’m concerned and his gentlemanly stage presence belies musical journeys that would make some of the best blush with envy.  His rhythm section partner John Molo, doesn’t have a game face. Molo’s exuberance simply spills out with every joyously expressed, finger-licking good, fill – a drummer’s drummer.  Barry Sless moves effortlessly between his pedal steel and six-string, exploring galactical edges, but always returning home with texture, grace and soul.   Ann McNamee lends her vocals and keys to a collaboration of spirit obvious in her mile-wide smile when on stage.

Gamer, John Molo

A Moonalice show usually starts with Steve Parish regaling the audience with Jerry campfire tales that could only come from living with (and surviving) 28 years of the Grateful Dead.  Talk about a mood setter.  Like their progenitors, Moonalice can adapt a slightly countrified persona that serves as a launching pad for scripted and unscripted musical peaks, but with less wandering.  Covering material that feels constantly familiar, and is almost entirely original, the Moonalice sound is especially sweetened by Sless’ steel playing and the versatility of players locked in to each other individually and collectively.

Barry Sless, captivating the crowd

The Saturday night performance at The Mint had a relaxed vibe to accommodate the proverbial Moonalice tribe.  Minus Ann McNamee (away tending to a recovering family member), the boys obliged with a very satisfying 10-song set that indeed lived up to their billing of “extended musical improvisations that evoke a sense of adventure and exploration”.  No shit (besides, how many bands do you know can pull off covering Leonard Cohen and the Dead comfortably in the same set).  Three tunes in, “Kick It Open” found Sears behind the keys with Sless leading his bandmates on deep journeys that strayed near and far from the comfort of the song’s bridge and chorus.  With the aforementioned take on Cohen’s “Halleluah”, McNamee wrung all the sorrow and beauty from the poet laureate’s words.  By the time they hit “Joker’s Lie” (available as part of a 6-EP series through the www.moonalice.com website), with Sears taking the vocals again and six-stringing it, the band was in full rollicking, crackling, Dead homage mode that brought some Saturday night joy to all.  Then it got better.   The gentle cascading intro of “Nick of Time” led to some of the best jams of the night, with Sless and Sears climbing up and over each other, then back down again, just to take it up two notches a few more times.   Elevation was in the house (a little peak musical joy, anyone?), only to gently land with a sparkling cover of “Stella Blue”.  The set closed with “Never Satisfied”- as anthemic as the band gets.  Indeed, lack of satisfaction was no issue here.

Sears and Sless, we're enjoying the ride

It’s no surprise that Moonalice often shares the bill with the Southland’s most Deadicated band, Cubensis, as they did at The Mint show.  After decades of gigging throughout SoCal, this was my first live Cubensis experience.  The room filled for their midnight set as the band covered all things Jerry, Bobby and Phil, tightly, smartly, and passionately.

Craig Marshall and Christine Sherman of Cubensis

Nobody’s pulling punches here with a Moonalice-Cubensis combo.  The demo skews older and the aromas are strong, but make no mistake, do not adjust your wayback machine.  It is Summer 2011, political lords are playing chicken with the economy and Minnesota is melting.  May this music never stop.  We need it more than ever.