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Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
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| CONCERT
REVIEW by Nick Morgan
ORNETTE COLEMAN
The Royal Festival Hall, London
June 21st 2009
Did
I ever tell you, Serge, about the time I met Tony
Bennett? I have to say it was something of
a nerve-wracking experience. We were promoting
his concert in Edinburgh a few years ago, and
after an opening set from Diana
Krall, were invited ‘backstage’
to meet the artists. Ms Krall was larger than
life. Mr Bennett, on the other hand, and much
to my dismay, seemed like a shrunken figure in
a trench coat. Charming though he was, I spent
our five minutes or so of conversation looking
at him and thinking that there was no way he could
possibly be able enough to perform on stage; like
a drowning man I saw a career-condemning disaster
pass before my eyes.Back in my seat, I watched
with gloom and resignation as the diminutive figure
in the Burberry appeared at the back of the stage;
his band already in position playing a warm-up
tune. |
 |
| What
happened next was simply magical, almost out of
the greatest tradition of British
pantomime. One of Mr Bennett’s people
gently removed his coat, and as he walked, at first
unsteadily towards the stage, he was transformed,
from old man to superstar, towering in the glow
of the footlights, the audience eating from his
hand. |
| I
had a similar experience with Ornette
Coleman. Reports from earlier Meltdown
gigs were not good. He played briefly with Yoko
Ono, didn’t show up for Moby, and was carefully
helped onto the stage during the Patti Smith gig
to say a few quiet words before being helped off
again. And when he took to the stage for this last
of his Meltdown gigs, featuring ‘Reflections’
on his groundbreaking 1960 album This is Our Music,
my fears might have been confirmed. Nattily dressed,
but slight and frail, he didn’t seem set for
a powerful performance. |
| But
one should never underestimate the greatest of great
musicians, and after a wobbly start, which featured
mainly new material, Coleman’s playing grew
in both strength and verve until he dominated the
stage just as Tony Bennett had done that night in
Edinburgh. Now I’m not a great jazz man, but
let me say that at its best, Coleman’s playing
was electric, mixing moments of well-rehearsed melodic
phrasing with unexpected staccato and plaintive
outbursts, accompanied by the occasional turn to
his trumpet and violin. Listening to his playing,
engrossing ‘though it was, it’s hard
to understand now why he caused such a furore back
in the 1960s. What was revolutionary then seems
almost mainstream today, harmolodics and all, and
there was so much structure to the tunes that it’s
difficult to know where the description ‘free
jazz’ (apart from being an album title) came
from. |
|
L
to R: Tony Falanga, Ornette Coleman, Denardo Coleman |
| At
the backbone of this performance, providing the
canvas for Coleman’s brush, were a prodigiously
powerful trio: Tony Falanga on double bass; Al MacDowell
on electric bass (which he played for much of the
evening like a lead guitar) and Coleman’s
son Denardo on drums. Falanga and MacDowell played
in pretty much perfect harmony, questioning and
answering each other with increasingly complex rhythms
and riffs. Denardo, who has been playing with his
father (and polarising critical opinion) since he
was ten, was a noisy and sometimes sloppy counterpoint.
But when the three clicked, the sound they created
was almost overpowering. And when they were joined
by Red
Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea, the foursome
took on the character of a funk-fuelled express
train heading down the track towards the audience
at breakneck speed. And all respect to Mr Flea,
who demonstrated himself more than capable of standing
in such exalted company. In fact he was, as the
phrase goes, ‘on fire’ when the band
were joined by the horn and drum-wielding Master
Musicians Of Jajouka, (or at least one
version of the performers who use that name)
whose repetitive and hypnotic playing formed the
backdrop for a gloriously cacophonous improvisation:
three thundering bass players; unwieldy, crashing
drumming and Coleman’s saxophone crying and
wailing above it all. It was a moment, almost as
exhausting for the audience as the musicians, that
few who were present will forget. |
| Not
that Coleman didn’t have one more ace up his
sleeve. A perfectly-constructed encore which brought
long-time collaborator, bassist Charlie
Haden to the stage for ‘Lonely woman’,
a wonderfully delicate composition where both performers,
supported by a remarkably restrained Denardo, pulled
off that magical trick of expressing as much with
the notes that they didn’t play, as with the
ones that they did. It was a tender and gentle contrast
to the frenetic moments earlier, and left the audience
on their feet as it ended. Then Coleman, walking
like a man who’s shed more than a few years
during the performance, returned to the stage to
shake the hands of his many admirers in the crowd
and was still doing so as we left. - Nick Morgan
(photographs by Kate) |
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Concert Reviews
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