NYC diary May '07

While the space to stretch out en route is welcome, sold-out trains always wind up being more eventful. I wound up sitting beside two raucous teenagers, one of whom is a budding actor, who obsessed over their vices of smoking and drinking. In the café car, I overheard a loud gaggle of girls gossiping over their lives, and one of them asking if Canadians spoke English (because Mawntreawl is French). To which one replied, “Yeah, like Celine Dion. She’s French but she speaks English too.” The train wound up taking twelve hours instead of ten, and then we all had to get to where we were going. I felt too tired to haul out to NuBlu and check out Butch Morris’ conductions.

I wound up staying at a different hostel this time, in the East Village, a few blocks from Union Square. The immediate area didn’t really suggest anything to do – either walk the few blocks to Union Square or down to the Lower East Side. The vibe in that area was a little strange – it indeed felt like a village with all the small storefronts and restaurants, but it also felt a little lifeless compared to a few blocks down. As I returned to the hostel from the BMI meeting, a guy flew in front of me and wrestled down the guy attempting to steal his bike.

I was able to maintain my Tuesday morning bagel routine, at David’s Bagels on 1^st Ave. Afterwards, my friend had asked me to go pick up some coffee for her at Porto Rico on Bleecker Street. I walked the wrong way out of the subway, again, and wound up standing in front of Bleecker Street Records, a very very dangerous record shop with tons of hard-to-find (in my experience) R&B/soul compilations. In the tradition of many Montreal used book stores, a cat slept beside the entryway to the poster department. My coffee mission took precedence and I forced myself to leave empty-handed. I am convinced that Heaven must smell like the entrance to Porto Rico, with the various rich aromas of their fresh beans mingling together wonderfully.

Mike Holober ran the BMI meeting this time around, and once again gave very specific guidance and places to revisit. It was great to see everyone after my absence, and to hear what they’re working on, from revisions to new pieces. We seem to be having trouble securing a venue for our year-end concert, as Merkin Hall is under construction and some of the rental fees for other halls are astronomical. Watch this space, and/or MySpace, for more information. Given the calibre of stuff I’ve heard in the readings, the concert promises to be a strong one.

In my perusal of All About Jazz-New York, trying to figure out what to do this week, my first NYC visit post-Tonic, one listing jumped out at me: Eli Degibri, Mark Turner, Ben Street and Jeff Ballard at Louis 649 in the Lower East Side. Walking distance from the hostel, one of my favourite drummers ever who I’d had yet to see live, and a killer chordless quartet. I made sure to go. I got there early to secure a seat, which proved to be a truly wise decision, as Louis is smaller than anything I expected and was crammed to standing-room-only capacity. I only stayed for the first set, which consisted of an abstracted “Bye Bye Blackbird,” a backbeat tune (possibly original) that I didn’t know the name of, and a scorching “Walkin’.” Eli Degibri was listed as the leader, whose work I only know from one Herbie Hancock DVD he’s on. He’s a typical post-Coltrane, post-Henderson, post-Brecker modern tenor, with the requisite grasp of false fingerings and multiphonics. He was just flying all over the horn all set, and though there were moments that were interesting and promising, usually during trades with Mark Turner, I found myself paying more attention to Ballard and Street’s hookup. I’ve never heard Jeff Ballard play standards and swing for that amount of time, and he’s a monster at it. The second tune allowed him to unleash his modified Latin-influenced “Poinciana” beat that he does so well, and at one point he hinted at the drum ‘n’ bass groove he’s so adept at (Mehldau’s cover of “Knives Out” or Ben Allison’s “Riding the Nuclear Tiger”) but never went the whole way. Ben Street was really solid, and made walking solos sound interesting. I was fascinated by Mark Turner’s playing; in stark contrast to Degibri, the editing and process he went through was visible and audible, and the precise, intervallically diverse lines he played had such strong conception and conviction.

I ended my stay in New York by speaking a lot of French. At Louis, I was sitting beside one woman who lived in Montreal for a few years, along with two of her college friends from France. Back at the hostel, two French girls had checked in, in addition to the Franco-Ontarienne. There was a lot of confusion over sleeping accommodations, to the point where we addressed another roommate (a guy presumably from the South or Southwest, by his accent) in French out of habit.

PS: Happy belated birthday to Darcy. I arrived in town two days after his concert (which I am about to go listen to) and unaware it was his birthday.

NY travel journals - December, part 2

Friday, I took the time to actually play tourist, although once again in a non-standard fashion: I convinced a hostelmate to trek with me up to the Bronx to explore the Bronx Museum of the Arts and the Tropicalia exhibit they have running. I’ve been on a Brazil kick of late, but have been interested in the history and culture since high school. The tropicalia period coincides with Brazil’s rule by military regime in the late 60s and early 70s, and a lot of the work displayed this undertone of political commentary: partially due to the forced censorship, artists had to go over the heads of the government officials, but it’s this subtlety that gives the art its dimension. There was very little way in the way of traditional painting – many pieces were more involved with structure, the juxtaposition of media, and interactivity. The most intriguing piece was called Eden, a walkthrough installation with different compartments and rooms with wildly varying sensory experiences, from the dull to the completely deprived, with two caged parrots greeting you at the entry. Truly amazing in its scope. There was also a work involving porcelain bowls with coloured liquids the intrepid visitor was invited to taste. (I didn’t taste – there were no eyedroppers to use as per gallery instructions, and that’s a level of interactivity I don’t exactly desire).

I later indulged in two sets at Tonic. First up were Susie Ibarra and Roberto Rodriguez – collectively Electric Kulintang. The set opened with a video of Susie and Roberto’s travels to the Philippines, and their exploration of Filipino culture and the role of music within it. I’m always fascinated and humbled by the value of music in so many traditional cultures. There was a scene of a family ritual, with members young and old playing various sizes of Filipino percussion and gongs, and the sense of unity and celebration that it brought to the family was astounding. There was also a small children’s choir in a Filipino church that were wonderfully talented and emotive.

At the conclusion of the film, Susie sat behind a glittering pink drum kit, and Roberto sat on his cajon and manned the laptop. Over the course of the set, Susie would move from kit to kulintang (the traditional set of Filipino gongs) and keyboards/vocals, and Roberto would run from the cajon back to the kit. The juxtaposition of drumming styles defined their roles in the group, more generally: Susie the colourist, with immaculate touch and delicacy, but not afraid to cut loose when needed; Roberto the groover with a similar ear for nuance. The music was drawn from their new record, Dialects, and merged the traditional music they discovered with electronic flourishes. I’d never heard Roberto play kit before, but his Bonham-esque breaks made total sense to me knowing his postizo drum style; nor had I heard Susie sing before, and she has a very fragile, delicate voice (as she does when speaking).

The second set was Droid, a band I’ve heard of through ye olde MySpace. The only player whose rep I knew beforehand was keyboardist Adam Holzman, and it was a treat to see and hear him. It was kind of surprising that the keyboardist in a live-tronica band would be the one with the least amount of gear. Jordan McLean had a regular trumpet, pocket trumpet, and some weird trumpet-with-French-horn-valve-system hybrid, as well as an arsenal of pedals; Kyoshi Matsuyama had a cabinet taller than he; and ringleader/drummer Amir Ziv had a startling array of cymbals and cowbells, including a large garbage can lid converted to a ride.

It took me a while to figure out what they were going for, and to hear what the concept of the band was. I felt at times that the soundscapes Holzman and McLean created were separated from each other and conflicting, while it seemed to take a while for Matsuyama and Ziv to lock in. There were moments of development, and then when Holzman decided to unleash, Jan Hammer style, on his Moog Voyager, everything else seemed to gel for the rest of the set. I understand the desire to not groove outright for an hour, and to take listeners on a journey via subversion, but I think they could have been more effective. The other problem was sound, not in the house but on stage – they had a very brief and limited soundcheck, which is never a good idea with that amount of gear and processing.

Last night was (as titled by Joshua Sneider) the Pulse Hanukkah Slam. After once again walking the wrong damn way out of the Lower East Side subway, I made my way to the hallowed Poetry Club. It was great to be able to actually hear the music of BMI alums, as I always miss their bands otherwise (a tradition that seems to continue into 2007). All the pieces were strong and utilized the unique instrumentation to its fullest. I was surprised that, armed with a digital multifx pedal, Pete McCann got as warm a tone as he had last night. I finally had a chance to hear the acclaimed John McNeil, whose vulnerable tone imbued everything with melancholy. In one piece (can’t remember whose, sorry – maybe Joe’s) he was demanded to play a triumphant, very trumpet-y part, and he executed it well – the triumph wasn’t just musical but also physical as well, it seemed. The lighting in BPC made it difficult to see the details of many of the photos, and the mix wasn’t especially kind to the strings or reed doubles.

And on a tangentially-NYC-related note, RIP Ahmet Ertegun. Andy's got a short and sweet eulogy.

NY travel journals - December

Monday's train got in at a relatively decent hour, surprisingly. I went up to Smoke, as per routine, and the guest was once again Dr. Eddie Henderson. It was quite the humbling opening set - his flugel feature on "Portrait of Jenny" was sublime. Jeremy Pelt was there again, and blew well on Mike LeDonne's set-closing shuffle blues.

Tuesday was a scramble, trying to complete my piece before the BMI meeting, and then getting gouged by Kinko's printing rates. The meeting was co-led by Jim and Mike, although Jim really had the reins for most of it. I made a novice transposition error in my cut-and-paste haste, and the problems in the excerpt I brought were rather obvious, but it helped to focus the rest of the chart. I'm looking forward to the reading next week.

I finally set foot in the hallowed 55 Bar, and checked out the David Binney group who had just returned from Montreal. Mark Turner had fallen ill on Monday in Montreal, so skipped the New York gig. It was revelatory to hear Binney in an exposed quartet setting - my familiarity lies with his larger bands (South, Balance, and Welcome to Life) as well as his work with Michael Herring's sextet. I think I prefer the larger bands, because the blend of piano with guitar, and tenor with alto, gives a lushness to Binney's work, and softens some of the rough edges in his sound. The edges and angles were on full display last night, with Craig Taborn coaxing some roaring, beating textures out of the low end of the Rhodes, and Dan Weiss' scruffy percussion (including brushes on a copy of the Village Voice - quite possibly all that it's good for anymore - and drumming with what looked to be butter knives). Thomas Morgan's amp was running afoul with all sorts of buzz and hum, but he was sonically present - hammering out the odd-meter ostinati and unleashing quadruple-stop strums on a pedal-based tune, and weaving this beautiful solo on the closing ballad of the set (sounded like "Our Time Together," but I wasn't positive).

Today was spent making progress on the piece, and procuring a new NYC cell phone. It's been dark and gray all day, and I haven't been able to properly sleep - I found myself in a strange mood during dinner. The piece started life as a reflection on the ability to be in a large city, surrounded by stimuli and other people, and yet feel completely solitary, which seemed to be a very apt reflection of the day. I am meeting up with old friend Gordon Webster later tonight, so I'm not turning into a hermetic composer bug... yet.

Back on the tracks

I'm in the midst of the final preparations for this trip down to New York, wondering how the train will feel after a month of reprieve. I'm also looking forward to staying for an extended interval, getting to see people I haven't yet seen; having some actual time to explore and breathe instead of trying to pack it all into 30-odd hours.

My deadline-oriented nature became very clear recently. Because the November BMI meeting conflicted with my Toronto visit and Alex's final recital, I went a good month or so without a meeting, and therefore without an impetus to write. I've never been the disciplined composer - I need to be staring down a deadline (be it artificial or real) to really get the ball rolling. The past two weeks, I've been developing fragments towards various stages of completion, including one that's halfway done (and I hope to finish on the train). I admire those who can sit down every day and just write something. I don't have a codified compositional approach yet - each piece, for me, has its own methodology and its own life and timespan. Sometimes it'll come out by hand in one fell swoop, sometimes it'll take weeks or months moving things around in Sibelius. Sometimes I just have to abandon the whole damn thing because it doesn't work, or because I can't access that headspace anymore. I have unfinished ideas, written at a very tumultuous and angry time, and I can't find any solutions for them because I'm, thankfully, no longer angry in that manner.

My plans as they stand now (aside from tentative, unscheduled get-togethers with friends) (i.e. gigs you should go to):
Monday - Smoke jam whenever I get in
Tuesday 12 - BMI meeting; David Binney @ 55Bar
Sunday 17 - conflict: Pulse @ Bowery Poetry Club/Peter van Huffel @ 55Bar
Tuesday 19 - BMI reading

Recommendations - gigs, bars, cafés, print shops that won't mind flustered composers rushing out parts - are always welcome.