Dress down, blow, then plant a bomb
Summer parties and true music making have one thing in common – they are both about blowing off steam. If these two happen to come together, the effect could be incendiary. Yet, speaking of steam, it is the type of steam engine that determiners its volume, power and quality. In this respect, last Friday’s Zorn Fest (feast!) in Warsaw was quite a different event from the simultaneously happening and much hyped Collective Farting in the Open, down at the seaside.
Those in the know expected a lot, but even they couldn’t have hoped for more – tons of genuine, pure, uplifting musical steam, vented so effortlessly, with a smile throughout, on the audience spanning three generations of adventurous listeners, by three generations of adventurous players. What a line-up! It’s silly to judge by appearances. but I couldn’t help thinking, ‘How plain-looking these guys are!’ Four hours later I replaced plain-looking with modest, in the deepest of its meaning, ‘How humble!’ Meanwhile, here’s colonel Zorn himself (alto saxophone), in combat slacks, at 55, could be just regaining his mental equilibrium after a fiasco Afghan operation. Here’s Anthony Braxton (alto saxophone), Zorn’s former, now long retired, maths teacher. Next comes Anthony’s neighbour Milford Graves (drums), a subway ticket inspector. Devilishly moustached Bill Laswell (bass quitar), isnt’t he that notorious crack dealer?, completes the Quartet.
All but Zorn leave for the Dreamers set. Bespectacled Marc Ribot (guitar), sits obediently in front of colonel Zorn like a disillusioned English teacher. Joey Baron (drums), a bold, grinning kid that never grows up is up for some mischief. Kenny Wollesen (vibraphone), a swot, has just left his room in Harvard. Trevor Dunn (bass guitar) a bit of a wimp, feels more secure keeping away from the colonel. And Jamie Saft (piano, organ), a grandson of a Chasid from Tykocin, sporting, like his grandad, an impressive beard. Or is he a ZZ Top devotee? Then comes Cyro Baptista (percussion), an intimidating Brazilian ice-cream man, doing his best to lure the crowd on the beach.
They all get reshuffled for Electric Masada, when Ikue Mori (laptop electronics), a quiet Japanese nurse joins the all-male pack in case some bloodshed.
(more on music soon)
loved the milford graves’s dance :)