A CONCERT FOR ALICE & JOHN
Pharoah Sanders Quartet & Denys Baptiste & Alina Bzhezhinsk
Barbican; Saturday 18th November 2017
Pharoah Sanders Quartet & Denys Baptiste & Alina Bzhezhinsk
Barbican; Saturday 18th November 2017
The cosmic jazz movement was noted for its prolixity, and there’s over three hours of music ahead of us. Banks of lights sketch out a looming angel presence on the backcloth as Alina B sits at the harp and strikes an introductory chord. She reproduces Alice Coltrane’s trembling flurries of high notes and swooping glissandos with uncanny accuracy, and her intensely physical relationship with her harp is mesmerising to watch - after a chiming solo sets the scene, she cues in Larry Bartley and Joel Prime who come in like thunder as Tony Kofi strides forward into the spotlight from the blue-lit wings and the band burst into ‘Blue Nile’ - it’s the first spectacular emotional sucker punch of the evening. The band sound great - Bartley’s big-toned, magisterial bass solo draws whoops of applause, as does the climactic duet between harp and Kofi’s clear-voiced soprano on ‘Journey in Satchinanda - and Alina’s eccentrically effervescent personality shines through, bringing a real sense of joy.
Next up is Deny’s Baptiste’s outfit - altogether a more considered production, with Baptiste asking the audience to imagine themselves sitting on top of Everest - ‘Don’t worry about the oxygen’ before launching into an ‘Expression’-era free group improv, complete with electronic tambura. Next the band sets up a heavy groove reminiscent 70s Miles, over which Baptiste initiates a dialogue of increasing frenzy with a kimono-clad Nikki Yeoh that has the latter up off of her seat before drummer Rod Youngs lashes the kit up to the finish line. There’s a duet with Yeoh on ‘Peace On Earth’ which allows Baptiste to give free rein to his powerful chops - then a reworking of ‘After The Rain’ with a simple extended major-key vamp over which Yeoh shows her impressive imagination before the piece subsides into an incongruous reggae-lite. Surprise guest Steve Williamson, louchely elegant in rumpled suit and afro, joins the leader in an extended 2-tenor freakout over Young’s boiling groove - his powerful, cutting tone a reminder of just what a singular force he is; then everyone leaves the stage but Baptiste and Bartley - the latter sets up a bolero bassline and Baptiste shows off his awesome technique on the effect-augmented horn.
Expectations are running high by the as Pharoah himself is announced; the band walk onstage and the audience rises to it’s feet as a frail, hunched figure moves with infinite slowness from the darkness of the wings; cautiously he climbs the stairs, and slowly moves to centre stage, but once he lifts his horn to the mic the sound that emerges is undiminished - a clear powerful clarion. The band swell into a rippling crescendo as he blows a simple sequence of three falling tones, like a child’s rhyme, fading away into a single held note so high and faint that it seems to suck all the sound in the room into itself, creating an concentrated vacuum of absolute silence, and the packed hall holds its breath in a moment of total stillness. Then suddenly, improbably, he blasts out the head to Trane’s ‘Lazy Bird’ and pianist William Henderson leads the band into a crashing tide of high-speed virtuosic free-bop. Sanders sits impassively on a strategically placed chair, head bowed, as Oli Hayhurst on bass and Gene Calderazzo on drums follow to give good account of themselves - then he’s back up again, entering with squall of notes, effortlessly riding the rhythm. Next, another surprise - a solo rendition quickly takes shape as ‘A Nightingale Sang In Berkely Square’, as Henderson enters, sketching out the background with deft strokes. Sanders sounds fantastic - agile, clear, impassioned - age hasn’t diminished his talent,even if it has led him to be more economical in it’s deployment. The speed and facility over changes he acquired in later years is still there, and while the tone no longer screams as it did with Trane there’s a diamond hardness still at it’s centre, and a confidence in the phrasing that betokens an absolute unwavering belief in the message of his music. After Heyhurst’s monumental solo he returns with a spectral, unaccompanied cadenza, each note falling through the silence like a snowflake.
Next a scarlet-jacketed gent appears onstage and takes up an oud, to lead the band into a hypnotic ostinato which turns into an extended flamenco-tinged jam, Sanders entering and leaving at intervals, his contributions never less than riveting, before the band return to a swelling minor key rubato against which the leader plays starkly beautiful, towering phrases, like mountain peaks against a darkening sky. Then the mood changes again. Hayhurst and Calderazzo set up the familiar line for ‘Creator Has A master Plan’ , and Sanders, turning and facing the crowd for the first time, is suddenly all approachable geniality, introducing the band with palpable warmth, beaming from between his snow-white beard and impressive moustaches, getting the audience to sing along; as the beat shifts to a sprightly calypso he essays some shuffling dance steps and executes a cautiously arthritic twerk, to rapturous applause. “My name is Farrell Sanders, and I play the Tenor Saxophone” he says, then breaks into a hoarse-voiced, raucous wordless folk melody. Somehow it’s the most uplifting moment of the evening - a simple affirmation of life, the music and everything by one of jazz’s true visionaries. The only less-than-cosmic aspect of the evening is the unsympathetic Barbican sound - all harsh, overamplified bass, with the piano often almost completely swallowed up in the blurry sonic fog. Such masters deserve more.
Reviewed by Eddie Myer
Next a scarlet-jacketed gent appears onstage and takes up an oud, to lead the band into a hypnotic ostinato which turns into an extended flamenco-tinged jam, Sanders entering and leaving at intervals, his contributions never less than riveting, before the band return to a swelling minor key rubato against which the leader plays starkly beautiful, towering phrases, like mountain peaks against a darkening sky. Then the mood changes again. Hayhurst and Calderazzo set up the familiar line for ‘Creator Has A master Plan’ , and Sanders, turning and facing the crowd for the first time, is suddenly all approachable geniality, introducing the band with palpable warmth, beaming from between his snow-white beard and impressive moustaches, getting the audience to sing along; as the beat shifts to a sprightly calypso he essays some shuffling dance steps and executes a cautiously arthritic twerk, to rapturous applause. “My name is Farrell Sanders, and I play the Tenor Saxophone” he says, then breaks into a hoarse-voiced, raucous wordless folk melody. Somehow it’s the most uplifting moment of the evening - a simple affirmation of life, the music and everything by one of jazz’s true visionaries. The only less-than-cosmic aspect of the evening is the unsympathetic Barbican sound - all harsh, overamplified bass, with the piano often almost completely swallowed up in the blurry sonic fog. Such masters deserve more.
Reviewed by Eddie Myer
