Jazz is smooth and cool. Jazz is rage. Jazz flows like water. Jazz never seems to begin or end. Jazz isn’t methodical, but jazz isn’t messy either. Jazz is a conversation, a give and take. Jazz is the connection and communication between musicians. Jazz is abandon.
And, I would add, when you listen, when you really listen with all your heart and all your soul, when you enter into that luminous moment where art is being creating, where like children or Gods we are able to play, you become a silent member of the band, the guy that listens and hears, the guy that digs what the fuck is happening here. And in a good jazz club that can happen, the intimacy of the setting allows for multiple silent members to drop into the groove and ride that gigantic wave of energy generated by talented musicians. And yes, we have been to a jazz club.
Last night we went along to the Argharta Jazz Club here in Prague. It is situated in a 14th Century cellar under a very old building in the old part of Prague. It is intimate, room for 60 seated guests and probably another 20 or so standing. The group playing are called “Captain Fingers” named after Lee Ritenour, whose nickname was the same. They played straight ahead fusion jazz and funk from the 70s and 80s (and beyond), styling themselves along the lines of such greats as Pat Metheny, Lyle Mays, Lee Ritenour, and many more. These are musicians I have listened to for 50 years, and when I closed my eyes last night it could have been them playing, the group were all highly accomplished musicians. But this was no reproduction of another musician’s sound, these guys were so into their music, really bouncing off one another and soloing like their lives depended on it, and it sort of felt like their lives did depend on it. There is a saying in jazz (and other fields of endeavour) that a player who is prepared to push past his own known boundaries and comfort zone, into the unknown, is “chancing his arm,” these guys all chanced their arm last night, and we all went along for the ride. Like a surfer emerging from an impossibly huge wave we would reach the end of each solo and burst into applause, partly in admiration, and partly in relief that we had got out alive!
Really listening to music like this is the closest thing I know to meditation [if meditation is defined as being conscious in the present], the musicians are creating art on the fly, in the moment, there is no time and no chance to wander off, to daydream or be distracted, you are right at the leading edge of the rocket. The rhythm section laid down the framework, the structure that holds it all up and together, the drummer in particular [who was far and away the oldest member] was really skilled at holding the timing and driving the momentum for the group, his solos were poly-rhythmic and subtle not at all showy, he was into building the basis not pyrotechnics. The bass player [who looked like he had walked in from stocking the fish stalls at Victoria Market] complimented the drummer perfectly, lending gravitas and weight to the more dramatic passages of play. The guitarist was highly accomplished and had written some of their material, he also seemed to be the good-natured butt of many of the drummer’s jokes when introducing tunes. But the one who seemed transformed and transfixed by the playing was the pianist, he clearly felt great joy in both performing and in interacting with his comrades playing. When they started playing the club was half empty [it was fuller by the end], the drummer, who was their spokesperson, said “Don’t worry, we are going to play the same as if to a packed house.” And they did.