Marvel Comics should use saxophonist Fred Anderson as the model for a new superhero.
Anderson, one of the nicest guys you could ever meet, is an elderly gentleman who usually shuffles around his Chicago jazz club,
The Velvet Lounge, greeting customers with a smile and a kind word. He's a little slow and his back isn't quite as straight as it was when he was younger man. But when Anderson picks up his saxophone and hits the stage, he starts flying. He certainly did this weekend in a series of shows commemorating his 80th birthday.
I came in late Friday night because I attended the
Blue Note Records 70th anniversary concert at Orchestra Hall; it was fabulous. I got there in time to hear bassist Tatsu Aoki and the Miyumi Project. Their performance rivaled the one by the Blue Note 7. Amy Homma set the tone with slow, dramatic beats on her Japanese taiko drums. Pretty soon, though, her hands became a blur as she she created a whirling blast of staccato beats. Jimmy Ellis and Jeff Chan were blowing hard and sweet on their saxophones, Parker was providing unusual fills on his guitar, Aoki was dancing on his electric Fender bass, and percussionist Avreeayl Ra was adding exotic accents on his box cajon. The highlight, though, was when singer Yoko Noge joined the group for a song. Imagine Billie Holiday singing an especially bluesy Japanese folk song and you get the idea.
Anderson, donning a blue kufi cap rather than a cape, played an especially enigmatic third set. Backed by Aoki, who'd traded his electric bass for an upright, Parker and drummer Chad Taylor, Anderson played especially lyrical riffs punctuated by wild bursts.
I arrived late at the Velvet Lounge on Saturday, too — this time because I'd attended a Dave Alvin and the Guilty Women show at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Luckily, I got there in time to hear saxophonist Ari Brown and trumpeter Pharez Whitted's set. I've seen Brown play many times, and I always leave thinking he gets as pretty a tone out of his saxophone as anyone I've ever heard. I've seen Whitted several times, too, and I think he's one of the finest trumpeters on the jazz scene today. Their set was composed of a sort of free jazz call and response that would have worked as the Sunday sermon at the Saint John Coltrane Church in San Francisco. I think they turned a couple of my friends who are only marginal jazz fans into converts.
I didn't stay for all of Kidd Jordan and Hamiett Bluiett's set — one of my friends had to drive back to the western suburbs — but what I heard was a predictably unpredictable wall of sound. The fact that they were joined by Henry Grimes, one of my musical heroes, made their songs unforgettable. Bluiett, who alternated between a B-flat clarinet (I think) and his baritone saxophone, played both sweet and sour. Jordan squawked around and through Bluiett's meaty notes. A couple of days later, their lingering notes are still bouncing around my brain, and that's a good thing.
On Sunday night, Jordan opened the show by serenading Anderson with what might be the squeakiest and coolest version of "Happy Birthday" ever played. (He'd done the same thing the previous evening.) He then teamed with Anderson for an hour and a half of some of the fieriest jazz I've ever heard. Wearing matching Eddie Harris T-shirts, they honked and hollered at each other for 15 or 20 minutes at a time with barely a pause. When they did take a break, guitarist Jeff Parker, bassist Harrison Bankhead and drummer Chad Taylor created a delightful racket that seemed to inspire Anderson and Jordan to play even harder and louder.
Their set wasn't composed only of squeaks and squeals, though. Both Anderson and Jordan are capable of playing with beautiful nuance. And they did, especially on the second song, which started with a long, droning solo by Bankhead. When Anderson joined in, it sounded like what the Addams Family theme song should have been. It was dark, unpredictable and lovely.
I stayed for about a half hour of the second set so I could hear Anderson play with Grimes and his old friend trumpeter Billy Brimfield. That set might have topped everything I heard all weekend. Delightful rhythmic chaos.
I wish I'd still been around when saxophonist Ken Vadermark joined the party, but I had a long trip back to Indiana and I can't fly.
Happy birthday, Mr. Anderson.
I missed Amy LaVere's set at the Austin City Limits Music Festival in 2007 — I was watching Pete Yorn and the big fire at the other end of Zilker Park. But after listening to LaVere's new EP, "Died of Love," I'm really sorry I missed her show.
