Strings of unsolicited sitar and jazzmatazz
By Manoj Nair, TNN |
Highlights
NEW DELHI: Those who stood outside New Delhi���s Siri Fort last Tuesday braving the possibility of not being able to get in for the much-awaited Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter concert were not kittens- rainbows- and spring flowers-kind of people. They were a courageous lot with an indelible sameness in their enthusiasm, dress sense and small talk. They were the ones who had to ���hear��� to be seen. Almost like Khan Market on a good day.
It's not everyday one gets to hear the two masters of jazz, one of whom (Herbie Hancock) was a creator of the ���post-bop��� sound and as part of the Miles Davis ���second great quintet��� had helped redefine the role of a jazz rhythm section, while the other (Wayne Shorter) is one of the greatest sax players ever who has played with Art Blakey Davis and Joe Zavinul. So, the the crowd was justified in being there. Alas, they were in for a shock.
Jazz, essentially an improvisational music, would not have seen such radical changes where halfway through the concert Anoushka Shankar barged in and almost turned the spotlight on to herself. Shorter got shorter and Hancock was handcuffed. Wayne struggled to find a grip or a gap so that he could jam with her. She had made it impossible. Something that Delhiites are familiar with. When renowned musicians Stanley Clarke and Earl Klugh had come calling they were made sideshows by L Subramaniam and family. Even Hancock and Co���s rendition of Cantaloupe Island failed to inspire.
And then there was the ineffable jazz ���vibe��� in the audience that struck as rote - more habitual than spontaneous. What bugged more than anything was the assumption among those present that the show would be pure magic and that the magic would be summoned impromptu. That magic failed to arrive. The master duo only played three songs, one of which was a Hancock solo. The rest was by the Thelonious Monk Institute���s trained musicians who played jazz from sheet notes. That brushed jazz against its grain of syncopation. And then there was the preposterous blues interjection by Liza Henry, which somebody described as five-and-half blues. Well, it was actually half-a-blues.
What binds a band together is a partnership of equals. But seen that day was an audacious companionship in which the Institute���s products dripped conservatism and complacency that turned their performances into a cacophony. Instead of wishing - soon after Hancock���s and Shorter's entry - for the night to last forever, one wished for its end. The band inexplicably lapsed into a creative torpor, Anoushka���s gratuitous gaiety notwithstanding. Both Hancock and Shorter expressed their wish to collaborate with Indian musicians. On Tuesday they made a bad beginning. Buddy Guy, please note.
It's not everyday one gets to hear the two masters of jazz, one of whom (Herbie Hancock) was a creator of the ���post-bop��� sound and as part of the Miles Davis ���second great quintet��� had helped redefine the role of a jazz rhythm section, while the other (Wayne Shorter) is one of the greatest sax players ever who has played with Art Blakey Davis and Joe Zavinul. So, the the crowd was justified in being there. Alas, they were in for a shock.
Jazz, essentially an improvisational music, would not have seen such radical changes where halfway through the concert Anoushka Shankar barged in and almost turned the spotlight on to herself. Shorter got shorter and Hancock was handcuffed. Wayne struggled to find a grip or a gap so that he could jam with her. She had made it impossible. Something that Delhiites are familiar with. When renowned musicians Stanley Clarke and Earl Klugh had come calling they were made sideshows by L Subramaniam and family. Even Hancock and Co���s rendition of Cantaloupe Island failed to inspire.
And then there was the ineffable jazz ���vibe��� in the audience that struck as rote - more habitual than spontaneous. What bugged more than anything was the assumption among those present that the show would be pure magic and that the magic would be summoned impromptu. That magic failed to arrive. The master duo only played three songs, one of which was a Hancock solo. The rest was by the Thelonious Monk Institute���s trained musicians who played jazz from sheet notes. That brushed jazz against its grain of syncopation. And then there was the preposterous blues interjection by Liza Henry, which somebody described as five-and-half blues. Well, it was actually half-a-blues.
What binds a band together is a partnership of equals. But seen that day was an audacious companionship in which the Institute���s products dripped conservatism and complacency that turned their performances into a cacophony. Instead of wishing - soon after Hancock���s and Shorter's entry - for the night to last forever, one wished for its end. The band inexplicably lapsed into a creative torpor, Anoushka���s gratuitous gaiety notwithstanding. Both Hancock and Shorter expressed their wish to collaborate with Indian musicians. On Tuesday they made a bad beginning. Buddy Guy, please note.
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