Jazz these days

I do love big-band music from the swing era: Fletcher Henderson, Count Basie, Duke, etc. Post-bebop big bands never did much for me, with the partial exception of some of the more out-there collectives– Sun Ra's Arkestra, or Muhal Richard Abrams. But Maria Schneider's orchestra has gotten a lot of critical attention, and Laura and I went to check them out when they played at Stanford's Bing Concert Hall this weekend.

Schneider's music is pretty high-concept, with lots of complex rhythms and harmonies, and at times it was interesting and exciting to hear, but more often cluttered and over-composed. Certainly she has assembled a fine group of musicians, including Donny McCaslin on tenor sax and Ben Monder on guitar, but they were seldom given an opportunity to really stretch out. A revelation for me was drummer Johnathan Blake, who plays with subtlety and color. Unfortunately, subtlety didn't help overcome the clamorous acoustics of Bing Hall. When alto sax player Dave Pietro finally got the chance to tear into an extended, high-energy solo, he was completely drowned out, especially by eight brass players at high volume. Will Stanford ever get the acoustics right in this place? 

When all is said and done, small-group jazz in an intimate setting is way more my cup of tea. And what could be more intimate than someone's living room? Emmet Cohen is an awesome pianist with a great trio and some very talented friends, who drop by for jam sessions that he kindly shares on YouTube. Check out Marcus Strickland's swinging, modal solo to kick things off, and Christian McBride's extended, virtuosic solo later on. The trio's regular bassist, Russell Hall, is no slouch, but his expressions while listening to McBride are priceless. Drummer Kyle Poole barely seems to be moving his wrists while he propels the music forward. Plenty more where this came from on Emmet's channel.

SFJazz Founder / Director Randall Kline stepping down

It's his baby. Has anyone done more to enhance the cultural life of San Francisco over the past 40 years?

I've had my occasional quibble with some of the programming choices – one could imagine them being a little more adventurous – but one cannot argue with his taste overall: the residencies by many of the unquestioned greats, the openness to global sounds, to women, and to sympathetic jazz fellow travelers like Rosanne Cash. The SF Jazz Collective! And a great, big-hearted space for the music... damned if it's not the place I most often find myself wanting to go to in "the City." Three big cheers to you, Randall.

Ron Miles, RIP

NY Times obit. His duet with the also underappreciated drummer Ted Poor starts around 1:20.

A Hero

The title of Asghar Farhadi's latest film is descriptive, not ironic (at least not exactly), but it is a Farhadi movie after all, so nothing is simple, especially when it comes to judgments of behavior and morality. Our hero, played by Amir Jadidi, is on a short release from debtor's prison, from which he is hoping to gain a more permanent release with the approval of his Shylock-like creditor and brother-in-law, played by Mohsen Tanabandeh. You'll have to see how that goes. 

This is not Farhadi's very best (that would be A Separation, in my view), but it is better than 95% of movies you will see. Jadidi is excellent as a man wronged who wants to do right, but who is also a little shifty and passive-aggressive, and a hot-head (though not without reason!). Although going to jail for an unpaid private debt seems like an atavism, it still happens in Iran and other countries and, as my friend MK reminded me, was common in the "civilized" English legal tradition until not so long ago. As is the case with other Farhadi movies, his main goal is not to condemn such structural injustices but to understand how real people might behave in that context.  

Perhaps the best thing about A Hero is the way it grapples with the role of modern media in making or breaking personal reputations. It seems like a game until prison time and your relationship with your lover and your struggling, beautiful son are at stake.

Do watch it.

Windy Hill OSP

Took one of my very favorite local hikes today with MK, up Razorback Ridge, across the Lost Trail, and back down Hamms Gulch. Even as it is drying out most places, under the trees and along the seeps of Windy Hill there is still plenty of moisture, and the ferns and early spring flowers are looking lush. In addition to the bee plants (some of which are being devoured by hungry caterpillars), the trilliums (T. chloropetalum) are at their peak and the Heucheras (micrantha?) are leafing out, in this case nestled in a bed of bedstraw (Galium aparine). The last photo may be notchleaf clover (Trifolium bifidum)?

Some very hungry caterpillars...

... making quick work of the bee plants (Scrophularia californica) along the Lost Trail in Windy Hill OSP. One day they will grow up to be one of our most lovely and abundant local butterflies, the variable checkerspot (Euphydryas chalcedona). Wikipedia informs us that their most common food is the monkeyflower, but that bee plants are tastier and more nutritious!

"Another less common host plant for variable checkerspot larvae is Scrophularia californica, which lacks the resin defense system found in D. aurantiacus and is thus easier for larvae to digest. Larvae that feed on S. californica grow faster and larger than those that feed on D. aurantiacus." Source.

Everyone Should Pay a "Solar Tax"

Read it and judge for yourself. 

June-like...

... Weather-wise, anyway. Not what we need right now. But who can really complain?

June 

Alex Dimitrov

There will never be more of summer 

than there is now. Walking alone 

through Union Square I am carrying flowers 

and the first rosé to a party where I’m expected. 

It’s Sunday and the trains run on time 

but today death feels so far, it’s impossible 

to go underground. I would like to say 

something to everyone I see (an entire 

city) but I’m unsure what it is yet. 

Each time I leave my apartment 

there’s at least one person crying, 

reading, or shouting after a stranger 

anywhere along my commute. 

It’s possible to be happy alone, 

I say out loud and to no one 

so it’s obvious, and now here 

in the middle of this poem. 

Rarely have I felt more charmed 

than on Ninth Street, watching a woman 

stop in the middle of the sidewalk 

to pull up her hair like it’s 

an emergency—and it is. 

People do know they’re alive. 

They hardly know what to do with themselves. 

I almost want to invite her with me 

but I’ve passed and yes it’d be crazy 

like trying to be a poet, trying to be anyone here. 

How do you continue to love New York, 

my friend who left for California asks me. 

It’s awful in the summer and winter, 

and spring and fall last maybe two weeks. 

This is true. It’s all true, of course, 

like my preference for difficult men 

which I had until recently 

because at last, for one summer 

the only difficulty I’m willing to imagine 

is walking through this first humid day 

with my hands full, not at all peaceful 

but entirely possible and real.

Buy the book: Love and Other Poems