Tag Archives: Ben Ratliff

Lots of New Jazz: Some Eclectic, Some Restrained, Some Unrestricted

by Ben Ratliff
New York Times
March 23, 2008

“Dance Like There’s No Tomorrow,” the new record by the saxophonist John Ellis and his band Double-Wide, is a New York-New Orleans collection of jazz: something intrinsically promising and, in this case, worth a listen. Rhythmically it has that New Orleans duality of being full of funk and lighter than air. Jason Marsalis, a New Orleanian, plays tidy backbeats, with brilliantly arranged little solos; replacing the thump of the bass is the cool puffing of the sousaphone, from Matt Perrine, who’s become known around New Orleans in the band Bonerama. Gary Versace of New York plays Hammond organ and a little accordion. For his part Mr. Ellis is a hybrid. He grew up in North Carolina, now lives in New York, but he spent four years working in New Orleans. He wrote all the warm, sweet, humorous songs here and plays with an easy flow but careful control over his tone; the arrangements are tamped down around the edges, a severely edited kind of party music.

Nine-Piece Band Animates a Six-Part Jazz Album

by Ben Ratliff
New York TImes
February 4, 2008

Marcus Roberts Trio at Allen Hall in New York City

Rahav Segev for The New York Times
Marcus Roberts on piano, performing from his 1990 album “Deep in the Shed” in the Allen Room at Jazz at Lincoln Center.

The album Marcus Roberts recreated from start to finish at the Allen Room over the weekend is 18 years old, but its mannerisms don’t come from any particular era. The key to “Deep in the Shed,” that record of six concisely written pieces in blues form, is its natural shuffling of elements from jazz’s entire life.

It’s also one of the greatest cultural artifacts that owes its existence to Jazz at Lincoln Center. “Deep in the Shed” is a product of that organization’s artistic forces: Mr. Roberts started working with Wynton Marsalis’s groups in 1985 and shortly thereafter became one of the first important pianists in the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra.

The album wasn’t pedantic, explicitly connecting style X with style Y or pulling you through a chronological history of jazz. And it never became redundant either. It shifted keys and tempos, masked its blues form in the theme sections and could sound ancient — older than the Delta blues for instance — or modern.

One thinks of it in the past tense. At the Allen Room the album was performed on Friday and Saturday, twice each night, in separate seatings. That allowed about 2,000 people to hear its music in total. But for now its rediscovery will be limited. The album is out of print, which is strange; it’s not a record that should be shrugged off.

The playing in Friday’s early set, by a nine-piece band with only one of the album’s original musicians — Wessell Anderson, the saxophonist — was a little restrained, but the beauty of the compositions came through clearly. There were Ellington-esque saxophone voicings, rhythm-section passages that suggested the John Coltrane Quartet, and semi-Arabic scales. Each piece was carefully arranged and packed with incident and contrast.

One of the album’s pieces most easily remembered across 18 years is “E. Dankworth,” if only because the recorded version included Mr. Marsalis playing a charged, perfectly one-upping trumpet solo under the pseudonym of its title. (Mr. Roberts kept up the ruse, identifying E. Dankworth in his introduction as “a trumpet player from London who sounds a lot like Wynton.” Mr. Marsalis was in Los Angeles, performing with the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra.)

Sure enough, the “E. Dankworth” performance had a lot more than the trumpet solo. It’s a fast piece, but Mr. Roberts played sparely and without post-1960s harmonic clichés. The two tenor saxophonists, Derek Douget and Stephen Riley, alternated 12-bar stretches with wildly different tones — one honking, one mentholated. Jason Marsalis played a drum solo of immaculate logic, pumping the bass drum on every beat, then layering rhythms on top. Roland Guerin performed an unaccompanied bass solo, plucking and slapping.

Finally came Etienne Charles’s trumpet solo, which didn’t have the bravura or momentum of the original but had strength and a clear, almost classical sense of thematic organization. Mr. Charles, in his early 20s, was a student of Mr. Roberts’s at Florida State University; the other young trumpeter onstage, Alphonso Horne, bore a deep Wynton Marsalis influence.

This record, and this way of playing jazz, still has repercussions, and the show was a good example of how Jazz at Lincoln Center — in the near-total absence of a jazz vernacular or a jazz-record business — has set itself up to cultivate, manage and amplify them.

A quick word on “Jazz Nerds International”

by David R. Adler
Letlerland
June 15, 2010

Now that he’s issued a truly interesting follow-up, I’ll take the bait and weigh in on Jason Marsalis’s recent rant against “Jazz Nerds International” — i.e., young musicians so obsessed with being cutting-edge and complex that they ignore the history of the music and, perhaps more important, the need to connect with an audience beyond their fellow JNI peers.

Like many others, I objected to the sweeping generalizations and straw men in Jason’s first argument, on video. Complexity per se is not the issue, nor is playing in odd meters — lots of people do it well and without sacrificing an ounce of soul or emotion or historical awareness.

But in his new statement, Jason hits on something important when he attacks “innovation propaganda” in jazz. Ben Ratliff, in his recent book Coltrane: The Story of a Sound, calls it “future-mongering.” I would describe it as an arm-folding mentality — particularly prevalent among some of my fellow jazz critics — that demands every new CD be some sort of shocking bolt from the blue, something that sounds utterly unlike the jazz we’ve come to expect. Or else, yawn.

Now, I love bold new sounds in music as much as the next person. But ultimately I think this is a bullshit, ahistorical criterion to impose on everyone who picks up a horn, not to mention an ungenerous way to approach listening. It’s the artist’s intentions that matter — and if the intention is clearly not to turn the jazz world on its ear, then it’s ignorant to write the music off for failing to do so.

What irks me the most about “innovation propaganda” is that it misrepresents the enormous struggle involved in learning to play jazz well. Years ago I knocked Stuart Nicholson for arguing that the embrace of neo-bop in the ’80s reflected that decade’s thirst for instant gratification. Learning bebop is instantly gratifying? Clearly, here is someone who never sweated it out on the bandstand or in the practice room, trying to crack the infinite riddles of a music all too often derided nowadays as “conservative.”

Oddly, though, I detect some of the same flippant disdain for hard-working young players in Jason Marsalis’s salvos. “I’m bored with the majority of the new music being played today,” Jason writes, and it’s a sentence that could have come straight from the arm-folding critics, the innovation propagandists he so detests. In any case, I couldn’t disagree more. I am anything but bored.