Nights at the Red Steinway

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Now, about that red piano: Charles Bourgeois, the longtime integral member of George Wein’s Festival Productions, which produces the ongoing JVC Jazz Festival, told The New York Sun that the company simply requested a standard 9-foot concert grand, but was surprised as anyone when the instrument that was delivered turned out to be encased in bright red enamel, with a bright red bench to match. Little did anyone suspect that this was actually a magical piano, with the power to transform itself into an entirely new instrument each time a different master touches it.

On Friday and Saturday, the piano was played by three separate colossi of the keyboard, each from a different generation and subgenre of jazz: the bebop-styled George Cables (born 1944), the uncompromising titan of free-jazz piano, Cecil Taylor, who is pushing 80, and the swing-to-bop keyboard legend Hank Jones, who turns 90 in a few weeks.

Mr. Cables was regarded as a young master of the modern jazz idiom — a neo-bopper, even — when he earned his reputation in the 1970s and ’80s in the bands of Freddie Hubbard, Dexter Gordon, and Art Pepper. Health issues have kept him out of action for the last few years, but though he is still awaiting a kidney transplant, Mr. Cables is working again with a vengeance, and has just released a two-CD set of solo piano, “You Don’t Know Me” (Kind of Blue).

One has to assume that the title song, which served as the centerpiece of his solo recital on Friday, was not only an homage to the late Eddy Arnold, but an indication that Mr. Cables, who is known primarily as a sideman to iconic horn players, means to establish himself as a bandleader and soloist in his own right. His concert was notable for its extremely personal interpretations of standards, including romantic yet modernistic renditions of “My Foolish Heart” and “You Don’t Know What Love Is,” set in a haunting minor, as well as spirituals such as “Going Home.” The latter started simply, with a lot of space between each note, and even as it grew more elaborate, Mr. Cables did not lose the thread of the tune’s inspirational message.

The pianist also sought to identify himself as a composer, with several originals inspired by people in his life, such as the unsentimental waltz “EVC” (for his mother), and “Helen’s Song.” It wasn’t necessary for him to explain to whom the latter was dedicated — after a chorus or two, I felt like I knew her myself.

Normally, when Cecil Taylor performs, I try not to sit too close; he attacks the keyboard with such ferocity that I’m afraid an F sharp key might come loose and hit me in the face. After a lifetime of listening to Mr. Taylor (whose first major concert was at the Newport Jazz Festival in 1957), I didn’t think he could possibly surprise me: Did he come out in shiny black pajamas and heavy woolen socks? Check. Recite surrealistic poetry in a thespian speaking voice? Check. Pound away relentlessly to create almost shockingly original music that doesn’t remotely resemble any conventional concept of melody or harmony? Check.

But wait just a minute here! This was a much more lyrical and listenable Cecil Taylor than I have ever heard in concert, resembling the more measured steps into the enveloping avant-garde of his albums from the 1950s and early ’60s. Playing from some kind of pre-written score, he utilized an approach that seemed inspired by Ornette Coleman’s definition of free jazz: A fragment of a tune is stated, then varied between bass and treble, and flows logically into a series of well-developed phrases. Mr. Taylor made brilliant use of dynamics and other kinds of contrast, adroitly juxtaposing soft with loud, busy with tranquil, jarring with soothing. Normally one hears volcanoes and earthquakes in his playing, but on Friday we also heard waterfalls, verdant valleys, and blue jays. It was by far the most accessible performance I have ever heard Mr. Taylor give — for once his playing seemed to obey the laws of physics and even music — yet accessibility seemed beside the point.

The concert pairing Messrs. Taylor and Cables, produced by Jill Newman, was a miracle of economy — two masters at their peaks playing the red Steinway without unnecessary amplification. (In fact, he played with characteristic magnificence on Wednesday in a short set at the Jazz Journalist’s Association Awards, both with and without Joe Lovano.) I wish Saturday’s show had followed the same format, with the great Hank Jones playing a simple solo or trio set. Instead, the producers opted to present Mr. Jones as the center of a jam session-style evening, in which nearly all the playing was brilliant but the man of the hour himself was barely heard from.

The show began with three trio numbers, in which the outstanding bass and drum team of George Mraz and Willie Jones III, respectively, were miked much louder than the piano and seemed to solo for much longer on every tune. Mr. Jones was absent for a long section in which Roberta Gambarini sang (a strange decision, considering that Mr. Jones and Ms. Gambarini have just released a duet album), accompanied by the pianist Gerald Clayton and tenor saxophone giant Frank Wess. There were features for the trombonist Steve Davis and his beautiful tone (“We’ll Be Together Again”), guitarist Russell Malone (“Ain’t Misbehavin'”), and trumpeter Roy Hargrove (“My Foolish Heart,” which was introduced as “These Foolish Things,” a “foolish” mistake — and the second time the Victor Young song was heard in the Music Hall of the New York Society for Ethical Culture in two days).

Sadly, Mr. Jones hardly soloed at all, acting instead like a sideman at his own concert. Perhaps his many years as an accompanist and studio player left him reluctant to seize the spotlight the way the exceptional Mr. Clayton (a dreadlocked, 24-year-old whippersnapper) did without a qualm on his solo feature, Cole Porter’s “I Love You.” Finally, in the last segment, a septet sequence with all the rhythm and horns, Mr. Jones at last left us with a memorable 32 bars on “I’ll Remember April.” The group also played Ellington’s “What Am I Here For” with an intriguing tenor-trombone lead, and concluded with a solid reading of “Midgets,” Mr. Wess’s famous fast blues for flute and muted trumpet.

Much marvelous music was heard, but overall this was a concert that did everything except what it was supposed to, namely leave us with a sense of the iconic greatness of Mr. Jones, one of jazz’s major living masters. A week after his 90th birthday on July 31, Mr. Jones will begin a four-night stint at Birdland, and with any luck, he will not be joined by any guest stars or other distractions. In the meantime, thank you, Steinway & Sons.

wfriedwald@nysun.com


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