The Sultan of Soul and His Magic Organ Ride

This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

The New York Sun

For years I’ve considered the term “performance artist” a buzzword for a performer who gets up on a stage and does something vaguely like music, vaguely like theater, but doesn’t really do much of anything (Laurie Anderson, anybody?). Contrastingly, there’s Dr. Lonnie Smith, appearing through Sunday at Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola in a quartet with the outstanding saxophonist David “Fathead” Newman. Dr. Smith is not only one of the all-time masters of the Hammond B-3 organ, but is an extravagant visual performer as well.

Mr. Smith, a native of Buffalo, N.Y.,has gone on record as saying that he calls himself “Doctor” for no particular reason, but it is obviously stagecraft (and to distinguish himself from the slightly older pianist, Lonnie Liston Smith); I would trust his medical degree a lot more than that of Dr. John. With his turban and long white beard, Mr. Smith comes out looking like a genie from “Arabian Nights,” with everything but the curly, pointy shoes. He plays his instrument like an acrobat or a tumbler, manipulating his keyboards with a considerable amount of theatricality, and doing a sit-down dance with his feet, working the sustain pedal with his right and the bass line with his left. All the while, he is constantly grinning and grimacing, registering sheer delight at the sounds he coaxes from his instrument.

And what sounds: Mr. Smith’s new album is called “Jungle Soul” (his second for Palmetto) and a number of the tracks have afro-centric titles, such as “Jungle Wisdom, “Zimbabwe,” and “Witch Doctor.” He plays the organ as if he were taming a big jungle cat, making it purr at the appropriate moments, growl at others, and sometimes jump through flaming hoops; he is the Siegfried and Roy of jazz organ. Mr. Smith is generally described as one of the leading figures of “soul jazz,” a genre he helped pioneer in the late ’60s that descends from the Gospel-informed hard bop, the first cousin of fusion, and the father of smooth jazz (although it demands a blood test). Like the younger, smoother jazzers, Mr. Smith specializes in instrumental versions of pop and soul songs, such as Marvin Gaye’s “Trouble Man,” on the new album, but unlike most of his smooth progeny, he plays lengthy improvisations in the old-school jazz tradition, with a considerable amount of intellect and emotion.

Most of what Mr. Smith plays is a variation on the blues. For the opening set of the week, on Tuesday, the quartet began with a fast and funky one, Mr. Newman’s “Cousin Eesau” (from his 2001 “Keep the Spirits Soaring”), with the composer on flute. Mr. Smith played a long quote from “Eleanor Rigby,” referencing his classic 1969 album “Turning Point.” The title of the second tune, “When We Kissed Goodnight,” suggested a ballad, but instead was a bouncy romper, similar to the Gershwins’ “I Was Doing All Right”; in his solo, Mr. Smith repeated a two-note tremolo pattern for an entire chorus, and the crowd went wild waiting for him to resolve the tension. Next was an unnamed dance-style piece, equal parts bolero and boogaloo, which began with the good doctor playing a bass solo on his B-3.

Three jazz standards by other composers followed: Duke Pearson’s “Christo Redemptor,” a Brazilian-influenced spiritual work inspired by the gigantic statue of the Messiah overlooking Rio, featured Mr. Newman on alto. Eddie Harris’s “Freedom Jazz Dance,” the only tune of the evening on the “Jungle Soul” CD, found Mr. Smith playing a funky backbeat all the way while the guitarist Peter Bernstein quoted Thelonious Monk’s “Epistrophy” (on the album, the quartet plays “Bemsha Swing”). The only slow love song of the evening was Duke Ellington’s “Squeeze Me,” played with such erotic warmth by Mr. Smith and Mr. Newman (on tenor, mostly in the lower register) that they clearly had something more than squeezing in mind. Lastly, the foursome wrapped the set with a driving blues that featured the drummer Fukushi Tainaka.

Clearly, the doctor is in.

***

This is the time of year to visit with old friends, and, in some cases, to say goodbye. During the last 21 years, Danny’s Skylight Room on West 46th Street has been the heart of the cabaret world, not in a romantic sense but in the sense of a constantly pumping vital organ, presenting roughly 16 shows a week. During the course of some 15,000 performances, it has offered countless opportunities to rising stars, some lesser known but equally talented performers, and, as singer-comic Jim Caruso puts it, “also other people.” Sadly, the club has announced its closing at the end of the year, and is going out by gathering a slew of the notable artists who’ve worked there since 1985.

The singer-pianist Eric Comstock and singer Barbara Fasano may well be the only married couple who first met at Danny’s, where they first appeared on the same bill 10 years ago. On Tuesday, their performance, part of the club’s Final Farewell series, referenced many of the appearances they made individually and together. Ms. Fasano is a charismatic stylist who effectively channels the living spirits of the great über-divas Lena Horne and Barbra Streisand. Accordingly, her new CD, “Written in the Stars,” is a collection of songs by Harold Arlen, who was closely associated with both divas. Yet her best number was a song recorded by neither: Kurt Weill’s “It Never Was You,” which she made seem urgent and important while keeping the pace unhurried — as if she were so sure she would find what she was looking for that she wasn’t in a rush to get there.

Mr. Comstock’s standout song, “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square,” is one I associate with the early part of his career, though he sings it now as if he understands it better than he did as a younger man. Eric Maschwitz’s lyric describes how time seems to stand still for lovers, so much so that a tiny country bird can be heard chirping amid a bustling metropolis. As Mr. Comstock sings it, slowly and tenderly, one absolutely believes that the state of being in love is the equivalent of being raised to an exalted plane, where you make yourself at once vulnerable and invincible. The chance to experience performers like the Comstocks in such an intimate setting is the foremost thing I’ll miss about Danny’s. I know, as Mr. Comstock sang in “Nightingale,” ’cause I was there.

wfriedwald@nysun.com


The New York Sun

© 2024 The New York Sun Company, LLC. All rights reserved.

Use of this site constitutes acceptance of our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. The material on this site is protected by copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used.

The New York Sun

Sign in or  Create a free account

or
By continuing you agree to our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use