Turning Out for Jazz at Lincoln Center
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Jazz at Lincoln Center launched its Grand Opening Festival for its new Rose Hall with as many superstars as they could find. Nearly all were singers – among them two of the best working today, Cassandra Wilson and Dianne Reeves – and there was even one superstar comedian.
It struck no one as ironic that the first performer to appear in the new venue was not a musician, or even a singer, for Bill Cosby has been part of the jazz world since the beginning of his career. In fact, one of the bestselling albums on the jazz chart last summer was a collection of instrumental tracks coproduced by Mr. Cosby and Quincy Jones in 1969, featuring Milt Jackson, Eddie Harris, Ray Brown, and others (“The Original Jam Sessions,” Concord CCD-2257-2). I have seen Mr. Cosby introduce concerts before, but this is the first time I’ve seen him do an entire show in a jazz venue.
Before he became a comic and actor, Mr. Cosby’s goal was to be a jazz drummer – until he tried to play behind the devilishly fast Sonny Stitt. I expected Mr. Cosby to tell that story, and we were promised there would be lots of interplay between him and Mr. Marsalis’s band. In both cases, I was disappointed. But I didn’t mind, and for the most part, Mr. Marsalis and his musicians just sat back and laughed with the rest of us. Mr. Cosby finally talked about music in the last few minutes, closing with a hysterical tale about visiting the late Ray Charles in a hotel room, and fumbling around in the darkness trying to keep up with him.
That was Thursday. Friday and Saturday were dominated by Ms. Wilson and Ms. Reeves. Their shows were opened by two men who both have the sound of Nat King Cole in their DNA – Allan Harris and Freddy Cole. Only in the latter case is it genetic.
Mr. Harris is one of my favorite young male jazz singers, a commanding entertainer and irrepressible crowd pleaser. Accompanied by pianist Eric Reed, Mr. Harris alternated between swingers inspired by Sinatra (starting with “East of the Sun,” in a perfect Dorsey tempo) and ballads in which he couldn’t help sounding like Nat Cole. He wound up with a moving prayer for peace in the Middle East, which made me wish he would do more gospel and spiritual material.
Many people walked in late on Saturday night, perhaps figuring Freddy Cole was merely an opening act. But Nat’s youngest brother is so insidiously charming, so lovable, and so musical that he had an entire hall full of cynical New Yorkers on their feet and cheering. That was before he launched into his climactic New York songs medley, ending in “Theme From ‘New York, New York'” with two key changes. In his mature balladeering, Mr. Cole reminds me as much of the great Johnny Hartman as he does of his older sibling.
Cassandra Wilson and Dianne Reeves are, in a sense, the Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald of the new century. Ms. Wilson is introverted and full of mystery. She lets you believe that for every piece of information she’s communicating there are two or three that she’s holding back. Ms. Reeves is up close and personal, giving you everything she’s got and then some.
Though she continually makes me smile, Ms. Wilson is essentially melancholy and blue; the uptempos that she does sing resound as relief from all the slow, sad songs. It’s hard to imagine Ms. Reeves, making anyone cry, but what she achieves is just as remarkable: She makes happiness and optimism profound emotional states. Talk about not holding anything back: Ms. Reeves even told us that Saturday was her birthday and that she was “48 and great!”
Inspired by the late Nina Simone, both Ms. Wilson and Ms. Reeves are committed eclectics, singing everything from Brazilian and African themes to Robert Johnson. I am always pleasantly surprised that both of them continue to make jazz standards an essential part of their music: Ms. Reeves opened Abbey Lincoln’s “Bird Alone” and “Skylark,” reinterpreted “Show Me” from “My Fair Lady” as an aggressively swinging jazz waltz, and made “That’s All” as an explosive scat extravaganza. Ms. Wilson opened by running Miles Davis’s “Voodoo Down” and showed us the erotic side of “Corcovado. My only regret was that Wynton Marsalis, who was in the house and obviously relishing the proceedings, turned down her invitation to join her with the excuse that he didn’t have his horn.
Meanwhile, from Thursday to Sunday, pianist Bill Charlap inaugurated the new nightclub space “Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola” and its Dizzy Gillespie Festival with his trio plus alto saxophonist Charles McPherson and New Orleans trumpeter Nicholas Payton. I’ll talk more about the space and the Gillespie Fest more in the next few weeks, but for now, the highlight was getting to hear Mr. Charlap playing frighteningly good bebop band piano on such Gillespie milestones as “Woody ‘n’ You” and “Night in Tunisia.”
Tonight, the Allen Room is featuring perhaps two of the best known extended works in all of jazz, Duke Ellington’s “Black, Brown & Beige” and the Benny Carter-Count Basie “Kansas City Suite.” All the shows I’ve seen so far were packed to capacity – I couldn’t even bring a date most nights – it’s grand to see so many fans turning out for jazz.