the sunday jazz

we hadn't been to the black dog to hear the sunday jazz in forever, so we decided to take advantage of the monday holiday and go check it out. it seemed like everybody else in town had the same idea (at least the ones that weren't at the tejano festival in sundance square) -- there were a ton of peeps in the house when we arrived about an hour after start time, and more trickled in later, but the atmosphere wasn't as oppressive as it sometimes gets on confusatron nights ("elbow room!" cried daniel boone). and they were a listening crowd, by and large, although there was the usual complement of see-and-be-scenesters lining the bar; thankfully, only a handful persisted with loud convos, which at no time threatened to drown out the music.

having recently seen joey carter on a restaurant jazz gig that featured, um, electronic drums with that boomy-echoed '80s mutt lange sound, looking as forlorn as a majestic lion taken from the savannah and held captive in a stinking, fly-infested zoo cage somewhere (although he swears he just looks that way when he's playing pianner), it was an extreme delight to see him back in his natural habitat, as it were, mallets flying over ringing vibes, amazing everyone with his melodic-percussive facility, then pushing the changes and backing every other soloist to the hilt.

behind the trapset, a recently-rehabbed dave karnes looked happy and fit and sounded every bit like the master drummer he is. karnage has more ways of subdividing time than a dozen of yr garden-variety tub-thumpers, and he was putting 'em all on display last night, thundering like tony williams on an astonishing "footprints" that featured a couple of blazing teenagers (17 and 18 yrs old, you'd scarcely believe it) on trumpet and tenor, providing the relentless forward motion for a land-speed-record "mr. p.c.", funking up a ballad behind regular black dog guest vocalist ron, always tempering his vibrant, overpowering energy and excitement with sheer musicality, intelligence, and taste. there was a certain karmic justice in seeing a healthy dave karnes playing his ass off in front of an attentive and appreciative room full of ppl. life should always be so good.

on bass, the ubiquitous drew phelps swung hard and soloed effectively, both arco and pizzicato. on gtr, joey's bertha coolidge bandmate paul metzger left his f/x at home and made the gig on pure tone, touch, attack, and ideas. he's got more blues in his sound than most bebop cats, and isn't afraid to play it straight, which he did to great advantage behind oaklin bloodworth's vocal features. all in all, a great night.

all of the above whets my appetite to hear the reprise of paul unger's miles davis tribute (featuring the above-named musos, among others) at the jazz by the boulevard fest on september 17th, and johnny case's new, politically-themed record, with joey carter on drums and percussion, release of which is also imminent.

so anyway, it looks like tad gaither's moving his bar to a new location on currie, diagonally across the street from fred's, on november 1. this makes me glad, as it'll be less of a hassle to make it there from my house than it currently is. (is my westside chauvinism showing?) now that carter, karnes, and the rest have banished anything mundane from the sunday night jazz, i might have to make it a regular weekly stop again. and with closer proximity to the wreck room, it'll also be easier for me to catch dave and daver on wednesday nights after lee and carl's jam winds up. as i said, life's good.