Oak Cliff, 6.18.2023

This is going to take me a while to process, but I figured I'd get some thoughts down while the memory's still fresh. The last time I was this high from a show, I went back to work Monday, got fired from my job on Tuesday, and didn't even care. Catharsis is good for that.

The Dennis Gonzalez Legacy Band at The Kessler in Oak Cliff on Father's Day was a wish fulfillment show for me. Remarkable by any standard, it's even more so because Aaron and Stefan Gonzalez and their all-star lineup of musicians who'd known and collaborated with their dad were able to pull it together with such minimal rehearsal (a couple of sectionals and one with the full band the afternoon of the show). That they were able to do so speaks volumes about the caliber and commitment of everyone involved.

We arrived in time to catch the tail end of the sound check and already I was overwhelmed by hearing the multi-horn polyphony of Chris Curiel (trumpet), Jason Jackson (tenor and bari saxes), and Gaika James (trombone) -- recalling Dennis's great sides for Silkheart Records, where he had the opportunity to work with larger ensembles that included multiple horns. (Namesake has been living on my turntable all week, and will be there awhile yet.) The energy of the three-horn front line matched the power of the Gonzalez siblings' engine room. Already I could tell this evening was going to be something special.

The turnout was surprisingly good for a Sunday evening, and on a family-oriented holiday to boot. As always, the Kessler's Jeff Liles and crew did the best job of making things happen of anybody I've ever seen. (Jeff also shot the videos included in this post.) At the appointed time, per Stefan's request, I made a few remarks to open the proceedings. Took twice as much time as I'd intended, but at least I didn't stumble. My Academic Instructor School mentor wouldn't have disapproved.

The basic quintet opened with the fanfare from Namesake's "Hymn for Mbizo" (Dennis's dedication to the great South African bassist Johnny Dyani), then tore into "Document for Toshinori Kondo" -- my favorite Yells At Eels number; Stefan's four-on-the-floor kick (like a heavy metal Chick Webb) never ceases to make my pulse race. "Kwela for Carol," a highlight from Dennis's Catechism album (which teamed him with British musicians including Keith Tippett and Elton Dean, and marked the beginning of his lifelong friendship with the South African drummer Louis Moholo), was preceded by the audience singing "Happy Birthday" to Aaron and Stefan's mom Carol, whose birthday is today. The song's township lilt sounded great with the horns; a different audience would have been dancing (there was one dancer, much later).

"Namesake" was an early highlight, with Stefan cuing the band audibly while drumming up a storm and Chris visually cuing the horns. The band's collaborative spirit was a joy to watch, as was the horn players' interaction behind others' solos -- now moving out of the way so Aaron (and later, guitarist Gregg Prickett) was visible, now playing hits and counterpoint to support the soloists -- as well as their fiery individual statements. For "Document for Walt Dickerson," Stefan moved to vibraphone and Gerard Bendiks took his place behind a second drum kit, across the stage from Stefan's. Then they played double drums together on "Wind Streaks in Syrtis Major," sounding like twin volcanoes erupting to fuel the tune's energy blast.

A brief intermission, then "The Earth and the Heart" was introduced by Russ Summers, who produced the original recording. The Gonzalezes and Curiel were joined by Gregg Prickett -- Aaron and Stefan's bandmate from Unconscious Collective -- for a healing balm of a tune that hit like a late Coltrane ballad or "In A Silent Way." Prickett's my favorite North Texas guitarist, combining classical chops with a clean but dark electric tone and endless invention. 

The rest of the horns returned for Namesake's "Good Friends," a sprightly march reminiscent of some of Don Cherry's creations. "Song for a Singer," from Welcome To Us -- one of Dennis's most ECM-ish outings, with his "Band of Nordic Wizards" -- brought out vocalist Lily Taylor, whose strong and sinuous stylings lent a warm humanity to the mix. The evening closed with a storming version of Dennis's signature tune, "Hymn for Julius Hemphill," that featured a collective improvisation  highlighted by an empathetic trading of phrases rather than ego-driven cacophony -- emblematic of the whole affair. 

Again, I'll be living with my impressions of this evening for a while. Hope they do more of it. Dennis would have been proud. And I hope Aaron's back feels better soon.