Beth Branco by Kendal Tull-Esterbrook
By Beth Branco
I’m a rocker chick with a jazz habit. I grew up here in Seattle during the height of the grunge, heavy metal movement, so it was with some skepticism that I entered the local, live jazz scene.
It began one night when I was enjoying flamenco with friends at The Capitol Club. Enter three young jazz musicians who convince me to check out their gig at Amore (a restaurant and music venue lost to fire last year). For the first time, I heard jazz, up close and personal.
There’s Tim Kennedy, whom I now refer to as the Center-of-My-Musical-Universe, playing piano, his long fingers extensions of his soul as he caresses the keys. There’s Darian Asplund, the sweet saxophone savant, and John Terpin, whose trombone playing sounds like a whole new kind of poetry to me.
As the night wore on, it grew into a musical soiree as other musicians and singers contributed. It was thrilling and I was hooked.
One thing I’ve learned, and yes I am a neophyte, is that most of these musicians have at least two bands and frequently join one another’s jam sessions. They are creating a new kind of jazz-fusion, an existential translation. Live music is an art form that emerges from the symbiosis of performer and listener, and these artists have the fluency to speak many different musical languages.
Case in point: It’s a Saturday night and two bands are having a mock showdown at The White Rabbit. Gravity and Hardcoretet are musically sparing for the jazz heavyweight title. Gravity starts the night. Tim Kennedy is playing keyboard, two in fact, often simultaneously, eyes closed, his face emoting pain and ecstasy. He sings through the vocoder, relating it to the notes he’s playing on the keys. Ian Sheridan is intensely popping the electric bass while Claudio Rochat-Felix’s passionate drumming becomes vivid. I’m beginning to feel that warmth, it’s spreading through my veins, it’s kicking in.
Compare it to a few nights later at the Nectar Lounge with Gravity’s alter-band, Richie Aldente. These same men, now in costume, throw out the rhythmic bumps of retro/disco with Kennedy strutting around the stage like a hungry tiger.
Back to White Rabbit, Tarik Abouzied of Hardcoretet takes a seat at his drums and pronounces re: Gravity, “We aren’t really competing. We really love them.” The sound hits, and it’s glorious because Abouzied’s drumming is expansive, along with his grin. Aaron Otheim looks like a rebel without a cause on keyboard. Tim Carey is playing bass with a stirring hum-burst. And then, there’s Art Brown who plays sax in way that makes me feel like he loves me. They are intricate, tight and relaxed. I never want to leave.
Later that night at the Seamonster Lounge, I catch the last set of mystical keyboardist Kent Halvorsen’s Sound Dialog CD-release gig. This band is like a talent fondue of jazz, blues and rock improvisation. When I move to the stage, the performers and dancers are literally elbow-to-elbow; the sound takes me into an ecstatic embrace and my thoughts dissolve. By now the music has evolved into a jam session. Mesa delivers something tribal with his hand-drumming and aching voice, Nathan Vetter and John Terpin’s dual trombones create a longing that threads through the dense music, while Michelle Searle’s lustrous voice lifts the mix. Here’s yet another example of musical dexterity as Evan Flory-Barnes puts aside his upright for the night to play the electric bass. Flory-Barnes is a virtuoso, a jazz composer who can also sear my soul playing the upright bass.
They are musical magicians to me. When they’re performing, there’s joy and illusion in the music, and we are sharing it like a communion and we are all in love at the same moment. It causes me physical pain when the music stops. I need the magic.
