By Gili Malinsky
By Bob Ruggiero
By Hilary Hughes
By Peter Gerstenzang
By David R. Adler
By Devon Maloney
By Brian McManus
By Jessica Hopper
In an overheated basement beneath the Lower East Side's Angel Orensanz Foundation for the Arts one recent Sunday afternoon, the hot question was this: "What is considered 'serious music'?" At one of two discussions sponsored by the Vision Festivala six-night mid-June celebration of (for lack of a better term) avant-garde jazzthe talk centered on the scene's lack of funding and/or respect. Referring to the strange spot so much of jazz finds itself inonce commanding popular appeal, now an art-music stepchildVoicecritic Francis Davis noted: "The musicians find themselves between a rock and a hard place, or, as it were, between rock and a classical place."
Maybe the matter was best addressed during Vision's opening night. Seated at a small electronic keyboard, multi-instrumentalist Cooper-Moore led an ensemble including alto sax, cello, drums, and dancer Marlies Yearby. The group began with an earnest rendition of the traditional spiritual "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child" and ended with Cooper-Moore's grumblings over the music: "Bastard. . . whore. . . prostitute. . . jazz. . . . You don't like that name?"
Vision was packed with vital music, not to mention a large and diverse audience. Still, long-term health worries hovered over the proceedings. One flyer at an information table declared a "cultural emergency"; you could sign a petition imploring New York City to "roll back the destruction of the Lower East Side as a center of culture" and "fund a space that can serve as home for improvised music." Ever since rising rents shut down Tonic earlier this year, choreographer and Vision producer Patricia Nicholson and guitarist Marc Ribot have been on a mission, now forwarded by the nascent Alliance for Creative Music Action. "Enough is enough," Ribot told me. "It's time for New York to support what I do, what we do. Why is what is possible in Vienna and Bern not possible here?"
The future posed a differently shaped question mark at the annual JVC Jazz Festival kickoff party in Gracie Mansion's backyard. "Someone asked if this is the last time they'd see me," said George Wein, the founder of the JVC and Newport gatherings, and the father of the modern jazz festival for more than half a century. "I'm telling you: I'm not going anywhere." But in January, Wein sold his company, Festival Productions, to Shoreline Media, a New Yorkbased entertainment company now rechristened the Festival Network. He vows to stay hands-on involved, and the new corporation's head, Chris Shields, has echoed that sentiment. But it remains to be seen what shape the JVC Festival will take beyond this year, the last fully under Wein's imprimatur.
Indeed, standard-bearing resilience formed the theme at this year's JVC (which ran June 17-30), including 70th-year celebrations for bassist Ron Carter and singer Nancy Wilson, and 80th-year fetes for saxophonist Lee Konitz and singer Eartha Kitt. An opening-night concert at Town Hall showcased the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, whose very existence in New Orleans since the floods of 2005 is an act of resilience. Two New York based guest artists joined the band in spots: Violinist Jenny Scheinman improvised ably on the dirge-like "St. James Infirmary," and Steve Wilson, playing soprano saxophone, credibly covered clarinet lines on the raucous "Shake That Thang." But the band was fully satisfying for its own charms: drummer Joe Lastie's funky command at every tempo; bassist Walter Payton's woody tone and wily timing; and the sweet-toned playing and warm-hearted manner of leader, singer, and trumpeter John Brunious. When Allen Toussaint, a New Orleans institution unto himself, took the piano chair, the music reached an even higher level. "Put some pep in your step and some pride in your stride," he sang on a tune extolling the band's virtues. "It's like the Pied Piper, but for people so much nicer." Far from the gorgeous decay of the French Quarter's Preservation Hall, the group seemed every bit at home.
Beneath the faded glory of the massive, arched stained-glass window that backs the Vision Festival stage, the always-prominent William Parker mounted a 15-piece ensemble of unusual instrumentationfrom banjo to baritone sax, cello to South Indian vocalistfor the opening-night premiere of a commissioned piece, "Double Sunrise Over Neptune." Parker, whose bass playing has been a driving force in free jazz for more than two decades, alternately conducted and played African and Middle Eastern instruments; he left Shayna Dulberger to generate the powerful bass grooves he'd composed, one of which anchored the swift, tricky, seven-beat meter of the piece's opening section. Parker's hour-long composition allowed for some fascinating musical dialogues: alto saxophonist Rob Brown and singer Sangeeta Banerjee traded undulating phrases; Joe Morris's guitar and Brahim Fribgane's oud eerily shadowed each other. But, as with so many of Parker's large-ensemble works, it was the entrancing ebb and flowand the sparkle of silence after a crescendothat made a lasting impression.
The next day, the Vision Festival honored trumpeter Bill Dixon with a lifetime recognition award, acknowledging not just his achievements as a player and composer, but also his formative role in creating, more than 40 years ago, the forward-leaning festival October Revolution in Jazz and the artist collective Jazz Composers Guild. These acts still resonate with a purpose that underscores the present Vision Festival. And Dixon's piece, performed by his 17-piece Sound Vision Orchestra, reverberated with sonic intent of equal relevance and, in some spots, a delicate beauty. It began with keening soprano sax lines, then the bent pitches of timpani. There were some pithy cornet solos by Taylor Ho Bynum, Stephen Haynes, and Graham Haynes, while Dixon, who is 82, played some horn in a style that's become customary for him: brief blurts, amplified, echoed, and delayed through finely calibrated microphones. But Dixon was concerned principally, if not altogether, with timbral shifts and sonic waves, an undulating canvas of sound.