By Fernando Gonzalez
The Joy of Jazz
If their recent show in Coral Gables, Florida, was any indication, and you love jazz, you need to hear the Preservation Hall Jazz Band live. You might dismiss it, as I once did, as just a repertory band, a sort of charming, rolling live museum act evoking what might-have-been. And there might be some of that. But with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band you also get the joy of jazz, smart, angst-free jazz, played with great professionalism but also with pleasure and a sense of humor (watching sousaphone player Ronell Johnson march in place, bob, weave and turn all the way through the performance was part of my enjoyment that night).

Preservation Hall Jazz Band
The music was soulful and swung forcefully yet with a casual grace of a conversation among old friends, counterlines seem to grow along, curling like vines around the main melody. It was both sturdy and lithe, complex yet appealing. The ensemble played what it must, but the audience clearly felt invited in. I suspect jazz gained a few more believers that night. Having fun is an undervalued concept in jazz — and the music has paid dearly for it. But the Preservation Hall Jazz Band taught a master class in jazz disguised as a good-time show. That’s an art in itself — and jazz has had some great practitioners. (Dizzy is a prime example of the genius disguised as entertainer).
Obviously, not every style in jazz lends itself easily to this approach. But by definition, jazz will always live in that netherworld between art music and entertainment. It’s both a weakness and a source of strength. And to have a place in the cultural marketplace, jazz needs to connect with audiences, be it in the composition, the playing or the presentation.
It played out vividly before me at that show by The Preservation Hall Jazz Band, a ensemble created 50 years ago precisely to evoke the very roots of jazz — in substance and form.
No, the challenge is not new, but the urgency is — or we can look at classical music and see the future of jazz.
Click HERE to read an iRoM review of a performance by the Preservation Hall Jazz Band at the Playboy Jazz Festival in the Hollywood Bowl on Sunday, June 16.
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R.I.P. Horacio “Chivo” Borraro
It’s a shame that few outside Argentina knew of saxophonist and clarinetist Horacio “Chivo” Borraro, who died on May 31 at age 90 in Buenos Aires.

Horacio “Chico” Borraro
A player, composer and arranger, Borraro was a renaissance man. He was also an architect and worked, at different times, as a painter, designer, photographer and cartoonist. An early bebopper, Borraro was one of the founders of the Bop Club in Buenos Aires in the early 50s and a key figure in a small but sturdy scene that nurtured artists such as Lalo Schifrin and Leandro “Gato” Barbieri.
El “Chivo” Borraro was an active player from the 1930´s to the 1990´s — and by the time he stopped he had tried his hand at nearly every jazz style, all the way to free jazz. He had a Coltranean, brawny sound on the tenor, but quit when he “started to realize I didn´t have the will to play I always had.”
“I was having trouble reaching the upper octave of the saxophone, so I wasn´t able to do what I wanted to do with the horn anymore,” he told Miguel Bronfman for a story in The Buenos Aires Herald in 2005. “So I stopped playing, and I didn´t lament it, everything begins and everything ends. So I sold the saxophone and I bought a keyboard instead, with which I make arrangements for friends. I was getting frustrated with the sax, so I decided to retire myself with the championship belt, before I got knocked out.”
Much of Borraro’s music has become available through reissues in recent years and it’s worth exploring. Here’s a sample:
“Half & half”
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Guerrilla Flamenco
The European colleagues of the greedy geniuses at Wall Street who almost destroyed the world economy a few years ago are working hard in their own countries to give it another try. In a globalized economy, don’t think it’s someone else’s problem.
Spain is the latest casualty and as it’s the norm, the banks are in line to be saved. The people are to fend for themselves. (Stop me if you heard this before.)
One form of Spanish protest has been guerrilla flamenco performances in the banks. It is in Spanish, but the message is clear. Maybe we can have a blues version of this in some JP Morgan branch?
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Photo of Preservation Hall Jazz Band by Bonnie Perkinson.
Posted by irom 

Culled from the material developed in two days of jamming in a studio in Sydney, Australia, in 2007 in the off days of an Asia and Australia tour, 301 plays as a terrific summation of the group’s power and music. It is actually the second posthumous recording from those sessions. According to the promotional information, Svensson had edited the material from those sessions down to two albums. Only one was released — Leucocyte (ACT 2008). Edited by Öström, Berglund and the band’s regular sound engineer Ake Linton, 301 (the name refers to Sydney’s Studio 301 where it was recorded) shows a mature, confident group working as a unit, listening hard, paying attention to dynamics and generally pushing and chasing each other down unexpected rabbit holes. It’s tempting, But pointless, to hear 301 and wonder what might have been. What it is, is remarkable.
Tania Maria’s originals are all instrumentals, none particularly memorable but all well constructed. She draws from Brazilian music, blues and jazz and frames the mix with a pop sensibility. She sings here, very effectively, in both Italian (“Estate,” an Italian pop hit since turned standard by artists as disparate as Joao Gilberto and Shirley Horn), and Portuguese (“Sentado A Beira Do Camino,” “A Chuva Caiu,” and “Bronzes e Cristais”).
The debut recording of LA-based Cuban pianist Alfredo Rodriguez plays like a sampler – all original pieces in a variety of styles, both traditional and his own, showcasing his technical breadth and depth. Consider the opening “Qbafrica,” with its baroque Hermeto Pascoal references, leading into the elegant bolero “Sueño de Paseo,” and back up again to the burner “Silence.” Rodriguez is featured here leading two ensembles, one from Cuba, the other one based on the United States.
How much you may enjoy this release by French guitarist Christian Escoudé does not depends on how much you know about the great poet and songwriter George Brassens. Originally mostly voice-and-guitar songs, Escoudé treats them as standards and arranges them for various sextets. If you know these songs, you´ll appreciate the humor and affection in Escoudé´s versions. But even if you don´t, the pleasures in these well-constructed songs and the unhurried swing and modestly displayed virtuosity of Escoudé and his ensemble (which includes guitarist Birelli Lagrene on one track) need no translation. A delight.
Mahanthappa is an intense player – there is a distinct force in his tone, dry and edgy, to the fast, relentless, baroque lines he unfurls at dizzying speed. But in Samdhi, he paces that intensity as if probing the edges of the music. The opening “Parakram #1,” with Mahanthappa’s slow moving, mournful alto playing over a discreet cloud of synth strings in the background improbably suggests a Nordic ECM landscape in grays – which is exploded by the ferocious urgency of the following track, “Killer,” in which the band negotiates hairpin turns at a breathtaking speed. (Mahanthappa also for good measure runs his alto through a harmonizer.) Then again on “Parakram #2,” the sax plays over a loop of sax and electronic drums. But in sharp contrast, “Breakfastlunchanddinner,” which starts out as a stop-time conversation between sax, guitar and drums, becomes an almost conventional funk piece.
The bandoneón is a melancholy-sounding button squeezebox invented in Germany as a portable, poor man´s harmonium. It’s best known for its use in tango. Born in rural Salta in Argentina´s Northwest not in urban (and urbane) Buenos Aires, the capital of tango, Saluzzi has always had a distinctly personal approach to the instrument. Here he seems to nod as often to tango as to his own roots in folk music and, at times, even the bandoneón´s original religious function (listen to the evocative “Ronda de niños en la montaña”). Three of the tracks draw from the tango repertoire ( “Recuerdos de Bohemia,” “Soledad,” and “Variaciones sobre una melodia popular de José L. Padula”) while Saluzzi also celebrates the music of Argentina’s countryside by revisiting older pieces of his such as “Son Qo’ñati,” and “Gabriel Kondor.”
From his beginnings in bop to his experiments in cool jazz and modal music to the electric fusion of the 70s, Davis had an uncanny feel for his time. (The long coda after his return in 1982 is a wholly different matter for another day.) And throughout his career, he surrounded himself with the best players for that moment, putting his imprint on the music, and the music-making, with such imagination and force as to make it his.
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