Wayne Shorter concert
Orb Theatre, Hikarie Building, Shibuya, Tokyo
March 23, 2013
Personnel:
Wayne Shorter: Tenor & Soprano Saxophone
Danilo Perez: Piano
John Pattitucci: Upright Bass
Jonathan Pinson: Drums & Percussion
Wayne Shorter: Tenor & Soprano Saxophone
Danilo Perez: Piano
John Pattitucci: Upright Bass
Jonathan Pinson: Drums & Percussion
First things first: Wayne Shorter has been playing and recording since 1958. He is now 79, and on August 25, he will turn 80. Way back then he was the next big thing to hit sax after John Coltrane. Indeed, Coltrane, when he had to leave Miles Davis in 1960 recommended that Wayne Shorter take his place. After a rocky start to the relationship –Wayne calling Miles and offering to audition and Miles letting him know who did the hiring, motherf'k'r– Wayne and Miles got on like a house on fire. Part of it was because Wayne composed, and composed well, and he also wrote all the parts of each for each member. I suppose that means that he did so much of the work of the band how could you not want to play with him? Anyway, I read all this stuff so it ain't what really drives me to pay out to see this guy or to write about him. What does is what I know first-hand, and that goes back, for me, to Weather Report, and all that lush music, with Joe Zawinul and one of my personal faves, Jaco Pastorius. That was exciting music, and it was big music, full of swagger and grand gestures and imagined worlds, and it was part of my growing up. I also got hooked on two of Wayne's solo efforts: Atlantis and Phantom Navigator. I'd listen to both, but especially Atlantis, so many times it was painful. What was I hearing? What did that music possess that so possessed me? Lyricism, creativity, artistic abandon, yet all encapsulated in tight songs that you could hum. First, the songs would play in your internal juke-box mind –that invention which even trumps the iPod– and then the songs would get vocalized in the bathroom, or in secret spaces, even finding their way, in highly fragmented form, onto the fretboard. So, with both Weather Report and these two albums firmly ingrained in my cerebral vortex, I was happy to purchase, with the blessing of my indulgent wife (M), two tickets to see the man in Tokyo. M is not into jazz, but rock, really, but is flexible and open to stuff, so she was glad to join in what would also be a day wandering around very fashionable Tokyo (and Shibuya is the most in that category please note). As prep, I let M listen to Atlantis in her car, choosing not to provide her with the new CD, Without a Net, which I had guessed was a trifle too challenging, sounding at times like free jazz and at times chamber jazz. Well, it turned out, later on, that M was more into the new stuff than the older stuff, so that was a surprise. Among the tracks I was hoping not to introduce to M as part of the prep was ‘Pegasus’, which clocks up about 23 minutes and goes into free-jazz territory with abandon! Gone are the days of the short (ish) tight and hummable 'song' song –and I’m thinking, how am I supposed to sell this one to M? All day, then, I was a tad trepidatious about how M might be able to enjoy the 'show'. This was a slight
factor in my view of the concert. Of course, I knew that we were likely to be listening to material on Without a
Net rather than Atlantis, but that was a somehow minor consideration.
factor in my view of the concert. Of course, I knew that we were likely to be listening to material on Without a
Net rather than Atlantis, but that was a somehow minor consideration.
So, the show opens and Jaysus, they open with, not ‘Pegasus’, but an equally challenging and somewhat formless, for the uninitiated (include me), jazz jam. M whispered, teasingly: is this just tuning up?? It certainly sounded like that, even to me. But it was part of the pattern which they were setting, of stuff happening, aurally, a bit of piano here, and bit of bass there, a few whacks of the ole cymbals, a few rim shots, and, most importantly, a few honks on the old sax, and bedevil the form of it all. (At one point, Danilo takes it out on his own bottle of water, slapping it a fair few times, but rhythmically!) And, it would build up, slowly but surely, to a climax, to an intensity of stuff happening, and that would indicate to the audience that, no, this was not just people messing around, that these four individuals were converging in the creation of some sonic universe of
as yet unfixed form. Great. This is music. But. How is M taking it? Well, her whispered comment, whispered with great humour, sufficed to take away such worries. This was to be an experience, perhaps like no other!
as yet unfixed form. Great. This is music. But. How is M taking it? Well, her whispered comment, whispered with great humour, sufficed to take away such worries. This was to be an experience, perhaps like no other!
I'm pretty deficient as regards set-list information. I don't know his work as well as I should, and I only got Without a Net a week before the concert, so don't expect much in that area of the review. I know he did do some numbers from the latest CD, including ‘Pegasus’, and ‘Myrrh’ and a re-working of the opening track, too. Put it this way, the set-list for the evening was very conceptual, which meant that song-one segued into song-two and then three and four, so it was a huge relief for the audience when, finally, it seemed, there was something like a discernible space at the end of the fourth (?) piece, and everyone took advantage of it by, at last, being able to show their appreciation for the great music being produced. Cue applause. It didn't help that Wayne introduced no songs, no band members, didn't speak even one time, even at the end, but that kept it conceptual and unique. As a musician, he spoke through his saxophone. Oh, he did whistle a fair bit, I can tell you that. Yeah, he’d be
working a few of the tunes, often diminuendo toward the end, through his immaculately pursed lips.
working a few of the tunes, often diminuendo toward the end, through his immaculately pursed lips.
I have to say that I thought the piano player, Danilo Perez, held too much dominant a position for my liking. Well, give credit where it's due, he was a kind of de-facto leader, and his leading did work very well, but, I
suppose I had wanted to see, and hear, Wayne doing more of the leading. Perhaps it is age, but the musicians wouldn't say that: that it is a democratic groove, and there is no leader would be the answer. OK, but I was harking back to the days of a fiery Wayne Shorter stage front and blowing and everyone else following the melody he was stringing out. What actually happened was that Wayne would often wait for a moment to occur within the matrix being knit by Danilo and John Pattitucci, who was great, and then come in swinging. That was fine, and age or musical reasons for it being the case or whatever, what was being produced was dramatic music that worked and that was what was important. It was kind of funny to see large 79-year old Wayne half-resting on a high stool, listen in to what was being played, and then reach forward to choose either of his two weapons, the Tenor or the Soprano. What was even funnier was that he might pick up one, listen a little more, and then, put that sax down and pick up the other one, having changed his mind on how best to contribute.
suppose I had wanted to see, and hear, Wayne doing more of the leading. Perhaps it is age, but the musicians wouldn't say that: that it is a democratic groove, and there is no leader would be the answer. OK, but I was harking back to the days of a fiery Wayne Shorter stage front and blowing and everyone else following the melody he was stringing out. What actually happened was that Wayne would often wait for a moment to occur within the matrix being knit by Danilo and John Pattitucci, who was great, and then come in swinging. That was fine, and age or musical reasons for it being the case or whatever, what was being produced was dramatic music that worked and that was what was important. It was kind of funny to see large 79-year old Wayne half-resting on a high stool, listen in to what was being played, and then reach forward to choose either of his two weapons, the Tenor or the Soprano. What was even funnier was that he might pick up one, listen a little more, and then, put that sax down and pick up the other one, having changed his mind on how best to contribute.
The tenor was commanding, full, and powerful. It went through your entire body. The soprano was lyrical and went through your soul. And Wayne played all of the lines he is famous for, that only he plays, or that we only
associate with him, be it a soprano trill or a tenor honk, for want of a better word.
associate with him, be it a soprano trill or a tenor honk, for want of a better word.
The music was challenging at times, and one wondered what was the form on occasion, but ultimately it was as though the audience could never feel like it was too free-form and diaphanous because of the precise and measured perfection of each of the player's contributions. They all had sheets they were reading from and they all used space and eye-contact and timing and came together exactly when and how they wanted to, so, it was never anything other than a superb performance of gifted players working in consonance with each other. The drummer, Jonathan Pinson, deserves great credit for his wonderful timing and his reserve: he played precisely only where he had to, and when he did, he rocked.
There was a standing ovation, of which I was part. I didn't feel like shouting out, as I have done in previous excited moments at a concert: something held me back. It was wonderful, but whether it had been cathartic as a
musical experience I wasn't entirely sure. It was and it wasn't, is the best answer, which likely reflects my own lack of acquaintance with the material or the groove they were laying down. My mind was still processing the twists and turns of the set, perhaps. M liked it, appreciated the courage and uniqueness of the music, and that was good. It helped that it took place in the middle of hi-class Tokyo. In the same building, as we were ascending to see the concert, we passed through a weird of set of Tokyo-ites, all dressed snazzily, and sometimes Blade-runner-bizarrely, queueing up to see a full-on catwalk fashion show (happening one floor below where Wayne and his cats were swinging). Outside, through the huge glass walls, we looked down on the thousand
light-pinpricks of this now-future megacityscape.
musical experience I wasn't entirely sure. It was and it wasn't, is the best answer, which likely reflects my own lack of acquaintance with the material or the groove they were laying down. My mind was still processing the twists and turns of the set, perhaps. M liked it, appreciated the courage and uniqueness of the music, and that was good. It helped that it took place in the middle of hi-class Tokyo. In the same building, as we were ascending to see the concert, we passed through a weird of set of Tokyo-ites, all dressed snazzily, and sometimes Blade-runner-bizarrely, queueing up to see a full-on catwalk fashion show (happening one floor below where Wayne and his cats were swinging). Outside, through the huge glass walls, we looked down on the thousand
light-pinpricks of this now-future megacityscape.
The encore was the highlight for me. It was short-ish, and focused, and it swung. At one point Wayne, listening in again, but ready to pounce, leveled his hand at a slight degree going up, indicating the taking off of an airplane. He was on the money there. (Although Wayne would be more likely to think UFO.) The band was soaring. Wayne took up his sax –which one I now forget– and they went into the stratosphere.