One for Lester

There is that old expression about music having the charms to sooth a savage beast. That can be true for some pleasant classical composition, something Brahms might have hummed over his breakfast of porridge and toast. But there are far more circumstances in my experience where music could turn a man into a beast.

It is just before three in the morning and I have been listening to a varied assortment of jazz for 18 hours now. I started the day with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers, an accessible kind of hard-bop that gets a person moving, the sort of jazz a person can clean the house by, something to get the blood pumping. From there, I visited the Chicago Jazz Festival in 1989 with the recently-deceased Fred Anderson, which is decidedly a bit more edgy that Art’s typical tones. And from there, an assortment of mostly “out” players, occasionally stepping back into something a bit more calm (Polish trumpeter Tomasz Stanko’s quartet being one in the late morning hours), but only for short bursts of time, like a sorbet to cleanse the palate. For the most part, it’s been a diet of cats like Bobby Bradford (a 2009 live recording) and a whole slew of Art Ensemble of Chicago. And that’s where I am now, deep into a 1997 Chicago concert with the AEC, rolling a maraschino cherry between my teeth, the sweetness cutting the bitterness of the bourbon of this second Manhattan.

I don’t know how unique it is to pick out a single musician from a larger group to appreciate, but it’s something I do often. I was always more into Gilmour than Waters (yeah, I know, make fun of me if you want) and Peter Green was the best guy ever to play in Fleetwood Mac, but that’s rock and roll (or blues, if you want to be technical about it). In jazz, it’s a bit different, as there aren’t very many jazz bands that stuck with a certain lineup for a prolonged period. Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers (or Horace Silver’s, if you are into that period) had a constantly evolving group of musicians in the band. Hank Mobley blew tenor for awhile. Wayne Shorter also held the reigns. And many others as well. Oscar Peterson had his usual trio of Ray Brown and Herb Ellis, and Coltrane had in his classic quartet Garrison, Tyner, and Jones, but those bands were followers of one specific leader. It was Oscar Peterson’s guidance on piano that we cared about, and it was Trane’s tenor or soprano that sold his records. There are few jazz bands that performed as a unit; the Headhunters, the Weather Report, the Mahavishnu Orchestra, mostly 70’s groups that evolved in one way or another.

One of the few jazz bands that retained their members for most of their existence is the Art Ensemble of Chicago, and like Gilmour and Green, my guy in the AEC was Lester Bowie on trumpet. Now this doesn’t mean I don’t think the rest of the guys in the band weren’t killer musicians too. Joseph Jarman and Roscoe Mitchell, the reed players, are stellar musicians. Don Moye is one of the best drummers I’ve ever heard. And Malachi Favors (R.I.P.) on bass, another gifted talent. The AEC were all incredible. But Lester was my man.

Along with the Art Ensemble, Lester led a group of horns called The Brass Fantasy, who were notorious for taking popular pop tunes and turning them into jazzy numbers. Lester also played in a band called The Leaders, along with fellow AEC member Don Moye on drums, Arthur Blythe on alto sax, Kirk Lightsey on piano, Chico Freeman on tenor, and Cecil McBee on bass. Lester was a busy sonofabitch, and a damn good trumpet player.

On stage, Lester was seldom seen not wearing a white lab coat. While the other members of the AEC would have their faces painted in various tribal designs, Lester stood out with his pointy goatee and lab coat. And his horn playing made him stand out even more.

While more than capable of playing a lovely ballad, Lester played his horn with a wicked sense of humor, bringing in honks and squeaks intentionally, shaping each tune into something beyond a simple melody. With his Brass Fantasy, one tune that stands out is a cover of the sappy ballad “Saving All My Love For You.” Just hearing the title makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck, because you’ll immediately think of the sugary Whitney Houston version. But Lester’s Brass Fantasy version is a stunning, powerful performance with that trademark humor Lester brought to his playing. It may take a trained ear to hear the difference between someone intentionally playing “off notes” from perhaps bad embouchure, but trust me: Lester knew exactly what he was doing. And it’s not that he’s making fun of Whitney’s singing, but rather he’s making fun of the ballad form itself, something very difficult to properly pull off.

I am somewhere deep into this 1997 AEC show now, and Lester’s playing another solo, standing out from the rest of the band. This particular gig lacks the reed work of Roscoe Mitchell, leaving Jarman to handle all of that side of the performance, which might be part of why Lester stands out so much for me in this particular recording. But as I’ve noted in so many other performances, I can hear Lester playing some beautiful, moving notes, as well as some silly, chaotic belches.

Another of Lester’s highlights is a version of “Hello Dolly” that he plays, accompanied only by Bob Stewart on tuba. The trademark honks and squeaks are largely evident, but it is also a quite moving, emotional piece. Lester is not making fun of this music at all, but rather making it his own. Were it to be played “straight,” it would be just another jazz cover of a classic show tune. But the way Lester carries it, it becomes a new version of a great song; like the proper aperitif before a big meal, Lester’s version reminds you how good an old standard can be.

Of course, the Brass Fantasy is a different animal than the AEC. The AEC is often intense, and very seldom what would be considered easy listening. The horns are often chaotic, the drums tribal and effusive, the bass subtle. In the case of this particular recording that I am now nearly finished with, it’s heavy and vibrant. It leads to distinct and heady emotions. At one point, maybe an hour or so ago, I was filled with a great sense of lust, thinking that any woman in my presence during this music would be in great danger of getting fucked senseless. This isn’t all due to Lester’s playing, mind you. It’s the whole essence of the Art Ensemble of Chicago, at least in this particular experience and this particular show. Now, as this recording is approaching its end, it has taken on a Spanish vibe, Lester again standing out along with Malachi’s bass. It is a fitting end to a rather brilliant concert.

Lester died in 1999 from liver cancer, making him another in that long list of musicians I missed out on seeing perform in person. That is a very small list, with only Zappa (who quit touring before I clued in to his brilliance) and Stevie Ray Vaughn joining him. But thankfully there are so many recordings, both bootlegged and official, of Lester’s playing that can easily lead me into the state of bliss that only music can take me.