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People sure love to complain, especially about stuff they love. I’m no exception – heck, with the amount of griping I do about the unbelievable wealth of entertainment I get to witness I might even be considered the poster-boy of gripe – and to prove it let me start this missive with a complaint about the complaining of those that complain about stuff I don’t complain about.
Which is to say: it drives me bonkers when people moan and groan that a band or artist doesn’t (in their opinion) fit the supposed genre of the festival that booked them: “The Flaming Lips at a blues festival?!?”
“David Byrne at a folk festival?!?”
“John McLaughlin at a chamber music festival?!?!”
Holy cow dudes, cry me a river. So you get to go to a festival and enjoy a bunch of music you like to hear, oh and you also get to see another band or three that the festival’s booking crew thought might expand the horizons of their clientele a little…everyone’s got problems I guess.
Clearly I’m feeling a little snarky this morning but it sure does feel good sometimes to give the gripers a little grief and scream “In your face!” into their imagined faces. And how will I do that? Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to direct your attention to exhibit A, the Ottawa Jazz Festival.
Now here is a jazz festival! Sure, I’ve seen acts like The Doobie Brothers (who were a last-minute replacement for a cancelled Aretha Franklin concert) and Wille Nelson (who’s most famous album Stardust was entirely cover versions of jazz standards, so there), but primarily the festival lineups – as varied as they are – tend to stay well within their festival’s professed genrific parameters.
Take for example the 2008 year, when I caught sets by the likes of Wynton Marsalis, Herbie Hancock, Return to Forever, Charlie Haden, Brad Mehldau and (okay, this one reaches a little bit) Salif Keita. Ain’t gonna get a whole lot more skiddly-do-wah-wah than those guys, buddy. Or maybe it will…
For on June 21st of that 2008 jazzfest season I saw the skiddliest of do-wah Daddy-o’s: the now-late clarinetist Buddy DeFranco (1923-2014), the wise and aged former bandleader of the Glenn Miller Orchestra. The guy is the ultimate pivot in a jazzy version of six degrees of separation, having played with everyone from everyone to everyone (ie Gene Krupa, Tommy Dorsey, Oscar Peterson, Count Basie, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Art Blakey, Miles Davis, Billie Holiday, Art Tatum, oh my the list just goes on and on).
And here he was – this direct link to the very disciples of the genre – playing to the open night sky in Confederation Park, spilling a lifetime of the truest, realest, purest jazz over a crowd silenced, utterly devoid of complaint.
Oh, I might have had a few choice words to say about the bland beer that was selling for 50¢ a cup more than it had cost the previous year, and of course I always have a few nasty things to say about the lawnchair people, but overall I took in a pleasant evening of homey jazz with a relaxed smile.
In your face, complainers!
Todd Man Out 