(Review/photos by Lance)
When is a jam session not a jam session? Well, if you're at The Globe for the Wednesday Take it to the Bridge gig, it's a Workshop and, if you're down on the Quayside on a sunny Sunday afternoon at Charts, it's a Jazz Social. Still, what's in a name?
Today, down by the riverside and close to the Law Courts, justice was seen to be done by three repeat offenders. Every Sunday, these three converted sinners, preach the gospel according to St John Coltrane and other deities.
I missed the first set but arrived in time for the second which had the resident social workers kicking off with Stu crooning like Crosby on The Birth of the Blues. Nice one Stu but your piano solo aced it.
All of Me more or less took the roof off, so much so that the dogwalkers down in the bar area had to do much coochie cooing to keep their pooches under control! Thank goodness Kevin Eland hadn't dropped by to blow a few top Cs!
There was a bossa which I didn't recognise. It may have been Jobim - they usually are - nevertheless, it was as good as any bossa which, these days, to me, is as relevant as The Charleston.
The audience that had drifted away during the interval were replenished with the arrival of two escapees who'd managed to tunnel their way out of Stalag Sage during a Glenn Miller tribute concert.
They made it just in time for Beautiful Love, Yardbird Suite, Wayne Shorter's mournful Infant Eyes and a blast on Billie's Bounce which brought the precedings to a magnificent close.
What better way to spend a Sunday afternoon? Tell the jammers who wait patiently in the wings at the Black Swan and other jams to get their axes along and have a blow. It's a great place to set your stall out.
Lance.
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