This is the appearance that led to the smiling Clarke gracing the cover of this month’s Jazzwise wherein it is explained that he has assembled a group of young stars of tomorrow whose combined age only slightly surpasses his own. In the interests of age non-discrimination it’s a mighty fine aggregation with Gochiashvili and Cook probably the standouts on the night, along with Clarke, of course.
The two things
that stand out on the empty stage are bass guitars and a drum kit about the
size of Norwich. On sighting the latter, discussions followed about Carl Palmer
needing a juggernaut to transport his kit whilst most jazz drummers would fit it in the back of an old fashioned Mini Clubman. It was a very shiny kit, though,
and we guessed that, should the drummer solo it would take him about 20 minutes
to get from one side to the other, if he played everything in between. But, as
they say, size isn’t everything.
A spider
fingered bass solo from Clarke opens Brazilian
Love Song, which evolves from smooth yacht jazz into something more
furious. The shockingly young-looking Modeste contributes a solo on EWI before
Cook’s fleet fingered acoustic guitar solo.
An imperious,
percussive bass solo features Clarke plucking and dropping strummed bombs up
and down the fret board and receives loud applause for it. Collier’s solo is
overlong but the quality cannot be denied.
Joe Henderson’s
Black Narcissus follows. A lovely
fluid piano opening leads into Modeste again, this time on tenor sax. It’s an
exercise in flight and space and quiet contemplation; intricate runs intercut
with some more powerful blowing. Cook follows, on electric this time, with an
intricate elegant and melodic solo. Clarke contributes a scrabbling solo using
the full range of the instrument’s voice and is followed by a skittering
Collier solo using brushes before he switches to sticks which drops like a bomb
into the previously delicate tune.
The final tune
is a Chick Correa tune, No Mystery. Modeste
negotiates the knotty opening melody and gives way for a bowed Clarke solo.
Haunting sax gives way to a middle-eastern tinged acoustic guitar solo which
leads onto an eeeeeeeeeeeeeeepic bass solo, so long that during its length
children are conceived, born, grow up and have kids of their own. Obviously,
it’s quite brilliant; it’s fascinating to see how much of the fretboard he can
cover with, what, from where I sat, look like unnaturally long fingers. He may
have a group of young guns around him but Clarke is still the Guv’nor.
The only, minor, regret is that the bass guitars stayed on their stands as Clarke, poised on his high stool, played acoustic throughout. A very minor niggle under the circumstances. Dave Sayer
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