Filling up pretty quickly, there was an expectant buzz in the room – whatever the reason(s), Keith Tippett rarely plays in town so this was a special occasion. For myself, I'd made the haul from God's Little Acre to City Road Travelodge (grab the bus over the road to Dalston and back at last knockings, an easy move) and was looking forward to seeing one of my alltime favourite musicians up close in a sympatico joint like the Cafe Oto. Especially one equipped with a good piano. (My favourite club in the UK, anyway, puts on the stuff I like, wish I could get there more often).
Tippett, 66 years old
and looking in good nick, a stocky man with a fine head of hair and
still flaunting mutton-chop sidewhiskers that give him the air of a
country squire, took his seat at the piano. Commenced with short
bass runs, probing opening gambits, the piano lid raised and
illuminated to mirror the interior, the objects he uses to
augment/distort the acoustics clearly seen, bouncing and vibrating
on/off the strings, offering a fascinating visual counterpoint to the
music for those with a good sight line. A couple of high treble
splashes for accent, some scampers through the middle, a wodge of
thickly voiced chords, muffled as if emerging from a dense fog.
Already, a wide variety of colours being laid out.
The performance
unfolds... using various objects to damp and mess with the strings,
he sets up repeating figures that slowly evolve, informed by strong
rhythms, one moment a flickering pattern high up, like a stick
rattled across a bicycle wheel, then a roaring low register storm.
The pounding bass he is famous for is oddly reminiscent of Erroll
Garner's left hand take on strumming guitar chording, cranked up
high, savage treatments that fire off long resonating waves of
overtones to overwhelm the air under the low ceiling. At one point
this became a mournful lament that seemed to dip into 'Danny Boy' but
maybe I misheard – although there is a waggish side to Mr Tippett.
Who gave one unbroken piece in the first half (as he did in the
second) that unfolded and spun out into many areas of sonics and
genres, quietly coming to rest – to rapturous applause. The
pianist looked pleasantly surprised at this affectionate response, a
man with no side to him, as the old saying goes.
Second half started out
with rattles and clunks, a toy being flicked across the open strings
to give odd, dry little notes. Speculations at the high end of the
joanna. Four square march rhythms, a thump thump to flick
syncopations across, melodies refracted through the mechanical
interference to give strange timbres, hints of East-European (or
further East) folk melodies almost, Balkans to Gamelan and back. A
couple of sudden left turns with sharp funky soul jazz phrases that
would not have been out of place in a Bobby Timmons solo circa 1960.
Longer cascades of notes that refer back to the complex linearities
of the modern jazz traditions but keep on going through the remapped
territory to spaces beyond. Tippett has evolved a seamless
integration of classic and extended techniques, conventional keyboard
yoked to internal disruptions. Added to the inclusive nature of his
musical vision, this helps to create a new opened field where ghosts
of boogie woogie in some of those loping bass figures tread towards
complex note clusters and shifting timbres, spinning off into simple
triadic movements, evolving and folding into denser complications. The scrapings, pluckings and distortions offering a
ground on which he can pivot at will, where melodic/harmonic/rhythmic
developments, however abrupt in their sudden occurrence, can occur
without too clunky a
transition, offering a dynamic, flexible but subtle binding of the
whole. He creates an improvisational area where historical genre
time is collapsed into the now, each discrete unit resolving quickly
into that wider, deeper flow where foreground is background and the
reverse and the distinctions probably irrelevant anyway.
Towards the end he produced a music box, tinkling out what sounded like 'The Godfather' theme - something he used on his Purcell Room concert a couple of years back, a fragile, almost plaintive counterpoint to the slowly ebbing close. And funny, too...
Towards the end he produced a music box, tinkling out what sounded like 'The Godfather' theme - something he used on his Purcell Room concert a couple of years back, a fragile, almost plaintive counterpoint to the slowly ebbing close. And funny, too...
Over the years, he has
built up his techniques to offer a staggering diversity of sounds and
surprises (to riff obliquely off Whitney Balliett
). He has always been musically ambitious and open-eared: on the
train back I wrote and underlined, somewhat cryptically, 'Generosity'
and that may well have been the word to describe the night. The
audience, generous in their enthusiasm for a unique talent gave up a
long and warm burst of applause, the artist having displayed his
generosity of imagination and technique for that audience to savour. A superb
gig. Hopefully he will return soon... (And a request to the Oto: what about Mike Westbrook, another great musician, spotted rarely these days?).
Here's a very brief vid of him in solo action a few years ago... And a couple of reviews, here and here, Financial Times and London Jazz News, respectively.
Keith takes a bow through the murk of a crap photo from my phone...
Here's a very brief vid of him in solo action a few years ago... And a couple of reviews, here and here, Financial Times and London Jazz News, respectively.
Keith takes a bow through the murk of a crap photo from my phone...
