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London, and Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club, February 2014

Great Russell Street and Bloomsbury Street form an intersection just outside my window, that I saw every morning when I woke up and had my coffee. I’d do light warm-up scales and look at people walking into a currency exchange on one corner, and on the other corner a restaurant, but most of the people were walking to and from the British Museum, with its great broad paved terrace just a hundred yards away down Great Russell.

Nothing hectic here. It’s calm and casual with an occasional group of 15 or 20 school kids and a teacher leading the way and keeping “order”. This was a great way to start the day as I got ready to do a wonderful return to Ronnie Scott’s, where I first met my London and Great Britain audience, in 1977. I indeed have returned a couple of other times. In fact, the last time being just a year and a half ago, during the summer Olympics.

Surprise, surprise. This new occasion had all of us surprised and delighted with this quick return. As it turns out, there is a whole flock of London horn players who found inspiration in the sound of the Seawind Horns: Larry Williams, Jerry Hey, Kim Hutchcroft, Gary Grant and Bill Reichenbach. Tom Walsh, a London trumpet player in his early 20s, is one of those players, and he came up with the concept of performing the entire 1983 Jarreau album from top to bottom. They approached Ronnie Scott’s and pointed out that this album featured some of the great horn arrangements ever written. Tom got in touch with Larry Williams and Jerry Hey, and asked Larry if he would be interested in playing keys as part of the project. The idea was, Larry would fly to London, rehearse with the band, and play keys while a local singer sang down the album.

Well, of course, Larry is not only a founding member of Seawind, but he’s also the longest-standing member of my band. And when he heard about the local singer, he said, “Well hey, I know a pretty good singer.” And he asked me. And off I went to London to sing at Ronnie Scott’s and “to visit the Queen”.

We did three nights with two sets each night, and it was great fun to remind everybody that when they listened to Quincy Jones and Michael Jackson, they were also listening to Larry Williams and Seawind Horns. And some of the greatest moments of Earth, Wind, and Fire happened because of these horn players.

I’ve sung at Wembley Arena with 10,000 people watching, and the Royal Albert Hall with 5, the Apollo, and Hyde Park. But this occasion at Ronnie’s was a wonderful peak of my London career, thus far. You could almost call it a return home, with lots of these people present for both my first visit in the 70s, and this most recent visit.

“The Whole Album: Top to Bottom!” That was the approach that we would take, and how this date was advertised. And I had to do some real serious studying of some very exacting vocals. Some songs, I had never even gotten to perform, since the day they were recorded in the studio. All of that study and preparation was wonderful and eye-opening, even if a bit daunting.

When those horn licks are being played right in your ear as you sing, you become super-conscious, as does the audience, of where these Selmer-made horns made the music become all that it was and is.

I’m certain that the most striking and outstanding characteristics and features about this occasion were the hearing and watching in a really intimate setting some songs that were real familiar, and incidentally being able to read the time on my watch, and hear me inhale, and then in a normal and totally audible tone, say, “Great solo,” to the guitarist. And you could experience it that way from anyplace in the room. Sooooooo, you can imagine the quiet intimacy of “Not Like This” and “Waltz for Debbie” or “Midnight Sun,” when the horns were silent.

Oh yes, and the “Right in your face” experience included peering down the throats and hearing the ushering sounds of two background singers. They were fantastic! A lady named Annabel Williams who was a beautiful taller than I am white chick. And a guy Tommy Blaize- he was going to sing my parts before they enlisted me to show up! They were really wonderful. I could see people’s eyes dart back and forth from me to them and back to me.

I’ve been doing symphony orchestra programs for 15 years, giving an expanded musical experience, which is quite rare for audiences. A similar form of that happened when we did the Metropole Orchestra performances and album. Another similar is the NDR (Nord Deutsche Rundfunk) Big Band/Al Jarreau Experience, which features Gershwin highlights. And now, there’s this wonderful new wrinkle: a Horn Band listen to the 1983 Jarreau album. And this one in itself is totally different from all the rest. I dream of taking it to a number of different UK locations. And why not Chicago and New Orleans?

Great Russell and Bloomsbury Streets, and Ronnie Scott’s on Frith Street… Thank you for one of the special trips of my life.

See you next time!
Al

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A Note On This Past Fall

I’ve described this whole period since this past Fall as a kind of downhill slalom where I’ve taken a spill, and have been hoping for a big boulder or tree stump to slow me down. ‘Parenthesis’: However, this downhill slalom is wonderful and beautiful… And I’m just now wrapping up one of the most creative periods in my life, with my upcoming George Duke Tribute occupying an apex point in it all. That will have its own post or many posts, as it has been an extraordinary project that we’ve been working on here.

This period of creativity began with a 10-city summer tour, which we’ve already talked about. Then I went into the Fall season with a very serious project in mind, that required a sizeable chunk of personal quiet private time, to write. To write a piece called, “Ode to Ballet.” A lot of you guys remember Freddie Ravel. He was music director in my band for several years, and collaborated with me on several songs including “Tomorrow Today” and “Betty Bebop Song.” Well, his wife is a serious ballet dancer, born in Quebec, and has danced with Nureyev and Baryshnikov, pas de deux. I met Marie, “Sweetie,” just a short time after she and Freddie met. And I remember hearing parts of their telephone conversations backstage in any number of cities between her and Freddie, who addressed her as “Sweetie” to begin every sentence. It was so funny. Marie even accepts my calling her Sweetie.

Well, it’s 15 years and two children later, not to mention a serious car accident and an extensive rehabilitation, and Marie has continued to dance. In fact, she’s started her own ballet company. As I posted in November, I joined Freddie in writing our special “Ode to Ballet,” for her program On Pointe at 50… And Beyond. The poem is reproduced here:

My Kite, the Dancer (Ode to Ballet) by Al Jarreau and Freddie Ravel, 2013

We made a kite of the birch wood’s finest parchment,
Pages of paper that trees made and poets share.
It soars like the church chimes that fly through the hills and gardens
All sunlit and silent with a pigtail, like little girls wear.

My dancer, my partner, my kite tells a past
Of when kites were dancers indeed:
A tinkling piano, a bar glued to glass
And mornings with Erik Satie.

Alice and Dorothy—Good name for a song—
They hurry and scurry and curtsy at dawn.
Alice and Dorothy, pastels and chiffon,
Tchaikovsky and Dickens on Christmas Morn.

Ba-rish-nina-kovas, Marias from Spain
Come calling from towns far and wide
With waltzes and polkas and strange sounding names
From mothers who squeezed every dime.

So, is it insane: Sweet feet in binds?
On pointe in pain—Oh butterfly!

Silk satin slippers and ribbons disguise
The long hours and powers unfurled when… you… fly…

With heart beating bellows no tunics can hide
And blood pumping whispers and murmurs and sighs,
Just honey and berries and tea and plain rice
For sugar plum fairies in training to fight.

Then wonder that effortless look on your face
Right here in one moment such power, such grace.

A music box. A figurine.
A lords and ladies-a-leapin’ dream.

Some kinsmen say:
“Sweet feet in binds, on pointe in play, Brave Butterfly!
When aches and pains and agonies
Turn into joys and ecstasies.
And mark ye well this other place
Where aches and pains forge power and grace…
And gold and silver fantasies await your noble Alchemies.”

So sinews and old shoes, bright eyes off to class,
Your heart’s in your hand, your pulse pounding fast,
You twist and you bend; reach up, out, and past
As though this one moment could be your last.

My kite, the dancer, will always say:
“I’m from deep woods and forests where hummingbirds play
And the rings of these trees found in ships bows and bays
Become stories and rhymes of our times and our days.”

My paper kite dances, then stops, and then dives.
The oak and birch wood up there, still alive.

Whirling and twirling, above the lake
With shimmering reflections – a blue sky ballet.
My heart skips in awe and do I dare say
Just like the White Swan that stole the day.

And you of the dance might have used all your might
To fly over a bar or a finish line…
Well, shout “De-ga-je! Gran plié! Port to bra!”
With bouquets of roses, we stand and applaud
As you gracefully reach out and touch the face of God.

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Billboard Live; Tokyo and Osaka, Japan–January 2014

There are still several places you can go in the world that have preserved the niceties and civilities associated with very old cultures. Japan is one of those places. Immediately when we arrived at the airport in Tokyo we were greeted by our Billboard Live host of recent years named Kumi. She greeted us with a big bow and a bigger smile, and off we were from the airport to the hotel. We were all very happy to find our beds after a 10 hour flight and a 17 hour time change. We were ready to get some rest before we hit it hard the next day.

And boy did the next day get there fast! The afternoon rolled around and we all went to the venue, where I have played 3 or 4 times before. It occurred to me as I was preparing for soundcheck, “This must be my 35th year coming to Japan.” I came here first in 1979, brought in by one of the great early promoters of Jazz in Japan, Tats Nagashima. Even many years before me, he had brought Nat King Cole, which opened a flood of other Western artists. In those 35 years, I must have visited just as many times, and my audience is still very faithful. I love playing for them.

Joe Turano and I got together in Los Angeles last week to work out a set for the Tokyo crowd. The plan was a rigorous 2-shows-per-night, 3 nights out of 4, with a live on air performance the second night. So, of course, we wanted to make it special. We opened strong with Boogie Down, and burned straight through into Mornin’. I love that start. It really announces that, hey, we came to party. And the people came right along with us.

It’s hard to condense 4 shows into one write up like this, especially when we are playing live music that is not “canned,” that is fresh and new for the audience. So many wonderful things happened, so many wonderful faces in the audience seeing and feeling and experiencing and sharing these moments that are being created right now on stage. There was one group of four women in the front row in each of the Tokyo shows, and then two of them even showed up in Osaka! True superfans—Jarreauniacs! Thank you, Kaori, Kumiko, and the rest of you! It was great having such enthusiasm right in the front row.

With a bit of lament in our feelings we’ve come to accept these 2-show per night gigs in Japan during the last 15 years… “Big Club” situations. Perhaps we’ve become spoiled by a single-performance concert evening. Surely for Jazz and pop, etc., the longer tradition has been a 3 set per night gig. The essential difference is in intensity of performance over the evening. In a concert performance, it’s blood, sweat, and tears the whole time. No stone is unturned, and it’s a maxed out event. That approach is unworkable in a two-set evening. Certainly not three sets. BUT. The expectations of management and listeners are exactly the same as a single-show concert night. But twice. These are the changing realities in the world of available work. So when you’ve decided that you want to work and you’re going to work, you make the adjustment, gird your loins, and go forth into the fray.

I was remarking to myself and Patrick with joy and wonderment about how the folks in the audience during all six performances sang in unison on the bridge to Mornin’. This is not just an “Oo, shoobeedoo, the sky is blue” sort of lyric. Especially being that these ideas are happening in a second language. But there they were, apparently understanding it, and singing every word. And enjoying the completed thought and notion.

This is a tough time of the year anywhere for concerts, and ticket sales. Everybody’s just crossed over from Christmas into new years, and their pockets are not as full. So we have to be happy that Billboard thought we could draw some people. And we did.

During all six performances, the band setup was close and cozy. This makes for a real recognizable intimate communication inside of the band. This excitement and electric communication onstage is tangible for the audience. It’s one of the great extras of working in the club situation.

There are niceties that transpire between people in Japanese culture that are wonderful and delicate traditions of kindness and courtesy that are a wonder to behold. Gift giving! Not expensive gifts, but just a little comment that says, “Before you arrived, I was thinking about you. And I wanted you to have these little cloth napkins that we use.” Or “… this special pair of chopsticks.” Or “… a little toy. Toss the ball on a string into the cup.” Oh, the sun will surely rise in the morning without these little pleasantries between people. But. This is a long way from the “Fonz” approach. I love it.

This kind of attention to detail is everywhere. It’s the tea service tradition, the delicate bonsai tree groomed just so, and enormous pride in your work… Taxi driver, house keeper, Billboard Live staff.

So we really mean it when we say, “Let’s do it again soon.”

Thank you,
Love,
Al

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Brazil

If you’re just tuning in, then Brazil is a surprise to you, too. Patrick and I were just recounting this recent fortnight.  We left 15 days ago and went to Toronto, to Kiawah Island, to Newark, NJ, to Brazil… a crazy routing.

Brazil is awesome and breathtaking unlike anyplace else on the planet. I looked out of my window at 10 o’clock in the morning, and the beach was jammed with people and umbrellas and babies and volleyballs as far to the right and left as you could see, more than a mile in each direction. And yes, it’s called Ipanema Beach.

Almost all the time, one is astounded by the view out to sea with a glance to the left that shows Corcavado with Christ The Redeemer on top, arms outstretched. Or looked the other direction and there’s the iconic Sugarloaf mound. And it was with these feelings inside that we drove an hour and a half from Rio to Petropolis. Petropolis is a long ways up the mountains, and Alina, the sister of our main promoter Junior, was just delightful. She became like Auntie Alina, showing us things and pointing out other stuff. And talking about her daughter Nina, inspiring me to sing “Nina Never Knew.” We even started a new song, with Nina’s name in it.

When we got to our venue, we discovered it actually resembles a huge Swiss chalet. It’s surprising and awesome to see it appear, all white and St. Moritz-like, right here in Brazil. It had been a casino at one time, but now is a collection of elegant residential suites. No more casino, but they did construct a real concert venue with a wrap-around mezzanine. The highlight of the evening was Brazilian artist Zé Ricardo joining me on stage, and the two of us doing some real authentic Brazilian music.

BUT! Suddenly all the power went out onstage. I’m laughing now, and I even laughed when it happened. Why? Because it’s just… PERFECT. Just made to order for a professional singer of 50 years. Of course, if this kind of power failure happens at Yankees Stadium or the Rose Bowl, then you’re sunk. But not in Petropolis. Larry and I looked at each other with a “Let me at ‘em” attitude. We fumbled a little bit, but then decided, “Let’s go acoustic right at these people!” The ever-poignant Waltz for Debbie, followed by Summertime. By the end of Summertime, the band was back powered up and we finished strong. They roared. This got the biggest applause of the evening, it seemed to me. They really appreciated this “Take care of business” effort. And then Zé came and joined us, and things took off into the sky and still another direction, with everybody singing “Agua de Beber” and “Mas Que Nada.”

Wow. What do we do tomorrow?

I’ll tell you what we did. The band powered onto stage in front of 6000 people in downtown Rio on the festival grounds right by their central lake. And it was electric, literally and figuratively.

We had arrived early and shared one continuous long gasp as we stood there in the shadow of the Christ statue on Corcavado, ever present to the eyes in your head and heart. The sun was shining and some teenagers rollerskated, and partied about as we soundchecked on this holiday weekend. And then, of all things, I listened to the soundcheck of Paulo Jobim and group. Antonio Carlos Jobim’s son was playing the tradition, and I sneaked over to the edge of the stage and just sat there, marveling at this matinee. This was the stuff of my dreams. At home in Sausalito and San Francisco, I tried to create this: This sunny afternoon matinee, with the accompaniment of the wonderful soft samba sound. Open the doors, and walk in and out with an umbrella drink or not. My mind was in flight.

All of this culminated in the evening performance with a full moon watching everybody. The light from the stage spilled out into the audience so that we could see smiles and dancing far out into the whole gathering. The band was precise and locked. Joe’s and Larry’s and John’s and Mark’s solos were inspired but oh-so-relaxed and intimate: Fire & Ice. Zé joined me again as I took time to tell everybody how they (and I pointed at them) had changed my life… All true! And I began to tick off the names of artists who they recognized and spontaneously yelled and screamed in appreciation.  These were their heroes, too.

Zé is loose and fun and “of the moment.” You know I love that. So the both of us were really conscious of this spontaneity even as we did it. Wow! There’s a special magic in the air when that happens. It’s a natural high. We did encores and they still wanted more. So we gave it to them. The band and I hugged and high-fived in our own joyful satisfaction of doing our best and beyond.

Our promoters with SESC were laughing and grinning and clapping their hands in joy. It was everything they hoped for and more. And we felt the same way. Something special had happened that’s like the doors swinging open, with a real attractive view into the future.

I am happy.

Love, Al

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