the subtle glories of small gigs

click for larger.
let me preface this by saying i am very tired indeed, and so if i am more incoherent than usual, i apologise.















my first sunday in chicago was spent in a bar called the hungry brain. my gracious host brought there for the weekly jazz night. that particular night, josh berman and his band performed. it was a lively show (to use the american parlance) - in particular berman himself and his vibraphonist. i was particularly appreciative of the latter, because it was intriguing to see an instrument i have primarily encountered in a primary school context to be played in a manner so foreign to me.

rather than have punters pay on the door, the mc declared that he would come around to collect money (7USD was his recommendation) at some point during one of the two sets. (he also established the house rules - namely, no talking during the set). this happened towards the end of the first set, and had caught me a little off guard; the man came around with a basket into which we all dropped our american dollars. i later told anthony this reminded me of church - most superficially for the use of a basket, but also, i now realise, the insider knowledge involved. this method of payment was something i had forgotten about (due to my enjoyment of and engagement the performance itself), and for this reason i was caught a little off-guard; similarly, i imagine to the uninitiated, the collection portion of a church service may seem a bit bemusing (although it is generally announced more explicitly - right before the collection takes place).

later, one of our group (possibly a girl named erin? my memory fails me, and i only met her that one night) mentioned that she referred to these weekly jazz nights as her 'church' - superficially because they take place on a sunday, but also because (to paraphrase her words) people sit around and chat otherwise and there is a nice little sense of community. at the time, i didn't think much of this explanation, perhaps due to my own experience of church attendance. i always found those post-service socials a bit awkward: having to talk to grown-ups who knew my dad but who i didn't really know, coupled with my poor cantonese and the general cultural gap.


the second evening of my return to nottingham, i went to a gig at lee rosy's featuring 7 hertz, jean elliot snr and bonsai projects.

lee rosy's is a cafe by day, and as they don't have an alcohol license, and serve their usual tea and cakes etc during gigs instead. as the space is small, it is very intimate indeed - in fact, so much so that the characteristically british audience stays quite far back from the bands, meaning that those at the back are very far away indeed! the gigs at lee rosy's are generally very relaxed, and involve individuals (such as myself) sit cross-legged on the floor (something which has always reminded me of primary school. it is a great place for a gig of a certain breed, i think. indeed, when i last blogged about live music, it was in relation to a gig i went to there.

so, working in reverse order -- the man who makes up bonsai projects was a little nervous and a little awkward, although less so as his set went on. if my memory serves me, his songs were a combination of sweet and silly in subject matter, but treated (i almost wanted to say 'tret' there) very seriously and sombrely. he was then followed by jean elliot snr, a french man who, with the help of a loop pedal, played many many instruments indeed, including a theremin (incidentally, included in an episode of this american life that i listened to on my train journey back from heathrow). the loop pedal has done wonders for the traditional one man band:
and i can't help feel that jean elliot snr channels the sensibility behind the original: he plays children's instruments - or else instruments rather whimsically decorated, or 'found' and created - dressed as a sailor. and finally, 7 hertz consisting of a man on double bass, a woman playing violin and another playing the clarinet or saxophone, depending on the song. it is a rather experimental combination of jazz and classical (and i have to say now i've always found double bass players very intriguing - the way the very instrument requires the use of their full body. and in general the phsyicality of this performance reminded me a little of berman and his band).

all in all, it was a lovely gig -- and it was not just 7 hertz that put me in mind of that night in chicago, and what was said. jean elliot snr's use of the loop pedal (especially when he used it to harmonise with himself) made it difficult to tell where the sounds are form (my favourite thing to do whilst watching a live performance of music from a very young age). his use of the theremin was especially eerie, given that the instrument doesn't require the player to touch it - and yet he is in control of the sounds it makes by waving his hands around it. both these aspects of his performance lent it an almost spiritual aspect, making me think of the documentary the pervert's guide to the cinema, in which zizek talks about the disembodied voice and its ability to scare us. surely, a disembodied voice also recalls god? and 7 hertz's perfomance - when the double bass stand (not the correct terminology; i am referring to the retractable metal prong, sort of like a radio atenna, that is used to prop the instrument up), gave way to the vigour of the bass player's movements, and when the violinist, having witnessed this event, couldn't help but laugh, her laugh seemed as much part of the song as anything else - was gorgeous. and the smallness of the place itself, the intimacy which invites an awareness of the audience made me feel like i was sharing all these lovely little moments with everyone else in the room. and at last, i understood what the girl for whom sunday night jazz was church meant.