Text by Dawoud Kringle
On a Monday night, the 6th day of 2014, when New York City was in the midst of a winter filled with strange weather, a congress of NYC’s jazz elite assembled at Clemente Soto Velez Center for a concert marking the beginning of the Evolving Music Series, presented by Arts for Art (organized by Patricia Parker). Michael Wimberly was the curator for the night’s performance.
Michael Wimberly and Charles Gayle began the first set.
Drummer/percussionist/composer Wimberly, a native of Cleveland, Ohio, came to New York in 1982, quickly carving out a niche for himself. He has performed with Steve Coleman, The Five Elements (including David Gilmore and Don Byron), SoSaLa, P-Funk, Mama Tongue, and Charles Gayle. He has also worked with Alvin Ailey Dance Theater and Joffrey Ballet; holds a Masters degree from The Manhattan School of Music and is a member of The Collective (formerly Drummers’ Collective). He has earned a reputation as a master drummer, percussionist, improviser, and teacher who’d recently released two instructional books with accompanying videos.
Charles Gayle is one of the most interesting men on the scene. Born in Buffalo, New York, he briefly taught music at the University at Buffalo before relocating to New York City during the early 1970s. Some of his history is unclear due to his reluctance to talk about his life in interviews. Gayle was homeless for many, many years (nobody knows exactly for how many years), playing saxophone on street corners and subway platforms around New York City. His homelessness was a conscious decision on his part; he wanted to devote his life to his music, and felt it necessary to strip away everything else. He remained in this mode of life for 15 to 20 years. Following his “discovery” in the ’80s, he recorded three albums (all three in one week) for the Swedish label, Silkheart Records in 1988. Since then he has recorded on various labels, teaching music, performing and recording with Cecil Taylor, William Parker, and Rashied Ali. Gayle’s music is spiritual, heavily inspired by the Old and New Testaments and has dedicated several albums to God.
Gayle is noted for his work on piano and tenor sax. This night, however, he played bass. The bass is a relatively new instrument for him, and he played it like a master – but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Wimberly and Gayle took the stage. Melodies and suggestions of chords rained from the bass, while the drums splashed colour and misty atmosphere: the bass drum offering comments and punctuation. The drums flowed into a groove while the bass flew above, in and around the rhythm. The groove faded into an airy state and condensed into another groove. Multiple textures and moods evolved out of the drums at Wimberly’s command throughout. Gayle has the demeanour of a Zen master; a calm concentration while his fingers danced over the strings. At one point, Wimberly took a solo, the drums expressing their inner passions. Then Gayle responded with a solo; a poem of bass notes. The two came together and things reached a fevered pitch. Gayle pulled out his bow, and his bass growled, howled, and cried out over the masterfully conducted maelstrom of the drums. It ended on some percussive exclamations. Gayle began another exploration. Angular melodies danced in the air, and soon a jazz groove manifested on the drums. This part began like a conversation; an impassioned dialogue between two men of strong convictions working out a sensitive issue. It ended on an abrupt agreement.
After Wimberly took a moment to acknowledge Gayle’s mastery and help in his career, they continued. This was a meditative and almost mournful tone poem. It created its own ambient setting: a gentle rain with thunder in the distance, while the poetry evolved against this backdrop. This quiet poem grew into an impassioned cry in the wilderness. It ended on a hard note. Then Gayle spoke for a moment, reciprocated Wimberly’s kudos.
They finished with a free interpretation of “On Green Dolphin Street.”
Next Michael Wimberly led an ensemble of masters: Will Connell (alto sax, flute, and bass clarinet), Andy Bemkey (piano), Andrew Lamb (tenor sax), and William Parker (bass). Roy Campbell, one of Wimberly’s mentors (and who’d passed away two days after this event) MCed.
After this congress of masters assembled on stage, Wimberly came out of his corner swinging (literally and figurative), with a thunderous attack on drums. This eruption settled into a groove, with Parker responding with an aggressive walking bass line. The piano slid in with a sparse comment, and the horns rose above this with a double helix of horn lines. Connell took the lead with a heavy cascade of spirals and fractal reinventions.
Bemkey eased in and, with the rhythm section opening space for him, created an evolving crystalline structure. It grew, shattered, and reassembled itself again and again.
Parker flowed into his own solo like rushing water, powerful and irresistible. With a few punches on drums and Bitches Brew-ish chord in the piano, the two horns started a dialogue. After a brief solo by Connell, Lamb came out with an am astonishing solo. Bemkey and Connell stayed largely in the background and Parker and Wimberly strived manfully while Lamb took the entire pantheon of Coltrane, Gilmore, and Ayler, distilled it into his own elixir and conjured angels and demons to manifestation. Connell joined him, and the entire ensemble brought it to a crescendo. It spiralled into a prayerful resolve.
They did not stop. Bemkey took the lead and invoked the blues. At times, he would go off into another world; but at no time were we permitted to loose sight that this was a blues. Then Lamb took the lead, and the others remained a respectful silence. Parker offered one of the most musically poetic and inventive bass solos I’d heard in a long time. Then Connell stepped forward on bass clarinet, navigating the lower tones with grace and delicacy. Lamb stepped forward with a meditative statement; the bass offering support while the drums and piano offering quiet commentary.
Connell returned, and the ensemble gave birth to an angular dance. The bass clarinet explored the geometrically sharp twists and turns, and suddenly the mood changed. Lamb and Wimberly flew off into their own realm. Wimberly treating the trap set like Japanese taiko drums and Lamb testifying like a Pentecostal preacher or chanting dervish in the throes of religious ecstasy. This joyful statement proved too much for the others to resist, and everyone was immersed and baptized in the ocean of sound.
They ended in perfect sync.
They did another piece. Bemkey started with a piano solo that seamlessly wove several styles of jazz into one coherent aggregate. With simultaneous deliberation and abandon he explored these realms, finding different wonders along the way. Somehow, the bass and drums eased in with a liquid subtlety. Out of nowhere, Bemkey assumed the role of walking bass while Parker took a cello like solo. This inverted and deconstructed itself again and again. All the while, Connolly and Lamb stood like martial arts masters, deep in concentration. At the right moment, they both joined in with powerful musical shouts of joy. The two were always in sync, never interfering with each other.
It ended with an explosion and a fade into oblivion.
A jam session followed. Wimberly sat on the drums again (after having done two sets!). It was a fine way to cap off the evening. The masters who’d performed earlier sat back and listened, while musicians who’d been in the audience (Sohrab Saadat Ladjevardi, Ras Moshe, yours truly, and Roy Campbell and a female vocalist) had the chance to make our own musical statements for the evening.
It is interesting to note that Parker, Gayle, etc. represent the last of the post-Coltrane generation. When they’re gone, the present generations will be left with the herculean task of not only developing the skills to do this music, but also to instill a living spirit into it. This, while struggling to keep the business/mundane survival side of it alive. The younger generations have their work cut out for them. And I think they will do well; they have an excellent tradition to build on.
It is also worth noting that , owing to the fact that maestro Campbell passed away two days after this, the jam session may have been among the last music he’d ever make.
