A week of jazz and blues in San Francisco, part I

For a little more than a month, the San Francisco Jazz Festival presents an array of jazz acts from across the spectrum of subgenres and generations and tosses in a few nonjazz performances, as well. Not having the ability to spend most of October and a bit of November in the Golden Gate City, I studied the schedule and decided on a week when Archie Shepp and Cecil Taylor were playing. It was a very, very good week.

The jazz gods were smiling. On my first night in town, Billy Bang was playing Yoshi's, the venerable Oakland jazz venue that last year opened a sister club in San Francisco's Fillmore District. The violinist displayed remarkable soul and technique as he and his quartet navigated melodically and spiritually rich compositions such as the opening "Prayer for Peace" and "At Play in the Fields of the Lord," a song inspired by and titled for the film of the same name. He also delved into the obviously deeply felt "Moments for the Kiamia" (that's "killed in action/missing in action") from his Vietnam: The Aftermath recording. Still, the feeling was mostly upbeat and uplifting, as Bang led his talented young group through a wild song dedicated to former employer Sun Ra, which also showcased his fine pianist (I'd like to tell you his name, but I dropped my notebook in the cab on the way back to the hotel, and didn't notice till after the guy took off), and even plunked his violin tres-style by way of introduction to a Buena Vista Social Club-like descarga.

The next night presented an interesting double-bill, as SF Jazz paired 22-year-old singer Melody Gardot with 83-year-old vocal master Jimmy Scott. Gardot, who was injured in a bicycle accident at the age of 19 and subsequently discovered her songwriting gifts, lightly leaned on a cane as she took the stage solo, tinted glasses shading her sensitive eyes. She proceeded to sing a smoky a cappella number that came across almost like a field chant or gospel number, keeping time by clapping her hands. Her wonderfully responsive band joined in on the next tune, featuring to nice effect the undertstated, often-muted trumpet of Patrick Hughes, the melodic upright bass of the big-bearded Ken Pendergast and the shimmering cymbals and brushes of Charles Staab. Charming and self-effacing, Gardot won over the crowd with her sexy-joky manner, but was most affecting when she put aside the vamping and really showed something of herself, as she did on a remarkable piece titled "Love Me Like a River Does." By the time she finished the tune, on which she also plays piano, she was wiping away tears.

Another singer with a fragile heart pinned to his tuxedoed sleeve, Jimmy Scott was rolled on-stage in a wheelchair, looking every year he's lived but in seemingly great spirits as he beamed broadly and seemed to treasure being in front of a crowd that was excited to see him. A superb band featuring alto saxophonist T.K. Blue, pianist Dee Spencer, bassist Hillard Greene and drummer Dwayne Cook Broadnax provided the settings for his dramatic, soaring tenor as he lingered over syllables in timeless tunes such as "Sweet Embraceable You" and "Time After Time." But when Scott belted out "Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child," the emotional impact was just stunning. (Scott's mother died in a car accident when he was 13.) Long, bony fingers gesticulated, sliced the air and came to rest on his wrinkled brow as he listened to the instrumentalists about him. Thunderous applause prompted an encore, and Scott went all the way back to the beginning with a terrific read of "Everybody's Somebody's Fool," his 1950 hit with the Lionel Hampton band.

Biscuits and Blues, a great basement blues joint, was nearly empty later that night, as a crowd of maybe 20 people showed up to hear sparkplug blues-shouter and harmonica-blower John Nemeth. But Nemeth and his band played as if they were in front of a packed house, although the singer took the opportunity to down glass after glass of Maker's Mark. (I didn't care if he wanted to chug whiskey, as long as it didn't effect his performance adversely, and it didn't seem to, but I was really put off by his desperate attempts at cadging drinks from the audience. Not classy, although several people were happy to oblige. And he also begged drinks for his band, so I guess that makes him at least a good bandleader.) Anyway, the cat is terrifically entertaining, has a huge voice and is a damned decent harpoon man. As the show wore on and the liquor hit its mark, Nemeth grew increasingly animated; with remote mike and harp in hand, he roamed the room, climbed the bar, shook his ass, disappeared into the kitchen and even went upstairs, all while keeping his harp buzzing. Not for the last time that week, I went back to my hotel smiling.

Next post: Shepp gets steamy, Cecil gets spooky, Amoeba takes my money and Marilyn Crispell ... ahh, Marilyn Crispell