There is a certain pretension which often accompanies the performance of Jazz. The music which was born out of brothels in the heart of New Orleans has seemingly climbed the social ladder into the domain of cultured white folks. American music’s backbone has become convoluted and obscured. I often wonder what Jazz was like when it was simply about enjoying the music, getting lost in the complex rhythm and harmony, and wasting simply passing the time. In a way, this show was my answer.
A moderate crowd comprised primarily of sweater toting old folks and bearded hipsters, turned up for the opening band. First Ave felt unusually relaxed, whether it was due to it being a Thursday night or the relatively mellow Kamasi Washington fans, I couldn’t say.
The opener PHO, consisting of two horns, two guitars, a bass and drums kicked off the night with a spry tune! Their timing was impeccable, which one might expect from a group of young white guys dressed like tech CEOs. Despite the tight tucked plads, PHO brought a perfect blend of precision, awe, and feel to the room!
After PHO had finished, seeing the room wasn’t terribly full, I decided give up my spot on the floor to take a quick walk around the block. Upon returning, I found First Ave packed to the gills. I had to keep reminding myself it was Thursday, I’d never seen such a weeknight crowd.
Having braved the cold MN fall, LA native Kamasi and his band entered the stage to a wild roar from the crowd. It became clear these weren’t polite folks out for and evening on the town, we were there for one reason, the music!
Clipping through the first song, it was clear the band, Kamasi, and the crowd were all on the same wavelength. Jazz fan or not, there was immense energy in simply watching the band interact musically and visually. When a musician would take a solo I would watch Kamasi’s face as he lost his head in the musical tug of war.
For the third tune, Kamasi invited his father out to play flute on a song he had written for his grandmother. Their chemistry was palpable both musically and personally. His father’s presence made the band seem even more familial. It was clear Kamasi holds a deep regard for his band and their sensibilities.
With each song, the room fell deeper in sync with Kamasi. Many artist attempt to portray an air of superiority or meteque while on stage. For Kamasi however, music was simply his gift to us. A mutually enjoyed experience.
Kamasi came to First Ave touring his newly released EP “The Harmony of Difference”. I am often hesitant to look for tangible meaning in instrumental music. I much prefer to enjoy the sounds without attaching any underlying meaning. That said, Kamasi’s compositions and the band’s improvisation perfectly encapsulated the idea of harmony stemming from difference.
Not just any difference. Specifically, the brand of difference which realizes we are in no way the same, often times not even similar. But we all share the common experience of being human. Thursday’s performance was an example of music born free of ego, and pride. Music which exists in a space not created, but simply experienced.
Forgoing much of the meaningless between song banter, Kamasi simply told the room something like “diversity isn’t a nice thing we should do, it’s one of the most beautiful things in in the world.” Non political, non judgmental, and concise.
People often tell me music is getting worse, “the 20s, the 70s, or the 80s. Those were the golden years.” The passing of time naturally filters the superfluous permitting only the best of music to last. On top of this, nostalgia often favorably distorts that which is in the past. Time is the ultimate judge of meaning and significance.
All this considered, this was a rare opportunity to be a part of a now flourishing niche. In recent years Los Angeles has produced a plethora of outstanding jazz, hip hop, and fusion players. It might be an overstep to call it the Motown of hip hop, but comparisons can certainly be drawn. I, in fact, first found Kamasi by his work with Kendrick Lamar, Thundercat, and Flying Lotus.
