For the noted large-ensemble jazz composers who came together to conduct and play the music of mentor and compatriot Jim McNeely, it wasn’t just another night on the bandstand. This special program, “Celebrating Jim McNeely: Big Band and Friends,” was deeply personal. McNeely himself was in attendance, visible in the front row of the DiMenna Center in midtown Manhattan. He was slightly reclined, in failing health, yet able to delight in the sound of a jaw-dropping big band playing nine pieces carefully selected in consultation with the maestro himself.
Your correspondent tuned in after the fact, from overseas, thanks to the excellent livestream offering from JazzComposersPresent.com.
At one point, master of ceremonies and guest conductor Rufus Reid shared the news on microphone that the Frankfurt Radio Big Band had officially named McNeely its first Honorary Conductor Laureate in the history of the organization. The full mid-show standing ovation that followed was a testament to McNeely’s stature, and it moved the ailing composer greatly.
A quick capsule history: “Big band” jazz was predominant from the ’30s into the ’40s, although there had always been small bands before bebop, and the big bands never simply “went away.” They evolved, as the tradition and vocabulary expanded with the times. And following the example of Duke Ellington, figures such as Gil Evans and Bob Brookmeyer and Maria Schneider have used the big band as a limitless creative canvas, ushering the discipline into a new era. Jim McNeely had much to do with this historical development as well.
In his innovative writing; his work with the Vanguard Jazz Orchestra, the Frankfurt Radio Big Band and other major ensembles; and oh yes, his brilliance as a straightahead quintet pianist with Phil Woods and trio and solo pianist as well, McNeely set a new standard and gave aspirations to such contemporary talents as Darcy James Argue, Mike Holober, Migiwa Miyajima and Daniel Jamieson, who worked with McNeely and Rufus Reid to shape this program.
Together with veterans Ed Neumeister and Dennis Mackrel, Reid and the others all took turns conducting at DiMenna. Reid almost teared up when recounting his five years working with McNeely in the BMI Jazz Composers Workshop (“the best five years of my life, they catapulted me,” he said).
East Coast Blow Out was represented on the program by the album’s original guitarist, the great John Scofield, joined meaningfully by original drummer Adam Nussbaum, Scofield’s trio partner from the Shinola era. Pianist Adam Birnbaum was also on fire, representing on McNeely’s instrument, on “Skittish,” the second movement from the five-movement East Coast Blow Out suite.
One could tell the story of the evening as a procession to and from the solo spotlight:
– Neumeister on Nanton-style plunger trombone for “Sticks”;
– bassist Hans Glawischnig on “The Real Hans” as a prelude to “Barefoot Dances,” with trombonist Luis Bonilla and Mackrel on drums, as well as the inimitable Billy Drewes on alto sax (my eyes wandered from the stream for a minute or so, but when Drewes began his solo I knew it was him immediately);
– trumpeter Ingrid Jensen on the stately ballad “In This Moment,” with beautiful flute passages in the winds and key mood-setting input from Birnbaum as well;
– a densely notated, West Coasty Third Stream-ish duo called “De Kooning” for Holober on piano and Ben Kono on alto sax (Holober’s brutal part required a page-turner);
– the beautiful “Hardly Ever” with trumpeter Scott Wendholt and drummer John Riley as well as guest altoist Dick Oatts, still soaringly eloquent on the horn in the midst of his own health struggles;
– “We Will Not Be Silent,” a piece dating back to the Bush II era with Rich Perry on tenor and Gary Smulyan on bari;
– the grooving, Bobby Timmons–like “Pete’s Feet” with a star turn from tenor guest Chris Potter and stellar bass (including deft arco solo) from Martin Wind;
– and finally the bop-oriented “Extra Credit,” with Oatts back out on soprano sax, Ralph Lalama cooking on tenor and Stuart Mack cleaning up on trumpet, supported by guitarist Sebastian Noelle’s alert and adventurous comping, which sat just right in the mix.
Streaming was at least an option if one couldn’t be in the room with all this warmth and human community. One thing to be said for it, other than not having to cross an ocean, is that the camera angles and closeups do breathe another kind of life into the music. Watching Ralph Lalama or Luis Bonilla count rests, for instance, seeing where players’ eyes are focused while not playing, how they’re using the time to stay oriented — they’re the little details that really pop onscreen. JT