June
17, 2007
By: Michael Judge
The
Javon Jackson Group with Dr.
Lonnie Smith and Les McCann
Jackson's band definitely
plays jazz-funk, but it's
jazz-funk of a sort that includes
absolutely nothing cloying
or saccharine. The athletic,
heavy quartet plays a stripped-down
sort of guerrilla funk with
as much drawn from James Brown
and Fela Kuti as Miles and
the genre's '70s legends.
They
embody the unique combination
of warmth and get-on-the-good-foot
intensity often found in the
best of their style. Jackson's
friendly demeanor and muscular,
jocular solos providing the
amiability and the fury coming
from the truly immense sounds
of bassist Kenny Davis and
drummer Rudy
Royston,
a man who doesn't play fills
as much as he triggers avalanches.
Special mention goes to guitarist
David Gilmore, who deals with
what must be the continual
annoyance of not being that
David Gilmour in the best
possible way: His solos left
the people in back going nuts
and the people in front scurrying
to lift their jaws off the
grass.
It's
a well-known legend that Miles
planned to record with Jimi
Hendrix before the latter's
untimely death, and one imagines
that the result might've sounded
something like Gilmore's playing
Saturday afternoon. He's harmonically
expansive, deeply lyrical,
and (when necessary) blindingly
fleet. Don't be surprised
if the next guitarist with
his name has to live up to
his legacy as well as the
Pink Floyd Gilmour's.
Things
only improved with the entrance
of the legendarily eccentric
Dr. Lonnie Smith. He's the
kind of man that can append
"Dr." to his name
and wear a turban while performing
for, in his own words, "no
particular reason" and
make both seem logical, even
necessary. A true master of
the Hammond organ, his rhythmic
and tonal acuity are such
that he can ride out a single
note with a few chord stabs
here and there for 32 bars
and not only is it not, boring,
it's charismatically arresting.
He
almost instantly transformed
from the quizzical guy in
the turban to Most Benevolent
High Priest of Funk, playing
in a sort of continual dance
with hands-waving benedictions
overhead and the organ shouting
the cosmic blessings. He ?earned
a standing ovation after his
first tune.
After
a smoking version of the good
doctor's "If You See
Kay" (say that slowly
to yourself), in which the
band vamped unbelievably hard
and Smith got further and
further out with the bluesy
chord changes until they were
somewhere in deep space, the
assembly was joined by the
godfather of soul-jazz, pianist
Les McCann.
Though
he was led onstage by a flock
of assistants, the 71-year
old McCann quickly established
himself as the group's rowdiest
-- and most senior -- presence.
Not a lot of septuagenarians
will introduce themselves
with the line, "It's
been a while since I was back
in this sad-ass town,"
and then let out a gruff cackle,
but McCann might as well be
25 for the effect the years
have had on his playing and
personality.
His
pianism still takes the frenzied
testifying of a Pentecostal
church and plants it firmly
in the red-light district,
all funky double stops and
rhythmic broadsides. The furious
version of his classic "Compared
to What?" was perhaps
the highlight of the entire
festival: As he belted out
the lines, "The President,
he's got his war / Folks don't
know just what it's for /
Nobody gives us rhyme or reason
/ Have one doubt, they call
it treason," the flames
coming from Smith and the
Jackson group climbed higher
and higher and all was in
harmony.
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