Aye, Aye…Yai
Ahab had his white whale; Hollywood Drum has its Blue Whale. A previous encounter with the Little Tokyo jazz club had us posting our first Hittin’ column in three years. That was two years ago. Last night’s encounter inspires our first post since. Curse that place! Can’t I just go enjoy some music without feeling compelled to wrestle the beast in the morning?!

Accidental euphemisms aside (tortured metaphors dead-center), it’s my Moby Dick to face down. …Dammit!

It’s not Blue Whale’s fault, really. With some of Los Angeles’ most prominent jazz venues shuttering in recent years, the improbable downtown space on the top floor of an outdoor mall has become the new big fish–hosting some of the finest improvised music in town. Yes, Joon Lee’s timing was right when he opened the doors in 2009, but timing alone doesn’t square the success of the place.

With a passion and appreciation for music and musicians immediately evident as he greets you at the door, Joon has transformed the hidden–elusive even?–corner retail box into an inviting, vibey, creativity-conducive and acoustically-sound listening room. A place musicians go to play and, along with music-lovers at large, to listen. Add a selection of small-batch whiskey and…well maybe it is Blue Whale’s fault.

Either way, here I am, coffee at hand, contemplating the musical experience and significance of the evening’s performance.

Pronunced: [Luh-feyv]
I remember meeting Tim at the bar of a Westside venue in-between Kneebody sets a few years back. He had just relocated to LA from NYC where he was an established, in-demand bassist playing with Wayne Krantz, Chris Botti, Leni Stern and Donny McCaslin. He seemed a bit unmoored at the time, connecting to a new scene and, yes, looking for work. I sensed a chuckle in his voice, intimating a confidence that things would be just fine. They are.

Since his move, he’s landed a prime gig with Tedeschi Trucks Band and, along with the Donny McCaslin Group, recorded Bowie’s brilliant adieu, Blackstar. And he’s become a Blue Whale all-star, appearing regularly with irregular configurations. This latest, The Tim Lefebvre Group, featured Jeff Babko, keys; Troy Zeigler, electronics; Dave Binney, sax; and Matt Chamberlain. Drums.

Risk Acceptance
It was billed as an “all-improv show”; which commonly translates to “we-didn’t-take-the-time-to-prepare-music-or-rehearse show”. The result is often meandering and self indulgent. (Not to suggest prepared and rehearsed precludes meandering and self indulgent.)

We associate improvisation with jazz. Rightly so. Still, that defining element of improvisation is generally relegated to soloing over the structure of a prearranged composition. Even modal or “free” jazz forms are broadly framed by this construct.

Miles Davis’ seminal jam albums, Bitches Brew and Jack Johnson, records I love, come to mind. While the extended “songs”–mostly one per side–are highly improvisational and unrestrained, there remains an outline of composition; and most of the more dramatic shifts in musical direction are edited from varied takes and further composed from the mixing board. Of course, he did perform in this style live too. But he was Miles Davis.

And you’re not.

An “all-improv show” is ambitious. And risky. And ordinarily falls flat. Lefebvre and company were extraordinary.

Sound Decisions
The floor-level stage was set with Babko’s array of keys and wires; Zeigler’s compact and alien rig of pedals and electronic controllers and more wires; Lefebvre’s comparatively stark bass rig and effect pedals and yet more wires; and Chamberlain’s…wait, this is Hollywood Drum for chrissake…

…Beautifully-antiqued copper A&F set: 18″bd, 13″tt, 16″ft, 6.5×14″ and 3×16″ snares, and 10″ timbalito. Close enough, I’m sure. A ride, large crash, two effect cymbals, primary and tiny side hats; assorted metal and hand percussion; and a couple trigger pads and a full portable mixing board and yet even more wires.

As much so as performances, this was to be about sounds. Performance. Sound. Peas. Potatoes. It’s all part of the pie, yes. A quck aside to this point:

I ride a motorcycle. For better or worse, the bike does exactly what it’s told. For better or worse.

All -improv with lots of buttons to twist means a lot of musical choices available and decisions to be made. For better or worse. Someone could get hurt.

Crappy pic #2

Rise Beyond The Occasion
Over two sets spanning approximately three hours, the outcome was transcendent. Music transcendent of its individual parts and choices and knobs and wires. Music transcendent of billing or category. Music transcendent of its location in the corner of a downtown shopping mall. Music, if you let it, to transcend body and mind. You know, great music.

Atmospheric at times. Deeply grooving at times. Melodic. Noisy. Halting, Shifting, Abrupt, Meditative. Each and all. Most tempos trended toward mid; most times, with at least one extended exception, tended toward four. But any repetition became a matter of choice, not lack of direction. Most of each set was non-stop exploration; endings, as they came, came of their own resolution. A disparate gospel blues riff somehow (Matt Chamberlain) naturally morphed into a dubstep bridge before reemerging as seamlessly.

Sorry, Kenny
The word “virtuosity” came up in passing conversation during the break. Virtuosity–excelling at one’s instrument–was not the thing at play here. Yes, each of these guys can play; they play at virtuosic levels. The idea of virtuosos convening for an all-improv jam makes me sweaty. This was decidedly not that.

As I understand it, they’d played together (with Chamberlain, at least) just once, the week before at No Name on Fairfax. The musical chemistry; depth of listening and trust; innate musicality; and fearless ability to create completely in the moment is what this was.

It’s what jazz, at its essence, is. Miles showed us decades ago that it’s not easily defined by swing or progressions or harmony or composition or style. (He employed synths, samples, and drum loops–Zeigler’s electronic rig is no less an instrument than a saxophone makes Kenny G jazz.) In fact, pure improvisation, arguably, is the epitome of jazz; and demands the truest sense of virtuosity to pull off.

As Advertised
About the drummer in the title of this post, it occurs to me that this is the second Hittin’ column bearing his name. I’ve previously felt inspired to pay him tribute on this site. It shall suffice for me to say that any superlatives regarding Matt have grown only more super with time–this was the best I’ve ever heard him. That is surely not to diminish those past times, and I hope he’d agree that he continues to grow ever more consummate as a musician.

But wait, there’s more. Matt’s integration of electronic with acoustic as a drummer, musically, is just about as good as it gets. It’d be satisfying somehow to assert the musical experience would have been equally, if differently, compelling had he been playing a four-piece Gretsch with a couple cymbals. I’m not asserting that. That’s a big deal, really. His long-standing embrace of technology has not only changed the instrument; in this setting, it’s bettered it.

Aye!
Tools matter. Try drilling into concrete without a hammer drill. But you could put an unforgivable hole in your wall if you use one to hang a picture. For better or worse.

These musicians used all of their tools, refined and polished over time, to construct a memorable night of transcendent music. Without a blueprint. A significant achievement.

So, we have our significance. And the beast lives to wrestle another day.

Serious music played by serious musicians, when not taken too seriously, is always a special recipe. Add a little tutu for good measure, and I find myself writing the first Hittin’ review in three years.

The little tutu belonged to Genevieve Artadi; the music belonged to Knower—love/brain-child of singer Artadi and drummer/programmer, Louis Cole. The additional musicians were Sam Gendel, sax; Dennis Hamm, keys; and Tim Lefebvre, bass.

This was billed as an experiment—Knower, since its origin in 2010, has largely performed as a duo (sometimes with Lefebvre), backed by sequenced tracks and signature low-budg 80s-era projections. Last night at Little Tokyo’s Blue Whale, Knower was, in a way, stripped-down from duo to five-piece band…six including backing-singer, Nindy Wibisono. There were no sequences; no cosmic lion or atomic bomb loops projected behind them.

The result: my first contribution to this neglected site in three years. Seriously, three years?!

A-ha!
It was somewhere into the second piece (hard to call these simply songs) that the inspiration hit. We, the audience (now overflowing beyond the listening room to the listening bar—how great is Blue Whale? Right?!) were experiencing something special indeed. The sudden urge to write about it was reflexive. But, of course, I’ve seen special shows over the past three years. There was something more profound urging me.

The first thought was that well(damn-well)-played music—live musicians—will always transcend programmed music-in-a-box. Think: The Roots in the early 90s. I had no interest in rap music until I heard it played by real, serious musicians. (Granted, suburban white boys weren’t expected to be hip hop way back then.) Or, a decade earlier, when Missing Persons brought musicianship to synth-pop. I’m not gonna lie here—there is evidence of Human League, Soft Cell and A-ha dalliances in my record collection; but, my thing for Missing Persons was for real. I’ll reminisce with those records to this day.

Knower?! I Barely Know Her!
I’ve appreciated and dug Knower from the beginning, when they were simply known as Louis and Genevieve. The premiere self-titled Knower album (2013) was defining, and kind of a mind blow. I’ve seen them live three or four times and it’s always satisfying musically, and otherwise entertaining—Louis in an over-sized (tall-order for a remarkably tall, albeit paper-thin, dude) corn-cob t-shirt, or his n’ hers glow-in-the-dark skeleton unitards is surprisingly (or not) entertaining. One show had Nate Wood sitting-in on drums (file under musically-satisfying). Come to think, he had a skeleton costume on too. File under awesome.

But this was different.

Certainly, they’ve heard it before: something along, “You guys should play this stuff with a real band!” I imagine the statement triggering degrees of contempt and dread. Contempt at the idea that the duo is not a real band or somehow less-than; dread at the idea of actually getting musicians to own that music…more so, actually letting them.

The Deep End
Technically, a pool of players (while small—a kiddie-pool of big-time players) that could pull it off exists here in Los Angeles. Although, it could be argued (I’ll just frame the motion) that the crucible of musicians most technically and conceptually adept at replicating/re-inventing modern electronic music (transforming their instruments in the process) is fired via the east coast. The musicians on the Blue Whale stage last night, NYC and LA natives alike, were an overlap of generations forged from that electro/acoustic, techno/jazz alloy and steeled to the task.

Surely, the challenge of playing Knower music with a live band was not the primary reason they came so late to the experiment. Necessarily, intrinsically, their music would morph through the sweaty, unpredictable hands of humans—technology will always take better direction. There are the elements of comfort and control creating alone with keyboard and screen. There’s no particular judgment inherent in that. But, there’s a reason we dread the Reckoning of the Robots.

There is sanctity in the sweaty, unpredictable, imperfect hands of humans.

Where there is Loss of Control there comes Leap of Faith.

This experiment of Knower’s—of ours—last night embodied these truths. It’s the reason, the inspiration, the urge for my words this morning.

Sure, human hands manipulate the buttons and dials that control the machines; just as they manipulate the keys and strings and valves and sticks that control their instruments. It’s not the creative process I’m qualifying. It’s the quality, the immediacy, the excitement, the virtue of sound and interaction in live performance that elevated Knower’s music and deepened the human connection in that space and time.

Simply, the music came alive.

OK, The Thing’s Got Louis Cole’s Name In The Title…
I mentioned he’s remarkably tall, right? He’s also remarkably dry-witted in an over-sized corn-cob t-shirt kind of way:

“Genevieve is getting-over being sick. After just being sick.” Pause. “Her new nickname is Double Sick.” That she is.

Cole is also remarkably good. I’ve seen him play a few times over the past few years, and he’s never sounded better. His conceptual clarity and technical fluency reflect a maturity that moves him further away from up-and-comer and toward an established artistic voice. Yes, it’s easy enough to hear influences such as Wood and Guiliana in his approach; but it’s become more easy now to foremost hear Cole.

What does Cole sound like? He’s a risk-taker—confident and fearless; but not reckless—committed to groove. He’s largely bass drum centric—leading with his right foot, his grooves are grounded, rarely ethereal. His rhythms and voicings are angular and broken and his sounds (ubiquitous splash on tom, dry cymbals, muted tunings) are mostly staccato; yet his feel is almost always round and fluid. Not surprisingly, as a multi-instrumentalist and composer, Cole’s drumming, while exciting and unpredictable, is fundamentally driven by fealty to song.

In a real sense, this was Knower’s coming out. And not just from underneath a tutu. Let’s hope it was more than just a tease.