how you were born, but how you look at the world.) Fortunately, the production is paced so that the weak spots do not drag the whole show down. They’re talking about taking “Sophisticated Ladies” on the road. If it comes here, by all means go, but first make sure Hines is on board. It’s really his bailgame. SATURDAY, AUGUST 1 /went to hear blues great Otis Rush at Tramps, New York’s only down-to-earth blues club. I can only remember two things clearly about this night: walking into a closet thinking it was the men’s room and Otis onstage repeating “Sometimes I’d rather be dead/than to have to sing these blues for you.” TUESDAY, AUGUST 4 This was to be piano bar night. Playing within two blocks of each other on University Avenue were two senior executives of melodic jazz piano; Tommy Flanagan with Buster Williams on bass at Bradley’s, and Jimmy Rowles with Michael Moore on bass at Knickerbocker’s. Both places will let you stand at the bar for free, though there is a minimum charge for table service. THE CLUB CATERS TO NEW YORK'S ANGLOPHILE NEW WAVE ELITE. ALL THE FACTIONS WERE REPRESENTED, FROM GAY NEW ROMANTICS IN FLOWING ROBES AND MASCARA TO HARDCORE PUNKS IN TORN JEANS AND SPRAYED HAIR. I WAS THE ONLY PERSON THERE WITH A BEARD. Consequently, nobody at either place pays any attention to the music, which is nearly drowned out by the hubbub. I left early. The disrespect jazz musicians must put up with to earn a living! I wonder how many in the crowd realized Flanagan was Ella Fitzgerald’s accompanist for years, while Rowles often worked with Billie Holiday, and under different circumstances, people might have been paying upwards of twenty bucks to hear them play. WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 5 ■went with my friend Karen Burdick ■ (a transplanted Portlander) to Fat Tuesday’s to hear the always challenging modern pianist Cecil Taylor. Fat Tuesday’s is a narrow room with mirrors on every wall that nevertheless has a reputation for presenting jazz of the highest quality. Somehow, I wound up with the best seat in the house, just to the right of the piano with a clear view of the keyboard. Watching Cecil Taylor play is a completely new experience from hearing him on his albums. His extended free-form compositions, lacking accessible melodic and rhythmic toe-holds, can often sound interminable on record, but in concert, one can visualize the ideas developing, so that a fifteen minute solo flies by in a snap. Cecil has incredible control of his hands, and he attacks the keyboard ferociously with wild fingerings, palms, forearms and elbows. Even those who can’t stand his music have never accused him of not knowing what he’s doing (a common complaint by mainstream jazz fans of avant-garde musicians.) A more valid criticism is that Cecil has borrowed more of his radical harmonic dissonances from 20th Century European music than he cares to admit. Yet no European composer that I know of has done anything to compare with the spontaneous fury Cecil has brought to his music for the last 25 years. His pieces may lack clearly defined time patterns, but they do not lack rhythm per se; in fact, they are extremely rhythmic, with all the players swirling around a common pulse. In other words, the music swings, though it may not be obvious to the casual listener. On this particular night, Cecil arrived late and sat down at the piano rather nervously and began to probe for the magical combination to unlock his passions through music. An hour-and-a-half later, his clothes soaked in sweat, he was still probing, apparently dissatisfied with the results. His longtime cohort, alto saxophonist Jimmy Lyons, rode Cecil’s waves of sound like an experienced surfer, pumping hard against the shoulders and gliding smoothly through the tubes. Bassist William Parker and drummer Rashied Bakir also made their presence felt, though Parker was under-miked and Bakir seemed uncertain at times of Cecil’s direction. I’m sure it wasn’t one of their better sets, but I was not at all bored, as the music seemed to plumb new depths at every turn. There was always something worth listening for. At the advice of Village Voice jazz writer Gary Giddens, I left at midnight to catch Ronald Shannon Jackson’s Decoding Society in a private performance at a huge afterhours club called The Underground. Located inside an apparently abandoned building, with two floors, four bars and a fabulous sound system, the club caters to New York’s Anglophile New Wave elite. this coupon worth 20% off on any T book A WOMAN'S PLACE A COLLECTIVELY-RUN FEMINIST BOOKSTORE Portland's largest selection of women's books & records free lending library; information & referral open 10-6 Mon-Sat 2349 SE Ankeny 236-3609 os much fun as you can have in public 36 Clinton St. Quarterly
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