I never choose what I listen to based on mood. On second thought, never’s an eternity I’m reticent to indulge. Let’s say rarely cause’ exceptions are the elastic that let me cheat without breaking stride.
[Perhaps that’s why I’ve heard the scream “turn that shit down!” early in the morning so many times. Mats Gustafsson and Captain Crunch compliment each other just fine thank you! - even before caffeine’s first jolt. Disagree and you can strap that bra and panties on and D train it back to the Bronx.]
It demeans the Craft. Music has to stand on its own two feet during funerals and fucking, careful scrutiny and as workday adjunct. Music’s gotta last. If it ain’t good all the time, it ain’t good any time. If it don’t pass that test, it’s entertainment, not music. Music has to storm all weather. And don’t be so thick as to tell me you can’t salsa to death metal. Yer missin’ the beat.
These are the thoughts that Enfants Terribles new recording Live at the Blue Note evoke.
Nothing compares to actually being there, and I was, though not the night the set was taped. Nevertheless, listening places me right back in the room. The best live sets do.
Alto saxophonist Lee Konitz, now 85, leads a group of seasoned veterans through disassembled jazz standards that feel like that ancient tattered blanket you’d sooner die than throw out. The story of its origin and your attachment to it growing more eccentric with each confession making it both nearer and farther from the truth.
Good old fashioned post-modernism and old fashioned and post modern.
At the conclusion of the gig, Konitz introduces the band by saying “I’d like to thank you on behalf of my colleagues, I forget their names right now...” and there’s no doubt he wasn’t joking. I gotta believe this apparent faux pas was deliberately left unedited. When the tunes are that good, when the musicians are completely lost in the moment individually and collectively, everything old is new again and the familiar is fresh, nameless, beyond the confines of mere mood.