lenny kaye tour diary: part four

7/14-18/08

Jazz Odyssey. Our “new direction,” as Derek Smalls of Spinal Tap might have it, begins synchronously in Vienna on our night off. A friend recommends us to the Celeste Café on Hamburgerstrasse, where we might find “digital artists” and musicians, and have a bite to eat. There is food in the upstairs restaurant, though the non-English menu means we’re not sure what version of schnitzel we’re getting, but in the basement bar there is a regular Monday night free-jazz gathering. Smoky and dissonant, it reminds me of what the Five Spot must have been like when Eric Dolphy was blowing out the walls. Invited to play, I quote what I know of “Ornithology” and then have a twenty minute blast riding the sound waves with a frisky drummer, a keyboard player who provides a wall of cacophonous sludge, and a trumpeter. Bitch’s Brew, man.

A fitting warmup for next day’s Moldejazz festival in Norway. We arrive in time to see the Ornette Coleman quartet in a concert setting. The band features his son Denardo on drums, and a pair of bassists, one piccolo electric and one stand-up acoustic, with Ornette sitting centerstage in a multi-colored suit seemingly designed by Jackson Pollack. His elegance, his mastery, the band’s empathy, make it a remarkable occasion, and I treasure this moment with one of jazz’s most important innovators, one of the last of his generation and so to be exquisitely savored. My favorite album of the past month has been Sonny Rollins’ Freedom Suite, a lyrical and impassioned 50s trio performance that stands at the cusp of the harmolodic breakthroughs which Ornette would take to the next level of sound-on-sound in such works as The Shape of Jazz To Come. The shadings and dynamics which he and his musicians move through – “compositional improvisation” as he describes it - shows that “free” jazz is not just explosive energies but all musics rolled into one. Freedom sweet.

Moldejazz is one of the oldest festivals in Europe, begun in 1961, and though we’re there to play our version of Radio Ethiopian jazz, and Mary J. Blige will be embarking on her r&b jazz, the entire town is taken up with varieties of the form. The hotel bar features a Hammond organ groove-ensemble; there is a Japanese soul band playing up the hill. Given my recent explorations into Norwegian black metal, I am a bit disappointed that there is no Odinesque fusion on display, but perhaps Witches’ Brew is not far off.

Our next stop is Tromso, several degrees over the Arctic Circle and the farthest north I’ve ever been. The sun never sets here during the summer, though it’s damp and raining when we arrive. But once we get to the Bukta Festival site, on the shores of a sparkling fjord, the sky clears, a-dazzle at this particular top of the world. The gathering has a distinctly indie rock flavor: The Leningrad Cowboys, from Finland, featuring quiffs that look more like ships’ prows than hair, play a version of psychobilly; Woven Hand from the mile highs of Denver impresses with textured guitar effects and atmospheric sound, resolving me to find out more about them once I return home; and Ken Stringfellow, late of the Posies, has a new band, the Disciplines, that win the crowd over when he spends most of his set off-stage, singing amongst the throngs. Back at the hotel, I eat reindeer and then take a walk at midnight through streets that have the glow of late afternoon, awaiting the sun “rise” at 1:30 a.m.

Stockholm is another Jazzfest, though Stevie Klasson’s Fat Chance is fronted by an old Johnny Thunders’ mate (and mine) playing hard-edged rock amidst the more time-honored forms of jass on display, such as Deborah Brown’s stunning topsy-turvy vocals backed by the 32nd note guitar pyrotechnics of the Andreas Pettersson Quartet, winging their way through standards. There is a long tradition of respect for classic jazz here – Charlie Parker made a celebrated foray to Sweden in November, 1950 – and it shows in the audience’s concentration and enthusiasm. The future, with the Nils Petter Molvaer Group stabbing at a laptop, while one member triggers drums loops and another scratches a turntable, is received equally well. Then there’s us, betwixt and between, looking back at where we’ve been and ahead to where we go tomorrow, playing our show tonight, this road we travel.