Kenny Garrett, Ronnie Scott's review - a mixed bag

The sax-player Kenny Garrett established a reputation as one of Miles Davis’s band in the Amandla (1989) period. He was also a member of Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers, the launching-pad for scores of talented young musicians.

Influenced by the harmonic freedom pioneered by John Coltrane, he’s one of those post- hard bop instrumentalists who reached out towards various kinds of fusion, bringing jazz back to its more danceable roots and leaning heavily towards a sound that sold well in the market-place.

No surprise then that Kenny Garrett’s recent set at Ronnie Scott’s consisted of two elements: edge-of your-seat, improvisatory explorations on the edge of free jazz, riding high on great technical prowess and fiery energy. And a majority of tunes that relied on more predictable rhythms and repeated riffs, pleasant enough, but not as exciting as the material that followed the less predictable trail first trodden adventurously by Coltrane, Dolphy, Archie Shepp and others.

The opening number was so thrilling, that anything afterwards was going to pale in comparison. Never easy to know how to construct a set, as there are so many variables in play, not least at Ronnie’s a crowd often distracted by the arrival of cocktails and burgers, but also the pressures of touring and delivering excitement night after night on the road. In this case, Garrett and his band plunged in, fast and furious, as a comet from outer space might burst into the earth’s tranquil atmosphere. Very early in the number, he gave space to Keith Brown a pianist as adept in being playful with off-beat chords as he is in complex runs of notes across the keyboard, and then the astonishing bass-player, Jeremiah Edwards, not only a youthful force of nature, a skilled technician, with a sense of timing that drove the other musicians as much as the drums but with a refined sense of invention that was a delight to hear. Michael Ode, the drummer, played with versatility and brio throughout. When it came to Garrett’s own solo, he was soon soaring like a high altitude bird– pun not entirely unintended, as no alto sax-player can ignore the trail-blazing legacy of the original “Bird”, bop innovator Charlie Parker.

Not long ago I read an article in The Oxford American, one of their excellent music issues dedicated to an American state in the South, about John Coltrane’s roots in gospel, the music he grew up with as a child. Black church music, along with blues, dwells at the very heart of jazz, in many different ways, but it’s the conjuring of the spirit, the essence of gospel, with its promise of transcendence and physically experienced ecstasy that fuels so much of the most incandescent jazz improvisation. John Coltrane and others moved by a spiritual quest reached back in their own ways, producing music that drew its strength from this letting go, and surrender to forces beyond ego and the comfort of tonality.

the sound of his instrument gradually morphed into something more visceral

This is where Kenny Garrett took us. Of course, an English audience doesn’t easily give into the power of the spirit, at least not visibly, but the atmosphere in the club changed, as the sax-man, possessed as a preacher might be, took us for an extra-terrestrial ride. From recognisable runs of notes,the sound of his instrument gradually morphed into something more visceral; then there were harmonics, those double notes which Coltrane had used to great effect on the album Coltrane Jazz (1961), eerie, otherworldly sonorities that gave way to breath alone, and then finally silence.

Until the closing number of the set, it felt as if Garrett was treading water, with material that lacked the almost hallucinatory feel of the opener. Melvis Santa, the statuesque singer who vocalised in a style that came into fashion in jazz several decades ago, was barely audible in the mix. The other members of the band went through the motions – a touch of Latin, with clave from Santa, then a bouncy jazz waltz, some lacklustre rap from Garrett and some rather forced singalongs. The change in quality and engagement was almost unbelievable.

Once again, though,  at the end, the spark set them alight. This was very much a showcase for the leader, here at his best – as jazz shaman who could raise souls from the dead.  As he ventured boldly into a lengthy but gripping solo, he rose towards a climax, the audience mesmerised. But intelligently, as great jazz soloists know how, he repeatedly stopped just short of resolution, taking us one step beyond at every stage of the ascent. One by one, the other players peeled away, until Garrett was alone, quoting in one passage from “Eleanor Rigby” and “St Thomas” next, the tune made famous by Sonny Rollins on his classic album Saxophone Colossus (1956)

This dizzying display of invention and energy saved the night, the almost desultory feel of the earlier supposed crowd-pleasers, forgotten as they deserved to be. Those moments of blazing spirit produce a kind of joy that's totally of the here and now, vivifying as well as healing. For that, we can without a shade of doubt be deeply grateful!

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