NASA hasn’t perfected the robot that would be the ideal reviewer for a jazz festival like the Jazz Bash by the Bay in Monterey, California, that happened February 29 – March 3, 2024. It would have multiple heads, each equipped with audio and video recording equipment as well as the ability to monitor the audience’s reactions. It could be in eight places at once; it wouldn’t require food, drink, or the restroom; it wouldn’t need its batteries recharged; it would record every set in the most comprehensive way.
It goes without saying that such an organism would scare audiences away in a hurry. And it is unlikely that NASA is going to fund it. So you have to read my admittedly narrow and lopsided report, unless, of course, you were fortunate enough to be there and have compiled your own.
I could start off by telling you all the bands I didn’t get to see, but that would depress me and probably wound the people whose work I didn’t get to applaud. So I will accentuate the positive and speak of the fifteen or so sets I did delight in.
Before I do, I should clarify “narrow and lopsided.” I grew up listening to Louis, Jack, Teddy, Basie small groups, Condon with Lee Wiley, Billie, Mildred, so I am thus not a “traditional” “trad” fan. Many devotees around me love the California jazz they grew up with: Lu Watters and Turk Murphy, Bob Scobey, and their descendents. I embrace that idiom when it is expertly played, and it was at the Bash, but I have a distinct love for sweet and slow: jazz that doesn’t make the walls of the auditorium bulge and the floors shake. So I am sure that my list of favorites might not be everyone’s.
Onwards.
We arrived too late on Thursday night to hear Josh Duffee’s Graystone Monarchs make Jean Goldkette come alive, but I was told they were wonderful; I am sure that was the case, having seen them in concert celebrating Chauncey Morehouse some years ago.
Friday began with “The Big Four,” who lived up to their title in expertise.
“The world’s smallest big band” is what their ringleader, guitarist-singer Dave Stuckey called this assemblage. And he was right: four and then five musicians who, genially and expertly switching instruments and roles, gave the eager audience good value. Dan Barrett played cornet, piano, and sang JUST A GIGOLO; Riley Baker started out on bass and then moved to trombone and sang I’M GONNA SIT RIGHT DOWN AND WRITE MYSELF A LETTER; Riley’s father, the celebrated Clint, moved back and forth from clarinet to trombone, most effectively on the latter on AUNT HAGAR’S BLUES, and singing FOUR OR FIVE TIMES; for the last two numbers of the set, the brilliant reedman Jacob Zimmerman joined them on clarinet. Jovial and loose, it was the kind of music played at a house party; that it took place at a convention center bothered no one. And the repertoire was both venerable and fresh: songs well-known but not often played: LAUGHING AT LIFE, BESSIE COULDN’T HELP IT, and AM I BLUE? among them.
When the hour was over, I packed my gear and walked quickly (I don’t run these days) to a set I was looking forward to attending more than I can say. I’ve admired the singer Dawn Lambeth for two decades now, and each time I hear her she is surpassing herself in warmth and swing. Reader, Dawn performed six sets at the Bash, and I video-ed all of them, missing only an instrumental JAZZ BAND BALL because I arrived two or three minutes late. This isn’t infatuation; it’s appreciation.
Dawn had arranged to have a wonderful cross-continental band (and she generously gave them their own time to play): Californians Josh Collazo, drums; Mikiya Matsuda, bass; Chris Dawson, piano — a phenomenal rhythm section — with Seattle’s Jacob Zimmerman and the remarkable Danny Tobias, trumpet and Eb alto horn, Trenton, New Jersey’s gift to the world of jazz. The band occupied a spiritual space somewhere between a Teddy Wilson small group and an Eddie Condon Commodore session. And Dawn treated us to rare songs, sweetly and thoughtfully: C’EST MAGNIFIQUE, UNDER A BLANKET OF BLUE, and PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT. I overheard that she and this band are making a CD: it will be a delight.
For someone obsessed with the music, festival life is a blur of hastening from one set to the next, hurried greetings of friends in the hall or even on the escalator, trying to get the best seat. I think I escaped with my wife for an actual meal, but can’t be sure. But there was a much-needed gap in the action.
At 7 PM on Friday, I was glued to a front-row seat for another set of Dawn, her band, and guest Dave Stuckey, providing a strong rhythm guitar foundation. The set was beautifully expansive. Dawn sang YOU WERE MEANT FOR ME, which always brings back a visual memory of Gene Kelly wooing Debbie Reynolds, who is on a ladder on an empty stage set, in SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN; and DID YOU MEAN IT? which summons up Helen Ward, Teddy Wilson, Jonah Jones, and Stuff Smith (it’s on YouTube), a pearly STAIRWAY TO THE STARS, and duets with Dave on TWO SLEEPY PEOPLE and the Fifties country hit, NOBODY’S BUSINESS BUT MY OWN. And the band romped on NO ONE ELSE BUT YOU, ROSETTA, LADY BE GOOD (featuring Jacob), and I NEVER KNEW. Truly wonderful.
Dave Stuckey usually leads his own group, the Hot House Gang, but at the Bash he was a valued guest star in a number of contexts. However, the Gang took the stage for one set with a delightfully varied personnel: Clint Baker on bass, Josh Duffee, drums; John Otto, clarinet; Riley Baker, trombone; T.J. Muller, trumpet and vocal . . . . but no piano — that is, until the indefatigable Dan Barrett sat down at the upright. Dan doesn’t give himself much praise as a pianist, but he is a compendium of fine surprises, his playing more Garner and Rowles than you would expect, with harmonically-dense percussive block chords. He stole the show more than once. Dave aimed this group (you’ve seen the Charles Peterson photographs of jam sessions at Jimmy Ryan’s in 1944? — that was the ambiance) towards the great songs of the Twenties and Thirties: AIN’T CHA GOT MUSIC?, MISS BROWN TO YOU, YOU’RE LUCKY TO ME. The set offered two resal marvels: T.J., who had led ensembles with perfectly aimed force, played and sang TAKE ME TO THE LAND OF JAZZ even though we were already there, and Dan chose to tell the audience all about a treasured Cliff Jackson record of YOU’VE GOT ME WALKIN’ AND TALKIN’ TO MYSELF, and the band played it as a closing extravaganza, Dan leaving the piano bench to play trumpet and sing, Clint and Riley Baker switching trombone and bass. It was a Condon Town Hall concert in portable form.
The last set of Friday was “the Jackson Six,” whose instrumentalists numbered five: Marc Caparone, cornet and vocal; Andy Schumm, clarinet; Chris Dawson, piano; Steve PIkal, bass; Josh Collazo, drums. The sixth member, always welcome, was Dawn Lambeth. They opened with MONDAY DATE, and then swung into the rarely-played HAPPY AS THE DAY IS LONG. Dawn sang LOOK FOR THE SILVER LINING and the Henry “Red” Allen rarity, I’LL SING YOU A THOUSAND LOVE SONGS, before Marc played and sang HE’S A SON OF THE SOUTH — a self-definition memorably performed by Louis Armstrong in 1933 (composed by Reginald Foresythe, Joe Davis, and Andy Razaf) with wonderful lyrics: “Hear women sign / As he passes by / He’s their delight / He’s so polite,” and “If he’s right on the spot / When the music is hot / You can bet he’s a son of the South.” Marc and the band did it full justice before Marc turned to the memorable THERE’S A CABIN IN THE PINES by Billy Hill (a Louis-Bing constellation) before Dawn swung us happily to our rooms with SHINE ON YOUR SHOES. A delicious hour.
Saturday began with a set by the Holland-Coots Jazz Quintet: Brian Holland, piano; Danny Coots, drums; Steve Pikal; Marc Caparone; John Otto, now on alto saxophone, with guest Andy Schumm, clarinet. The Otto-Schumm collaboration moved the band into a 1929 Jimmie Noone groove, always welcome, with Marc happily time-travelling back to Chicago to join them. (Andy and John had performed their wonderful evocation of Noone’s Apex Club Orchestra, which I had seen at the 2023 Bash, but missed this year. Perhaps someone had an iPhone and a steady hand this time?)
Bassist Steve Pikal, joyous, energetic, and rhythmically trustworthy, was Musician of the Year. His nickname is “Pickle,” perhaps inevitably, and musicians were sporting “Pickle coolers,” designed to hold the canned beverage of one’s choice, bright green, and bearing Steve’s smiling portrait. Ideal swag, as they say.
It was a parade of delights: a perfect 1933 JAZZ ME BLUES, a moody WILLOW TREE, a frolicsome LULU’S BACK IN TOWN, a TRAV’LIN ALL ALONE that wore its mournful heart on its sleeve, I’VE GOT A FEELING I’M FALLING sung winsomely by John Otto, and a sustained shout in a minor key on LOVE ME OR LEAVE ME. We left when the set ended, but with palpable regret.
Another set by Dawn and her splendid band followed, its emphasis on romance, with Porter’s I LOVE YOU, PLEASE BE KIND, and CHEEK TO CHEEK. Josh Collazo, the master, wowed us on I CRIED FOR YOU, and the rhythm section turned BEI MIR BIS DU SCHOEN into an ecumenical classic. (In my notebook, I have only one word next to that song title: WOW.)
An interval for a plastic-wrapped sandwich of higher-than-usual quality (my test is whether I can recognize what I am eating with my eyes closed) before I headed for another set by Dawn and her band, their thoughts once again in the Land of Romance with LITTLE WHITE LIES, YOU ARE MY LUCKY STAR, I CAN DREAM, CAN’T I, and SOMEDAY SWEETHEART — a nice mix of swoon and rage in swingtime. Chris Dawson and Josh Collazo, the latter discreetly sweeping his wire brushes, offered BODY AND SOUL and it was as if we had not heard the song a thousand times, it seemed so fresh.
Then it was time for a hot-jazz blowout, with Marc Caparone’s Sierra Stompers, with guest stars Andy Schumm, clarinet and cornet, and vocalist Natalie Hanna Mendoza, as well as my first hearing of the “Ragabonds,” which are Brian Holland, piano; Paul Hagglund, tuba; Katie Cavera, banjo; Gareth Price, drums. Their KANSAS CITY STOMPS was a raggy wonder. Marc played cornet and kept order; Howard Miyata, the man, the legend, played trombone and duetted with Natalie on GET OUT AND GET UNDER THE MOON; Nathan Tokunaga, our youthful hero, did a whirling SHREVEPORT STOMP with Brian and Gareth, that brought cheers. For me, the extra highlights were the King Oliver CHATTANOOGA STOMP and NEW ORLEANS STOMP featuring two cornets, and Uncle How’s hilarious star turn on IRISH BLACK BOTTOM.
And every time I hear Nathan Tokunaga he has doubled in musical maturity and humility: a rare and commendable combination. If you are unaware of this young man, stop everything and look him up: he is still in high school, but he is refreshingly adult in so many ways.
Hal Smith’s pitch-perfect evocation of the El Dorado Jazz Band had three sets during the Bash; I caught two. Typically, it was exact and abandoned at once, memorably. Andy Schumm played a hot cornet lead, honoring Papa Ray Ronnei; Hal swung the band on washboard; Brandon Au was his usual gutsy self on trombone; Jeff Barnhart played his dashing piano and sang powerfully; Bill Dendle kept it orderly and idiomatic on banjo (he was the only musician onstage who had seen the original El Dorados); Nathan Tokunaga and Mikiya Matsuda were stellar. They gave new life to MILENBERG JOYS, SNAG IT, BURGUNDY STREET BLUES, and ORY’S CREOLE TROMBONE, but they also tore MONA LIST from the museum wall and made her dance. I was particularly pleased by Jeff’s vocals on IF I HAD WINGS and a mildly expurgated PRETTY DOLL / UGLY CHILD combination, as well as a perky Andy Schumm original, SINGLE STRINGIN’, whose title has nothing to do with guitar solos or burlesque attire.
Another Dawn set had Dan Barrett as guest star, this time on trombone, who created a breathtaking DON’T TAKE YOUR LOVE FROM ME as his feature. Jacob Zimmerman morphed into Barney Bigard on Dawn’s BLUE MOON, and Dawn herself brought out the once familiar I LOST MY SUGAR IN SALT LAKE CITY, something I knew only from Louis’ wartime performance.
And then it was time for bed. Quiet and dark, needed and restorative.
Sunday began early with another El Dorado set, with wonderfully theatrical Barnhart vocals on EARLY HOURS, TAILGATE RAMBLE, and CAKE WALKING BABIES FROM HOME. He is the most polished and casual of performers, playing bravura piano and singing with the ease we would eat a slice of toast. The band was raucous or subtle as the music demanded, and they were the backdrop for a full-scale parasol parade for three numbers, where no one tripped, fell, or stabbed anyone with an umbrella, news that I am sure brings festival staff exhalations of relief.
Sunday noon brought us a marvelous assemblage called THE FABULOUS BAKER BOYS that entirely deserved that billing. Papa Clint led, played trumpet, trombone, and sang, consecutively; Riley played trombone and joined Josh Duffee on a drum duet that ended BIG BUTTER AND EGG MAN, and, so help me, evoked the 1944 one by Sidney Catlett and Lionel Hampton; Katie Cavera and Dani Vargas made a powerful two-guitar team that evoked the Quintette of the Hot Club of France; Mikiya Matsuda propelled things in the best way. On piano it was Chris Calabrese, who I hadn’t seen for years; he created a sparkling, vivid STRUTTIN’ WITH SOME BARBECUE, full of Ducal harmonies and Basie chords, as his solo outing. Not enough? Jacob Zimmerman and Danny Tobias added their own flavors, and Clint called up the splendid Ryan Calloway (you know him as clarinetist, banjoist, singer, painter, dancer) from the audience to sing PENNIES FROM HEAVEN. The band stretched out for a romping LOVE IS JUST AROUND THE CORNER, a BEALE STREET BLUES, both Condon-style (I’ve posted the latter on YouTube with glee), and a moaning trombone duet on WHAT IS THIS THING CALLED LOVE? I now think that only two trombones can begin to answer that question.
My final set of the Bash was the tribute to women songwriters created by Dawn and Katie Cavera, a winning presentation. Any set that begins with DOIN’ THE NEW LOWDOWN (for Dorothy Fields) makes me squirm in my seat with happiness, and this one went from strength to strength. Early on, Dawn invited the warmly emotive singer Janice Anderson to the stage, and Janice sang CLOSE YOUR EYES (by Bernice Petkere) so evocatively that I think the song is now hers forevermore by California law. The band played BARBECUE (for Lillian Hardin) and FINE AND DANDY (for Kay Swift). A particular highlight was another Kay Swift song which I had never heard, sung and explicated by Katie Cavera, who has deep connections to the world of magic and magicians, called SAWING A WOMAN IN HALF. It’s not memorable as pure song but for me and others it was a festival highlight. And Dawn closed the set with Mabel Wayne’s IT HAPPENED IN MONTERREY, appropriate in spirit if not in spelling.
I couldn’t see, hear, and record all that I would want to. I walked past the final extravaganza that was both Colossal and Monumental, but my life-force was on E (the red light was brightly shining on the dashboard) and I missed a great deal of music by friends I revere. Alas. But my remarkable wife went to visit a small group, three women out of four, called SAN LYON, featuring the brilliant guitarist Dani Vargas, the irreplaceable Katie Cavera, violinist Jenna Colombet, and singer Paige Herschell. The band bills itself as “Hot Club Gypsy Swing” but they are even better than that title. My resourceful wife filmed their performance of BREAKIN’ IN A PAIR OF SHOES, which was so fine that it made me unhappy that I hadn’t seen them in person. I hope to remedy this in 2024!
We will be back for the 2025 Bash. I can offer no more ringing endorsement. And I will be posting videos from my happy labors on JAZZ LIVES to share the joy.
