So Many Women Up Front

He was great, and not in a way that I necessarily expected.  I think I took a quick look at the posting on the Blue Note page and noticed the word “Nonet” but never paused to consider what the other eight members might be playing.  Our cab was late in the rain, the little one couldn’t find shoes acceptable to both her and her mother and traffic sucked spiky cucumber for the first half of the journey.  I knew we’d get there late. 

We were ushered in to our table, with the first song already underway.  Looking up I saw Ron Carter’s unmistakable visage directing all, (I kept thinking of Q-Tip rapping “My man Ron Carter, is on the bass”, over and over again . . .) and was surprised to find four cellos lined up along side him.  Every cello manned by a lady, and every lady bowing away with confidence and perhaps a decade’s worth of years beyond my own.  If The Beijinger is to be believed they were: Carol Buck, Maxine Neuman, Zoe Hassman and Claire Bryant.   Donald Vega was lovely on the keys, Payton Crossley was hard to see from my perch but not hard to confront on the drums.  Rolando Morales got off a commanding bongo solo that had me thinking of Roberto Roena towards the end of the show.  And perhaps the hardest job of all fell to Boots Maleson who was playing a second stand up double bass, there behind the greatest living stand up double bass player. 

The arrangements were spacious, lofty with beautiful string lines that allowed Mssr. Carters’ bass to sound out properly and be heard. I turned to check my kids.  They had ordered a bunch of food, which was clearly the immediate priority.  I knew it would be harder for them to follow when there weren’t any vocals.  I pointed out that you rarely see so many women up front on instruments in a jazz show.  They took that in.

He played a range of originals, some Miles, some Leon Russell and this theme of honoring those who had recently passed, (Mose Allison was also mentioned), was repeated, during the times in which he spoke to the room. I considered the crowd with a glance here and a glance there.  As with the last time I was here, most everyone in attendance, was Chinese of one stripe or another, paying good money on a Sunday night. 

The manager of the club is, we found out last time, from my wife’s hometown.  I suppose if I found out that they guy who ran the Blue Note in New York was from Poughkeepsie, we might milk it for another half smile or two and move on with our respectiv evenings.  “No way.”  “Yeah.  That’s wild.”  And that would be the end of it.  That is not how it works in China.  My wife had already connected with this gent on Wechat and he saw to us having a great evening for my wife’s belated birthday celebration.  At the end, he presented her with a bottle of wine, which I wasn’t sure we needed after having finished the first, until he pointed out that the esteemed Mr. Carter had signed it.  That was very kind indeed.   

This morning our first snow of the year had fallen.  I don’t have a scraper for the car windshield.  We’ll have to wait for the car heat to wax and melt it all.  Every resilient leaf as fallen over night.