Tomorrow can wait.

Talking with friends down at my jazz club.

Making impossible plans that might just happen. We’ll have to wait and see.

Tomorrow morning won’t be such fun; meeting up with Dr Feelgood down at Charing Cross......gulp.

But tonight?

Modern Jazz, that’s what and from some of the finest musicians too;

 

On the left Steve Fishwick on trumpet playing great on one of my favourite jazz pieces; ‘The Duke’.

This came from Dave Brubeck and that’s fine but then there’s the version on the album ‘Miles Ahead’ by Miles Davies which is just perfect.

If you are of a certain age, this is in your blood anyway as it was used as the incidental music in ‘Tomorrow’s World’…every Thursday night, remember?

Here’s Chris Biscoe on Saxophone;

 

The pair were sharp tonight – complex stuff.

Out of sight from me was Kate Williams on keyboards. Again her part in ‘The Duke’ was a joy.

Trevor Tomkins was on the Drums and Mick Hutton on bass.

A good night – cool jazz after a long, hot day.

Tomorrow can wait.

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)

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The view from the front row.

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That’s what I saw (no really) when I staggered off to my Jazz Club. Now I can see who I really am listening to.

It’s been quiet for some weeks and I can live with that. We get all the best musicians on a Monday night when it’s quiet and they play all the swish places at the weekend to earn a living. Us alley cats got a special deal, the rich kids pay extra. After an evening of Northern Soul (Keep The Faith) a seat up the back for some quiet jazz was about all I could cope with.

But when I turned up it was packed out, no seat, no standing room even. So I had to go right up to the front to find somewhere to sit. I was about a foot away from the musicians - there were so many things I’d never seen before – they have hands, faces, expressions even. Now I know who I'm watching.

Mind you, last week up at the back I thought my camera needed a longer lens, now I think it needs a shorter one.

This is Trevor Tomkins from up close:

 

  and this is Mick Hutton on the bass:

 

My old camera couldn't cope with the front row players without flash and I wasn't about to blast them from a foot away.

It was an evening with a smattering of original compositions. Alex Hutton on piano contributed ‘Clouds’, quiet and dreamy while Kelvin Christian on Sax gave us ‘frequency’.

Roger Beaujolais’s ‘Jobim’ was exquisite, combining Kelvin Christian’s flute with Beaujolais’s vibes and the samba beat brought out TT’s signature sound of a stick in one hand and a brush in the other. It hit the spot and was a real homage to Jobim’s music.

‘Laura’ always presses some sad buttons for me while Clifford Brown’s blues ‘Sandu’ had the room moving in time with the piano.

I could get used to the view from the front row ...and the sound.

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)

6 instead of 4.

I went out early Monday night – hoping to find a new hat on the way to the jazz club. The shop was shut as I got there, actually it was shutting, a security guard on the door keeping me out.

In any case I need a special hat and I didn’t really expect to find it. A hat with a little jaaaazzz in it, a cool hat. Somehow, although I have no idea how I am going to get away to do it, I need to get up to London. We’ll see. My current hat, well, it’s just not where it’s at. It needs to be a really baad hat.

It wasn’t a cool day; it was high summer at last. Hot n’steamy long into the evening but after last Thursday’s moonstomping, I wasn’t looking for slow ballads or introspective noodling, I was looking for some bounce. I wasn’t sure I was going to find it, but it’s always worth looking.

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Meanwhile, to celebrate the end of winter, people had rediscovered alcohol and the beer garden. Shell-shocked drinkers wandered to and from the bar. As the night went on they got more and more wasted, the conversations more surreal.  One large gentleman was carrying a poodle wherever he went. Very strange.

Every number started off quite slow, then they’d forget themselves and race away with it. My kind of night.

Leon Greening, a last minute replacement on the keyboards – each time he’d start off on a bluesy thoughtful mood, then he’d hunch, the bluenotes would hit in, then his head would get closer and closer to the keys and the race was on again.

Tonight Quentin Collins trumpet just lay back and screamed. Even the mellow, quiet flugelhorn got a hammering when it came out.

 

 Theo Travis was new to me – his Sax would be looking for a quiet ballad, a quiet stroll amongst quiet leafy lanes – moments in and the ghosts of bebop took over. Trevor Tomkins was grumbling that he’d spent all day in the studio – he’ obviously had a good time, you could hear it. Mick Hutton’s bass was hammering out an inner city rhythm. It was hot.

Sonny Rollins, Charlie Parker. Jobim.

“An old standard but in 6 instead of 4”.

A hot, sultry ill-tempered sort of night. At the all night kebab shack, the handcuffs were out.

Good sounds though.

Neil Harris

(a don’t stop till you drop production)

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