Caught in the Act

Concert Review: Giants of Jazz, Capitol Theatre, Sydney, Australia

by Dick Hughes

From Down Beat (December 9, 1971)

If you're expecting a precise and methodical analysis and impartial and unbiased review of the historic History of Jazz concerts which took place in Sydney the third week of September, forget it. Read elsewhere.

Never in my wildest dreams did I hope to see Monk and Dizzy on stage together here -- or anywhere. But that's the way it goes. Sit around long enough with dogs licking your sores, and the rich man will throw you a crumb or two.

I went out to Sydney Airport to greet the arriving musicians not in my professional capacity as a journalist but as a wild-eyed, wide-eyed fan. They all crowded into the sarcophagus which passes for a press room. Monk's appearance lasted all of 15 seconds. No vibrations, obviously. He looked much thinner than he did when he was last here in 1965. They were all there, except Dizzy and Winding, who arrived a day later.

Blakey replied for the Giants when they were asked what they thought of being presented on the same program as the Preservation Hall Band.

"If it weren't for them, we wouldn't be here. Jazz is like a river. If you leave water in a can, it's going to stagnate," he said.

Giants' rehearsal was called for 3:30 p.m. the next day.

The Capitol theatre is one of those rambling, baroque structures with a midnight blue decor from which the stars have long since come unstuck.

In the bogus twilight, I briefly renewed my brief acquaintance with Nellie Monk: "Oh, it's 20 years -- no, more -- since Dizzy and Thelonious have played together in public."

In walked Dizzy, marching down the aisle with his trumpet. Monk and Stitt had just played a sublime 'Don't Blame Me.' At one point, there was a deafening report from the amplifier, but Monk didn't move a peg, except for an occasional clenching and unclenching of a muscle in his right cheek.

Apart from hearing for the first time the beautiful ensemble voicings of 'Blue Monk' and ''Round Midnight,' the highlight of the rehearsal was the spectacle itself and the incredible realization that one was there. It was mostly a quick run-through of intros and endings, of determining right accents. ("That's four bars," Dizzy said. "Thought so," laughed Blakey. "Ive never played so much drums in two bars.") In this jazz-starved city, I have six regular jobs a week and had to drag myself away in the middle of 'Woody'n You' at 5:30 to play solo piano in a wine bar.

Three hours later, George Wein was introducing the Preservation Hall Band....

Wein is announcing the Giants of Jazz, and after mentioning all but Dizzy and Monk, says he is a bit embarrassed because he doesn't know which of the two giants to introduce first. Out walks Dizzy to solve the problem, and then comes Monk.

The three concerts by the Giants rank with the greatest experiences I've had in 30 years of listening to jazz. Words cannot express the inexpressible. I knew it was going to be great, but I didn't know it was going to be...that great.

Dizzy was on his mettle that first night, I felt. (Wein said after the first concert he'd never heard him play better.) And, so far as I'm concerned, I never had -- until the Thursday night concerts.

The basic program was 'Wee,' 'Tour de Force,' 'Blue Monk,' ''Round Midnight,' 'Don't Blame Me,' 'Woody'n You,' 'Night in Tunisia.'

'Woody'n You,' that enchanting Gillespie composition dating from the so-called first bop recording session of 1944, didn't come up until the second Thursday night concert.

Historically, the occasion must rank with the famous Massey Hall Concert of 1953. Musically, I enjoyed it more, but then, I was here and I wasn't at Massey Hall. But believe me, Dizzy played better in Sydney than he had in Toronto. The fire, the wit, the inspiration, the incessant flow of breathtaking ideas, the poise, the charm, the artistry, the taste -- a torrent of music.

In spite of all the delights that came before, it wasn't until the third number at each of the performances that the truly divine spark came and the Olympic heights were reached. ('Round Midnight on the first two concerts, 'Blue Monk' on the third.)

I had my doubts about Winding before the concerts, but not after those third numbers, on which he never failed to contribute inspired solos.

Stitt played like an angel...a bird of ethereal song with claws to match. He brought both tenor and alto on stage, but played the tenor only on 'Wee.'

McKibbon seemed to be coasting a bit the first night, but he was all giant at Both Thursday concerts. (Bryan Kelly, a local drummer, told me he thought he would have to leave during the final concert, "McKibbon and Blakey were building up such a tension that I didn't think I could stand anymore," he said.)

All three electrifying evenings finished with 'Night in Tunisia,' on which Blakey played like a demon. These were drum solos such as I have never heard in the flesh. Torrents of sound, but playing the tune. Vicious lashings on the right hand to get a relentless whack! whack! whack! pattern going. Stupefying.

Which leaves Monk. Well, Monk is Monk is Monk, and I love them all, but his solo on ''Round Midnight' at the third concert was, I think, the most impressive single contribution of the whole series -- an inspired testimony to his genius.

At the rehearsal, he honed 'Tour de Force' down to a bony 'Jeepers Creepers,' but he never played it that same way again. On Tuesday night, Stitt quoted from 'Jeepers' in his solo and so did Winding on one of the Thursday night concerts. For Monk, it came up again in the last eight bars of his solo at the last concert.

The cheering and clapping after the final concert was the most tumultuous I've ever heard at a jazz event.

As George Wein said in one of several excellent interviews he gave in Sydney: "We're lucky to be alive when we can hear sounds like this."