I had to blink a few times to make sure it was real: the dimly lit Mahaffey Theater stage backed by a plain black curtain, acoustic instruments clustered intimately together in the center.
Yes, this was going to happen. The Branford Marsalis Quartet had come to St. Petersburg to perform in one of our elite concert halls on Thursday night. Such occasions are few and far between. Jazz never gained much traction in Tampa Bay — which is to say, it has almost always been a surefire money-loser. After game attempts by a few club owners (whose places ultimately closed), promoters and performing arts halls, they effectively threw in the towel some years ago.
So jazzionados such as myself know not to miss these unicorn sightings. Branford Marsalis is booked? At the Mahaffey? Better show up; it could be quite some time before an artist of his caliber performs here again.
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The quartet entered from stage right — sharp-dressed men in suits. Marsalis, who plays tenor and soprano saxophones, leaned on the piano, greeted the crowd, introduced the band, and bantered a bit. The charming and witty host.
He and his cohorts proceeded to do something that’s borderline sacrilegious for an acoustic jazz combo. They entertained the people. We’re not talking about entertainment so cerebral that the only suitable reaction is to close your eyes and bob your head. This was instrumental music that sent tingles down your spine, made your jaw drop; put a smile on your face and a chuckle in your throat; it also, at times, conjured waves of melancholy. Tunes ended and elicited full-throated cheers rather than polite applause and knowing nods. Hell, Marsalis and company even moved a few crowd members to testify, church-style. “Play it, man!”
I’ll let you folks befuddled by jazz in on a little secret: Even hardcore jazzbos find that their attention wanders during a set. I can only speak for myself — but my mind didn’t wander Thursday night. I stayed locked in for 90 minutes. That’s a long performance by acoustic jazz standards.
The quartet didn’t pull of this considerable feat by dumbing anything down. “In the Crease” is a labyrinthine Marsalis composition, marked by head-spinning changes in tempo and meter, and a shifting array of melodic themes. This high-wire act could only have been pulled off by a seasoned band in peak form (pianist Joey Calderazzo and bassist Eric Revis played on the original 1999 recording). At one point, Calderazzo and drummer Justin Faulkner soloed simultaneously, prodding each other, building to a frenzy. Sax, bass and piano then settled into a simple vamp while the drummer went even wilder. The audience, many among them standing, cheered him on.
The band balanced these doctorate-level displays of ensemble chemistry with a couple of crowd-pleasers. The group played the 1930 chestnut “On the Sunny Side of the Street” with a bluesy verve, driven by a jaunty martial rhythm straight out of Marsalis’s native New Orleans. They encored with W.C. Handy’s seminal “St. Louis Blues,” alternating between a Crescent City second-line groove and a propulsive shuffle. The quartet deftly embraced the timeless tradition of these tunes while rendering them just a bit topsy-turvy.
Jazz is the most democratic of art forms — everyone gets their say, but has a responsibility to the group. In that spirit, Branford, 57 — the eldest brother in a fabled jazz family — didn’t hog the spotlight. (Calderazzo actually played longer solos.) The saxophonist has rejected the structures of modern jazz harmony and orthodox patterns, and now, when soloing, composes in real time, emphasizing sound, song and forward motion. To achieve this, one needs top-level technique, which Marsalis has in spades. The overall effect is that of true spontaneity. A crowd of more than a thousand — 1,052 paid (reason for hope?) — soaked it all in.
Backstage after the show, Marsalis, chatting with some fans, said (and I paraphrase): It’s hard to put real emotion into this music.
He made it look easy.
