Category Archives: Music

A (YOUNGER) LOVE SUPREME

Returning home from a gig last Sunday I felt like Roy Batty in Blade Runner as I tried to explain it to my family. “I’ve seen things I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Evan Parker on fire off the shoulder of Binker Golding. I’ve watched women dancing to abstract jazz near the Rio Dalston.”

God those G&Ts were strong.

I had just been to see Binker + Moses, a freeform sax and drum duo who were launching their album Journey to the Mountain of Forever (I blame Alice Coltrane) with a blistering show. What struck me, apart from the sonic assault in the second half of circular-breathing maestro Evan Parker and sparky trumpeter Byron Wallen, was the demographic of the audience. Under 30, tattooed, bearded, pierced and with a very healthy smattering of women. Who danced.

maxresdefault

Now I have spent the past two months going to gigs, researching an article for a new magazine due to launch in the autumn, and I should be used to this, but the youthful make-up of current jazz audiences still takes me aback. I have been to a lot of jazz concerts over the past three or four decades, and I have watched the audiences (mostly) grow old with me. I am also very used to the “Oh, I don’t like jazz” jibe from fellow music lovers. But the Binker + Moses crowd were young and hip and clearly didn’t have a problem with the J word, even in this sometimes aurally challenging manifestation. There is an excellent right-on-the-money review of the event from the Evening Standard’s critic Jane Cornwell here: https://tinyurl.com/y99vyvc2 or here: http://janecornwell.com.

I saw a similar thing earlier this year at the re-invigorated Jazz Café (www.jazzcafelondon.com) when I witnessed the wonderfully fluid saxophonist Nubya Garcia launch her own album (see playlist, below). She is steeped in the music of Coltrane, Henderson, Shorter and Sanders but with her own distinctive touch, especially on the Caribbean- and African- flavoured numbers (she loves Fela Kuti and Dudu Pukwana) which led to a further outbreak of dancing at the Jazz Cafe. But then again, that’s where it started. It’s easy to forget that before it headed out to the far flung reaches of the musical universe, jazz was for dancing. So maybe it’s simply going back to its roots.

NUBYA-FIVE-LAUNCH2.jpg

A few weeks after the show I discussed the phenomenon of the new jazz audience at length with Nubya, an interview which will form part of the longer piece I am writing, but it all comes down to a generation where the barriers between club/dance music and jazz have been thoroughly dismantled. Of which more anon. As for the “I don’t like jazz” sneer, Nubya had a word of advice: “Go and see it live.” And I’d add go and see this new wave in small clubs while you still can.

Is this a passing fad? Will fickle youth move on? Maybe, but there are a couple things about jazz: one is that it a very broad church, one that can take in both Radio 2 fave Gregory Porter and Gilles Peterson playing Albert Ayler on 6 Music. And secondly, once it has its claws into you, it doesn’t let go.

Many of the proponents of this new jazz, including Nubya, Moses Boyd, Ashley Henry, Daniel Casimir, Henry Wu and Theon Cross,were in one band or another at the Love Supreme Festival just gone (www.lovesupremefestival.com). No doubt they’ll be back next year.  Or sign up for the (free) Jazz Re:freshed Festival at the Southbank on Sunday August 6 (https://tinyurl.com/ycql4pfo) which features many of the key players. Nubya Garcia meanwhile storms the jazz citadel of Soho by co-headlining at Ronnie Scott’s (www.ronniescotts.co.uk) on August 15, sharing the bill with grime DJ turned jazzer Alfa Mist. Or check out the Jazz Re:freshed website for what is happening on Thursday Nights at the Mau Mau Bar in Portobello Road (www.jazzrefreshed.com).

jazz-refest-2017-600x836

Recently I was back at the Jazz Café to see Miles Mosley, the bassist for Kamasi Washington and Kendrick Lamar, who had again brought out a young, mixed crowd to the venue. I had heard his album Uprising, which was recorded at the same mammoth (170 tunes?) session that produced Washington’s chart-busting The Epic. There is a typically cogent review here by John L. Walters: http://www.londonjazznews.com/2017/06/cd-review-miles-mosley-uprising.html.

Now, I enjoyed the album but to me it was just a little too polite compared to the raucous sprawl of The Epic. Live, however was a different matter. The sound was rawer, with a keen dose of JBs-style funk from the brass duo, wah-wah arco bass solos, soulful (and sometime, to my ears, Lenny Kravitz-ish) vocals and a whole tackle box full of hooks. Miles Mosley is an engaging and charismatic performer, who can get an audience waving their hands in the air like, indeed, they just don’t care and indulging in a hearty call-and-response. On stage, it is obvious where the “As if Hendrix played bass with Prince” line came from. He even did Hendrix’s If 6 Was 9, which was recorded fifty years ago this year (Sgt Pepper wasn’t the only game in London town in ’67). To top it all, his mucker Kamasi eased himself on stage (wasn’t he hot in all that clobber and woolly hat?) and gave us a typically scorching solo.

Unknown-2

One thing. What’s with the gladiator arm-armour, Miles?

Miles Mosley and the West Coast Get Down will be back at as part of the London Jazz Festival in the autumn (http://efglondonjazzfestival.org.uk) when they play the Islington Assembly Room on Sunday November 1.

Meanwhile, here is a quick primer or recent new jazz albums for your listening pleasure:

 

Nubya Garcia – Nubya’s 5ive (Jazz:Refreshed)

Yussuf Kamaal – Black Focus (Brownswood)

Sons of Kemet – Lest We forget What We Came Here To Do (Naim Jazz Records)

The Comet is Coming – Channel the Spirits (Leaf)

Ashley Henry Trio- 5ive (Jazz Re:freshed)

Poppy Ajudha – Love Falls Down/Piece of Mind (Soundcloud)

Puma Blue – Swum Baby (Soundcloud)

Tenderlonius- On Flute (22a)

Binker & Moses – Journey to the Mountain of Forever (Gearbox Records)

Richard Spaven ft. Jordan Rakei – The Self (Fine Line Records)

Maisha – Welcome to a New Welcome (Jazz Re:freshed/Bandcamp; free download)

United Vibrations – The Myth of the Golden Ratio (Ubiquity)

CASSAVETES: THE JAZZ DETECTIVE

When Guy Barker and I were sketching out the idea for a piece called dZf – The Magic Flute relocated to Greenwich Village – one of our touchstones was a TV series called Johnny Staccato, which aired in the US from 1959-60. Starring John Cassavetes as a “jazz detective”, it was set in a Village jazz club called Waldo’s, and the title character was a pianist who moonlighted as a gumshoe. Or vice-versa.Unknown

The club setting (and the music played there) was crucial to us, but the only episode we managed to track down was one where the nightclub was temporarily shut down. Disappointing, to say the least. Now, though, if you have a multi-region DVD player you can enjoy all 27 episodes in the US re-issue below. And what a treat it is, from the opening credits on.

Unknown-1

The theme music is by Elmer Bernstein (‘The Magnificent Seven’), a punchy, braying wail of brass, a supercharged version of his work on The Sweet Smell of Success. The musicians playing at Waldo’s included Barney Kessel, Shelly Manne, Red Mitchell, Red Norvo, and pianist Johnny Williams (later John Williams, responsible for Star Wars, Jaws etc). Although set in the Village, nearly all the players were from the West Coast school of jazz, because, apart from a few exteriors, the series was actually filmed in LA.

220px-John_Cassavetes_Johnny_Staccato_1959

So how does it stand up? Well the scripts aren’t its strong point, but Cassavetes with his razor-sharp suits and matching cheek bones is excellent and there is something to savour in most episodes, not least Elizabeth Montgomery – Samantha in Bewitched – playing against type as a sexy femme fatale in Tempted. And the music is always great – Bernstein used three different ensembles- a big band of 25, a Birth of the Cool-sized 12-piece and an ensemble of six players  with vibes and trumpet to the fore. Listen out for a riff that sounds as if it could be a sketch for Lalo Schifrin’s later Mission Impossible theme.

51+NhpOZVPL._AA160_

If you want to skip the visuals, the soundtrack is available on an 8-CD compilation called Jazz on Film: Crime Jazz, which also includes Lee Marvin’s M Squad, the Untouchables and, best of all, two CDs of Henry Mancini’s music from Peter Gunn.

Unknown-3

24 HOURS IN SOHO @BBCCO

 On Tuesday 18th November the BBC Concert Orchestra will be performing at the Queen Elizabeth Hall with Trish Clowes, Norma Winstone and Guy Barker as part of the EFG London Jazz Festival. It is also being broadcast live on BBC3. My contribution was to produce a narrative for Guy’s new composition. An outline of that will appear in the concert programme, but this a more comprehensive version of what went into the creation of his Soho Symphony.

tbg2

Earlier this year, I received a phone call from Guy Barker, saying he had a hankering to write a new orchestral piece for the BBC Concert Orchestra (he is Associate Composer there). However, he was staring at a blank page and needed a framework. We have done this before, with dZf, a re-working of the Magic Flute, and last year That Obscure Hurt, a Henry James/Britten-inspired piece. I give Guy a narrative; he builds his music around it. This time all he had was ‘Soho’ as a theme.

Guy wanted to mention and somehow reference in the piece some of his formative and favourite places and people and we came up with a very long list, most of which involved alcohol (often at the much-lamented Black Gardenia, above) or music or frequently both. And so I wrote a short story that is (very, very loosely) inspired by James Joyce’s Ulysses, about a boy failing to meet a girl and spending 24 hours wandering around the streets of Soho, among its ghosts, its music and its memories. Of course, once subjected to the alchemy of Guy Barker, where base stories become musically precious, things changed. So here is a guide to the thematic waymarkers in the piece, which consists of seven (part six is divided into two) sections.

  1. BACON & BOHEMIA

I opened the story with our hero living in Fitrovia and being disturbed by the smell of breakfast:

  “I am always woken early by the smell of bacon, climbing the stairs from the kitchen below, wafting under the door like a fog of temptation, tickling my nose. So I always awake with a craving for a bacon butty. But I don’t mind the premature start today. I have a date with a beautiful woman. 8am. Bar Italia.”

But it is well before the appointed hour and in this section Guy conjures up a stroll through the streets of Soho before sunrise. Bottles roll in the gutters, the garbage trucks patrol the alleys, many of the area’s characters are just waking up, others going to bed – some tired and happy, others reflecting on a night gone awry. The boy wanders down Wardour St, killing time, looking at film posters in the production houses, listening to the ‘dawn chorus’ chatter of stall-holders in Berwick St, until it is time for coffee on Frith St.

Unknown-2

  1. MOZART & MOCHA

The music here takes on a frantic quality. On the way to Bar Italia for his rendezvous he confronts the tide of workers rushing into the area, marching to their desks and workstations and shop floors, a mass of humanity on the move, blocking and knocking him, until he turns the corner sees Bar Italia (and the music takes on a touch of Fellini-esque romance).

A dominant 7th chord announces his sanctuary in this slice of La Dolce Vita, with cheeky Italian barmen serving him ‘the best espresso in town’. And serving it again. And again. No girl yet. More coffee? Why not?

Nerves jangling from too much caffeine, he leaves the bar and looks up, noticing the blue plaque declaring that a young Mozart once lived on Frith St. Here, the orchestra gradually falls away to leave a string quartet, which plays 12 bars derived a short Mozart piano piece composed by Mozart when was four.

His limbs jerky from his espresso-overload, the boy struts up Frith, past Ronnie Scott’s, Garlic & Shots, the Dog & Duck, until he comes to Soho Square, and thinks of Fifis.

  1. FAITH & FIFIS

A ‘Fifi’ was the slang name for the working girls, often of French or Belgian extraction (or pretending to be), who inhabited Soho in the pre- and post-war years.

“I light a cigarette and lean against the railings outside Église Protestante Française de Londres, the last Huguenot church in London. Would the Fifis have worshipped here? Probably not, most of those girls who came over in the ‘30s, 40s and ‘50s would have been Catholic, I guess. I look across to St Patrick’s, where maybe the Fifis confessed their sins and along to the House of St Barnabas, once a charitable organization for émigrés run by nuns, then, post-WW2, a women’s hostel, where I am sure the odd Fifi would have fetched up.”

 images-1

These thoughts on religion are suggested by a brass chorale. But it moves on to something darker, for Soho in the thirties had its own version of Jack the Ripper or the Boston Strangler – a serial killer was at work, with victims in Archer, Lexington, Rupert, Old Compton and Wardour streets, all strangled with their own silk stockings. “Jack the Strangler” was never caught.

Musing on this, he sees the ghosts of the dead Fifis, grey, pale-faced corpses. As the instruction to the orchestra on the score has it: ‘Soho Square has become an open air charnel house’.

  1. RHYTHM, BLUES & BEYOND

What Guy calls a ‘psychedelic’ start signals a section where the boy is moving from Soho Square, considering drowning his sorrows at being stood up, and thinking of all the drinking and music clubs in Soho. But on his travels he comes across Jeffery Bernard, furious at just being barred from the Colony Room, who marches him to the Coach & Horses, where Norman, the rudest landlord in London, plies them with gin and insults. Further enraged by the drink, Jeff marches off (which you’ll hear clearly in the music) and ‘borrows’ a window cleaner’s ladder. He takes it to outside 41 Dean St and leans it against the first floor window. He scuttles up it. Bangs on the glass. When the window is open he addresses those (the Bacons and the Farsons) gathered within: ‘You are all a bunch of…’

And off Jeff goes, sliding down the ladder and marching off again, the young man in tow. Here, a bluesy 12/8 section suggests the other type of club in Soho, the music ones, especially the Flamingo, and Georgie Fame’s R&B all-nighters.

Unknown-1

They pass by Kettner’s, where two men dressed in black are at work – Kenny Clayton is playing stride piano, Bill Mitchell singing. From there Jeff doubles back, heading for Jerry’s, the other famous Soho haunt of the alcoholically adventurous, and when he reaches it, there is a slowing of the music, signalling his now weary descent down the stairs into the warm, crepuscular embrace of the drinking den.

  1. GIG & GIRLS

Later, much later, there is a head that needs clearing, and our boy walks towards Archer St, which he finds populated by musical ghosts. As it is explained in the story:

“From the twenties through to the sixties, jazz musicians would crowd this street. Wall to wall it was. The snooty London Orchestral Association had it headquarters there. And they wouldn’t allow dance band musicians in. Too populist, you see. But outside, in this street here, it was like a musicians’ Labour Exchange. You wanted a gig or to get paid or to hear the gossip, you came down here.”

 

Archer Street

Archer Street

So you will hear this in a section reminiscent of the bright, optimistic hustle and bustle of a Pathé News reel, as the musicians crowd the streets, shooting the breeze and a line, until.. hold the phone, what’s this? Romance – or at least sex – has raised its pretty head in the score.

Archer St, you see, intersects with Windmill St, and musicians always used for the doorways that allowed them to see the famous Windmill Girls come and go. There were other women there, too. As Ronnie Scott put it years later: “These days you’d call them groupies. Back then we just thought of them as jolly good sports.”

Fired up by such thoughts, the lad, still the worse for wear, hightails it back to Dean St and Sunset Strip, one of the few remaining original strip club for which the area was once notorious. What you might call “Music To Disrobe By” is a feature in this section, with appropriate – or perhaps inappropriate – contributions from the orchestra.

 

images

  1. A GIRL, A GARDENIA & A GAGGIA

 a. A PEARL ON DEAN

Sobriety brings self-loathing. He doesn’t want to see girls, naked or otherwise he wants to see A particular girl.

Leaving the club, he sprints up Dean St, towards the Black Gardenia where he first met her, and BOOM! There she is, standing outside in all her tattooed glory. They speak, sweetly.

l_3d40ceb698e929cd79c2323ea9824a38

And he discovers he has been an idiot. When she said she’d meet him ‘a week today’ for an early coffee, it was well after midnight – but he was thinking of the previous day, when he had started the evening. He had turned up at the Bar Italia 24 hours too early.

After a drink at the Gardenia, they go back to Frith St, where those cheeky barmen are still serving the best espresso in town.

b) ESPRESSO SUNRISE

And so, exactly 24 hours after he left his flat in Fitzrovia, they walk out of the Bar Italia together, into the promise of a Soho dawn. The day has come full circle, and so has the piece.

 

 

MY LUNCH WITH JEFF – THE MUSICAL

On November 18 a piece of music will be premiered at the Queen Elizabeth Hall that owes its existence to a lunch I once had with Jeffrey Bernard (below).

jeffrey-bernard-2

A few months ago, I received two phone calls, a day apart, both concerning Soho. One was from the Groucho Club, asking if I had any anecdotes to contribute to a compendium it was compiling for its 30th anniversary. The other was from Guy Barker, saying he had a hankering to write a piece based on Soho for the BBC Concert Orchestra (he is Associate Composer there). However, he was staring at a blank page (well, actually a screen of the Sibelius programme) and needed a framework. Did I have any ideas for a skeleton he could flesh out with his music? We have done this before, with dZf, a re-working of the Magic Flute, and last year That Obscure Hurt, a Henry James/Britten-inspired piece. I give Guy a narrative; he builds his music around it.

Both phone calls, it seemed to me, could involve a story told to me by Jeff when, back in 1987, I interviewed him over a rather disastrous lunch at the back of the Groucho Club brasserie, when he fell asleep in the soup – the only time I have ever had to save a man from death by pea and ham. Anyway, he described an incident involving himself, the Colony Room, Francis Bacon & Co, a window cleaner’s ladder and more profanity than can be repeated here.

I wrote up the story for the Groucho and then met with Guy and said I would like to make that story at least part of the ‘Soho Symphony’ as we began to call it. I talked over other locations and tall tales we could include. I ended up with the task of combining Bar Italia, Mozart, Ronnie Scott’s, Archer St, a serial killer, the French, the Protestant church on Soho Square, Pizza Express, 20th Century Fox, ‘Fifis’ (the French and Belgian working girls of the 1950s), all-nighters at the Flamingo Club, late night drinking at Gerry’s, Harrison Marks, Paul Raymond, The Black Gardenia and, of course, that Groucho lunch, among many others.

And so, I wrote a short story that is (very, very loosely) inspired by James Joyce’s Ulysses (but, you know, more readable), about a boy failing to meet a girl and spending 24 hours wandering around the streets of Soho, among its ghosts, its music and its memories, and meeting Jeff with his ladder. To paraphrase the producer/writer Kip Hanrahan, I gave this piece of pressed tin to Guy Barker who proceeded to turn it into rolled gold.

It will be played at an ‘orchestral jazz’ concert – although Guy’s piece does not feature his usual jazz band, it is for the BBC C.O. only – featuring the symphony, plus the excellent saxophonist and composer Trish Clowes, and the vocal legend that is Norma Winstone, at the QEH on November 18, as part of the London Jazz Festival (see http://tinyurl.com/mff9g6n).

BELGIAN INTERLUDE

Berlin InterRail will be along shortly; meanwhile, here is some music….

There was a moment during Melanie de Biasio’s performance at the Purcell Room on the Southbank the other night when, as a fan of light framed her uplifted face, I felt as if I was watching Ingrid Bergman playing Joan of Arc re-incarnated with the voice of Abbey Lincoln fronting a Belgian version of The Necks.

29_melanie_de_biaso_0

Certainly anyone who popped along because of the tag ‘the Belgian Billie Holiday’ that she is often saddled with was in for a surprise. This was strange fruit all right, a cross pollination of jazz, blues, trip-hop, post-rock and late Talk Talk and it certainly wasn’t a singer showing off her chops with a succession of torch songs or standards. If anything, she used the power of her spine-tingly voice too sparingly, often simply breathing out phrases or single words to wrap around the repetitive, sometimes languorous patterns created by a band consisting of piano, keyboards (clavinet, synths) and drums. But that meant when she did let rip, it counted, and hairs stood up on necks.
In a short, intense, one-hour set she played most of new (also short) album No Deal (Play it Again Sam records) with parts of A Stomach Is Burning, her less minimal debut from a couple of years ago. It was effectively one single, stripped-down sixty-minute song, building to the wonderful I’m Gonna Leave You. The two keyboards players added mostly texture and a skeletal framework for the tunes – no long noodly jazz solos here – while drummer Dre Pallemaerts ably supplied the rhythmic heft (and the singer added smoky stabs of flute). It was an unsettling – on a good way – monochrome show, a little like the drawings that come with the album, and was brilliantly lit, creating a close, clubby atmosphere in the sometimes sterile Purcell Room.
It’s all too rare to come away from a gig thinking: well, I haven’t seen anything like that recently, but Melanie De Biasio (who is highly rated by Jamie Cullum and Gilles Peterson) will leave you scratching your head and producing weird combos of artists to explain her to those who don’t yet know her sound. Although possibly none as odd as Joan of Arc.
http://www.melaniedebiasio.

Kyle Eastwood: New York, Paris and Ken Clarke

The latest issue of Man About Town features a piece by me about Kyle Eastwood, Clint’s bass-playing son, which includes a look at the history of jazz on Manhattan, as well as a recommended list of ‘Live in NYC’ jazz albums. Also what happened when Ken Clarke turned up to see Kyle play at Ronnie Scott’s. Plus a lovely illustration by Liselotte Watkins.
Screen Shot 2013-11-19 at 12.54.34

And you get James McVoy:

mat2See http://www.manabouttown.tv.

THE SOULFUL TRAVELLER: GREGORY PORTER

I first saw Gregory Porter on September 29, 2011, in New York. He was playing Smoke, a tiny club on Broadway, up at 105th St. he was doing three shows a night and I caught the third and came back and told everyone who would listen to go out and buy Water, his debut. The combination of soul, jazz, a voice that drew on the past but was very much his own, a great band and fantastic material was irresistible. Then Guy Barker and Gilles Peterson over here began championing him, he appeared on Jools Holland to great acclaim and now he is playing the Albert Hall on October 30th (see http://www.bluesfest.co.uk). So that’s been some ride these past two years. I have now seen him perhaps half a dozen times. He never fails to deliver. This is from an interview done backstage at the Love Supreme Festival this summer. You can see the new video for his song Laura here:

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x15g9zs_gregory-porter-hey-laura_music

Porter1._JPG

Grammy-nominated singer Gregory Porter, 42, was born in Bakersfield, California. After a shoulder injury put paid to his ambitions to be a Pro footballer, he took his baritone into musical theatre and jazz clubs, until his first album, Water, and a career-defining appearance on Later with Jools Holland brought him international notice. His third album, Liquid Spirit, is out on Blue Note now. Married, he lives in Brooklyn.

“I am on the road a lot at the moment, but I keep notes on where I am going to come back to for a vacation. One thing that surprised me is how beautiful the UK is. I knew it had history, but in the States we tear everything down every ten years. Here, you got original castles and Tudor houses and country estates coming out of your ears. For instance, I love Cheltenham and the Cotswolds – I got to hang out for a few days there earlier this year and that’s gorgeous countryside with really cute hotels like Cowley Manor. I’ll be back there, for sure. Some of my other choices surprise people, especially when I tell them Skegness is in my little book.
Yes, that Skegness. I like the political side of this. You see, the working class got to have somewhere to go on vacation. They can’t afford the Cotswolds. When I saw the rows of neat beach huts, and the lines of cheap shops and food joints, I thought, yes, I recognize this. It’s where the blue-collar families go – like we were. And people here say to me: I used to be taken to Skegness as a kid and eeewww, it’s horrible. And I say – well, you turned out OK didn’t you? You’re a decent human being? There’s a lot of snobbery about such places, but I think you should embrace them for what they are.
For us growing up, vacations meant Santa Monica Beach. Now, Santa Monica has been spruced up, it’s pretty clean and chichi now. But back then, we’d go swimming and you knew you risked coming across something in the water and go: what’s that? It’s not.. it is, it’s a bag of sheeeee… Well, you know what I mean. But if the water was too rough or dirty, there was also the pier, with the Ferris wheel and the Playland Arcade, which are still there. We had good times at Santa Monica.
Then we’d go to Venice Beach. That’s a place to see. Venice Beach is where someone will try and sell you something, hustle you, entertain you, day and night. There was a guy who when I was a kid used to roller skate around with an amp on his belt, playing Jimi Hendrix electric guitar. And the last time I went, he was still there, and he hadn’t changed at all. That’s freaky. Some people there are pretty desperate, though. When I was a teenager, I saw this guy lying on a bed of nails and he let a woman walk over his chest. And there was blood everywhere. And I said, man, you better get a different act because this one ain’t workin’ for you. In the end the cops came and took him away, because he was frightening the little kids.
The first time I left California was on a road trip. We were going on vacation in Oklahoma, where my mom’s sister lived. And my mom always worked hard – when she was thirteen, she was still pickin’ cotton seven days a week. So when people say I work too hard, I just tell them that. So, we are driving from California to Oklahoma, which is a long way even by US standards, and my mom says she is too tired to go on. I was fifteen and my brother was sixteen, never driven, but we said: we’ll take over. So we took turns at the wheel. Look, it’s the Texas desert. It goes on for two days. There are no bends. All you got to do is point. And Paul Simon’s Graceland had got jammed in the tape deck, and so that’s all we had to play, so whenever I hear those songs, I think of driving through the desert at night, heading for Oklahoma, with my mom asleep in the backseat.
I didn’t get to leave the States till much later, when I went to Moscow. It was a gig, with my band, in some underground club. I mean, really underground, down and down. It must have been a Soviet-era bunker, but when you got to the bottom it was a wild jazz club – beautiful jazz singers from Siberia, Tuvan throat singers with weird harmonies, and this bunch of guys from New York in the corner just trying to take it all in. I always say, you want an intense time, head for Russia.
If I could go anywhere right now, it’d be Curacao. It’s part of the ABC islands, the Dutch Antilles. I don’t think they are that well known here. But they are really interesting. I discovered Curacao because there is a link with Holland’s North Sea Jazz Festival, so I got to play there. But I fell in love with it – fabulous beaches, clear water, lovely people, it’s a place where you can relax. And I can relax, given the opportunity.
I got married recently. We took a break rather than a honeymoon, went to upstate New York, to the Taconic Mountains, which are part of the Adirondacks. Again, I don’t think many Brits get up there, but it’s a really beautiful part of the country. You’ve got the castles, I think we’ve got the scenery, right? It’s all about taking a little cabin on a lake, walking in the woods, it’s a very romantic, very cool place. But, as I have been told, it wasn’t a honeymoon. It was a post-wedding break. So, I still have that to do. I wonder if she’d like Skegness?”