By Allen Michie

It was all intense, bracing, and urgent jazz in Austin last week. I don’t know how all y’all spoiled New Yorkers keep your heads from exploding.

William Parker’s Myan Space Station – The Rosette, Austin, Sept. 22, 2024

Tarbaby – KMFA Studios, Austin, Sept. 25, 2024

Marc Ribot – KMFA Studios, Austin, Sept. 26, 2024

Austin is the self-proclaimed live music capital of the world, and it may well be, but it certainly isn’t for jazz. It’s a matter of quantity, not quality. There is excellent jazz to be heard in Austin most every night of the week, but the limited amount is sorely out of proportion to the size and hipness of the city. It was fantastic, therefore, to see three major acts of state-of-the-art progressive jazz appear in Austin in the space of one week, creating what was in effect a mini jazz festival.

The first two concerts were brought to town by the intrepid Epistrophy Arts, which has been bringing major jazz artists (leaning heavily toward the experimental and avant-garde) to Austin for concerts, master classes, and school visits for the last 26 years. The leader, P.G. Moreno, is a true believer in the city’s unofficial motto: Keep Austin Weird.

First up was bassist William Parker and his Mayan Space Station trio, the same band that produced the Mayan Space Station album released in 2021 (Arts Fuse review): Parker on bass, Gerald Cleaver on drums, and Ava Mendoza on guitar. The title of that album, and much of Parker’s long previous discography, might lead listeners to expect Sun Ra-influenced Afrofuturist music. If so, they may have been taken aback to hear a psychedelic skronk-rock power trio instead.

Parker inevitably plays with the weight of his accumulated experience as well as the authority of someone who both witnessed and created jazz history, especially during his years supporting free jazz innovators Cecil Taylor and David S. Ware. He still conveys a sense of joy and surprise at the music swirling around him and, as a master bassist always does, he adapted quickly and decisively to the constantly shifting textures.

Mendoza, if you have not heard of her before now, was a revelation. She’s clearly on her way to becoming one of the most distinctive guitar voices in jazz. She’s the leader of the avant-rock band Unnatural Ways, but she is also a powerful force in experimental jazz alongside the likes of Nels Cline, Fred Frith, and the Rova Saxophone Quartet. It was a blast (literally and metaphorically) to hear her in Austin with pros like Parker and Cleaver, at her peak and on her way up.

Almost the entire set was one long improvisation, covering a vast expanse of musical territory, ranging from swinging jazz and African traditional music to meditative trance and screaming rock. It began quietly enough with Parker playing arco, balancing three different rhythms from the three instruments moving in and out of phase. Mendoza played distorted rock guitar over music that wasn’t rock, which is always a cool sound, making liberal use of pedals, effects, and loops without overdoing it or being gimmicky. Cleaver used thick broom brushes for an earthy sound on snare to ground Mendoza’s ethereal flights.

Over the course of the next hour this one performance became many different things — all three musicians were unstoppable fountains of ideas. Sometimes they headed for the astral spaceways. At other times Mendoza, in her bolo tie, steered us out to wide-open Texas landscapes. Then it was off to Woodstock with Jimi Hendrix, then a call to prayer in an African village with Parker on a screechy wooden double-reed horn (with a melodic concept completely different from what he plays on bass). At one point, Mendoza dragged bells across her guitar strings, because why not?

When the performance finally did bring itself to a conclusion, it seemed to startle all three of them. Parker then took the microphone for a short speech about his philosophy of music:

Music morphs into different things all the time…. It has to do with healing as sound, it has to do with what’s happening in the moment, with breaking up rhythms. Rhythm is melody, melody is rhythm, and sound is one of the fathers and mothers of music. Music is anything that’s beautiful. If you’ve got kids out in the yard playing, what is that? Music! If you have beautiful clouds and sun, what is that? Music!

This is exactly what the Mayan Space Station delivered.

 

Tarbaby, the acoustic trio with Orrin Evans on piano, Nasheet Waits on drums, and Eric Revis on bass, performed at the beautiful headquarters of Austin’s classical radio station, KMFA. Tarbaby has been convened as a trio off and on since 2001, and their first self-titled record appeared in 2008. They are currently on tour supporting their new release You Think This America, the first of two albums they are releasing this year. It must be a challenge to get these three all in the same place at the same time. Evans, late of the Bad Plus Trio, is one of the most in-demand pianists on the scene, Revis tours and records steadily with workaholic Branford Marsalis, and Waits has been in the studio on dozens of albums when he’s not on the road with Jason Moran’s Bandwagon.

Their set list included some surprises. “Nobody Loves You When You’re Down and Out,” a blues song from the 1920s recorded by Bessie Smith and Clarence “Pinetop” Smith, was something of a reset for those of us whose ears were still ringing from the William Parker gig three days earlier. Evans conveyed a Monkish attitude, but he soon moved past that into his own distinct style. (Evans even looked a bit like Monk with his scrappy beard and skull cap.)

They also covered David Murray’s swaying “Mirror of Youth,” an Ornette Coleman piece, “Reconciliation” by Andrew Hill, and that lovely song by the Stylistics with the silly title, “Betcha By Golly Wow” — Evans put on the sustain pedal and played “Betcha” straight, without irony, and just let the lush melody unfurl at its own pace without any solos.

The dynamic and diverse originals really drove the concert, however. Evans’s “The Red Door” has a polyrhythmic melody that gave Revis much to work with, and the bassist tore into it, goosed by Waits every step of the way. When Evans got his solo turn, he uncorked it. He recalled McCoy Tyner with his focused energy. Waits’s exciting solo demonstrated his amazing technique — he can practically do tight rolls on the snare with one hand. This was a standout performance, and the crowd loved it.

The Waits composition “Kush” was as quiet and expressive as “The Red Door” was loud and aggressive, showcasing Evans’s mastery of dynamics. It evolved into a deeply funky groove driven by Revis’s solo and Waits’s hard punctuations, then a march rhythm appeared, and finally flashes of double-time swing. Evans’s runs up or down the keyboard don’t always start or stop where and when you think they will. This one was a tour-de-force, and a fantastic example for any musicians in the audience of how the pros do it.

Another crowd-pleaser was the Revis composition “O,” an up-tempo number on the border of free jazz in places. Waits played as loud as he wanted, and in case that wasn’t enough volume, the composition called for some occasional primal screams. It was an astonishing Mingus-like pastiche of rhythms, dynamics, and textures, full of anger and bliss.

Tarbaby is a modern trio in the best sense of the word — they approach the music from the outside edge of the inside (or is it the inside edge of the outside?), always balancing freedom of expression with tight-as-hell precision. There was not a single wasted or misplaced note in this set of highly personal music. Be sure to check out You Think This America, just released this month.

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I knew after the first few minutes that guitarist Marc Ribot’s performance with Mary Halvorson on guitar, Hilliard Green on bass, and Chad Taylor on drums was going to be damned difficult to write about. As someone once said, “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” Ribot and company constructed quite the metropolis during their time on stage. Unless you’ve heard it, it’s very hard to describe.

Ribot, one of those guitarists who has worked with everyone from Elton John to John Zorn, has nothing left to prove and only himself and his band to please. He’s a virtuoso of liberated jazz guitar gifted with seemingly limitless imagination and wide-open ears. Hearing him alongside Halvorson, a peer rather than an acolyte from the younger generation, was an experience not to be missed.

Albert Ayler’s “Ghosts” began with its march rhythm, then it gave way to an up-tempo hoedown from outer space, then it was a quote from the national anthem, then it was a surf rock samba, then it all came down in a cold crash landing. That was the warm-up opening number.

Halvorson gave a hard rock sound to her own distinctive melodic lines, which only got harder with the second extended improvisation. This one began as punk rock jazz, played fast and loud. Ribot threw himself into it with abandon, playing a quote from the Mahavishnu Orchestra which introduced a section of old-school jazz/rock fusion. Halvorson had the sense to stay in the background, lest she get rolled over by the steam engine headed her way. When it was her turn to set it loose, she also dipped into the Mahavishnu bag in stark contrast to Green’s walking bass. Indefatigable drummer Taylor took an unexpected solo just on his high-hat cymbal, à la Jo Jones or Max Roach, with fragmented unison bursts interspersed from the guitarists.

The next piece was a bit less frantic, and it was easier to hear Ribot’s tone, which at one point even sounded a bit like Wes Montgomery. He tossed off a simple two-note riff in exchange with the bass and drums, varying the speed and volume. Halvorson was content to strum steadily and quietly behind Ribot, knowing that she wasn’t the headliner tonight. Then everyone began trading odd melodic segments in a polyrhythmic way. It was catchy, but also a bit unsettling, especially when Halvorson used her trademark effect of swerving a note suddenly way out of tune.

The standout freakout was “Lobster Claw Symphonette,” from Ribot’s duo album with Fred Frith. Its simple Ornette Coleman-like melody was repeated across different harmonies. Taylor roamed freely around the riff, exploring different dynamics and counterrhythms. They kept layering it up until the two guitars went off on independent tracks in an all-out free jazz jam. (Salute to Taylor, by the way, who really held this unruly band together.) Halvorson can create a sound, saw away at it, and chase it around the fretboard. At one point the guitarists gave up on notes altogether and traded what can only be called sound surges. It was an ugly, assaulting sound (my daughter said it sounded like dragging a big metal table across the floor). The piece was an exhausting workout that came a very long way from the simple riff it started with.

The crowd was then rewarded with a 12-bar jump boogie blues, a treat for those who primarily know Ribot from his work with the likes of Elvis Costello, Allen Toussaint, or various T-Bone Burnett sessions. Yes, Halvorson can play the blues, after her own eccentric fashion. Ribot worked up some real steam, and Taylor played a melodic solo on the drums (which we need more of in the blues).

One of the encores was Ribot’s solo take on “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face,” which certainly wasn’t played in the way you’ve grown accustomed to hearing that standard.

The concert was an odd sight to see as well as an odd sound to hear. Ribot is not much of a stage presence, seated and hunched over with three-quarters of his back to the audience, giving his full attention to the band as Miles Davis was sometimes criticized for doing. Halvorson was dressed in a cheerful sunshine-yellow shirt, but she remained stoic throughout. Green, in a bright kente cloth tunic, towered over them all like a huge baobab tree.

I like to imagine that all 10 of these musicians crossed paths at the Austin airport and had a jam session there on the live music stage at Ray Benson’s restaurant. (I know it’s just a fantasy, but dang — someone needs to get Mendoza, Ribot, and Halvorson in the same room together.) It was all intense, bracing, and urgent jazz in Austin last week. I don’t know how all y’all spoiled New Yorkers keep your heads from exploding.

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Allen Michie works in higher education administration in Austin, Texas. You can find an archive of his essays and reviews at allenmichie.medium.com.