A Tribute to Miles Davis

Tonight I went to the Music of the Masters: The Music of Miles Davis, from Jazz at Lincoln Center. I'm not sure if it is something about Alaskan audiences, or perhaps the venue for the shows, but a lack of enthusiasm is usually present during a production here. What I have come to learn is that it does not express a less of a desire for what an audience may be seeing or hearing, but that general expression is at best not second nature to Alaskans.

Let me explain.

There is typically a buzz in the air when people go to an event. They are excited to be there and be entertained by some medium. This natural aura projects into the atmoshpere to create an environment that is elevated with the entertainment. Alaskans are incredibly brilliant about being the most excited, warm-loving and accepting crowd, but without giving an inch to express those feelings. It makes it hard for someone like me to become engaged in a medium of such blahness, mostly because I stick out like a sore thumb of sheer, raw excitment and joy of what is expected to come.

The band itself was delightful and dissapointing. The trio of a tenor sax, alto sax and trumpet/bugle was splendidly smooth. Notes were articulated with a care of such precision, it would take your breath away for the first thirty-seconds. The tones these instruments created together was amazingly flawless, though seemingly played with a lack of heart, and where they lost my vote for best jazz ensemble. (and the award goes to... Dee Dee Bridgewater!) The whole show was worth the encore when the band (albiet slightly reluctant) started the final first note at exactly the same time. That nano-second was one of the most incredible I have ever experienced, and while that alone couldn't win rave reviews in my book, I am thankful to have been present during that one second in time.

The music of jazz, and the music of Miles Davis, is about the love and heart of the music itself. I understand this is the music of Miles Davis, but musicans don't usually give out the title, masters, unless it is well-deserved. The band played robotically, taking turns for solos, always starting with the trumpet, following with a sax, the oversized bass, piano, sax, drums, then everyone- short to follow solos again, the bass, piano, sax, sax, trumpet, drums, everyone, next... well, you get the point. I didn't want to know what was going to happen next, but instead, I felt like I was on a elevator going up, up, up, and back down, down, down. Edward Howard is the only remaining drummer left from the good ole' days with Miles Davis, but his performance was equally dissapointing, resembling a newly caged and sedated animal in a zoo. The music was predictable, the very thrill of Miles Davis lost. A shame, since the talent of these indiviuals was unquestionable.

I cannot blame the band for even under such circumstances, their talent was laced, but even more obvious was that these masters were just plain worn out. As an agent, one has to understand that those fingers need to relax, those chops need to rest, the beat needs to slow...

The point is that while Anchorage and Alaska cannot complain about not getting incredible shows here, the people who bring them here should be aware of the changes in time, enivornment, light exposure, etc. Is time really money? Or is quality money? If I was playing a tribute to a legend like Miles Davis, I would be sure that quality was the reason for the money.