by Glenn Siegel

The range of the clarinet is similar to the human voice, so one might worry that an ensemble of three clarinets and voice would have a limited palate. But as 50 listeners witnessed at the Parlor Room on Friday, in the right hands, that configuration can yield expansive results.  

Clarinetists James Falzone, François Houle, Michael Winograd, and vocalist Ayelet Rose Gottlieb are Pneuma. They kicked off the 11^th season of Pioneer Valley Jazz Shares in Northampton, MA on August 19, with a deep, 60-minute concert of chamber jazz.

Pneuma means “wind”, “breath”, or “spirit” in ancient Greek, and Gottlieb intoned wind-inspired poetry by Christina Rossetti, Izumi Shikbu and Forugh Farrokhzad that projected a sense of longing and bitter sweetness.  “Do you hear the darkness blowing?”, asked Farrokhzad, the late modern Iranian poet. “Who has seen the wind?” asked Rosetti, the English poet from the 19th century.

I appreciated that both Gottlieb and Falzone recited the poems beforehand, giving us clearer access to the words. Gottlieb’s voice soared above the clarinets to deliver lyrics, then blended with them to spar and parry. Her beautiful instrument had depth and gravitas, and she was unafraid to let loose, producing worlds of wordless sound that brought feelings of freedom and playfulness. Gottlieb told us she conceived of Pneuma while grieving the loss of her grandfather, who played clarinet. Her piece “Passing Through/Lament for Harry”, was the impetus to form the band. 

The Jerusalem-born vocalist now lives in Montreal, and has closely collaborated with John Zorn, Anat Fort, and the string quartet ETHEL. Her latest project, “13 Lunar Meditations: Summoning the Witches”, is a song cycle about the moon and our connection to it, based on writings by women and girls from around the world. Over dinner, Gottlieb told me how as a 16-year-old in Israel she was forever changed after meeting the legendary saxophonist and educator Arnie Lawrence, who brought her into his band, taught her to be a professional singer, and shaped her fearless approach to music making.

Michael Winograd is regarded as one of the best working klezmer clarinetists today. He performs regularly  in Amherst at Yidstock, the Yiddish Book Center’s annual festival of new klezmer music. Like many in the field, Winograd is funny and quick-witted. He joked that he wanted to include “Someday My Blintz Will Come” on the evening’s set list. He told us he has always wanted to create the “Make a Knish Foundation”. His formative teacher was Sid Beckerman, whom he met at Klez Kamp as a 14-year-old. Winograd is a serious musician with chops, whose Semitic note bending added complexity and a certain melancholy to the stew.   

During a wonderful clarinet workshop at the Northampton Community Music Center organized by Evan Arntzen, François Houle ran down his list of influences, which included John Carter, Perry Robinson, Don Byron, and especially Bill Smith, who was a mentor. Houle was born in Montreal and has lived in Vancouver since 1990. He is the only band member who didn’t attend the New England Conservatory of Music; he went to McGill University and Yale. The bulk of his best work can be found on Songlines, a label also based in Vancouver. Like Winograd and Falzone, Houle is a master technician, whose off-the-chart facility shone during sections of rapid, jagged, poly-tonal unison playing. That brilliance sat in winning combination with his emphasis on tone and emotion. 

I first met James Falzone in Chicago in 2013. Since then, Jazz Shares has presented his six-piece celebration of the clarinet family: the Renga Ensemble (2014), his Arabic and European folk music quartet: Allos Musica (2015), and his duo with bassist/vocalist Katie Ernst: Wayfaring (2019). Each project was distinct in instrumentation and orientation, but shared a commitment to mixing authentic music traditions in fresh ways. Falzone has a natural-born divinity that shines. He is a first rate teacher (now a Dean at the Cornish College of the Arts in Seattle), a creative and immensely talented musician, and a kind and considerate human being. I hope to see him every few years forever.

Except for a few brief introductory solos, it was difficult to tell who was playing what, so I closed my eyes and made it impossible to find out. The resulting sound became one living, breathing thing that vibrated through heart and soul. This concert, postponed by the pandemic, came right on time for me, and was an auspicious start to another season of live music.

by Glenn Siegel

Pioneer Valley Jazz Shares is in discussion to bring Knuckleball to western Massachusetts next season. Led by cornetist and composer Stephen Haynes, the band of six horns and a drummer conjures images of slow, dancing baseballs moving every which way. The allure of the knuckleball, which makes life so difficult for both batters and catchers, is its unpredictability, and the thrill that comes from not knowing what direction it will take. 

And it’s not just knuckleballs that are unpredictable. The whole art of pitching seeks to obfuscate and surprise. Here is how Amherst poet, Robert Francis described it: 

His art is eccentricity, his aim
How not to hit the mark he seems to aim at,
His passion how to avoid the obvious,
His technique how to vary the avoidance.
The others throw to be comprehended. He
Throws to be a moment misunderstood.
Yet not too much. Not errant, arrant, wild,
But every seeming aberration willed.
Not to, yet still, still to communicate
Making the batter understand too late.

Jazz improvisers adopt a similar stance, and the more I think about it, my own programming philosophy owes something to that attitude. Like the musicians I present, throughout my career I’ve tried to “avoid the obvious and vary the avoidance”.

I feel sorry for presenters who won’t challenge their audience, who can’t introduce lesser-known artists or those breaking with convention. These producers are often hemmed by financial concerns, the need to put “butts in seats”. Their first option is always the safe choice. When you’re forced to “give the people what they want”, you can only get what they already know. It’s easier to hit a ball when you know what’s coming, but good hitters can put the ball in play even when fooled by a pitch.

I pitched in high school (William Cullen Bryant in Astoria, Queens) and college (SUNY, Oneonta). Maybe that explains my inclination to keep audiences off balance by mixing in curve balls. The cadre of folks who regularly come to my concerts have learned to embrace the unfamiliar; they don’t always need to know what’s coming next. I remember the great New Orleans clarinetist, Alvin Batiste describing the learning process as moving, “from the known to the knowable.” As I see it,  my job as curator is to expand horizons, to move people beyond their already known. 

I suppose everyone gets labeled, and long ago I became the “avant-garde jazz producer in western Mass”. So every once in a while I’ll present Steve Kuhn or Chris Anderson, Queen Esther, the Curtis Brothers or Ricky Ford, artists firmly rooted in “the tradition”. 

Just when folks think they have me pigeonholed, I’ll present Dave Douglas with a “country” singer (Aoife O’Donovan) playing Christian hymns, ragtime piano player Reginald R. Robinson or Joe Fonda’s From the Source, featuring a tap dancer (Brenda Bufalino) and a vocal body healer (Vicki Dodd). You know, throw a change-up. 

I love when we get to hear an instrument not part of the typical jazz lexicon: a theremin (Rob Schwimmer) or a contra bass saxophone (Anthony Braxton) or a harpsichord (Jamie Saft). We got to see an ondes martenot (Suzanne Farrin) for the first time, as part of Sarah Manning’s Underwater Alchemy. After we’ve presented a string of conventional rhythm sections, out of left field we’ll throw a clarinet sextet (James Falzone’s Renga Ensemble) or a bass duo (The Marks Brothers). We’ve presented concerts of solo soprano saxophone (Sam Newsome) and solo drums (Milford Graves, Andrew Cyrille, Tyshawn Sorey), as well as large ensembles playing free jazz (William Parker’s Little Huey and Alan Silva’s Celestrial Communication Orchestras). Our listeners are intrepid, they are prepared for anything.

If you rely on the majority of jazz presenters and radio programmers as your sole source of information, you could come away believing that little has changed in 60 years. That presumption is patently false, of course, and robs the music of the vibrancy that is its hallmark. Pitchers who only throw fastballs when they are behind in the count will not be successful, and jazz that is trapped in stylistic boxes will lose the rule-busting urgency that has been fundamental throughout its history.

Some of the most exciting new developments in jazz have taken place at the intersection of African-American music and various traditions outside the U.S. That’s why I’ve made an effort to hire musicians who can introduce us to scales, instruments and musical practices from the Philippines (Susie Ibarra’s Electric Kulintang), India (Rudresh Mahanthappa’s Dakshina Ensemble, Joel Harrison’s Multiplicity), the Balkans (Slavic Soul Party), China (Jason Kao Hwang’s Burning Bridge), Cuba (Michaele Rosewoman’s New Yor-uba, Román Díaz’ Rhumba Ensemble), Iraq (Amir ElSaffar’s Two Rivers Ensemble), Brazil (Rob Maszuk’s Sao Paolo Underground), Japan (Miya Masaoka’s Brew), Guadeloupe (David Murray and the Gwo-Ka Masters) and Europe (Instant Composer Pool Orchestra, Uri Caine’s Goldberg Variations). It doesn’t all swing like Basie, but it will expand your mind.

I would often listen to WMUA, the student and community radio station at UMass, and come upon extraordinary sounds. I was so grateful for programs like Michael Ehlers’ “The Transnational Jazz Conspiracy” and Max Shea’s “Martian Gardens” that insisted on the latitude to be fearless in their programming. Nothing was off-limits, everything was on the table: from the outer realms of sound, to beauty and mystery of breathtaking proportions. They programmed for listeners with big ears, folks who didn’t need to like everything or understand it all. 

I claim that same curatorial freedom when presenting live music. I’ve always wanted to be the guy who could throw any pitch at any time.