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Rating: The Outlet... Incredible. Sometimes things happen that we humans would never have wanted to imagine. For instance, that to hear good jazz you have to take yourself to these fashion Gardalands—colorful, ultra-consumeristic, somewhat fawning and hypocritical—that often, as I'm told by those who know the field... pull the fashion desire of those who aren't completely trendy but settle for an oldish piece as long as it's branded.
But without delving into the social role these big fancy stalls have in our lives and yours, the thing to examine with dismay and even a bit of self-criticism is that to hear good jazz, you have to go to a place like this.
Yet, let's be clear: the cities surrounding the Serravalle outlet (Tortona, Novi, Alessandria, Voghera) have not wanted, known, or been able to organize anything jazzistically relevant (or anything at all...).
Council members of clear hunger shrug their shoulders and say, all of them, more or less: "you know... with the latest budget bill...".
Oh well...: we are in a country where culture, healthcare, and education follow the accounting logic of a grocery store. Let's resign ourselves: it's us who are wrong. It's us who experience a thinly-veiled disgust at going to the fashion Gardaland to hear jazz.
Amen: that's how the world goes, and we'll have to come to terms with it.
Coming to the concert, which along with the banal and amusing Roy Paci was the "highlight" of the series (which, for heaven's sake, also featured Bridgewater and Kenny Barron, so not exactly a laughable lineup...), a few observations are in order that may supplement the album by the same group, which I have already reviewed.
The formula is, essentially, that of the album: American standards mixed with classics (decidedly "standards" as well, by Paoli himself). The arrangements, with few exceptions, are the same. What changes (obvious: this is jazz, after all) is the improvisation, the mood, the phrasing, the colors, etc... in a word, the atmosphere, that mysterious entity that is only partly qualifiable by a set of notes well or poorly played.
And the atmosphere, even in the colorful big top, was remarkable. Typical summer concert, with the relaxation and cheerfulness that characterize August events.
The start is with "Time After Time" (no Cindy Lauper, right?), the great classic of the Chet Baker repertoire. So much so that my friend, a former colleague on jazz radio shows, immediately commented, somewhat maliciously, "Paoli+Rava=a Chet Baker." Well, it must be admitted that the beginning justified the comment: Paoli's initially faint voice and Rava's very cool trumpet gave the full impression of those tributes that border on plagiarism.
Then, fortunately, each regained their own personality. Rava seemed slightly uninspired (but perhaps he always looks that way), played at his highest standards, although not the best of the evening. The rhythm section was nothing short of excellent (Bonaccorso and Gatto, in the "live" dimension, make quite an impression), but the real instrumental protagonist of the evening was, without any doubt, Danilo Rea. Perfect pianism, extremely precise, not overly citationist as he has appeared at other times (indeed, one of the few clear citations, from Monk, was nothing short of sublime), with a phrasing and technique that were absolutely impeccable. Truly in a state of grace.
And what about Gino Paoli? Probably, for many, he won’t be the most endearing. He is undeniably a bit of a bear. But I must say that, personally, I feel a more than infinite admiration. He's been on stage and writing for about fifty years. He's done and seen it all. He's written at least five of the most beautiful songs ever. He could fill theaters all over Italy every year (he recently did so with Vanoni), and he chose, as a wonderful symbol of beautiful old age, of non-obtrusive wisdom—in short, of genius—to travel across our country with a handful of the best jazz musicians. Even those who don't love him must admit he's been and is, so far, the only singer-songwriter who can be recognized for such a bold choice.
On "Sapore di mare", slow, rhythmic, perfect, with one of Rava's most beautiful solos, I was moved. Sure: I'm getting old too... but it was truly unavoidable.
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