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March 2007

Carlos Santana & Wayne Shorter - Live at Montreux

Carlos Santana & Wayne Shorter Live at Montreux 3 1/2 stars out of 5 Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

When uber Latin/rock guitarist Carlos Santana met up with veteran sax man Wayne Shorter in 1987, Santana joked, “Let’s start a rumor we’re putting a band together.” A year later the rumor became reality when Shorter and accomplished jazz pianist/arranger/composer Patrice Rushen joined the Santana Band for a 26-city tour of the U.S. and Europe.

That Santana and Shorter would be friends, much less bandmates, seems unlikely. That their music would mesh together without many distressingly painful notes seems even less likely. But the Latin jazz fusion on “Live at the 1988 Montreux Jazz Festival” is an unlikely hybrid that translates into an enjoyable way to spend a few hours in front of the TV.

The Santana/Shorter pairing had it’s genesis in Santana’s 1974 album, “Barboletta,” which featured jazz saxophonist Jules Broussard in the band alongside fellow jazzbos Airto Moreira, Flora Purim and Leon Patillo. Broussard’s tenor sax stoked the heavy fires of “Give and Take” and “Aspirations” and revitalized a band that had been crippled by the loss of founding keyboardist Gregg Rolie and stagnated by Carlos Santana’s obsession with spiritualism.

The unflappable Santana’s playing on “Montreux” is economical, concise and gratifying. At times Shorter looks bewildered (could be his natural state), and displays all the stage presence of a geriatric zombie, pacing the stage from side to side avoiding eye contact with both the band and the audience as he plays. As a result, Wayne’s performance comes up, well, shorter than Carlos’. The former leader of Weather Report occasionally plays as if he’s disinterested, but when he gets inspired, Shorter shows how good he can be. The most pleasant surprise is Rushen. The diminutive classically trained pianist plays big. She’s a keyboard version of Vishnu who never fails to come up with an innovative, dazzling solo. (For those of you who are wondering about the inside joke, Vishnu, the Indian Supreme Being, had four arms.) There’s none of the hesitancy in her playing that occasionally freezes Shorter. (Rushen, who had a pop hit in 1982 with “Forget Me Nots,” would go on to become music director for the Grammy and Emmy Awards, the People’s Choice Awards and The Midnight Hour Show).

The Santana Band, comprised of experienced sessionmen, is well equipped to handle the heat of the Montreux spotlight. Drummer Leon “Ndugu” Chancler doesn’t crack the kit with original drummer Michael Shrieve’s voracity, but he can keep a steady, thudding beat, and is inexhaustible. Original percussionist Jose “Chepito” Areas sports the biggest Afro of the 80s (and there are flecks of grey in it), but he can still bang the timbales with
the speed of a Benny Hanna chef chopping up dinner. Armando Peraza, one of the most revered Afro-Cuban percussionists in music, seems to be living off his legendary status, playing in spurts. He doesn’t have Reebop Kwaku Baah’s speed and isn’t even as emphatic a player as the man he replaced, (Michael Carrabello), but perhaps his slow motion hand action is due to his advanced age. Alphonso Johnson is an improvement over the sometimes invisible Dave Brown, and while Chester Thompson can’t make his Hammond Organ sound like a lethal weapon the way original keyboard player Rolie did, he has an obvious rapport with Santana and shares the sandbox well with Rushen.

The concert is divided evenly between the dominant soloists. When the band steps into a Santana composition the percussion and guitar dominate; when Shorter plugs in, the music takes on a decidedly free-flowing, more oblique tone. Shorter’s “Shhh” is one of the exceptions to the rule. On “Shhh” Shorter hooks into his own muse, blowing with the focused solitude of a jazz man standing on a fire escape on a summer night.

“Incident at Neshabur” could have benefited from Rolie’s all encompassing, throaty Hammond playing, but Thompson’s speedy solo stays within the lines, maintaining the melody. Carlos still grimaces a lot as if it hurts to bend the strings when he plays (well, maybe it does) and he can still sustain a bell tone on the guitar that lasts longer than FDR’s presidency. When Shorter tries to intercede, his sax squawks in rebellion as if to say, “Not on this song you don’t.” His lack of feel for the song nearly turns ‘Incident” into an accident, as he launches into a pointless soliloquy that sounds suspiciously like Frankie Valli’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You.” When Shorter bows out and Santana returns to restore order, its one happy incident.

Shorter revives from his slumber during “Elegant People,” blowing with the fervor of a Canadian Goose with its head on the chopping block, and Rushen pulls off a challenging lengthy solo literally with her eyes closed. “Goodness and Mercy” is marred by Thompson’s cheesy Casio backing, but there are plenty of close ups. You can study Carlos at work as he deftly adjusts the volume on his guitar, rolls the pick between his fingers or shifts his whammy bar. It’s surprising how many subtle machinations he goes through during the course of a song – and the fact that he’s sitting, seemingly playing casually, will make you appreciate his technique even more.

Chepito Areas demonstrates there’s still plenty of fire in his sticks during his part of a percussion solo, and Peraza gets the crowd clapping during his short foray. When Chancler gets his inevitable turn, he’s orderly, not showy, whether slapping out a rat-a-tat rhythm on the high hat or kicking the bass drum.

Shorter switches off from his usual tenor sax to soprano sax for “For Those About To Chant” and he’s more expressive and inspired than before, hitting a series of high notes that makes the reed in his sax hum – and he gets a well deserved hand for it. Santana takes off in Wes Montgomery mode, riffing with subtly. “Once It’s Gotcha” is upbeat with the rhythm section locking into a neck-snapping groove. Rushen straps on a portable piano that she manipulates like a guitar (a gimmicky instrument popularized by Gary “Dreamweaver” Wright and Edgar “Frankenstein” Winter). She proves to be the sharpest of the three soloists, going funk for funk with Santana when they square off.

“Mandela,” written by Armado Peraza, has a keyboard backing from Thompson straight out of the soundtrack for the “X-files.” Shrieking on soprano sax, Shorter starts off haphazard and gets more crazed and left field as the tune progresses, but that’s jazz, man.

“Dig Deeper” from Santana’s “Praise” originally featured man-mountain Buddy Miles on vocals and was one of the album’s weaker cuts. As an instrumental it’s toe-tapping and striking. Santana slices and dices the strings with a soul man’s devotion and Shorter blasts his solo, assimilating the band’s groove. One of the encore pieces is Santana’s classic instrumental samba “Europa.” It’s as vibrant as the studio version, a melodic milestone with lucid solos from Santana.

The DVD is interspersed with interviews with Santana, Shorter and the festival’s founder, Claude Nobs. Santana gushes over Peraza’s style (“There are no prisoners”) and Areas’ contrasting talent (“He has the gift for perpetual time”). A discombobulated Shorter attempts to explain his composition “Sanctuary,” then the interview neatly cuts away to the band playing it. “Sanctuary” is space jazz, with Shorter doing his Coltrane thing, airing it out. Santana plays off of Chancler’s heart-attack pace, getting in some inventive Jeff Beck-like runs. “Sanctuary” gets a bit chaotic, but that’s jazz, man.

There’s no faulting the length of the concert. It’s a mind-numbing 124 minutes, and be forewarned, there are no vocals, a big negatory in my book. The photography is crisp, although some of the protracted shots are questionable. There are a lot of shots of Patrice Rushen’s hands, which is understandable, she’s a keyboard player, but what you wind up missing are the cues she gives Shorter or her communication with the rest of the band. Same goes for Thompson – we see the back of his head when he and Santana duet on “Goodness and Mercy” and “El Salvador’ but miss the eye contact between the two of them. Shorter gets caught off guard by the camera more often than anyone else, cradling his sax or just standing off to the side sweating bullets, looking gun shy, or smiling timidly when he bleats out a bad note. The shots of Chancler are exceptional, you’re close enough to be one of his cymbals, and you get enough of Peraza’s interactions with Santana to balance out the rest of the DVDs awkward moments.

This edition of The Santana Band doesn’t have the ability to blow you away the way the original band did, but they inspire fish-out-of-water Shorter to give a good account of himself. And Carlos? He rarely gives a bad performance. The neat trick here is with “Live in Montreux” you get to hear it and see it. Plus you get to marvel at the biggest Afro this side of the 80s.

Posted March 29, 2007 Permalink

Babel

Babel 4.5 out of 5 stars Reviewed for Coffeerooms by Mike Jefferson

Sometimes the Motion Picture Academy gets things right. Two of the actresses in “Babel,” Rinko Kikuchi and Adriana Barraza Babel were up for Oscars this year. Neither stood a chance against the omnipresent Jennifer Hudson, but having two nominees in one category speaks for itself. Pre-teen non-actor Boubker Ait El Caid deserved a nod for Best Supporting Actor too. (But I suppose the Academy knows all too well what happens to kid actors that get too much too soon – their careers fall more often than Brittany Spears). “Babel” is the third film in a trilogy from director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu and screenwriter Guillermo Arriaga that began with “Amores Perros” and continued with the moving “21 Grams.” The title refers to a story in The Bible about an ancient civilization that planned to build a tower that would reach so high it would challenge God’s supremacy. God was not amused and turned the project into a parking lot by confusing their language, making it impossible for the builders to communicate. “Babel” follows a similar premise -- characters speak in rapid fire, unintelligible tongues and sign language, turning the plot into a series of fish out of water scenarios.

The movie has three revolving tales that spin in and out of sequence, and despite the action being separated by thousands of miles in either direction, the stories intersect and blend together like a finely woven tapestry. “Babel’s” plot is held together by a gun, and what happens to the families who have direct and indirect contact with it. The story begins in a desolate area in Morocco when a small-time gun dealer Hassan (smarmy Abdelkader Bara) sells a rifle to sheep herder Adullah (an oblivious Amit Murjani). Without much of an afterthought Abdullah gives the expensive rifle to his two sons, the bullying Ahmed (Said Tarchani) and coming-of-age Yussef (Boubker Ait El Caid) to chase away the jackals feeding on his herd of goats. The brothers test it out on a nearby pile of rocks, with older brother Ahmed displaying the shooting accuracy of F Troop. Yussef takes the rifle from his brother, aiming it in the direction of an oncoming bus. The bullet crashes through the window of the bus, injuring American tourist Susan Jones (Cate Blanchett, who spends most of the film bleary-eyed and on her back.) Her sudden, traumatic shooting sends shock waves through the media, who label the incident a terrorist attack. While the media feasts on the story, Susan and her husband Richard (spittle-spraying Brad Pitt in ugly American mode) are left to fend for themselves when their tour bus deposits them in a small village and takes off. The couple must endure a number of obstacles before help can arrive, including political red tape, their inability to communicate (even with those who are trying to help), and primitive bedside care.

Fearing reprisals from the U.S., the Moroccan government sends out the police to investigate the incident. After beating a confession from Hassan, they track down Adullah and his sons, who are now on the run, hunted like the jackals they sought to eradicate. Warning shots are fired and Abdullah attempts to surrender. Panicking, the boys fire at the police, who don’t hesitate to shoot back, think they’re firing at Abdullah. Crack-shot Yussef retaliates by picking off an officer, setting in motion a tragic conclusion.

A second plot follows Chieko(Rinko Kikuchi), a deaf Japanese teenage girl who has developed a rebellious streak following her mother’s suicide. Mistaking her father’s private grief for a lack understanding or caring, teased and shunned by boy’s her own age, Cheiko starts looking for love in all the wrong places, flashing teenage boys like a teenage Sharon Stone. She tries to seduce her dentist, who is interested in drilling her teeth and not her (sorry, couldn’t resist), and attempts to bed police detective Kenji Mamiya (Satoshi Nikaido), who comes to her apartment to question Chieko's father about a rifle he gave to his tour guide in Morocco.

The third plot involves Richard and Susan's nanny, Amelia (a stalwart Adriana Barraza) who receives a call from Richard saying the couple is stranded in Morocco, jeopardizing her plans to attend her son’s wedding in Mexico. Unable to find a sitter for the children, she takes them along. Rather than stay overnight in Mexico with the children, Amelia decides to travel back across the border with her sketchy nephew Santiago (party hearty Gael Garcia Bernal) who is drunk and rightfully nervous about any one-on-one contact with the border patrol. Amelia hitching a ride with her nephew brings to mind the last words of the navigator on the Titanic: “I saw it coming, I just couldn’t get out of the way.”

Santiago and Amelia are detained at the border by a ridgid border patrol officer (boot-strapping Clifton Collins, Jr.) who conducts a nerve-wracking investigation. After a second officer rifles through Santiago’s trunk, Collins returns with his ire up. Told to pull over for a second inspection, Santiago panics, drving through police barriers as if he was Richard Petty auditioning for a demolition derby. After putting some distance between himself and the police, Santiago leaves Amelia and the children in the desert, promising to come back. You can hear the hand of fate slam the door of Santiago’s car as he burns rubber, stranding his anunt and the children without food or water. Amelia has no shot at making employee of the month, and must be suffering from heat stroke because she decides to leave the children alone to search for help. Dehydrated, lost (not to mention walking through the sand in high heels), Amelia finally encounters a Border Patrol Officer (the always dependable Michael Pena). Trusting that the officer is more interested in finding the children than arresting her is Amelia’s final and biggest mistake. The children are found, but any hope for leniancy for Amelia is lost. Amelia’s story and her fate is easily the most compelling, heartbreaking plot in the movie. Maybe we know someone whose been there, maybe one of our ancestors suffered the same indignity decades ago, but as Amelia pleads her case to an unyielding by-the-book bureaucrat you can’t help feel sorry for her.

The international cast of unknowns steals the movie away from superstars Pitt and Blanchett, who haven’t exactly forgotten how to act. Pitt hasn’t been much more than a plastic pretty boy since “Seven.” Here he shows a range of emotions (!) – disappointment at his dying marriage with Blanchett, concern over her condition, face-busting rage when the other toutists decide to leave them behind, stress and wit’s-end exhaustion when he makes the phone call to Amelia to tell her to take care of the children. Scruffy and puffy-eyed Pitt looks and acts like a desperate man. A fine acting job and he gets to go home to Angelina Jolie. Cate Blanchett has little to do other than moan a lot, but the scene in which an old woman administers an “anesthetic” the old fashioned way is amusing. When Blanchett picks at the open sore of her troubled marriage, it’s the unsaid hurt between her and Pitt that makes their characters believable.

Rinko Kikuchi is a rare find. She pulls you into the world of a troubled, deaf mute, particularly in the scene in which bares her soul and her body to Detective Mimiya. Her pain at being rejected isn’t expressed in words, but rather a series of wails and devastated looks that render subtitles unecessary. Boubker Ait El Caid should just quit school now, because acting is his calling. Despite the slight hinderance of portraying a character through subtitles, his inexeprience, and his young age, El Caid gives a commendable performance, capturing the frustrations and simple joys of a boy on the verge of becoming a man. Although he chaffes under his brother’s bullying, he still loves and respects him. Like most boys his age, he’s sexually curious. He spys on one of the village girls as she dresses (with her approval), an act which serves as the real reason his older brother’s been a little rough on him lately. Caid gets to display more emotion than most of the other characters and does so convincingly.

There are a few scenes that rate highly on the shock value scale. Two involve Santaigo (Bernal) whose idea of livening up a party forshadows his recklessness. He also traumatizes the Smith’s son by demonstrating whether a chicken can still cross the road without it’s head.

The movie’s age old message – the man is keeping us down -- may be a bit heavy handed for some, but the truth hurts, and in this case enlightens. “Babel” is a first rate film that loses nothing in the translation.

Posted March 1, 2007 Permalink