Always a keen observer of audience habits, to put it mildly, a chatty Keith Jarrett couldn't resist telling a packed Disney Hall that he'd noticed a pattern among jazz crowds lately.
I remember lines of people waiting to see the new thing, he said playfully from a lone spotlighted microphone stand opposite his piano. Now, there are lines of people waiting to see old things.
Of course, when the old thing in question is the 64-year-old Jarrett, its understood that this habit can be forgiven. Because, even after so many years, how does one begin to unpack what exactly this unique piano wizard can do in concert? The second stop in a three-city tour of solo piano performances, Jarrett delivered an evening of at times brief but occasionally exhilarating improvisations that drew from a limitless musical vocabulary gained in 45 years of performing.
Jarrett's gift for making an in-the-moment creation sound lyrical, even welcomingly familiar, has been one of the hallmarks of his career since 1975s lauded live double-album The Koln Concert. While this nights performance didn't try to replicate that recordings sprawling long-form excursions, it frequently revisited its same anthemic drive.
After a stern introduction from Disney Halls public address system, warning against cameras, recording devices and, well, coughing, Jarrett began his performance with an uncharacteristically atonal exploration, his long hands darting between low and high notes on the keyboard like excitable birds looking for a secure place to land. Pushing the song through a variety of detours, Jarrett continued his usual habit of half-standing, off-time foot tapping and grunting along with his playing, each a seemingly unconscious attempt to physically will the song into shape.
Later compositions touched on a wide variety of genres and moods, recalling a wistful piano ballad tailor-made for a smoky nightclub one moment, or an evocatively twilit classical piece the next.
Its a testament to the odd sort of magic that Jarrett is capable of that any of his improvisations can reference sounds and structures from the past, yet never overtly become anything other than new, even as the audience feels strangely capable of humming along.
I remember lines of people waiting to see the new thing, he said playfully from a lone spotlighted microphone stand opposite his piano. Now, there are lines of people waiting to see old things.
Of course, when the old thing in question is the 64-year-old Jarrett, its understood that this habit can be forgiven. Because, even after so many years, how does one begin to unpack what exactly this unique piano wizard can do in concert? The second stop in a three-city tour of solo piano performances, Jarrett delivered an evening of at times brief but occasionally exhilarating improvisations that drew from a limitless musical vocabulary gained in 45 years of performing.
Jarrett's gift for making an in-the-moment creation sound lyrical, even welcomingly familiar, has been one of the hallmarks of his career since 1975s lauded live double-album The Koln Concert. While this nights performance didn't try to replicate that recordings sprawling long-form excursions, it frequently revisited its same anthemic drive.
After a stern introduction from Disney Halls public address system, warning against cameras, recording devices and, well, coughing, Jarrett began his performance with an uncharacteristically atonal exploration, his long hands darting between low and high notes on the keyboard like excitable birds looking for a secure place to land. Pushing the song through a variety of detours, Jarrett continued his usual habit of half-standing, off-time foot tapping and grunting along with his playing, each a seemingly unconscious attempt to physically will the song into shape.
Later compositions touched on a wide variety of genres and moods, recalling a wistful piano ballad tailor-made for a smoky nightclub one moment, or an evocatively twilit classical piece the next.
Its a testament to the odd sort of magic that Jarrett is capable of that any of his improvisations can reference sounds and structures from the past, yet never overtly become anything other than new, even as the audience feels strangely capable of humming along.
