Dancing About Architecture, Vol. VIII

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Tonight’s Episode: Woody Allen’s New Orleans Dixieland Jazz Band

December 19, 2006 at Copley Symphony Hall, San Diego, CA

When I was about ten years old, I cut out a full-page photo portrait of Woody Allen from TIME magazine and propped it on my easel in the corner of my room. He was seated, casually leaning on his elbows, supporting his clarinet and looking directly at the camera. I had been learning the clarinet for about a year, and drawing a lot, hence the easel. The portrait appealed to me on two levels. I liked that a nerdy Jewish guy was able to be seen in public sporting a clarinet and apparently feel self-assured at the same time. And I liked the look on his face, which I interpreted to mean, “I’m more than who you think I am, in case you were wondering.” I was already a fan of the few films of his I had seen by then, and I knew he was a clarinet player on the side. The picture transformed him for me from just an auteur into something multi-dimensional and therefore much more interesting. That magazine page is either long-gone or buried in my old closet, but the impression has stayed with me. Since then I’d always wanted to hear him play at his weekly spot at the Carlyle Club, but how often do I get to Manhattan?

All these years later, and he’s still playing, only now he’s taken his group out of New York and on the road. So Jackie got us tickets and we drove downtown and paid a bundle for parking and climbed up to the mezzanine in the great hall and sat amongst San Diego’s patrons of the arts, such as can be found in these parts, and waited for the fulfillment of a two-plus decade-long dream.

The stage was minimal: four chairs in front facing the audience with a grand piano stage right, and a slightly raised stage behind with a small trap kit and a double bass. The band and its star walked on in no apparent order and sat down without so much as acknowledging there was an audience. This was the first of many indications from the performance that clarified what might have been an open question for many: this is a hobby for Mr. Allen – no more, no less. The pianist started a gentle, easy riff, and eventually Allen put the clarinet he brought on with him to his lips. Out came a puttering of short, tight, high E’s – close to the upper range of the instrument. So tight as to give him plenty of room to grow, suggesting he was building up to broader strokes. To his left the guitar-banjo player, the supposed band leader, picked up the rhythm, followed by the bass and drums, and eventually trumpet and trombone. It was straight-up Dixieland and everyone played inside, with nobody really stretching out.

After the introductory tune Allen stood up to speak, and pretty well told us they were just there to do what they enjoy doing, “…and afterwards…we’ll…evaluate.” (And here we are.) Over the next 90 minutes they covered a litany of Dixieland favorites, and the tenor didn’t rise too much. The piano player, when given the chance, showed he had some powerful chops, and the trumpet and trombone players were fine but nothing stellar. The guitar-banjoist has obviously been playing rhythm for Dixieland jazz for decades, and his solos were little more than rhythm strumming, but with feeling. The drummer was asleep. We could hardly hear the bassist, although what we heard made up for the soporific drumming but he still looked bored by the whole affair.

But what about Woody Allen? I think he’s getting exactly what he wants out of it. He’s self-taught, and is playing the music he’s passionate about. I was too far away to tell whether he was playing an Alberts system clarinet. This is an older, French style clarinet that was completely replaced by the German Boehm system everybody plays now. The former has some slight alterations in the key configuration and therefore different fingerings, but was favored by a lot of early jazz clarinetists, in part for its chipper, lighter sound. In any event, his tone remained tight, pinched and thin, to my chagrin. Several years ago I got a C clarinet, smaller in size and pitched a whole step higher than the standard Bb variety, to get that light sound, as opposed to the full bell tone you might want for classical music. Nice to get if you can work it. But Allen’s tone was so pinched it never really sang. This was frustrating to observe.

As for his actual playing, he kept up with the tunes well enough, but his fingers weren’t as nimble as I had hoped given how long he’s been playing this stuff. This is a musical style that is 90% chord- and short chord progression-based improvisation, where the melody instruments all riff on the lead melody simultaneously, weaving together a sort of melody-harmony. He just never built up to the broad strokes we were waiting for. Neither Allen, nor the trumpeter nor the trombonist, seemed able or willing to step out and make it their own. In other words, it was a rare moment when any of them hit a run that caught our attention, much less our breath. The trombonist and guitar-banjoist each took a turn singing, too (crooning, rather), which broke the monotony of a music not expressly meant to be performed in a concert venue. But by the end, some of the audience had left, and we were feeling the bass player’s boredom. So imagine my surprise when Allen ended the pre-encore (ALWAYS an encore. What’s the point?) by introducing the musicians, and revealed the bassist to be none other than Greg Cohen, of Masada fame and glory. No wonder he was bored – he’s been so far ahead of this music, it must feel like a primer to a novelist. Guess he needs the money.

They got a standing ovation, of course. In the 7 ½ years I have lived here, I have only been to two performances of any sort which have not incurred this response from the audience. Two. And those were very, very bad performances. Audiences here are so under-stimulated, each performance must feel like the best thing they’ve ever seen. Either that, or they just don’t know what else to do. To Allen and his band’s credit, they didn’t claim to be doing anything more than playing for their own amusement, and it means something to an audience when the musicians are enjoying themselves. It would probably be more fun to hear them at the Carlyle Club. And hearing Woody Allen play early jazz because he loves it brings the music he uses in his films – mostly early jazz – closer to the film, as though he wished he were not just screenwriting and directing and maybe acting, but also playing the soundtrack. In that case, though, it might be best that he isn’t.