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Yoshi's and Fred Hersch
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Nels Cline at Yoshi's
Oakland has a rich musical history that doesn't begin and end with hyphy. A mere list of performers couldn't sufficiently convey the important contributions Oakland has made on a local and national level (still, Sly and the Family Stone, Green Day, Carla Bley, Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, Earl Hines, John Lee Hooker, Too $hort, Tower of Power, Rancid, Pharaoh Sanders, Souls of Mischief, and that's just off the top of my head). Particularly this town is proud of it's jazz heritage. As if giving to the world Pharaoh Sanders, Earl Hines, and letting Sun Ra shoot "Space is the Place" wasn't enough, the good jazz keeps coming. And when most people think of Oakland and jazz, they think of Yoshi's.
Yoshi's Jazz Club, in the language of most appraisers, a world class venue and sushi restaurant. Who exactly first bestowed the grand title of 'world class' upon them is difficult to reckon. Yet pains have been taken to ensure that one couldn't think, when greeted with the meticulously designed and considered interior, that it was anything but a world class restaurant/venue. The performers to are certainly of international class. The list of acts forthcoming and bygone is immense, and couldn't possibly be accurately communicated with a short, off the cuff list (Pharaoh Sanders, McCoy Tyner, Taj Mahal, Mos Def, Charnette Moffett, James Carter, Jean-Luc Ponty, Dizzy Gillespie, Cedar Walton).
On a slightly unrelated note which will hopefully be seamlessly integrated into what follows, the jazz clubs of yore possess a certain mystique that the mind tends to exaggerate and caricaturize. Musicians that changed the world, and one can almost say that without being in the least hyperbolic, got their start in smoky, sleazy clubs and brothels. Jelly Roll Morton, the self-proclaimed 'inventor of jazz' (very hyperbolic), began his career in a New Orleans house of ill repute. The brand of music that he didn't invent, but probably composed for the first time, made him a legend but left him bleeding to death after being stabbed and refused treatment at a whites only hospital. But because of his developments, and many brilliant minds who evolved the music and its principals, the unique breed of music that was once disseminated in smoky-mirrored parlors graces stages and demands ticket prices that cost more than what Morton probably earned for playing a gig.
Such are the strange contradictions of history that are difficult to not ponder when seated in Yoshi's ultra sheik jazz club. What's most impressive is the dedication to the treatment of sound, how so much care went into ensuring that every seat has not just a good view but a good vantage point for perceiving, uncorrupted, each single note. As Pharaoh Sanders' ancient lungs unleash a fervorous blast through his holy horn a brassy wave of euphoria envelops the entire crowd, each nuance of the breath and intonation travels to each listener with the greatest of ease. The musician knows it; when Charnett Moffett takes a bass solo he fears not plucking the highest strings as lightly as he pleases, trusting that the splendid architects who envisioned this coliseum-esque set up, and the technicians who supply the musicians with, in the words of Kenny Burrell, "the best sound equipment in the world," will deliver pristine purity of sonic bliss to all.
Fred Hersch, a consummate pianist hailing from New York City, will surely take full advantage of Yoshi's audio superiority. While at the same time, he will surely embody that which is most uninviting about the club. Hirsch, like his peer Keith Jarrett, demands a sort of indulgence. His is a deep intellectualization of jazz, an approach which enables him to construct beautiful harmonies and melodies out of thin air, and even compose a tribute to Walt Whitman which didn't turn out half bad. But a sense of intellectual exclusivity, elitism and erudition pervades his work, and Yoshi's is prone to exuding similar airs. Our imaginations place a music that once epitomized democracy in clubs that seem intimidating, smokeless and well-coiffed. It would be unfortuante though if the airs were to cause anyone to miss out, because Fred Hersch, though sometimes difficult, is a phenomonal technician and can surely turn out a soulful phrase or two. And Yoshi's, with the expensive drinks, expensive covers, expensive food, and all around slightly pretentious, slightly elitist attitude, is a killer place. And the folks there are much warmer than their smugly bougie countences are inclined to reveal. As for jazz starting in the gutter and ending bathed in silky red lights and $9 glasses of beer, well, who doesn't love a good Horatio Alger story?
Fred Hersch will perform solo on November 18th. Tickets are $18.
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