Yesterday evening in the Education Studio of the Diane B. Wilsey Center for Opera, San Francisco Performances (SFP) presented the third of the four programs in its Salon Series curated by pianist Edward Simon. This was Simon’s solo gig, using his allotted hour to give a somewhat chronological account of jazz selections dating back to Billy Strayhorn and proceeding up to his own composition from his latest recording, which will be released in the near future. Only two other composers intervened between Strayhorn and Simon himself: Thelonious Monk and Fred Hersch. Simon also interjected a free improvisation between Hersch’s selection and his own.
When working with the tunes of others, Simon has an engaging style of hinting at the tune through extended suggestions before “getting down to business.” As a result, anyone familiar with Strayhorn’s book would have registered the tune from Simon’s opening gesture; but he then kept the attentive listener waiting for the first “straight” statement of the tune. This reminds me of how, in both the first and fourth movements of Johannes Brahms’ Opus 68 (first) symphony in C minor, there is an elaborately prolonged introduction during which all of the themes of the exposition are first introduced. (I would be surprised if Simon himself had many thoughts about Brahms while playing Strayhorn!)
Monk was the only composer to be represented by two compositions, “Monk’s Mood” and “Monk’s Dream.” (Simon joked about Monk liking to include himself in his titles.) As with any good jazz pianist of interest, Simon knew how to weave his own reflections around Monk’s thematic material without ever trying to fall back on mirroring Monk’s own keyboard style. (Monk had his own idiosyncratic approach to piano technique. It was frequently provocative; and, when I saw him playing at the Village Vanguard, it could be downright scary.) Simon’s ordering of these two pieces was particularly effective, since “Monk’s Mood” comes across as a reflection on Duke Ellington, whose band presented the first performance of “Lush Life” during one of its Carnegie Hall concerts.
The Hersch selection came from his Songs Without Words album. Simon played the first of the set, entitled simply “Aria.” It is easy to identify the strong implication of a vocal line. Nevertheless, between the unconventional approaches to rhythm and the sophisticated approach to chord progressions, that line would pose a significant challenge to even the most qualified of vocalists.
The richness of Hersch’s capacity for invention, however, provided just the right groundwork for attentive listening to Simon’s own compositions. Nevertheless, as is the case with Hersch, Simon’s original work tends to require more than one listening experience. As one begins to adjust to his linguistic nuts and bolts, one can then cultivate an appreciation for what he is capable of constructing.
The free improvisation that preceded Simon’s compositions was very much an invention unto itself. On the surface the piece amounted to a study in ostinato technique. This meant that Simon set for himself a major physical challenge, but he definitely knew how to manage his energy to sustain that driving ostinato over the course of the entire improvisation as any number of invented motifs came and went around the core of a repeated pitch.
Sergei Prokofiev had his own approach to invention based on ostinato in his Opus 11 toccata in D minor (which now seems to be part of Yuja Wang’s repertoire). Simon’s approach to free improvisation left one thinking of Prokofiev on steroids. Without trying to pit one composer against another, I have to say that Simon’s inventiveness registered in both the immediate present and on subsequent recollection, while Prokofiev’s toccata serves more as a flash in the pan.
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