Jazz saxophonist jams Kerrytown

The creativity of Roscoe Mitchell can, perhaps, only be described as criminal. In a few short hours, he led his quartet through a fiercely individualistic romp of his version of what jazz is. Mitchell's now famous work with the Association for the Advancement of Creative Music and the Art Ensemble of Chicago, beginning in the '60s and continuing with this year's "Coming Home Jamaica," have stamped him with a maverick reputation as a player whose facility is not limited to any singular jazz st yle. The AEC's musical eclecticism jumps from blues to calypso to the most startling avant-garde forms all in the breadth of a few minutes. Sunday, Mitchell lived up to this reputation as the "great reconciler" and with considerable grace, brought together standard forms and melodies with meditative tornadoes of atonality.

As evidenced by his first few numbers, Mitchell has been flexing his composition skills a lot these past few years. In a three-part suite originally arranged for voice and piano with texts (not used here) by e.e. cummings, the dark, almost medieval quality of the first set suffered from the inadequate bowing of an otherwise very adequate bassist Leon Dorsey. The second set, a drastic contrast, allowed the group to finally get its hands dirty with a quicker, singsong melody.

The group's final piece, after an intermission, was a brilliant example of musical, if not physical, endurance. Mitchell's energy makes him as fascinating to watch as he is to hear. He tends to use his body during solos the way an articulate person uses their hands to speak. His small torso rotates and re-aligns itself constantly while his shoulders and eyebrows rise and fall with every squeak from his arsenal of saxophones and recorders. The tones he draws form the instruments, too, are equally as numerous the notes he plays. He traversed territory from the sound of computer bleeps to that of exotic, monotone throat singers.

But like the closer for the first set, this one ended up with the group curiously resigning itself to a standard jazz vein. After the group reached the pinnacle of furious, avant-garde energy, especially in the second set, this choice seemed to be either mocking the well-worn jazz repertoire or redefining an appreciation of it. Mitchell's notoriously lofty ambition would imply the latter.

As for the other players, drummer Gerald Cleaver, a University Music Professor and an absolute pleasure to listen to, is most definitely worthy of the title Renaissance jazz man of the year. His impeccable technique, restraint, and taste put him on a direct line of communication with Mitchell throughout the night. Whether it was quiet, complex polyrhythms over long lines from Mitchell, or his bombastic Kodo-drum solo in the second set, to say Cleaver understands the drums is to say Monet knows how to paint. Guitarist Spencer Barefield proved capable when he could be heard and bassist Leon Dorsey, although possessing a fine tone, never seemed to allow himself the freedom a man of his capabilities deserves.

02-02-99