Hats way way way way off to Bill Frisell and the Unspeakable Orchestra who played last Saturday to an audience that was split in two distinct camps: Those of us mouth agape and awed by the intensity, playfulness and audacity of the sounds coming from this medium-sized ensemble of guitar, bass, drums, horns, woodwind (singular) and strings. . .and the dozens of (alas, mostly) senior citizens shaking their head thinking, “Vat is this nonsense? And the only one who has the courtesy to wear a tie is a woman? Oy!” I’m guessing they get a lot of subscribers and when they read “jazz guitar” they think Les Paul. Well, whatever, everyone is entitled to their opinion. At least they didn’t boo. (The 92nd St. Y staff, though, is a little insane. After the show, as the group was preparing to take their bow, I whipped out my camera to take a few snaps for ye olde blog. Out of nowhere a light from Checkpoint Charlie is flashing in my face and a voice is telling me to stop. So I was only able to get off one shot — and the shot indeed sucks):
When I came home Ann asked if the show was good and what kind of music it was. I told her it was awesome and that. . .I didn’t know. . .the evening’s entertainment was truly part of that genre that can’t really be put into a box. Jazz? Prog Rock? Jam Band? “New Music?” Who the hell knows and, of course, who the hell cares?
