Ornette Coleman

No time to write a proper review, so for anyone foolish enough to be patient with me, some quick notes…

This is the second or possibly third time I’ve seen Ornette Coleman (that’s right, my memory’s that bad: I think that I’ve seen him on two separate occasions, once performing Skies of America with the Bournemouth Symphony {a couple of whom looked like sneery fuckers} and once playing with Prime Time {complete with Badal Roy seated out front on tablas, each performer at a little desk, very cool though some hated it}. May this was one evening in two parts or two separate ones.

Ornette appeared frail, he’s an old man now. I couldn’t help but think of Star Wars’ Yoda as he shuffled on stage radiating wisdom and gentleness just in the transition from stage left to centre stage, when he began to play the analogy was complete… no he didn’t play superhuman licks to the musical equivalent of triple backflip, high-kicking somersaults, but he played with remarkable subtlety and strength.

Within the first few seconds Ornette and his band (3 bass players, son Denardo on drums) had hit me upside the back of the head, jarred my sense of what was possible and set me adrift in their multi-directional flow. Though I acclimatised over the course of the evening, I was still struck by Ornette’s ability to conjure challenge and the unexpected from what would by rights now be expected to be all too familiar.

You don’t just make sense of it, you surrender and enjoy…

Ornette’s gift for melody set in the jewel of his group… well, it’s corny, but I couldn’t help but experience it like that of love and sex in the context of wider chaos. Sweetest sucker punch, done with the swipe of a flower.