Welcome to the 2007 Monterey Jazz Festival "Open Blog."

During the entire festival weekend, September 21-23, we'll be posting news, notes, reviews and ruminations from the 50th annual festival.

Enjoy!

Wayne Saroyan
Editor & Publisher, JazzWest

This is my third Monterey Jazz Festival, and each time I've come, I've taken advantage of my press pass to enter the grounds early and just wander around, taking in the atmosphere of the set-up. There's always something special about coming early to this festival, or really, any event like this. You can feel the slowly gathering storm of artistic and commercial energy coalescing into a critical mass of action, coming together slowly but surely. And because this is the 50th anniversary of the MJF, somehow history, the thought of five long decades of artists and performances taking place on these grounds, add another layer to the atmosphere. Of course, 50 is only a number, and any added significance to this year's show is strictly metaphorical. Why should the past crowd around this year's festival more than any other? Nevertheless, the feeling persists for some reason that this year, in particular, the spirits of all those past performers will be looking over our shoulders, listening in to the music.

I stroll around for an hour or so, watching the food and craft stalls assembled — photos, jewelry, paintings, clothing, sculpture, books, and craft goods of all kinds, African masks and baskets two stalls down from Pure Swiss Skincare; delightfully colorful silk thread art next to Marriott's Lake Tahoe Timber Lodge. Just another reminder of how this festival turns itself into a small little universe all its own.

And it's interesting, as I walk, to realize once again that this festival and its history is actually superimposed over another reality and even older history. For we are, after all, in a fairgrounds. To the far end of the grounds are the horse stables and other livestock stalls. The Arena, where the highest profile acts will perform this weekend, is easily imagined, when you stroll through it during the day, almost entirely empty, as the rodeo and livestock show arena it was clearly built to be, an arena, I learn later, where Poncho Gonzalez played tennis. In the midst of the grounds, right below a beautiful spreading tree, is a cement marker and sign placed there at the Fairground's original construction, announcing the site as a project of the Depression-era Federal WPA program. How many people will notice that plaque as they hurry by it this weekend? I don't want to make too much of all this, but it is fascinating to me, anyway, to catch a glimpse of the textured nature of the history of not only the festival, but the locale in which it takes place every year.

These pre-event hours are also precious to me because in my two previous festivals, I have stumbled upon rehearsals and sound checks that have, in fact given me some of my most enduring festival memories. My first year, it was wandering into a sound check being run by Paul McCandless and his band, and delighting as they broke into an impromptu, spirited rendition of Weather Report's famous "Birdland." Two years ago, I attended an exquisite rehearsal of John Scofield and Mavis Staples, as they prepared for their evening salute to Ray Charles. Watching Mavis Staples sing "Georgia" in a small room with about five other people in attendance was a heart-stopping experience.

So after about an hour of this aimless strolling, I finally find what I'm really looking for. From the main Arena stage, comes the sound first of an electric keyboard and then a trombonist running quick, shimmering phrases. I hurry into the arana and find Cuban singer Isaac Delgado and his band, all thirteen of them. I watch and listen as they slowly go through the instruments, checking mike and monitor levels. And then the reward, as they break into relaxed yet enthusiastic practice run through a happy blast of Afro-Cuban funk. Don't know what it is, but I always look for this kind of private show, even just the one song, played for the technicians and the four or five of us who happen to have found this moment in an empty venue built for thousands. It's my own private festival kick off.

The festival officially kicks off, musically, with a performance on the outdoor Garden Stage by the local hard bop ensemble, Along Came Betty. Trumpeter Brian Stock shines especially on an easy loping cool jazz number called "Rumor Has It," and the festival swings genially to life. For just a moment as the band moves along into another blues groove, the sun shines perfectly across the musicians in a way that throws bassist Pete Lipp's silouette onto the stage's side wall. For that instant, I imagine that shadow bassists could be and one of a thousand bass players who have worked these stages over the past 50 years. Obscure and famous, up and coming or already world famous, driving the rhythm for all sorts of bands over the past half century. Then, of course, the sun moves lower down and the shadow fades. Focus returns to the flesh and blood Lipps, propelling Along Came Betty through a sharp, grooving piece of cool jazz business.

I don't want to make too much of this 50th anniversary business, and now I promise I'll stop. On to the music!

I slip into the main Arena, now filled to the brim and wet—did I say it's started raining?—for Dave Holland's stellar ensemble, featuring Chris Potter on sax, the incredible Gonazalo Rubalcaba on piano, Eric Harland on drums and of course Holland on bass. One of the wonderful things about jazz as an artform is the fluid way that ensembles are able to form and reform, musicians coming together to play together in all combinations, and this is certainly a dream quartet.

We'd been told at a press gathering earlier in the day that these four had been rehearsing for two days, time enough to move four such accomplished players out of the realm of pick-up band. It's evident from the first note I hear, in fact, that the empathy between these players is solid, indeed.

During a long probing solo by Potter on a Holland composition the bassist reports he's written just for this occasion, the saxophonist is prodded gently but emphatically in new directions by Holland and, especially Rubalcaba. This is a searching, twisting journey of a solo during which Potter, guided by signposts and hints set out for him by his bandmates, seems to unravel the puzzle of his path as he goes along, continuously finding new ideas to explore. His tone is sometimes plaintive, but always grounded and assured, as if he doesn't know exactly where he's going end up at any given moment, but he, and we, are sure it's going to be someplace good.

The rousing dialoge between Rubicalba and Harland just a bit later in the work is especially compelling, as the pianist pushes the drummer gradually harder and harder. There's a steadily rising drama throught the piece than never becomes heavy handed. And so goes this set, solid, surprising and masterful. Although we're still early in the festival, it's hard to imagine this set won't end up as a singular highlight.