Ink drop painting of guitarist Jacques Lesure at The Merc. This was done from a sketch I did at the gig. Ink on Rives BFK paper. #tb #drawing #painting #ink #inkwash #inkpainting #sketchbook #sketches #jazz #jazzmusician #jazzmusic #livejazz #jazzatthemerc #themerc #temecula #livemusic #jazzguitar #jacqueslesure (at Jazz at the Merc)
Beautiful night!! @hotelnormandie to hear @dvfielder @janegetz_music and meeting #jacqueslesure with my wonderful friends @danamartingraduates @katielafolle (at Hotel Normandie)
This was supposed to be a reluctant review of Arizona's all-day Summer Ends Festival featuring Kaytranada, Vic Mensa, Pusha T, Chance The Rapper, Travis Scott and Kanye West on Sunday, September 27. I was going to talk about how hot it was and how fun it was and how I was the only black girl in just about every crowd. I'm sure it would've been great, I'm sure Pusha fans would have hated me for it and Kanye stans would have acknowledged me as one of their own (I am). I was so sure I would want to write it, but after a few edits and a lot of groaning, I've decided to shift my focus because my best musical experience of the weekend happened the night before this long-awaited festival.
I was seated at a small rectangular table at the back of The Nash. I'm not assuming that you should be familiar with this place, but it's the kind of charming little jazz spot that convinces you that it should be referenced using its proper name. That Saturday night, The Nash was hosting a back-to-back set from a leading jazz guitarist and his freshly assembled band of Arizonians. This is the story of how Jacques Lesure's jazz set fucked up my weekend's whole trajectory and eclipsed Kanye's supermoonlit performance at Tempe Beach Park the following day.
Mr. Lesure is a native Detroiter and seasoned jazz guitarist that resides in Los Angeles and actually lives the life that all the scruffy cute, super jaded creatives philosophize about on somber, un-sober nights. It usually starts something like, "I just want to make a living from my art!", and ends with another shot or hit or whatever. Anyway, Mr. Lesure has a set of twins that he recently sent off to college and he is an ambassador for some kind of wine and sometimes he flies to Arizona for a single night of jazz while his wife takes a trip to Vegas with her sisters. Before the show, he stopped by my table to say a few kind words and divulge all the details from that last sentence in the nearly musical speaking voice that one would expect from a jazz musician. He headed to the stage then settled onto his stool and slid a wooden guitar strap over his head. Each motion seemed so natural that it may very well have been calculated for peak coolness. I would spend the entire set trying to decide if the cool banter that filled the gap between songs was previously written and practiced or if dude really was that cool.
As the band traveled through Lesure's debut album When She Smiles and the recently released Camaraderie, each song achieved a certain momentum. Forceful enough to move you and composed enough to dissuade interruption, like a well-to-do Sunday school teacher. Mr. Lesure's guitar style has a faint vocal element that leaves elusive footprints of words spoken or lyrics sung that fade into the lingering melody as soon as you try to step into them. Watching the band members approach a crisp ending and float effortlessly into the next song without physical signals was mesmerizing. They would occasionally depart from written notes to play indulgent loops. Even though it was a live show with CDs available for purchase on a nearby table for comparison, they made a silent pact that it was not too late to change a single note or a whole song or an entire set because the feeling was already there.
When the band reached the middle of the first set and drifted into "When She Smiles I Know", the foundation for Mr. Lesure's debut album, I realized that I was experiencing an experience. I was partaking in the kind of listening pleasure that cheesy radio hosts talk about just before entering Quiet Storm hours. As the show progressed, the pianist, bassist, drummer and Mr. Lesure became mere extensions of their instruments. The piano pedals, bass bow, drumsticks, and wooded guitar strap keeping them connected to their newborn notes like an umbilical cord to a baby. Every note was created, released and reworked on stage, conversing with one another before speaking to the audience. Among the exterior rhythm of hand claps, finger snaps and foot stomps from the audience, I became keenly aware that I was outside of the music. I could dive into it without getting lost and retreat just as easily because that's what you do when a journey is being navigated by trustworthy hands. Unlike the artists that would prompt me to perform turnt up regurgitations of their discography on Sunday, Lesure's Saturday night jazz set reassured me that it was okay to remain removed. I could relax and let the professionals keep their craft skillfully contained.
This jazz night reminded me that listeners are supposed to care about how their music is delivered and how it reaches them. I realized that when I opt for immaculate, remastered songs or organize hot tracks into cool playlists or distort full-length songs into mixes or archive my favorites into libraries that I can thumb through on a touch screen, I am working to keep my music stringently contained. A few months ago, I even paid to keep myself and my music confined behind the plastic bottle-littered gates of an all-day, no reentry festival in the middle of the desert. The modern music landscape urges us to place every new release into a nice, neat, fixed box that reveals an unchanged gift each time we revisit it. In turn, we rob a historically malleable art form of its most generous trait.
So instead of writing a reluctant review, I have attempted to capture and share an enlightening experience for your reading pleasure. Stay as cool as a seasoned jazz guitarist performing old favorites in a faraway land with new band members. And never feel like it's too late to change, even if people are watching and it's your turn to go next.
