September 17th - Day 152

This is jazz bassist Kyle Eastwood, and his band, performing at The Imperial Wharf Jazz Festival. Kyle is the son of a famous Hollywood actor, director and jazz connoisseur (that's right, he's Woody Allen's boy). Imperial Wharf is a swish and sparkly new area of riverside London, with swish and sparkly flats, shiny restaurants and glittery bars down by the Chelsea part of the river. Most, maybe all, of the food and drink establishments were selling their wares al fresco this evening at this convivial and civilised late summer event. Outdoor heaters hinted at the autumn and winter to come. As I moved towards the river, away and out of sight from the stage, the music swelled up around the wharf. I don't know what that was about - something to do with clever acoustics (accidental I should think - I don't know whether enhancing the sound of jazz was top of the architects' minds when they designed the buildings).
I do sometimes find it hard to write about a music form I'm not that familiar with. I'm familiar with the sound of jazz - this evening's fare seemed to me the free-flowing cool jazz (the kind The Fast Show took the piss out of) - but other than to say these guys are obviously all top jazz musicians, playing alongside each other in that kenetic way that musicians do (How do they do it?! It looks hard enough playing an instrument on one's own, let alone having to play it when others are playing theirs), I can't think of much else to say. I enjoyed it. Don't know why, but I did. I think it was an overall good-ambiance thing. Actually I particularly liked some of the eclectic sounds that Kyle got out of his double-bass when using his bow. So what does that tell you these eclectic sounds were like? Not a lot. Maybe that's why I'm not a music journalist. How about, the sounds were dark, mournful and uplifting...

No comments: