It seems like there's been a dearth of good live music in the little village of Observatory recently. A lot of the live venues have been converted to other purposes. So I was pretty gobsmacked when my girlfriend and I were walking past the tiny 2 story Tagore's (named after the Indian poet who composed their national anthem among much else) I hear some great afro-jazz guitar leaking out the door. We saw the owner standing outside and I asked, "Who's playing."
"Jimmy Dludlu," says he.
"Are you serious?" I ask
"Who's Jimmy Dludlu," Aparna asks me.
"Only South Africa's most famous jazz guitar player" I say.
I still couldn't quite believe it when we went in. Tagore's is pretty much smaller than my living room. (for those ou toppies, it used to be the old Cafe Carte Blanch - the kitschy Victorian gay bar which still exists in the not so gay anymore restaurant form - Touch of Madness around the corner). There were about 25 people crammed in in front of the stage where the trombone player was wailing most righteously and amazingly not knocking out Dludlu - in pork pie hat and sporting a custom-made jazz box. The keyboard player was crammed off to one side, the bassist had his ass up against the piano at back of the stage and the drummer seemed to have scrunched his kit into a space more appropriate for a coffee table.
People were jumpin' and jivin' (a bit much in the case of one smelly, dreadlocked hippy, who needed to be solidly hinted at that his orang-utan like flailings would not be tolerated at the expense of other revellers) to this really up beat sound. The trombone player/trumpeter was outstanding. I wouldn't have believed it possible to play such fast jazz runs on a trombone. The bassist hung back, but laid down such a solid groove with the drummer that people wouldn't have quit dancing even if everyone else left the stage. The keyboard player was the weakest link with rather by-the-numbers kind of solos. There was some other percussionist I didn't see because there was no space for him on stage and he was huddled in a dark corner somewhere. But Aparna assures me he was part of the band and not some beatnik off the street.
Dludlu is a magnificent showman. So much so that I'm struggling to work out if his guitar playing was really all that interesting or whether he just made it seem so. He's got chops, make no mistake. And he plays a lot of really melodic, almost pop-y kinds of hooks. But it's his amazing ability to manipulate the energy of the audience and the band. A true front man. I insisted on shaking his hand after the show (secretly hoping I'd pick up some mojo ? ).
Great show. Aparna said, "I never knew music could be that good," after dropping a hundred bucks in the tin that Leroy brought around.
A couple of nights later and it's something else again. I thought they were playing Indian classical music over the sound system when we walked in. I said something quite loudly to Leroy and was instantly shusshed by everyone. Because it was a live band... with a tablist.
And what a tablist. I've seen a lot of white kids get a yen to learn the instrument (for those who don't know, it's a pair of drums the size of footballs. The smaller made of wood and the larger made of metal. They're tunable with wooden "corks" under thongs attached to the skins so that they can be tuned by tapping these corks with a small mallet. They allow the tablist to make an incredible variety of sounds seated cross-legged in front of them, and are widely considered the most difficult, complex percussion instrument in the world) and never get far due to the amount of skill involved to sound anything other than crap. But this kid knew his stuff. Now I've heard one of the greatest tabla players in the world when I heard Ravi Shankar play in London, but I still can't say I know enough to say whether this guy was good or not. But he certainly could lay down a solid groove and could improv at will using the various techniques available to the instrument.
He and the guitar player were sitting on the floor of the stage and represented the core of the band Sangham (which pretty much means, "band," Aparna told me :? ). The guitar player played one of these Ibanez semi-acoustics like John Scofield uses and was whipping through super-fast jazz licks with an Indian classical flavour - interacting dynamically with the tablist and a saxophonist who was the only one standing on the stage. That cat seemed to me a Coltrane fan. In the current style, his alto sax was totally unpolished. Not so much the sounds coming out of it - beautifully earthy, emotional modal runs and the perfect foil for the Mahavishnu twins on the floor beneath him.
It didn't take a sleuth to work out that these guys were big Mcloughlin fans. In fact, when I demanded, "Play another one. We only just got here." ("Who's fault is that?" some wag responded) they did a Shakti tune. These kids have chops that could deforest Honduras, and I actually told them that they had the energy (I'm saying nothing of originality or compositional ability) that John Mcloughlin seemed to have given away to age and convention when he disappointed me in 2000. I thought afterwards that that might be going a bit far, but they really kick major ass, and I strongly recommend everyone looks out for them.
The beauty of these gigs at Tagore's (apart from being donation based with no cover) is that sense that you're participating in a scene, you know? Like a '50s hole-in-the-wall jazz club. And yet there's nothing contrived about it. The owner, Kevin, is just a huge music fan. There are piles of records a foot high all over that place. A strong improvement for Obz's weakened music scene.
"Jimmy Dludlu," says he.
"Are you serious?" I ask
"Who's Jimmy Dludlu," Aparna asks me.
"Only South Africa's most famous jazz guitar player" I say.
I still couldn't quite believe it when we went in. Tagore's is pretty much smaller than my living room. (for those ou toppies, it used to be the old Cafe Carte Blanch - the kitschy Victorian gay bar which still exists in the not so gay anymore restaurant form - Touch of Madness around the corner). There were about 25 people crammed in in front of the stage where the trombone player was wailing most righteously and amazingly not knocking out Dludlu - in pork pie hat and sporting a custom-made jazz box. The keyboard player was crammed off to one side, the bassist had his ass up against the piano at back of the stage and the drummer seemed to have scrunched his kit into a space more appropriate for a coffee table.
People were jumpin' and jivin' (a bit much in the case of one smelly, dreadlocked hippy, who needed to be solidly hinted at that his orang-utan like flailings would not be tolerated at the expense of other revellers) to this really up beat sound. The trombone player/trumpeter was outstanding. I wouldn't have believed it possible to play such fast jazz runs on a trombone. The bassist hung back, but laid down such a solid groove with the drummer that people wouldn't have quit dancing even if everyone else left the stage. The keyboard player was the weakest link with rather by-the-numbers kind of solos. There was some other percussionist I didn't see because there was no space for him on stage and he was huddled in a dark corner somewhere. But Aparna assures me he was part of the band and not some beatnik off the street.
Dludlu is a magnificent showman. So much so that I'm struggling to work out if his guitar playing was really all that interesting or whether he just made it seem so. He's got chops, make no mistake. And he plays a lot of really melodic, almost pop-y kinds of hooks. But it's his amazing ability to manipulate the energy of the audience and the band. A true front man. I insisted on shaking his hand after the show (secretly hoping I'd pick up some mojo ? ).
Great show. Aparna said, "I never knew music could be that good," after dropping a hundred bucks in the tin that Leroy brought around.
A couple of nights later and it's something else again. I thought they were playing Indian classical music over the sound system when we walked in. I said something quite loudly to Leroy and was instantly shusshed by everyone. Because it was a live band... with a tablist.
And what a tablist. I've seen a lot of white kids get a yen to learn the instrument (for those who don't know, it's a pair of drums the size of footballs. The smaller made of wood and the larger made of metal. They're tunable with wooden "corks" under thongs attached to the skins so that they can be tuned by tapping these corks with a small mallet. They allow the tablist to make an incredible variety of sounds seated cross-legged in front of them, and are widely considered the most difficult, complex percussion instrument in the world) and never get far due to the amount of skill involved to sound anything other than crap. But this kid knew his stuff. Now I've heard one of the greatest tabla players in the world when I heard Ravi Shankar play in London, but I still can't say I know enough to say whether this guy was good or not. But he certainly could lay down a solid groove and could improv at will using the various techniques available to the instrument.
He and the guitar player were sitting on the floor of the stage and represented the core of the band Sangham (which pretty much means, "band," Aparna told me :? ). The guitar player played one of these Ibanez semi-acoustics like John Scofield uses and was whipping through super-fast jazz licks with an Indian classical flavour - interacting dynamically with the tablist and a saxophonist who was the only one standing on the stage. That cat seemed to me a Coltrane fan. In the current style, his alto sax was totally unpolished. Not so much the sounds coming out of it - beautifully earthy, emotional modal runs and the perfect foil for the Mahavishnu twins on the floor beneath him.
It didn't take a sleuth to work out that these guys were big Mcloughlin fans. In fact, when I demanded, "Play another one. We only just got here." ("Who's fault is that?" some wag responded) they did a Shakti tune. These kids have chops that could deforest Honduras, and I actually told them that they had the energy (I'm saying nothing of originality or compositional ability) that John Mcloughlin seemed to have given away to age and convention when he disappointed me in 2000. I thought afterwards that that might be going a bit far, but they really kick major ass, and I strongly recommend everyone looks out for them.
The beauty of these gigs at Tagore's (apart from being donation based with no cover) is that sense that you're participating in a scene, you know? Like a '50s hole-in-the-wall jazz club. And yet there's nothing contrived about it. The owner, Kevin, is just a huge music fan. There are piles of records a foot high all over that place. A strong improvement for Obz's weakened music scene.
