Jazz & Latin  Fri, Feb 27, 9:30pm 175 pesos Iraida Noriega  “Ven conmigo” Sat, Mar 7, 9 pm 200 pesos El Viejo Topo Café-Teatro Stirling Dickinson 28

Showcase of Jazz Divas: The “boys’ club” taken over
By José Luis Ceñal

A friend has a theory that female musicians are more attuned to feelings and sensations than their male counterparts. If we consider famous female and male musicians, a pattern begins to appear to prove his point, he says. 

My curiosity grew a little bit as I started to count the very few women among my friends who express enthusiasm for jazz. 

When we talk about jazz, the issue that my friend’s perception launches seems to gain more weight, since this musical genre has been developed —at least from the 50’s to the 90’s— mainly under a markedly intellectual path, in which both the composition structures and the interpretation techniques have become more complex and sophisticated. 

My friend’s opinion seems to touch the extreme when one considers that jazz may have formed during that period a sort of a “boys’ club,” where few female musicians were active contributors. Considering jazz music as a playground, as a space where musicians challenge their talents and skills on stage to create music spontaneously, the complexity proposed by men seems evident, and sometimes gets a little uncomfortable to listeners.Some people don’t like this genre much. Maybe, women simply just didn’t want to play on that court. Some female musicians want to play under their own rules.

Withney Moore My friend could be right in the case of two ladies who will visit San Miguel’s musical scene: Whitney Moore and Iraida Noriega. They have invaded and taken over the exclusive “boy’s club.” Both are very talented and intelligent singers and composers, young handsome women coming from musical families surrounded by jazz.

Their voices can easily touch the human spiritual seat of emotions. They are blessed with that magic touch that invites us to roam their inner world to communicate at a different level, some sort of meta language where life is easy and comfortable.

Both have substantial compositional qualities lovingly nurtured and shaped inside their family backgrounds. Their curiosity and interests certainly helped them discover other musical worlds which would eventually be incorporated into their particular art vision, each bringing together a diversity of musical and literary influences in her own special way.

First to appear, Whitney Moore isn’t the kind of name you’d expect to see on the marquee of a salsa club. But that's exactly what the Latin jazz vocalist has been up to the last ten years—singing in Spanish with her Irish vocal chords. The first image that comes to my mind is that of the artist-traveler from the nineteenth century, opening up to different landscapes and jumping from country to country with a trunk full of experiences along with her trade tools.

Born and raised in the mountains of western North Carolina, jazz music was the family business. At 18 she moved to Madrid, where she got involved with Celtic music and Latin American folk music. She was playing with Peruvian guitar player Paco Guzman, who used to play with Chabuca Granda. He introduced Whitney into the magical world of South-American folk.

Meanwhile, back in the states, fate intervened. The bass player in her jazz group was starting a salsa band and couldn’t find anyone to sing. Her experience in Europe with her new musical discoveries paid off. She was surprised when everyone loved it. That band, Grupo Montuno, spent the next few years playing all over the southeast.

In the following years, she was influenced by her travels in Europe, the Caribbean and Latin America. She sang Chilean folk music and Trova with Rafael Manriquez of Grupo Raiz, studied piano and guitar, and began to incorporate more Caribbean rhythms into her original music. 

Whitney discovered San Miguel while touring Mexico with her yet another band, Mama’Sol. “We were playing mostly in the Yucatan and Chiapas. And our percussionist grew up here, and he kept saying, ‘You guys would love San Miguel.’ Until finally he persuaded us to make the trek north to check it out. Well, the folks here were so inviting and appreciative of our music, the scenery and energy was so inspiring. I knew I had to come back.”

Whitney will be joined by some of the hottest players in San Miguel—Ken Basman, Doug Robinson, Víctor Monterrubio and Jose Luis “Hopalong” Chagoyán. Some surprise special guests will take the stage. Look for how Iraida Noreiga beat the boys’ club in Atención March 6.

Have you Heard?
By Doug Robinson

Jazz loses another unsung hero

Jazz saxophonist Gerry Niewood died when Continental flight 3407 crashed into a suburban Buffalo home earlier this month. Few people would have picked out his name on the list of victims, but as a 35-year fan I want to make sure that in San Miguel his legacy is recognized.  Way back in 1970, the then-unknown flugelhorn player and composer Chuck Mangione led a bold quartet that produced two stellar albums: Alive! and Quartet.

I was 15 years old, a jazz newbie drawn to the power of improvisation, and for me listening to a good player was a combination of music lesson and magic spell. Those two LPs, each of which featured Niewood, were an inspiration. 

Niewood sounded like a true master, and as his career picked up steam he seemed destined for fame. In addition to playing alto, tenor and baritone sax as well as flute and alto flute, he also managed to coax a gorgeous sound from the soprano saxophone—not the easiest feat. He later appeared with Simon and Garfunkel, Peggy Lee, Frank Sinatra, Astrid Gilberto and Judy Collins, but it was his early appearances with the fledgling Chuck Mangione group that earned him the “Talent Deserving Wider Recognition” award in Downbeat magazine’s international critics’ poll two years in a row. 

I met Niewood the year I discovered him. I had absorbed as much of his playing as I could in San Diego (not exactly a jazz mecca) when I noticed that he and Chuck Mangione were appearing at a now-defunct LA club called Dante’s. I persuaded an older friend to drive my girlfriend and me up to Los Angeles. I planned to lie about my age; if that didn’t work, my friend was supposed to create a diversion while I sneaked in. 

We arrived at a nightclub empty except for the bartender and the band setting up on the stage. We walked in, sat down and ended up shooting the breeze with the band. 

During the break, I cornered Mangione, told him how much I enjoyed his work and thanked him for giving Niewood so much solo space. Then I pumped Gerry for his thoughts about improvisation, using my favorite solo of his, from a ballad called “Legacy,” as a framework. I also learned that he had been a mathematics professor and really had no interest in fame and fortune; he just loved making music. 

When the band took the stage after the break, the room was still empty except for our party of three. Mangione grabbed the mike and said, “Thanks everyone! If it’s alright with you, we’re going to dedicate this next number to Doug, our biggest fan!” They played “Legacy” with a sublime extended soprano solo by Niewood. I can still hear certain passages in my head today. It was one of those peak experiences that stay with you forever.

Over the years, I’d tell people about Niewood, though his occasional solo albums never completely captured his talent the way I thought they should. In fact, one of the projects I hoped to get around to one day was to produce an album featuring him and George Young, another under-recognized sax genius I had the pleasure of playing with once. 

I’d love to direct you to those early Mangione recordings and Niewood’s solo albums, but they are mostly out of print. Hopefully, that will change as record labels see an opportunity to capitalize on Niewood’s brief, tragic notoriety. I just ordered a copy of his last solo album, Facets, but I haven’t listened to it yet. Glenda and I have spent many happy hours listening to one of his other albums, Alone, which is at once a poignant and accurate title, as the album features Niewood playing solo saxophone—all kinds—and flute. Except for the occasional burst of bebop fire, the album plays like a soulful soundtrack for meditation. Alas, I can’t find a new copy anywhere today. 

It seems unfair to single out one passenger when so many others lost their lives, and of course my heart goes out to all of the victims and their families. But I had a feeling when I learned about the crash that someone I knew and loved was on that plane, and when I heard it was Gerry Niewood, I knew I wanted to start off this year’s columns by paying tribute to him. Tuck his name in the back of your head, look for his albums and maybe someday you’ll find them.

Doug Robinson is a composer who lives in San Miguel with his wife Glenda, and their three basset hounds.