Montreal, Day 1

Dark clouds loomed over the Festival International de Jazz de Montreal last night, but for the most part, except for a bit of spitting around 8:30pm, the rain held off.

I arrived this afternoon, day two of the festival, 24 hours too late to catch Stevie Wonder’s three-hour performance kicking off the 30th-anniversary festival, which will continue through July 12. A couple hundred thousand had crowded the Place des Arts to see Stevie run through his hits, reportedly a few too many newer tunes, and the now-requisite tribute to Michael Jackson. (When I got back to the room last night, a local news station ran a piece on the fest featuring Jamie Cullum’s show, in which he performed “Thriller” from crib notes. Look, man, I know you’re the “shockingly hip” nouveau-jazz crooner and all, but if you weren’t a big enough fan to have learned the words by now, skip the friggin’ homage.)

This being my first fest (and first visit to Montreal), yesterday was mostly an exploration day, wandering the festival grounds, figuring out which stage is which, ruing being an ugly American with a barely-there knowledge of Francais – in general, getting my bearings.

Not much to speak of on the outdoor stages throughout the evening, but my first ticketed event was a killer – the Monterey Quartet, a super-quartet formed for the jazz festival most likely to be mispronounced as the one I’m presently attending. (Afterwards, I had intended to catch French pianist Baptiste Trotignon’s quintet with Mark Turner, Jeremy Pelt, and Matt Penman, but the fact that it was more than half over by the time that Monterey wrapped up and a sudden onset of travel exhaustion led me back to my room instead.)

Led by bassist Dave Holland, the group consists of saxophonist Chris Potter, pianist Gonzalo Rubalcaba, and drummer Eric Harland. Their 90-minute set was made up of compositions by all four, the highlight probably being Potter’s “Minotaur.” The tune opened with a rumbling drum solo that echoed the ominous clouds outside, picked up by all four in a brief improvised section which dissolved into breathiness before launching into the melody. The rest of the tune is largely a showcase for Potter’s limitless invention, but I was most struck by how Holland and Rubalcaba worked underneath him, seeming to find secret doors in the piece that led into unexplored passageways. Once or twice you could actually see Potter having to rethink his direction, an appreciative grin playing across his eyes. A labyrinth most challenging.

The opening number, Harland’s “Treachery”, showcased the difference between Rubalcaba’s and Potter’s approaches. Throughout the night, the pianist would play with each tune’s melody like a cat with a mouse, toying with it, batting it around, letting it slip away before slamming it back into captivity; Potter, on the other hand, leaps away from the tune, dragging it behind him like a small dog on a leash strapped to the bumper of a pick-up truck. One of the most consistently stunning instrumentalists on the planet today, he is adept at reinventing with each solo. And listening to Harland keep time is like watching a one-man volleyball game, as he heaves it into the air, where it hangs suspended before he dashes under it and knocks it around again.

Holland, the evening’s genial host, was his usual mesmerizing self. His lengthy solo outing at the front of Harland’s “Maiden” held the packed room rapt – until the end, when the woman behind me insisted on blurting out, sotto voce, “He’s a really good bass player.” Indeed.