It’s the 33nd annual Festival International de Jazz de Montreal. MAGNET’s Mitch Myers translates the action.
For some, it feels like everything is happening here in Montreal, but I’m slowing down. So, after listening to saxophonist James Carter’s Organ Trio with guest guitarist Rodney Jones and guest singer Miche Braden (who’s in town performing in The Devil’s Music: The Life And Blues Of Bessie Smith), checking out Mali desert-blues guitarist Sidi Touré and ravenously feasting in Chinatown, I went over to Métropolis to listen to Billy Bragg. When Bragg gets up in front of an audience, you can almost always figure that he’s going to cover a lot of ground. I mean that he tries really hard to be honest and give you something to think about, and he basically challenges your willful, blind complicity to the civic status quo and chides your everyday passive acceptance of social injustice—sort of his own personal crusade against cultural cynicism—because the political starts with the personal. Or something like that.
Still busking around and taking care of business, Bragg is rightfully taking part in this year’s ongoing celebration of Woody Guthrie’s 100th birthday and playing a lot of tunes from the classic Mermaid Avenue sessions (which just happen to be available now in a multiple-disc set, including a documentary DVD). He spoke nostalgically about recording the Mermaid Avenue sessions in Dublin and working closely with Nora Guthrie, Jeff Tweedy and, particularly, the late Jay Bennett. Playing solo on both electric and acoustic guitar in front of an indulgent crowd at the Métropolis, Bragg also dug back decades into his amazing catalogue of songs, including a beautiful version of “Tank Park Salute,” a moving remembrance of his late father. Bragg also spoke proudly of his own son, but more importantly he spoke decisively and insightfully and righteously when addressing the corruption of things, like Rupert Murdoch and News Corp, or the recent breakthrough of putting powerful mortgage bankers on trial in the U.K.
Leaving Bragg’s show, I retreated to my personal haven, the Gesù Theater, and wound down some by listening to the amazing interplay of pianists Aaron Parks and Joey Calderazzo. These two young geniuses had never played together before, and their contrasting styles were both consumed and elevated by the summit, resulting in a beautifully unified confluence of songs and styles.
Still, my thoughts stayed with old Billy Bragg—and his touching “Tank Park Salute.” Happy Fourth Of July.
