“Am I gonna play piano, or are you gonna play piano?” Herbie Hancock asked his three-year-old grandson, who flitted about the stage in light-up shoes. It was an endearing preface to a stellar evening of life-affirming jazz.
“These guys are breaking my fingers,” came the effervescent cry of the master himself. Herbie Hancock – 84 years young – mercurial master – cosmic jazz pioneer – collaborator with Byrd, Davis, VSOP, etc. – is a force to be reckoned with. Yet, he remains – after all these years – humble: “You don’t know what it is to play with a band like that.”
Hancock returns to Australia for the first time since 2019 with verve and vitality anyone would be lucky to imbibe. Truly, the audience did lap it up. It was impossible not to. “Should I introduce my band?” he asks, rising from his throne. “Times up” – he looks at his watch – “My watch says it looks like you’ve taken a hard fall…” His humour peppers the moments between the music. His preambles brim with genuine love and adoration for:
Bass player: James Genus – “The stories he tells on the bass – a lot of guts and… – but there’s a sweet side to him too – as the night passes, you’ll get aspects of the great James Genus.”
“So on trumpet, he’s a band leader, but he spends a lot of time writing a lot of music for ballets and TV shows…he’s all over the place – your house weighs a lot because of all that metal you’ve won – Terence Blanchard.”
“And now we get to the youthful part of the band – that wasn’t exactly… Actually, back here on the drums – Jaylen Petinaud – he’s young enough to be my grandson – he’s not – he just had a birthday – 26. I think I remember when I was 26 – it was a long time ago – but look, this is the next generation of jazz musicians.”
His spiels were idiosyncratic, matching the ferocity and vibrancy of the tunes, confirming, “Someone was talking about ‘jazz is dead’ – I think that person has died.”
“I can’t leave the stage without asking the age-old question: have you ever heard anybody play guitar like this? Every time he takes a solo, I have to turn around on my piano chair – Lionel Loueke.”
After the introductions came more music: “A piece by my late great friend Mr Wayne Shorter (he would’ve been 90 years old) – Footprints.”
Pulsating red lights in the round, dripping from the walls like the Treehouse of Horror. All this while Shorter’s nostalgic tune wafts through the concert hall in wistful rhythms, undulating with that mellifluous melody that hooks you in and draws you back – breathing new life into a classic with Blanchard‘s fresh arrangement that pays such reverent homage to the quiet perfection of the original.
Then Actual Proof.
A jittery number – like a frog on acid – one leap at a time. Jumping and skipping with an awkward surety through space and time. Drums roll as trumpet soars and claws and caws. Then Herbie’s wanderings, touring the ivory in upward movements and then down all at a frenetic pace – as if the entire Opera House might take flight at any moment. Anything is possible. We climb with the band as they careen into the stratosphere. What is jazz, if not awe-inspiring and spirited – full of the milk of human kindness and the zest and pulp of life?!
An alien sound invaded Loueke’s guitar on the next track with an almost carnivalesque mood to this meandering majesty while the rhythm section played along, partially enthralled and partially bolstering this extraterrestrial foray. Next, Genus administered his scampering bass solo, cavorting about like a rabid crab with the dexterity of a lightning-fast touch typist. But an administrator never made such an impression. Next, Petinaud explored his kit with all the exuberance of youth you’d expect from a 26-year-old at the peak of his powers.
“I think Jaylen broke another drum”, – was all Herbie had to say – “that’s the third time you done this in three days – it’s your fault,” he teased the audience – “you made him feel so good!”
After some ebullient crowd engagement, Herbie dove into a modulated vocal performance – reminiscent of AIR or Bon Iver. Within the tenderness of the message: “there is only one family – the human family” – he weaved in some humour – “also, who loves everyone in their family?” “Gotcha,” he playfully gibed.
“We get us in trouble. I’ve been practising Buddhism for over 50 years. I realise I’m not a musician: that’s what I do. That’s not what I am. I’m a human being. Every human being is important. Everyone has something they were born to do. There’s a way to find something of tremendous value if you look for it.”
Then, the band kicked back into a pensive, meditative track marked by Loueke’s deep, melodious incursions before Blanchard’s horn cut the air in a memorable hook.
Genus generated some soothing, dark autumnal solos, leading you through a crisp sonic landscape. The warmth of his bass played Virgil, while the echo of his pedal provided a subtly mind-boggling phenomenon. Then, to wow the crowd, Herbie even brought out a keytar as the band kicked back into gear.
Then, there is a three-song arrangement of Hang Up Your Hang Ups, Spider and Rockit.
That infectious through line of the first blended with the second in an atemporal melange. The virtuosity of the composition matched the glorious groove, while the novelty of watching an 84-year-old wield a keytar was the cherry on top of this magic medley.
With the arrival of the crowd favourite, Watermelon Man, one happy punter in the second row got up and started swinging along while Herbie took centre stage, jamming along with Genus. Herbie did tandem star jumps with Loueke before facing the front for the final 16. And just like that – we came back to earth – each changed utterly.
