 The name Herbie Hancock, was most familiar to me, however I had only blurred memories of what his music sounded like. When a jazz legend does a free concert, in fine weather, one feels
obliged to attend. The setting is an unusual one, in the hub of
business land, La Defense. There are those spread-eagled on the
carefully manicured grass, some dozing off, probably the victims of an
excessive Saturday night over indulgence while others are standing and
attentive. The sound seems to be lost in the vastness of this huge
concrete expanse.
Herbie walks on stage, wearing a bright purple shirt, which could well fit in a film like ?shaft?. He immediately introduces his band, a drummer with a lavish kit, a double bass/electric bass player, a guitarist and a promise of two singers, who will participate after the first instrumental is done and dusted. Herbie himself knows his way round a keyboard and notes flow fluently, as he leads the other musicians.
He is prone to use synth sounds, that date back to the 70s or I imagine Herbie's epoch. I suppose some might say Jazz is timeless, but my mind did question his use of sounds, this was nothing cutting edge. His playing is extemporary and technically of the highest order. The first number was fast furious, but when the two female singers joined him, he slipped into more melodic ballads. The singers gave his music, more of a focus, where as previously the saxophonist was the focus. The sound of miserable babies, suffering in the heat, rose above the slick jazz emanating from the large stage where Herbie resided, which had been erected for a week of jazz concerts, some put on during people?s lunch breaks. Herbie was the last artist. Previously there was some kind of competition between emerging new jazz musicians.
The two female singers were compatible. For me the memory I mostly cherished was that of the two singers, with those deep jazzy voices, one black, the other white, who was squeezed into a tight sequined dress. I was not lifted by any new or original music, I was just given an impression: I sampled Herbie Hancock, without leaving with any concrete lasting memories. His music is certainly far removed from the kind of music that excites me, but I was there, at the event at La Defense.
Francis H. Powell is originally from England and moved to Paris in 1999. In addition to being a writer (articles, songs and poems), he is a painter, DJ and English trainer. For more information, please read his complete bio .
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