Hearings: Jenny Scheinman
One of the more interesting musicians on the scene these days is the violinist Jenny Scheinman. A tall, lanky woman with penetrating eyes—they seem to take in everything in the room as she gazes at the audience—Scheinman is a subtle and quiet improviser. Though her roots are in folk and country (where her singing often shares the stage with her playing), she performs regularly with musicians from the jazz and improvised music scene, including the guitarist Bill Frisell and the Rova saxophone quartet, and in all these situations she acquits herself nicely.
Last week she played an engagement at the Jazz Standard in New York with the drummer Paul Motian and the pianist Jason Moran. Both reside on the highest peaks of the jazz world, though Motian—now in his 70s—has been there far longer than Moran. Motian’s drumming is unique; he plays quietly, not keeping time so much as creating segments of time and rhythm that swirl like small eddies. He almost always uses brushes. There is passion and energy here—his playing is like a lover’s quarrel played out in whispers. The result is plenty of room for players on the front line to come up with fresh ideas, to play freely but not stray. Moran has a wide palette, and in a post-Cecil Taylor world has found a way to integrate most of the pre-Cecil Taylor approaches into something resembling a personal voice.
It would seem like an ideal setting for Scheinman. Her tunes are folksy, and when heard in a small room such as Barbes in Brooklyn—where she holds forth every Tuesday—they have a quiet and elemental conviction. They seem as if they are already in the folk repertoire, while folk tunes seem as if they could have been written by her, so deeply has she immersed herself in their secrets. Her improvisations never stray far from the tune; the outline is always present, even as she peels off a few layers to probe some inner points. She might play a chorus that consists of a few long-drawn whole notes, move to an arpeggiated variation of the theme, then return to rests and long tones. This sort of approach—pacing, if you will—is all the more pleasing in an age of extreme virtuosity and technique-for-its-own-sake.
And for the most part it worked at the Standard. All three musicians blended well, and found common ground on both Scheinman's originals, as well as on tunes by Ellington and Motian (who also writes with a folkish bent). The great alto saxophonist Lee Konitz even took the stage for two tunes at the end of the set, and the bridge between Scheinman's world and his was apparent. But it seemed to me that Scheinman didn’t take enough advantage of the magic that Motian and Moran are capable of producing. Some of Motian’s most amazing records have been with Frisell and the tenor saxophonist Joe Lovano (check out the group’s recent release, “I Have the Room Above Her”). Lovano is a big-toned tenor player who comes from Coleman Hawkins and Sonny Rollins, but who can also play with the sweetness of Stan Getz or the rawness of Albert Ayler. With Motian behind him, Lovano weaves fantastic lines, richly melodic and rhythmically tensile. Never locked into a straight groove, he tells a tall tale.
I have heard Scheinman dabble with fire. On Rova’s “Electric Ascension,” she plays aggressively and forcefully—the music demands it. I would have liked more of that at the Standard, more risk taking, more of a leap from the folk to the free. You can’t fall with Motian behind you; the cracks and crevices of his rhythms are not a trap, but a means to freedom, to a coaxing out of the new and slightly dangerous. I hope Scheinman will continue to play with him, because she’s capable of using his genius to find untapped beauty—and danger—in her own music.
Last week she played an engagement at the Jazz Standard in New York with the drummer Paul Motian and the pianist Jason Moran. Both reside on the highest peaks of the jazz world, though Motian—now in his 70s—has been there far longer than Moran. Motian’s drumming is unique; he plays quietly, not keeping time so much as creating segments of time and rhythm that swirl like small eddies. He almost always uses brushes. There is passion and energy here—his playing is like a lover’s quarrel played out in whispers. The result is plenty of room for players on the front line to come up with fresh ideas, to play freely but not stray. Moran has a wide palette, and in a post-Cecil Taylor world has found a way to integrate most of the pre-Cecil Taylor approaches into something resembling a personal voice.
It would seem like an ideal setting for Scheinman. Her tunes are folksy, and when heard in a small room such as Barbes in Brooklyn—where she holds forth every Tuesday—they have a quiet and elemental conviction. They seem as if they are already in the folk repertoire, while folk tunes seem as if they could have been written by her, so deeply has she immersed herself in their secrets. Her improvisations never stray far from the tune; the outline is always present, even as she peels off a few layers to probe some inner points. She might play a chorus that consists of a few long-drawn whole notes, move to an arpeggiated variation of the theme, then return to rests and long tones. This sort of approach—pacing, if you will—is all the more pleasing in an age of extreme virtuosity and technique-for-its-own-sake.
And for the most part it worked at the Standard. All three musicians blended well, and found common ground on both Scheinman's originals, as well as on tunes by Ellington and Motian (who also writes with a folkish bent). The great alto saxophonist Lee Konitz even took the stage for two tunes at the end of the set, and the bridge between Scheinman's world and his was apparent. But it seemed to me that Scheinman didn’t take enough advantage of the magic that Motian and Moran are capable of producing. Some of Motian’s most amazing records have been with Frisell and the tenor saxophonist Joe Lovano (check out the group’s recent release, “I Have the Room Above Her”). Lovano is a big-toned tenor player who comes from Coleman Hawkins and Sonny Rollins, but who can also play with the sweetness of Stan Getz or the rawness of Albert Ayler. With Motian behind him, Lovano weaves fantastic lines, richly melodic and rhythmically tensile. Never locked into a straight groove, he tells a tall tale.
I have heard Scheinman dabble with fire. On Rova’s “Electric Ascension,” she plays aggressively and forcefully—the music demands it. I would have liked more of that at the Standard, more risk taking, more of a leap from the folk to the free. You can’t fall with Motian behind you; the cracks and crevices of his rhythms are not a trap, but a means to freedom, to a coaxing out of the new and slightly dangerous. I hope Scheinman will continue to play with him, because she’s capable of using his genius to find untapped beauty—and danger—in her own music.
posted by Paul Bennett at 9:13 AM
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