Last week was one of those weeks that will always be remembered. It was one of the longest, hardest weeks faced by this country, and it created a new sense of fear across the 50 states. In that week, most of the U.S. closed down and ceased operating. Among the afflicted areas was the music industry, as bands nationwide cancelled shows following the horrific events of Tuesday, September 11.
For this reason, I was tentative about going to see the Jazz Mandolin Project play at the Trocadero on that very Friday. Was it really appropriate to be dancing and grooving at a concert at such a time?
When I arrived, I realized the whole atmosphere was under that blanket of distress and moral dilemma. There was a certain tension in the air that made the whole crowd seem a little bit on edge.
And then the first chord was uttered from on stage by Jamie Masefield's mandolin and the tension melted away. Within minutes, the crowd was dancing and listening to the hypnotic groove of jazzy improv flowing from the eclectic mix of instruments, a sonic culmination of an upright bass, a set of drums and the aforementioned mandolin.
The Project played an abbreviated set (why the hell aren't people allowed to play past midnight in this fucking city?), but this limit only led to a more concise, tightly-knit performance of constant aural barraging. There was no down time, no lagging in the seamless flow from one song to another.
Though at times deviating from the jazzy music its name implies it should be playing, it definitely lives up to the notion of the band as a project. With a constantly revolving cast of musicians--including Jon Fishman from the popular band Phish (who didn't play at this show)--who play with the band on and off, and experimental neo-jazz, trance-inducing, mind-bending musical styles with which the band fiddles, this collaboration of assorted musicians just playing together for the sheer sake of being able to play, with no definitive musical or fame-oriented destination, lends itself to the concept of a project, something that is being worked on and constantly evolving, something in a perennial state of flux.
Through the whole hour and a half that the band played, there were only two breaks: one for the band members to stop and catch their breath between songs after a long stretch of jamming, and the second to stop and acknowledge the tragedies that had occurred earlier in the week. This second break, right before the final song, was a combination of expressing mourning for what had happened and for acknowledging the fact that, despite the current strife in the world, music, at its deepest level, is more than just a means of entertainment--it's a way for people to come together; to take time away from the stresses that abound.
For an hour and a half, the Jazz Mandolin Project played and everyone watched, coming together and, for that time, just forgetting everything. After days of grieving, a simple concert provided a necessary, brief emotional respite.
