Don Weller
4 stars Vortex, London

John Fordham
Monday January 6, 2003
The Guardian

In that brief window of modishness that British jazz enjoyed in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when sleek newcomers cradling saxophones against Armani suits were momentarily everywhere, Don Weller was the kind of jazz musician it was unfashionable to be. With his Andy Capp headgear and country-publican bearing, Weller made it plain that the only form of communication he was interested in was what blew out of his saxophone.

But if Weller was sidelined by the jazz boom, he never went away. He has remained one of the most entertaining, straightahead saxophonists on the UK circuit for 30 years - with Sonny Rollins, Charlie Parker and Dexter Gordon his principal guides. Weller also hires fine bands, and seems to create a climate (without apparent intervention) in which the good ones sound better. That effect was much in evidence when Weller's quartet visited the Vortex on Saturday.

Thelonious Monk's I Mean You was the opener, a typically jolting, assymmetrical melody with a sly release into straight swing ideally suited to Weller's blend of gruff, behind-the-beat sauntering and sudden bursts of purring speed, as if he alternately remembers and forgets he has a fifth gear. At first, the saxophonist stated the theme as if trailing idly behind the others, then accelerated into double-time phrases increasingly free of the steadily pulsating rattle of the band (drummer Dave Barry is a brittle, metallic-sounding player), turning eventually into guttural warbles and trills.

Pianist David Newton then took off into the first of what became a stream of astonishing solos. Often a glossy, urbane performer diplomatically servicing singers, Newton cut loose - partly under provocation from the stinging sound of Barry's percussion and secured by Andy Cleyndert's luxuriously reassuring basslines - to reveal world-class skills.

Love For Sale was given an unfamiliar racing, train-rhythm tempo, with Weller postponing the tune for several choruses and eventually veering into bagpipe-like wails, while Newton unleashed another break in which every chorus had a unique shape, and the pianist shuffled grumpy low-end phrases against buzzing-wasp trills, jangling harmonies, sporadic visits to the underlying vamp, and a rollicking chordal finale.

Weller toyed with the backbeat, sometimes dropping scattered notes grudgingly, sometimes squeezing more in than the rhythmic space would have seemed to permit. Yesterdays brought David Newton close to Brad Mehldau territory as his left hand emphatically argued with his right, and the band swapped figures with something as close to glee as jazz musicians allow themselves.

GUARDIAN REVIEW
Don Weller's 60th  Birthday
100 Club, London  
 

 "Welcome to my 100th birthday, here at the 60 club," said saxophonist Don Weller, kicking
off four and a half hours of music in honour of his big day.

Whatever age he feels - or jokes about feeling - he certainly doesn't give it away in his
blowing. His reputation as one of the "tough" English tenor players to have emerged,
post-John Coltrane, stands firm. Although he can dip into airy vibratoed sweetness when
required, with a sound that seems to emerge imperceptibly from the sanding of the drummer's
brushes, his trademark is still a bold, coruscating, sometimes belligerent voice. He is playful,
too, managing the difficult musical manoeuvre of translating wit into sound without resorting
to slapstick.

 Weller's own quartet started the evening. They were virtuosic, bouncing little improvised
phrases off each other, turning jazz standards on their head. "We would like to play our
version of a tune called The Way You Look Tonight," said Weller. "It's called The Way
You're Going to Look Tomorrow Morning." Their set culminated in a party-piece piano solo
from Dave Newton that took a theme and car-chased it through stride and Latin styles, with
Weller, joined by Allan Barnes on baritone sax, improvising a swinging, complex, snake-like
fugue.

This was followed by three-quarters of the Stan Tracey quartet, and a more angular style.
While saxophonist Bobby Wellins chopped tunes up into little solitary packets, Tracey's
voicings on the piano varied from rich percussive handfuls to primitive two-note cliff-hangers
at either end of the keyboard.

All this great playing was for the initiated jazz fans - and the crowd confirmed it with every
nod, beret and wisp of creative facial hair. But the final hour made you want to proselytise
madly to those who wouldn't touch jazz with a pair of hair clippers. Weller's big band, formed
in the mid-1990s, attracts the best of the mainstream players in this country (Peter King, Art
Themen, Alan Barnes, Dick Pearce, Mornington Lockett and Martin Speake). It's a testament
to the respect Weller commands among players and to the quality of his writing, which brings
to a traditional big band set-up a distinctively earthy and jubilant sound.

 There was an energised, collective feeling to the music, partly because Weller often favours
keeping the different sections playing as one block, with internal melodic lines tumbling over
each other. Also, faced with the forces of a big band, soloing players tend to take risks, to
push themselves to the edge of their playing. It's a visceral, visual, and musical experience that,
for economic reasons, has become a rarity.

As the band roasted through its last number, it couldn't take the pace, and peeled off in search
of the floor. But the man himself was still standing, swinging happy birthday to himself.
 
Pascal Wyse                                                                   Tuesday January 2, 2001
 
 
    Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2001

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