Posts Tagged ‘Brett Hirst’

I wrestled with this one longer than I thought I would.

I wrestle with them all, to a degree, but Sanctuary – the new one from Sydney composer/pianist/accordionist Gary Daley – took more time and listening and thinking and re-listening than any of the others.

Much of it is that Sanctuary is big, very big in every way: the themes, the emotion, the ensemble writing, the very breadth of its conception… big and hard to wrestle to the page.

Much of it also is that music such as this can knock the wind out of my diaphragm, by simply reminding me how far the word falls short of the music – it turns my tongue (and pen) into a wooden clapper. But we can only work with the tools we are given. So…

The core of the Sanctuary suite – and a suite of pieces it is – is Daley’s experience of caring for his mother who was slipping into Alzheimer’s. The ‘sanctuary’ of the title is the comforting world of memories Daley and his family worked to build for her during her suffering.

Sanctuary 2

And yet, in the midst of this dark time, Daley’s first grandchild was born. A little candle in the void. And a powerful reminder of life’s extremes – merciless ravage and sweet new bud.

To express these big life ideas Daley has, across Sanctuary, gone for the primal and the spiritual – the earthy and the ephemeral – in almost equal balance. We have the astounding ‘Introduction,’ with James Daley’s rough hewn field holler shout-sung over a Ligeti-like pulsing chord; a howl in the hollow of the cold universe, but a strong, life-grabbing howl, nonetheless.

We have the afro-groove of ‘Mandolin’ – with its opaque and bluesy Jess Green guitar solo ­– and the joyous hoe-down of ‘Kindred Chant’, led by the clearwater lap steel of Bruce Reid and Veronique Serret’s fiddle. The hoe-down opens out into the colour-field painting that ‘Interlude No 2’ is; Brett Hirst’s bass, bowed and pizz., singing a song of colours overlapping colours.

Green and James Daley sing the folk traditional song ‘The Wandering Boy’ like a Shaker hymn – hardwood pews, cold country chapel, bare to the bone melodically and emotionally. The song tells is of the unique connection between mother and son and needs no prettying up; in some way this makes ‘The Wandering Boy’, with simpatico accordian and National Steel, the heart of Sanctuary.Sanctuary 1

So we are pulled back and forth across the themes and compositional/improvisational spaces of Sanctuary – floating dissonances here, a boinging jaw-harp there, slide steel melisma, Indian sliding melody, blues, 6/8 Cubano. The astonishing Paul Cutlan growls and yodels out of the middle of ‘Time and Place’. James Daley speaks the words of ‘The Wandering Boy’ over Bartokian blue-grey and smudged turquoise strings in ‘Interlude No 1’.

And yet the suite holds sweet – Daley’s sense of balance and reticent drama puts each thing after each thing in an order that heightens and enriches the drama of this sad-happy journey through his themes of pain and regeneration.

I knew when I found myself wrestling with Sanctuary that it was worth it. Like all works that earn the name Art, it takes some work, no mistake. If only all work could have such a rich result.

Published August 2015 on


Driving out to Broken Hill alone last year I just had to turn the music off. Outside Wilcannia, the country had turned into semi-desert and stretched to the horizon, ochre and awesome, in all directions. The music I was listening to seemed suddenly paltry and chattering, so I killed it, preferring to listen to the big hum of eternal silence that filled the world out here.

The interior Australian landscape – of outback, desert and rainforest – is one that has shocked artists into creativity for years now. From Peter Sculthorpe’s ‘Sun Music’ to Icehouse’s ‘Great Southern Land’, musicians have tried to catch and express that feeling: the feeling I had on the road to Broken Hill. It is a truly spiritual thing and thus one that music, with it’s lack of hard literal references, is perfectly suited to express.

PAUL CUTLAN, PHOTO BY KAREN STEAINSMulti-instrumentalist Paul Cutlan has always had a spiritual halo around his music. Whether playing 17/8 Balkan skirls with MARA!, Dolphy bop with Ten Part Invention or in simpatico duet with fellow saxophonist Andrew Robson, Cutlan’s approach to playing has always surprised, elevated and talked in tongues.

His new recording, Across the Top, with bassist Brett Hirst and improvising string ensemble The NOISE, does all of those things and more. At the centre of the album is the ‘Across the Top Suite’ – a five-part work inspired by Cutlan’s experiences of The Pilbara and Kimberleys regions of north-west Western Australia while on tour with world music group MARA!

Across the five movements Cutlan, Hirst and The NOISE’s Veronique Serret, Liisa Palandi, James Eccles and Oliver Miller invoke and evoke the space, the life, the wonder and a spiritual sense of place. The instrumental range and technical innovations they work through are breathtaking in themselves.

Cutlan’s solo bass clarinet intro to ‘Gibb River Road’ suddenly startles with didgeridoo squawks and rasps, before Hirst brings a Latin groove to the tune proper. The high-harmonic strings intro to the ‘Lost Souls’ section has a flecked aridity toPAUL CUTLAN 2 it, reminiscent of painter Fred Williams’ outback landscapes – large space with burned-out details.

‘Lost Souls’ sings with Bartok-like twining lines before lurching into a Bulgarian 5/8 Pajdushka rhythm driven by percussionist Mara Kiek’s tapan drum.

The European influences abound – Stravinsky (the ‘Reconcile’ movement brings to mind ‘A Soldier’s Tale’), Russian orchestral music, as well as the Balkan folk flavours – yet never seem to jar against the ochre sound-pictures painted by Cutlan’s compositions. The ‘Across the Top Suite’ hangs together impeccably despite Cutlan’s cultural play.

Wrapped around the central suite are three other pieces that show the uniqueness of composition and ensemble. Album opener ‘Times Past’ has bass clarinet and double bass improvising against fluidly meshed string textures. The entirely improvised piece ‘The Dawning Dark’ concludes with an almost electronic machine-howl and grind produced out of purely acoustic instruments. Closer ‘Perhaps Next Time’ finishes the album with a Latin groove that pulls apart and comes together organically and almost magically.

There is much magic to Across the Top, and much depth. Paul Cutlan has produced a work that is entirely of its own world, taking much that is good from a range of genres and influences – and, like any worthwhile artwork, life itself – and filtering it through his own unique vision.



Published June 2015 on


With any worthwhile art, universality can spark from specifics. ‘Guernica’, though a reaction to Fascist bombing of one village during the Spanish Civil War, says much about us all, forever. Beethoven’s pastoral tone poems flow far from his German rivers, flowing into the sky, into the stream of time.

Saxophonist Sandy Evans’ recent project with tabla player Bobby Singh, Kapture, has come from very specific origins, yet speaks with universality. Conceived in 2011 as a collaboration with dancer/choreographer Liz Lea inspired by the life of South African anti-apartheid activist Ahmed Kathrada, the music has a life, and a voice, of its own.

Brought into being by the remarkable group of musicians on Evans and Singh’s recent recording of the piece ­– Toby Hall on drums, Brett Hirst on double bass and singer Sarangan SriranganathanKapture speaks of joy, pain, cold fear, longing and unbroken spirit.


From the drone fade in to opener ‘Passive Resistance, No Regrets’, one is in a new place: Sriranganathan’s vocal and Evan’s soprano moving over a 14 beat Hindustan taal rhythm.

‘One Planet’ leaps into a frenetic 7/8 dance then, exhausted, we are adrift on the drone sea of ‘Explosion of Memory’ – Evans’ soprano sax swooping and gliding overhead like a gull while Toby Hall’s percussion ripples the surface or swells waves from beneath.

A number of tunes here have rhythms derived from Kathrada’s Robben Island prison number – 46864 – but, far from being a cold mathematical exercise these beats and grooves jump and leap with that assymetrical joy which is at the heart of much Indian music. Indo-Jazz fusions seems work with greater success than many other jazz fusions because they are bound by the art of improvisation. Also, because Indian music has a horizontal linearity – melody and rhythm, without vertical harmony – it makes for a sinuous union that works with a natural propulsion.kapture1

Brett Hirst’s bass solo ‘Deprivation’ was improvised to Liz Lea’s dancing in the studio and it conjures the blue darkness of Ahmed Kathrada’s prison loneliness perfectly – this flows into Evan’s melancholy ‘No Children Here’, its longing lines mirroring Kathrada’s longing for his own children. A universal pain.

Sandy Evans’ playing across the album is unique and spiritedly human, which is what we have come to expect from her. Her questing nature and driven desire to consistently move out of the confines of Jazz has shown her to be an artist going for a universal sound. That universality is present in all of her more recent music and, as I have mentioned above, is all over Kapture.

The final piece on the CD is a Bobby Singh solo performance called ‘Some See Stars’. It is inspired by a remark of Ahmed Kathrada’s concerning two Robben Island prisoners: looking out of the cell window one only saw the bars, the other saw the stars.

Sandy Evans, despite being all too aware of the bars, has always made music that only sees the stars.


Published April 2015 on

I recently was transfixed while watching my dog running around and around the yard. He appeared to be running purely and simply for the joy of running; the joy of his muscles and his velocity and the ground rushing beneath him.

Children also often tumble or jump or yell purely for the joy of the thing; as adults, this simple joy of the moment is gradually sullied and boxed in and all but eradicated.

Greening Tam2Artists have always seen the value of keeping that joy fresh and pure, jazz artists especially. Trombonist James Greening has always been one of our most joyful and joyous players. His very choice of instrument is joyful – the whinnying, hallelujah-ing of the trombone and the jovial flatulence of the sousaphone just bring a grin to your soul.

Greening’s latest project – with his super-septet, Greening From Ear to Ear (yes, a joyously silly what-the-hell pun…) – is Tam O’Shanter Tales. The compositions were inspired by a network of ideas centred around the natural beauty of Tasmania and the coastal community of Tam O’Shanter, but including the experience of Hazaran refugees settled in Tasmania, as well as thoughts of the hopes, fears and life-struggle shared by all humans.Greening Tam3

The six-track album was recorded last June at Sydney’s Sound Lounge, live in front of a buzzed-up audience – and I am so glad it was.

The joy springs up immediately from opener ‘Parallel Lines’ ­– Brett Hirst’s bass harmonics grow into a Afro-Cuban groove driven by the drums and percussion of Hamish Stuart and Fabian Hevia. A bristling ensemble section opens out to a Greening solo – joyous of course­ – and Andrew Robson’s snaky alto.

Next up is the happy NOLA march-blues, ‘Lumpy’ which has Greening blasting some rumbling sousaphone and Paul Cutlan abstracting the air with bass clarinet Dolphyisms.

‘I’m No Monk’ channels the joy that is Thelonious – pianist Gary Daley’s solo is aptly splay-fingered and righteous.

‘Hazara’ is the centrepiece of the album – spiritually and musically – as Greening gained inspiration during a period of ‘deadlock’ from the novel, The Kite Runner. The asymmetrical 17/8 groove is rendered surprisingly symmetrical by the band’s authority. The mood becomes one of a dance, a proud dance, a quiet celebration of the victory of living another day. Gary Daley’s  accordion sounds like women’s voices, Cutlan’s bass clarinet like a sirocco.

The accordian is also used, now in cluster-chords, to introduce the languid ballad ‘Sleeping Beauty’, which lulls us with watercolours of Tasmanian greens and olive-blacks and mist breathing off a river’s silver surface.

Greening Tam1Greening closes Tam O’Shanter Tales with the loping waltz-time blues ‘Early Morning’ the vibe of which suggest a wry eye on the world and hope for a new morning after darkest night.

James Greening may be a joyous man but he is no clown ­– it is one of the noblest human attributes to know life and the world in all its cruelty and compromise and still remain positive and bright; it is a daily battle for anyone who thinks at all.

In Phillip Johnston’s spoken intro to the recording, he says “Here we are firmly rooted in the present; one foot in the future and maybe an elbow in the past…”, echoing the kind of spiritually-centred mindfulness by which James Greening lives (and plays) and which informs the heart and deep soul of Tam O’Shanter Tales.


James Greening’s website is


Published Martch 2104 on

From time to time the modern music lover can be afflicted with ennui. As an outgrowth of the general modern malaise, our appetites – dulled by experiencing countless hours of music – can become jaded. Jaded to the point of boredom, even when faced with the best there is.

Artists often leap to the forefront of the Pop and Art consciousness simply by being willfully weird and opaquely obtuse. But that is a dead end street, in the main, for as soon as the Emperor’s new clothes fall away, we see he is naked, ordinary and empty, and always will be.

Jazz is a music that prides itself on innovation and forward thinking but, especially in this age where the Con turns out astounding young virtuosi by the sheaf, it can often all sound the same. On the other hand, dressing up and self-consciously setting out to shock – look at 60s jazz – ain’t the way to go.

Microsoft Word - SEAN COFFIN BIO.docx

Tenor magus Sean Coffin debuted his new sextet at Sydney’s Sound Lounge for SIMA recently. And he reminded me that there is still room for truly innovative jazz that swings like Charles Mingus’ mutha and resonates with echoes of the past – while still pointing to the future.

Sandy Evans has said of Sean’s main trip over the past 20 years, The Coffin Brothers“There is great love for the jazz tradition in their music, a joy in the energy, spirit and language of jazz. They build on these powerful roots to create imaginative sonic journeys that are completely their own…” , words which also apply perfectly to the Coffin Sextet.

The Sound Lounge gig presented new and old tunes – opener ‘That Night’ was a reworking of a 20 year old piece – that the Sextet gave their all to. The frontline of Coffin, Nic Garbett on trumpet and alto man Dan Waples sang Coffin’s arrangements with real joy in the telling.

It is a while since I have heard such inventive arrangements for a three-horn frontline – smaller Jazz Messengers-size sections seem to play most lines in parallel or simple harmony, ignoring the possibilities that arrangers use when writing for big band horns. Coffin’s arrangemental trick-bag had the horns playing off each other in myriad combinations to astonishing effect, covering a wide range of emotive colour from rolling chorale to bristling car-horn dissonance.

The arrangements also smartly wove in the rhythm section of Gavin Ahearn, Brett Hirst and James Waples. Ahearn, moving between Rhodes and acoustic piano impressed on me yet again his almost big-C Classical logic. Hirst and Waples fortunately did what they always do – invent, underpin, drive, colour and have wicked fun with rhythm. During the 7/4 funk of ‘The Strength of Your Convictions’ I thought for a minute that Waples was going to bash his kit clear across the stage (and that was in his socks, sans shoes!). Once again, joy in the telling.

Coffin stood beaming like a proud papa – obviously thrilled with the lineup and the stars and colours they wrung from his charts. ‘Alright, Today We’re Gonna’ was written, Coffin explained, just as Mingus and Ellington had written for their own ensembles, as a piece for the band to have fun with. And they did, the logical Ahearn now grinding illogical Don Pullen-style clusters out of the polite Sound Lounge piano and the Waples brothers warming up the winter’s night with a heated horn-drums duet.

Sean Coffin’s tenor tone and approach fits the music perfectly. In his sound there are distinct echoes and cries from jazz history – the blues is prominent if abstracted – yet the same imagination that elevates his arrangements carries through to surprise us in his solos. Funky as fuck in ‘Booga Dunny’ (get it? ‘I’m  a funny cat’, says SC), a soul-jazz boogaloo, he also plays a ballad such as ‘Quiet Thoughts’ with great depth – the coda cadenza was a composition in itself. His horn can bite but it can also kiss.

Closing piece, ‘New England Sketches’, flew through tempo and mood changes as if we were motoring through a landscape. The Sextet flexed their bebop muscles on the fast section, creating horizontally and vertically at a high level. I was reminded – not for the first time that night – that this Sextet was a cap-B Band, a rare mix of particular players, a six-headed entity that breathed and jumped and laughed together.

Sean Coffin promises recordings of this band within the next six months or so. I for one keenly look forward to them – but recordings are recordings. True Jazz is of the moment and the Coffin Sextet gave us some shining moments that night. Do not miss them when they play again.


Published July 2103 on 




One of the true delights of any music festival is that, for a few days – or even just a few precious hours – you are in a strange and beautiful new world, away from the tangle and hum of city life. The 4th Jazzgroove  Summer Festival reigned over Sydney’s Redfern-Surry Hills Delta for four days in January, staking out the territory in the name of modern composition, improvised music and the jazz life.

And what a strange and beautiful world they conjured for us among the bricks and grime, the litter and the 7-11 Stores.


I was fortunate to start at the very beginning, with Tom O’Halloran’s solo piano opener on Thursday at Surry Hills’ Tom Mann Theatre. A smart choice to open the Festival, O’Halloran’s sure touch made the piano sigh and glitter. His closer, a sparkling ‘No More Blues’ served as a teasing appetiser for a weekend of stellar music.

jazzgroove mothership orc

And stellar was the word (a TV sports cliché yes, but too apt to not use here) for Jonathan Zwartz’s band, up next. A Dream Team of players – Slater, Maegraith, Greening, Julien Wilson blowing (his and) our minds, Dewhurst, Matt McMahon, Hamish Stuart and percussionista Fabian Hevia holding it down with the calm river that is Zwartz himself. And from that calm river flowed strong and sure compositions, with melodic lines that were often country-simple but Gospel-true. From the opener ‘Shimmer’ through to ‘Henry’s High Life’, it was transfixing soul-blues that had the soloists reaching within – Phil Slater and Richard Maegraith especially going deep on the latter tune – leaving the audience at Tom Mann visibly affected. Like all true wisdom there was very little flash, but a universe of quiet fire.

The opening night was climaxed by the mighty Jazzgroove Mothership Orchestra, paying tribute to genius jazz composer Bob Brookmeyer (who sadly passed from this earthly plane last year). Even though the Orchestra bristles with astounding soloists, it was the Festival’s International Guest Artist (I suppose Aotearoa counts as international) tenor magus Roger Manins that was featured on all charts. The Orchestra is truly a national treasure and for this, their 10th anniversary gig, they played better than I have ever heard them – snapping and roiling on the fiery pieces and painting colour washed mists on the quieter pieces such as the lovely ‘Fireflies’. Manins stood toe-to-toe with the band on the blasting finale, ‘See Saw’, his tenor sassing back and cajoling the Mothership. Big kudos to drummer Jamie Cameron who rode the roaring beast on all pieces with great style and verve.


Friday was Fusion Day for me as I took in the electro-jazz of the Alcohotlicks at 505 and later, the flamenco-jazz of Steve Hunter’s Translators down the road at the Gaelic. It had been Sydney’s hottest day ever (!) on record and the evening was still dripping from the day.alcohotlicks

At 505, The Alcohotlicks’ Evan Mannell admitted to ‘shitting himself’ at the prospect of working without a drum kit. He then won us all over with a beautiful funky groove, cut-up on his sample box from Jimi Hendrix’s throaty ‘Who Knows’ riff. Joined by Ben Hauptmann on MIDI guitar and laptop, and Aaron Flower (the hoary traditionalist of the group who merely plays a guitar through an amp) the trio – winners of the inaugural Jazzgroove Association Recording Artist Award  – astounded with tracks from their album Danaïdes. ‘Neon’ was neo-NEU! motorik funk; ‘Baader’ was Goldfrapp/Moroder replicant-porn boogie. Did I sense a few members of the 505 audience shifting in their seats during the Alcohotlicks set? Artists such as these are the ones who move any music forward and all kudos to them for working at the edge of the Jazz comfort zone. A little seat shifting is always a good sign.

steve hunter, the translatorsDown the steaming street to the Gaelic. By now slightly drunk on the merlot and the humidity, I was taken away completely by The Translators. Too loud for the room – not a bad thing at all – electric bass toreador Steve Hunter and the quartet blazed through a set of flamenco-flecked originals that had Míro dancing with Manitas de Plata, Chick Corea dancing with de Falla in my swirling head. At times Ben Hauptmann’s electric mandolin solos sounded like a 70’s micro-Moog, the otherworldly tone beautifully offset by Damien Wright’s flamenco gut-string. ‘Turquoise’ was blue in green in orange. ‘The Last Trannie’ was Madrid via Soweto. Always a fiery and sparkling group, tonight – after not playing together for two years – The Translators shone like a Catalonian sun and lit all our faces with broad smiles. Not so long between sangrias next time, please amigos!


the fantastic terrific munkle

Saturday my hangover needed the peace of Prince Alfred Park and the gentle afternoon humour of The Fantastic Terrific Munkle. Cool breezes blew, people picnicked on the grass, and from between two huge trees, The Munkle – powered by Sam Golding’s tuba and the (snake-)charming clarinet of Jeremy Rose – wove their musical tales of whimsy, recalling ragtime, Dixie, weird old blues and French salon jazz. The song announcements were made through a megaphone, the guitar amp was powered by solar panels and guitarist Julian Curwin wore thongs. It was all so sweetly organic, it made the afternoon time stand beautifully still.

Too much daylight – bah! Back into the night and the Steve Barry Trio with Alex Boneham and the quicksilver Tim Firth at 505. This is the trio that played on Barry’s recent album, Steve Barry – a startling album made (conjured from the elements, rather) by this startling combination of players. All the telepathic play and spiritual-empathic magic that lights up the album was here on stage tonight. Reminding me of Bill Evans’ trios or Keith Jarrett’s ‘standards’ trios, Barry-Boneham-Firth could spat and spar – as on opener ‘B.W.’ – or dissipate like evening mist across an introspective ballad such as the lovely ‘Epiphany’. Some of the most fluidly intelligent music in jazz has been made within the piano trio format and groups such as Steve Barry’s trio remind me why.

After the rollicking fun of altoist Ross Harrington’s vibey, young and fun Midnight Tea Party – Dixie, klemzer, ska flavours; a huge hit with the 505 crowd – we were treated to the Andrew Gander Band.

richard maegraithIn a Festival line-up luminescent with musical wonders, I can unreservedly say the Andrew Gander Band was the highlight for me – and I am sure many there would agree. His five-piece group hit their jaw-dropping stride from the first note and ascended from there. I had already seen each of Gander’s sidemen in other Festival groups but playing with Gander seemed to push each of them into the deeper reaches of their own musical universe. Tenor player Richard Maegraith seemed particularly inspired, blowing hard into the white-hot areas of his horn’s capabilties. (My friend, CC – who knows about such things – said after one of Maegraith’s solos “I could see his aura and light flashing off him!”) Bassist Brett Hirst twinned with Gander through all of the music’s twists and turns almost preternaturally. Steve Barry would smartly sit out during guitarist Carl Morgan’s solos, allowing the drum-bass-guitar trio to stretch the harmonies and rhythms into new fluid shapes. The Gander originals such as ‘Retrograde’ (with one of those sizzling rock feels that Billy Cobham does so well) and the 5/4 roller coaster ride of ‘Prism’ were just eaten alive by the band, who also managed great takes on radically reshaped standards such as ‘Star Eyes’ and Dizzy’s ‘Con Alma’.


ben hauptmann, zoe and the buttercups

Where to go from there? Thankfully the Sunday program offered sweet soul relief in the form of Festival Guest Roger Manins and the original lineup of his soul-jazz champions, Hip Flask. To a packed 505, Manins’ testifying tenor led the quintet through ‘Bang’, ‘Big Sis’, ‘John Scon’ and others from their Jazzgroove catalogue. Against the indigo-blue Hammond of Stu Hunter, Adam Ponting’s peppery shards of piano dissonance put Hip Flask in their own category without losing any soul-jazz juice. The intro to ‘Blues for Adam Ponting’ moved in and out of harmonic focus until Manins brought us back to the planet with some real deep earth. (Manins was also one of the drollest bandleaders of the Festival, his tongue popping almost through his cheek at times during his stage announcements…)

By now saturated to the brim with music and fine 505 merlot, I took one last rolling stroll down Chalmers Street, climbing the stairs to the Gaelic to bid the Festival adieu with Zoe Hauptmann and her Buttercups. The six piece snapped my jaded mind awake with their patented country-soul stomp and Tele-blaster Aaron Flower’s always-exhilarating chicken-pickin’. Watching Ms Hauptmann leading her Buttercups up there, a question swam into my mind: Where were all the women musicians at the 4th Summer Festival? Ok, there was Zoe H and new bassist Hannah James (yes, Elana Stone too, but I am not counting vocalists in this equation) – that’s two out of an awful lot of male musicians. This is not a polemic point, nor is the question rhetoric; it is an honest query. The Con and other institutions turn out many many women musicians, musicians who have graduated alongside their male contemporaries, women musicians who are out there any night of the week paying as many gig dues as the guys. So why, when you get to the highest levels of jazz in this country – such as the annual Jazzgroove Festival – are women so insignificantly spoken for?


In his Sunday night wrap-up speech, Jazzgroove President (and Buttercup trombonist) John Hibbard admitted that this year’s Summer Festival almost didn’t happen. The committee had sat around Matt McMahon’s dining table and voted on going through with it or not. It was that dire. After four days of wonderfully attended gigs by our best and brightest – and some performances that seriously deserve to pass into myth and legend – it is hard to believe that meeting ever took place. But positive energy ruled that day – the vote was to go ahead – and that same positive energy ruled the 4th Jazzgroove  Summer Festival.

And thank God, Miles and Duke that it did.

The Jazzgroove website is here.

Published January 2103 on