Free jazz! (pt. 1 of 2)

Just got back from a night at the Hemlock presented by my very talented solo guitar friend Sean Smith, who played a dynamic, edgy set that, he claims, will be the last time he ever plays some of his older songs. The headliner was a group of five by the name of the Dystemic [sic] Quintet. There was a rather out-of-place electric guitarist, at best ambient and at worst a tad distracting; he was a last minute adjustment to the group, apparently, and it was fairly clear. The rest of them were stellar. The place done burned down... in a free jazz fire. You might recognize the saxophonist and the drummer from this group at various venues on Shattuck in Berkeley, such as: in front of the library; half a block from Walgreens; etc. Last night at around 10:30, I passed the sax player practicing for his show. He's phenomenal and if you're ever on Shattuck and there's a large, white sax player, playing perhaps with a drummer, stay and listen.

On the way back from the club we listened to Black Sabbath's first album on a crummy tape. I don't think I ever want to hear it in another fidelity; it sounded perfect. Somehow, my circuits got switched; the most cerebral music to some is the most visceral to me, and vice versa. Black Sabbath works really well in my head; I appreciate it and especially enjoy the intensity as channeled through enthusiastic listeners such as Sean, Matt and Cara (my riding companions) but I don't feel it in that way. Strange.