Solihull stomp

Martin Longley unearths the pulsating traditional jazz scene of Solihull…

The Fryer-Barnhart International All-Stars
Solihull Arts Complex

Over the last 15 years, this has become a regular UK touring jaunt for the visiting Americans Jeff Barnhart (piano) and Jim Fryer (trombone), both of whom also sing their ample share of rousing songs. They latch onto a local Midlands group of seasoned players, then trot out to the festivals, also peppering their schedule with one-off dates. The English contingent are fronted by Bechet disciple reedsman George Huxley and trumpeter Gordon Whitworth, who have been playing together in front lines for around 50 years. Other Midlanders include guitar and banjoman Brian Mellor, hyperactive bassist Annie Hawkins (whose style has one leg in rockabilly) and antique-kit drummer Nick Ward (spindling around his rack of clacking woodblocks).

It took a few numbers for the band to crank up their engines, but there was ample time to take the curve at a measured pace, with two sets of around an hour each, preceded by the incongruous local comedian Malcolm Stent, delivering a pair of 15 minute warm-up spots. The fuse was lit around the time of Fryer’s Kid Ory Creole Trombone showcase, but the intensity turned into a different type with Huxley’s reading of Petite Fleur, Sidney Bechet also providing the spirited set-closer Viper Mad, another chance for Fryer to show off his fleet vocal pronouncements, veiled drug references all, along with a run of romping solos from his cohorts. Raconteur Barnhart altered the mood once again with The Moving On Blues, his own composition, played completely solo, and evoking the melancholy of the itinerant musician who might have found a fleeting sense of homeliness.

The second set was more compressed, tighter and faster in its selection. The lesser-played Sunset Café Stomp threw in a welcome touch of Louis Armstrong, but the only sedate part of this half was the unnerving interpretation of Leon Redbone’s So, Relax, which might have been the ultimate reclining anthem (er, lull-em?), but succeeded in gripping the audience with a strange sense of suspense, as each band member gradually slumped into slumber, then began to kick off their shoes. As part of a mainstream old-time jazz gig, this was almost a revolutionary act of performance art, and was curiously shocking, as several elderly gentlemen started to curl up comfortably across the boards, Huxley serenading whilst perched on the edge of the stage. Then, Ward revealed his illuminated bass drum, painted with a Hawaiian sunset scene, delivering a short impressionistic solo under atmospheric lighting. Yes, the closing parts of this gig turned somewhat surreal for a traditional jazz session.

Martin Bennett’s Old Green River Band
Solihull British Legion

Pianist Martin Bennett’s band is one of the best on the UK traditional jazz scene, hailing from the northern parts of England. He started out playing trombone but has now switched instruments, carrying an electric keyboard, lately safe in the knowledge that programmed piano sounds have improved immensely in recent years. Rolling up at the regular Sunday lunchtime session at Solihull’s British Legion, the combo soon started playing as if in the throes of a late evening party spasm, mostly trotting out swift swingers, with even the ballads chugging with a mean bluesy streak. The club’s like a time-warp to the 1970s or earlier, with most of the regulars clearly followers of this scene for maybe five decades. New blood, as ever, is going to be a future problem for this musical zone. Nevertheless, the session had no shortage of energy, with early afternoon dancing being very popular.

All of the band offered supple solos, at just the right length: not too long to flag, not too brief to frustrate. Humour was rife, as the gang joyfully debunked all, including themselves. Trombonist Derek Galloway is also a key member of The Temperance 7, trumpeter Chez Chesteman reserved as much gusto for his vocal exhortations as for his horn, whilst reedsman Howard Murray is something of a collector, with alto, tenor and baritone saxophones ranged around his feet, as well as a clarinet. When Bennett took a vocal, as with Be Easy With Me, Baby, he savoured the words in an almost sinister way, swilling them around for added meaning, drawling to savour their sound. The combo romped through At The Jazz Band Ball, then Galloway sang Georgia On My Mind, in a quaveringly sincere manner, but songs such as Don’t You ‘Sweetheart’ Me and Hard-Drinkin’ Baby had more of an edge, whilst Perdido represented an uncomplicated bounce of optimism.