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Gonzo Report: Jazz jam at a private party
A couple of accidental crashes at California English
Garner and Tillery, deep into their dynamic interplay.
“People say I’m too nice to play jazz,” says bassist Paul Tillery. He’s unloading an upright bass to perform at California English with guitarist Jon Garner as a duo. They’re replacing Amanda Portela, who had to cancel because of illness, and this sets the tone for a lot of last-minute shuffling for this writer as I accidentally crash not one, but two private events.
Back to Tillery’s statement about being “too nice to play jazz” for a moment: it’s been my experience since diving into jazz coverage over a year ago that most jazz musicians are pretty nice, and their musical vocabulary leads to extended conversations of music outside of jazz. In Tillery’s case, it’s all about Iron Maiden, Metallica, and Black Sabbath, and my usual practice of taunting bass players backfires on me because we share too much musical DNA.
A quick intro to Garner later, I’m sitting outside to the left of the duo, sipping on tea because I want something warm as the temperatures drop and the breeze starts to accentuate the cold. The menu looks tempting, but the fish and chips I crave are available only for lunch. The dinner version has English smashed peas and I hate peas. As a child, I used to try to feed my Playskool horse that offal, and he never ate it. Stupid plastic horse.
Awakening from my resentful reverie, I look up to realize that everyone is on one side of the patio. In the middle in front of the musicians and on the opposite side, there are only empty chairs. The manager, Marco, tells me I’m sitting in the middle of a private event. That must be why the bartender looked confused when I tried to pay for my tea.
It also explains why many people in the section are wearing name badges. I try to sneak a peek at the plastic tags to suss out where they all work, as the neighborhood is surrounded by laboratories. But my glasses are good only for distance; their primary purpose is screaming “hookers and blow” via their yellow tint. Maybe the badge holders are celebrating a breakthrough in creating a mutant like Wolverine or, even better, a taco-making robot! I leave them to it and move over to the other side of the patio, where Marco tells me another private event will start in less than an hour.
Exploring the venue, I find it simultaneously cavernous and comfortable. At the bar, a customer named Justin is deciding on a beer. I ask him about the prolonged deliberation, and he tells me Smithwick’s used to be his favorite Irish beer, but the last time he ordered it at another bar, it was tapped wrong and tasted weird. He takes a leap of faith and orders a pint of something else, placing his taste buds in the bartender’s hands. What my limited experience assumes are croquet mallets are placed throughout the restaurant as décor, along with books by executive chef Richard Blais. More functionally, there are more mallets on the lawn area — assumedly for playing the game and not for eliciting a thud like a whacked wheel of cheese when striking someone on the chest as Jack Torrance did in The Shining.
Back on the patio, setup begins for the second private event, and a staffer named Flora kindly moves my seat away from the chaos but with the same view of the band, which is cranking out some gypsy jazz manouche. Several compositions are from the catalog of the genre’s inspiration, Django Reinhardt. In a move that is challenging under the best of circumstances, the duo attempts a piece written for a larger ensemble, complete with the warning not to try this at home. The musical lock they’ve created increases in intensity when Tillery fixes his eyes on Garner’s hands for cues that happen so smoothly, they must be difficult without a time-keeping instrument. I have no idea if they perform the song to aficionado standards. I just appreciate the constant attack of notes and the dynamic interplay. The way the gas flames encased in a glass barrier behind them are giving a Number of the Beast vibe doesn’t hurt.
Post-set, my interview with Garner is less about jazz and more about Iron Maiden and him seeing Black Flag with Henry Rollins in New England. I figure that spirit is what he brings, no matter what style he’s playing. And speaking of spirits, I check on Justin to see how his beer is. He raises his glass and tells me it’s perfect. Faith restored.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Gonzo Report: Jazz jam at a private party
A couple of accidental crashes at California English
Gonzo Report: Jazz jam at a private party
A couple of accidental crashes at California English
Garner and Tillery, deep into their dynamic interplay.
“People say I’m too nice to play jazz,” says bassist Paul Tillery. He’s unloading an upright bass to perform at California English with guitarist Jon Garner as a duo. They’re replacing Amanda Portela, who had to cancel because of illness, and this sets the tone for a lot of last-minute shuffling for this writer as I accidentally crash not one, but two private events.
Back to Tillery’s statement about being “too nice to play jazz” for a moment: it’s been my experience since diving into jazz coverage over a year ago that most jazz musicians are pretty nice, and their musical vocabulary leads to extended conversations of music outside of jazz. In Tillery’s case, it’s all about Iron Maiden, Metallica, and Black Sabbath, and my usual practice of taunting bass players backfires on me because we share too much musical DNA.
A quick intro to Garner later, I’m sitting outside to the left of the duo, sipping on tea because I want something warm as the temperatures drop and the breeze starts to accentuate the cold. The menu looks tempting, but the fish and chips I crave are available only for lunch. The dinner version has English smashed peas and I hate peas. As a child, I used to try to feed my Playskool horse that offal, and he never ate it. Stupid plastic horse.
Awakening from my resentful reverie, I look up to realize that everyone is on one side of the patio. In the middle in front of the musicians and on the opposite side, there are only empty chairs. The manager, Marco, tells me I’m sitting in the middle of a private event. That must be why the bartender looked confused when I tried to pay for my tea.
It also explains why many people in the section are wearing name badges. I try to sneak a peek at the plastic tags to suss out where they all work, as the neighborhood is surrounded by laboratories. But my glasses are good only for distance; their primary purpose is screaming “hookers and blow” via their yellow tint. Maybe the badge holders are celebrating a breakthrough in creating a mutant like Wolverine or, even better, a taco-making robot! I leave them to it and move over to the other side of the patio, where Marco tells me another private event will start in less than an hour.
Exploring the venue, I find it simultaneously cavernous and comfortable. At the bar, a customer named Justin is deciding on a beer. I ask him about the prolonged deliberation, and he tells me Smithwick’s used to be his favorite Irish beer, but the last time he ordered it at another bar, it was tapped wrong and tasted weird. He takes a leap of faith and orders a pint of something else, placing his taste buds in the bartender’s hands. What my limited experience assumes are croquet mallets are placed throughout the restaurant as décor, along with books by executive chef Richard Blais. More functionally, there are more mallets on the lawn area — assumedly for playing the game and not for eliciting a thud like a whacked wheel of cheese when striking someone on the chest as Jack Torrance did in The Shining.
Back on the patio, setup begins for the second private event, and a staffer named Flora kindly moves my seat away from the chaos but with the same view of the band, which is cranking out some gypsy jazz manouche. Several compositions are from the catalog of the genre’s inspiration, Django Reinhardt. In a move that is challenging under the best of circumstances, the duo attempts a piece written for a larger ensemble, complete with the warning not to try this at home. The musical lock they’ve created increases in intensity when Tillery fixes his eyes on Garner’s hands for cues that happen so smoothly, they must be difficult without a time-keeping instrument. I have no idea if they perform the song to aficionado standards. I just appreciate the constant attack of notes and the dynamic interplay. The way the gas flames encased in a glass barrier behind them are giving a Number of the Beast vibe doesn’t hurt.
Post-set, my interview with Garner is less about jazz and more about Iron Maiden and him seeing Black Flag with Henry Rollins in New England. I figure that spirit is what he brings, no matter what style he’s playing. And speaking of spirits, I check on Justin to see how his beer is. He raises his glass and tells me it’s perfect. Faith restored.
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