Daily Blague

The JVC Jazz Festival Concert at Carnegie Hall last night was a terrific blast. In the first half, Dave Brubeck led his quartet of snowy-haired musicians through a playlist that showed off a very broad repertoire of styles and moods. In the second half, the John Pizzarelli Quartet was assisted by a number of Mr P's friends, including his wife, the singer Jessica Molaskey. (Mr and Mrs P sang a very funny duet about a professional couple too busy with their resume building to have much quality time together. What I call the "default ringtone" figured in a piano riff in the middle of the number.) I am not going to write about the concert, however, until the CDs arrive, because there wasn't much information in the program.

I couldn't believe our good luck. It turned out that Mr Nerb knows someone at JVC - someone well-fixed enough to hand out four tickets in the fifth row, and on the aisle at that. That was just for starters. The evening was a flying carpet of exactly the kind of jazz that I like, built on standards or, in Mr Brubeck's case, on tunes that sound like standards but aren't. Entertaining as he is - and that would be very entertaining; Mr Pizzarelli carries around an inner stand-up comic that isn't entirely repressed - Mr Pizzarelli is running a preservation outfit to which the entire history of jazz is accessible.

All the musicians (with the exception of one guest) wore jackets and ties - suits, as a rule. This did not seem to keep them from physically losing themselves in their performances. Pizzarelli guest Grover Kemble, a genuine card, accompanied his scat singing with a two-step that suggested both of the great interwar dances, the Charleston and the Lindy.