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by Seth Rogovoy
LENOX, Mass., Sept. 2, 1996 -- Elegance and refinement are not typically thought of as values in jazz. But Sunday night's program at the Tanglewood Jazz Festival featuring pianist George Shearing and vocalist Joe Williams had refined elegance written all over it.
Whoever coined the phrase "tickle the ivories" must have had Shearing in mind, for there is no better way to describe the 77- year-old, London-born pianist's playing. His is a light, feathery touch, and he fills his songs with mellifluous high notes, stringing them together with nimble athleticism.
In the first half of his program in Seiji Ozawa Hall, Shearing was accompanied only by his bassist, Neil Swainson, whose standup acoustic was often louder than the piano, so delicate was Shearing's touch. Shearing played a selection of instrumental ballads, including "Bird Feathers," "That Sunday, That Summer," "You Must Believe In Spring" and "Angel Eyes." Everything was pretty, wistful and mellow, and all that was missing was the pitcher of martinis, cocktail stirrers and characters out of a Noel Coward play to complete the picture of gentility suggested by the music. In between songs, Shearing delighted the audience with some of his patented bad puns, a few of them concerning mad cows and Englishmen.
After intermission, Shearing and Swainson were joined by Joe Williams and drummer Dave Gibson, and for the first four or five songs, it seemed that things were going to continue along the course laid down by Shearing in the first half. The singer, also 77, was the picture of suave elegance in his tuxedo suit with red, pocket handkerchief and bow tie, as he stood erect and smoothly delivered "Just Friends" in a straightforward, conversational style. As his voice warmed up, his singing grew more melodic, and he became more expressive on "Maybe September" and punched out some horn-like notes on "Have You Met Miss Jones?"
Williams proved himself an artful ballad singer, and he brought a classical grace and dignity to the standard material. But the show finally took off when he ventured into the blues -- the territory for which is most noted -- and he invested "Shake, Rattle and Roll," "Who She Do?" and Big Bill Broonzy's "I Had a Dream" with a saucier kind of elegance and a greater sense of swing.
Shearing himself swung harder when he had Williams to work off of, and the two veterans -- who have performed together on and off for some 40-odd years -- displayed a natural affinity for each other. One upbeat blues number featured Williams scatting and trading fours with drummer Gibson, while Shearing played some bouncy stride rhythms.
Not that Williams fell short as an art singer. His diction and breath control were exemplary, and while he may have lost a bit off the top, his bass-baritone was mighty resonant. And on a very poignant "Tenderly," he struck a high note to match the shimmering icicles that Shearing supplied underneath. Theirs was a stately performance, but jazz needn't be so polished or ossified to have dignity.
Take, for example, the T.S. Monk Band, which performed with both dignity and exuberance on Sunday afternoon. The sextet played two sets ranging from the abstract to the straight-ahead, and if their improvisations weren't always revelatory, they were never cliched and they always swung.
Monk, the son of the late, famed pianist/composer Thelonious Monk, was a nearly hyperactive leader, bursting with so much enthusiasm that he literally popped out of his drum stool a number of times. Playing behind three horns and a piano and bass, Monk was the engine that drove his band, but the soloists kept steering off in their own directions.
"Think of One" took a Thelonious Monk piano solo and put it in the hands of the horn players, and tenor saxophonist Willie Williams in particular blew some very colorful lines spiced with his natural vibrato. Another Monk original, "Skippy," was a happy, jaunty number, a showcase for pianist Ronnie Matthews, who on several tunes met the challenge of taming Thelonious Monk's angular, unwieldy melodies.
Matthews' own composition, "Jean Marie," opened with a pop-jazz chord progression, and the front line of flute, flugelhorn and soprano sax for this number lent a light, airy quality to the piece, which featured a Coltrane-inspired solo by Williams on soprano that even quoted "My Favorite Things."
Perhaps the highlight of the Monk band's set was Clifford Jordan's "The Highest Mountain." Monk gave a stirring talk to introduce the piece -- he was in general a charmingly articulate bandleader, gracious in his praise for both his fellow musicians and the Ozawa hall -- which opened with a mournful herald by the horn section.
Once again, Williams invested his solo turn with a cornucopia of soul, while Don Sickler played some cool licks on flugelhorn recalling early Miles Davis and Bobby Porcelli blew some clear, cleanly articulated figures on alto saxophone.
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