The Jazz Bakery goes Grammy (Museum)

This Sunday marks the first of a planned series of tribute concert / fundraisers at the Grammy Museum for the still-homeless jazz venue, and the bakery's fans are bound to recognize some familiar faces. Guitar great and UCLA faculty member Kenny Burrell leads the way along with Hubert Laws, Alan Bergman, the Alan Broadbent Trio, Tierney Sutton, Bill Henderson and Mike Melvoin.

"Curb Your Enthusiasm's" Jeff Garlin hosts this evening, which should add some levity to what will probably be a slightly bittersweet affair given that there's no word yet on the bakery's permanent home, but fingers crossed all around. If you close your eyes while Garlin speaks you'll almost be able to hear the determined captain from "Wall-E" introducing one of the players onto the old Culver City stage, an illusion buoyed by the fact you can even hit downtown's own BottleRock after the show. Everybody wins!

-- Chris Barton

Doors open at 7 p.m. Tickets are $40; $35 for members, and available at the museum box office. For more information, call the Jazz Bakery at (310) 271-9039.

Photo of the Jazz Bakery's old lobby by Jay L. Clendenin / Los Angeles Times

Call what saxophonist Steve Lehman does a variation on "math-jazz," with apologies to the time signature-hopping  sub-genre that rose out of the mid-'90s indie rock scene. Though nothing from this album will ever be confused with Don Caballero, Lehman makes the seemingly counterintuitive choice to introduce computer analysis into jazz in the hopes of greater exploring of spectral harmony between instruments.

What this involves is a whole lot of mind-scrambling physics and deep thought concerning frequency relationships and microtonal overtones, but Lehman's heady excursions remain unique and engaging to the listener whatever your knowledge of musical theory. Album opener "Echoes" sets the tone with a complicated, slow-burning conversation among the octet, slowly building atop Lehman's chrome-bright pointillist arcs. The 10-minute plus "Alloy" marks another highlight with tuba, trombone and trumpet encircling Lehman's alto through an intricate, IDM-adjacent beat by drummer Tyshawn Sorey. Elsewhere Chris Dingman's vibraphone sets a menacing pace through a woozy take on GZA/Genius' "Living in the World Today" that resembles a crossroads of jazz, funk and drum and bass.

Though Lehman and his cohorts have created something drenched with almost staggering complexity, the end result never feels bloodless. The players may be working within a delicate framework, but improvisation and the pushing and pulling against boundaries reveals the warm heart of jazz still racing underneath.

Steve Lehman Octet
"Travail, Transformation, and Flow"
Pi Recordings
Three stars

-- Chris Barton

"Rain or shine" was printed across every Playboy Jazz Festival ticket this year, a boilerplate message that seemed laughably perfunctory for a summertime concert in Southern California but nearly encapsulated each day of the weekend festival.

On Saturday, the Hollywood Bowl stage had to be covered after a late-morning drizzle threatened to soak the first day of the festival's 31st installment. But thankfully, the closest thing to an umbrella seen over the weekend was a mini-parade of white parasols carried by women pulled from the crowd to dance along with the New Birth Brass Band during the group's early Saturday set.

While the New Orleans-based band enjoyed a brief flash of sun seemingly through the sheer force of "St. James Infirmary" and other raucous favorites, the Playboy Jazz Festival didn't need perfect weather to get people in a festive mood.

Indeed, weaving into the near-capacity venue through a logjam of wheeled coolers and Trader Joe's bags gave one the feeling of arriving at the city's largest multicultural potluck as much as at a world-famous jazz festival.

But for all the genial passing of plates between Bowl boxes and bleachers, the festival still comes down to the music.

On Saturday afternoon, Dizzy Gillespie-inspired trumpeter Jon Faddis led his quartet through straight-ahead jazz that earned a swell of appreciation as he touched on Lee Morgan's classic "Sidewinder" before interjecting a somewhat clumsy if well-intended rap that gave a shout-out to Coleman Hawkins, Count Basie and other swing-minded jazz titans.

Rising star Esperanza Spalding, her signature cloud of curly hair hemmed into a ponytail, combined a deep, roomy tone on upright bass with a smoothly soaring voice that ran over the chatty crowd like raw honey. At one point, she delivered a restless, weather-appropriate cover of "Wild Is the Wind" that dared recall Nina Simone, before warning that she and her band would "like to do something that could be considered fusion."

"Hmm," she added slyly.

If she expected outrage after Faddis' more tradition-minded celebration of swing, there was none coming as she switched to a Fender bass for Wayne Shorter's "Endangered Species," adding acrobatic scatting over the twisting composition, a fitting homage to Sunday's performer.

"I hope we got to you a little bit tonight," Spalding said at the close of her set. She needn't have worried.

Radio-friendly acts and underground artists share the stage at this respected two-day event, this weekend at the Hollywood Bowl.

For the hard-core jazz fan, a serious, "Kind of Blue"-dyed collector, the Playboy Jazz Festival can sometimes feel like a bit of an uneven proposition.

On one hand there is the festival itself, a sprawling two-day buffet of non-stop live music, summer sun and good vibrations happening this Saturday and Sunday in one of the most famous and naturally beautiful spaces in the city, the Hollywood Bowl. After 31 years, the combination has become a local tradition, with some fans reserving seats before the lineups are announced. 

On the other hand there is the festival's mass-appeal booking philosophy, one that inevitably leads to the scratching of a few jazz-obsessed heads. 

For every classic performance-in-the-making from such respected artists as the Wayne Shorter Quartet or up-and-coming bassist-singer Esperanza Spalding, there are sets from more broadly commercial acts that can have trouble competing with the festival's, well, festive setting. 

"It can be kind of a mixed blessing," said Herbie Hancock, who has performed at the Playboy Jazz Festival a number of times, including last year. "I'd much rather perform at night when I have some heavy stuff that I'm doing . . . The daytime, for me as a performer and as a member of the audience, it's [conducive to] -- I was going to use the word 'lighter' fare but that can be misconstrued -- anything that has a more overt kind of power to it I think works in the daytime."

Playboy always has had a welcoming attitude toward funk, blues and world music artists, and this year the always impressive Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings and Nigerian icon King Sunny Ade are sure to be among the event's highlights. But it's the festival's fondness for radio-friendly smooth jazz that makes it somewhat unique among its contemporaries.

Sunday marks the return of breezy saxophonist Kenny G, an artist that festival president and executive vice president of Playboy Enterprises Dick Rosenzweig acknowledges is a divisive figure.

"We are running the gamut on this thing," Rosenzweig said. "If a reviewer, starting with Leonard [Feather, the Times' jazz critic until his death in 1994] booked the show . . . we'd have, you know, 8,000 people there. So if the Bowl holds 17,600 or whatever it is, approaching 18,000, we have to appeal to 36,000 people if we count the two days. If we were strictly a purist festival, we couldn't do that." 

The lauded music venue may be closing its doors this weekend, but owner Ruth Price is working on plans to keep the music going.

The Jazz Bakery, a staple of the L.A. music community, will close its doors Sunday after losing its lease, but owner Ruth Price insists it's too early to write a eulogy for the club, which has occupied the same space at the Helms Bakery District for the last 16 years.

"I've been really stressing the word moving, not closing," she said. "But it's been really hard to get people's mind-set away from the most dramatic thing they can think of. It is pretty dramatic any way you look at it, frankly."

Given that the similarly lauded music venue Largo pulled off a successful (if more voluntary) transition to the Coronet Theater last year, Price has reasons to be hopeful. Despite the tough economic climate and the fact that jazz continues to be faced with a shrinking and fragmented audience, she's fielding a number of offers to keep the Bakery alive.

She's working on a partnership with the Grammy Museum downtown that will allow her to present a run of shows there starting as early as late summer, along with tentative plans with Culver City's Kirk Douglas Theatre to take over the space on open nights.

She has also pinpointed two potential sites on the Westside for the club's new permanent home and is working with architects on preliminary sketches. Still, there is no fixed timetable for a new location, or any guarantee that one truly will come to fruition.

"Everywhere we go people talk about our cachet," Price said. "And my joke is I wish we had cash instead of cachet!"

Given the excesses, indulgences and shifting tastes that come with the job, rock bands aren't generally around long enough to stage 40th anniversary tours, and if they are, it seldom amounts to more than a self-congratulatory tribute concert night after night.

Yet somehow these rules didn't apply to the Allman Brothers at the Greek Theatre on Tuesday. Though they've weathered lineup changes and tragedies (especially the 1971 death of guitarist Duane Allman in a motorcycle accident), lone surviving brother and keyboardist Gregg Allman led a seven-piece band (often featuring three, count 'em, three drummers) through an adventurous mix of virtuosic Southern rock and blues that continued and even built upon the band's legacy.

Part of what allows Allman to pull off this time-defying sleight of hand is an infusion of new blood, most notably with gifted slide guitarist Derek Trucks, who was 10 years away from being born when the Allman Brothers released its self-titled debut.

But the stoic, baby-faced nephew of original and current drummer Butch Trucks fit the Allman profile perfectly with his long blond ponytail and Western shirt, to say nothing of his lightning-fueled solos as he traded lead duties with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes. (Haynes stepped in for the departed Dickey Betts, who split with the band as a result of "creative differences" in 2000).

Together Haynes and Trucks have some tie-dyed die-hards saying the Allmans sound better than ever, exemplified Tuesday by a sprawling, 17-minute "Whipping Post" that stood tall against the fiery version from the band's acclaimed "At Fillmore East" album, released the same year as Duane Allman's death.

But to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, it was somewhere around when Bruce Willis joined the Brothers on harmonica when the drugs began to take hold.

Of all the genres in music, jazz might lead them in terms of the sheer number of eulogies that are racked up in its honor on a yearly basis.

Which is, of course, as absurd as the similar calls bemoaning rock's death that come around every few years. However, if recent tribute activity is any indication, jazz may be alive and well, but it's acquired a troubling addiction to its past; a habit that comes with its own crippling side-effects.

But this is far less a fault of the players than it is a side-effect of the schism of sorts that struck jazz in the '80s. Led by critically lauded "young lions" such as Wynton Marsalis, jazz grew fixated on its undeniably rich, pre-fusion roots, celebrating "straightahead" traits such as a swingin' rhythm section, acoustic instruments and, if possible, some really sharp suits.

While that brand of thinking was supported by Ken Burns' well done if somewhat myopic "Jazz" series, the other, seemingly more underground side of jazz that spiraled off into the future with no such boundaries has earned a video tribute of its own with "Icons Among Us," a four-part series airing Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Documentary Channel over the next four weeks.

Tonight's first episode, "A Quiet Revolution, " opens on a provocative note with boundary-pushing artists such as Matthew Shipp, Nicholas Payton, Bill Frisell, Avishai Cohen and a host of others speaking respectfully but not reverently of jazz and those giants who set the standard for the genre many years ago.

Blue Note pianist Robert Glasper (and where was he during the label's recent anniversary celebrations?) sums up a prevailing attitude of the players highlighted in the documentary by imagining Charlie Parker returning from the grave and telling many tradition-minded musicians, "I played that already. Why are you playing that?"

Marsalis also appears to defend his conservative view of jazz, explaining that every art form needs a definition, which is a fair point until you hear many of the young, out-of-the-mainstream players toss labels and limitations aside and move forward on their own. Many of these acts, such as the laptop-assisted piano excursions of Bugge Wesseltoft, don't sound like something you'd hear in a typical jazz club, but perhaps that's the point.

Gifted trumpeter Terence Blanchard sets the tone for perhaps the entire series when he says, "There's a quiet revolution going on in jazz . . . the quietest revolution I've ever heard in my life." With the help of this documentary and a little luck, perhaps the revolution will get just a little bit louder.

(Postscript: Unfortunately, the Documentary Channel is only available in Los Angeles to Dish Network subscribers. Watch a video clip from the documentary with the Bad Plus' David King after the jump.)

-- Chris Barton

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

Album review: Steve Lehman Octet's 'Travail, Transformation, and Flow'

Call what saxophonist Steve Lehman does a variation on "math-jazz," with apologies to the time signature-hopping  sub-genre that rose out of the mid-'90s indie rock scene. Though nothing from this album will ever be confused with Don Caballero, Lehman makes the seemingly counterintuitive choice to introduce computer analysis into jazz in the hopes of greater exploring of spectral harmony between instruments.

What this involves is a whole lot of mind-scrambling physics and deep thought concerning frequency relationships and microtonal overtones, but Lehman's heady excursions remain unique and engaging to the listener whatever your knowledge of musical theory. Album opener "Echoes" sets the tone with a complicated, slow-burning conversation among the octet, slowly building atop Lehman's chrome-bright pointillist arcs. The 10-minute plus "Alloy" marks another highlight with tuba, trombone and trumpet encircling Lehman's alto through an intricate, IDM-adjacent beat by drummer Tyshawn Sorey. Elsewhere Chris Dingman's vibraphone sets a menacing pace through a woozy take on GZA/Genius' "Living in the World Today" that resembles a crossroads of jazz, funk and drum and bass.

Though Lehman and his cohorts have created something drenched with almost staggering complexity, the end result never feels bloodless. The players may be working within a delicate framework, but improvisation and the pushing and pulling against boundaries reveals the warm heart of jazz still racing underneath.

Steve Lehman Octet
"Travail, Transformation, and Flow"
Pi Recordings
Three stars

-- Chris Barton

"Rain or shine" was printed across every Playboy Jazz Festival ticket this year, a boilerplate message that seemed laughably perfunctory for a summertime concert in Southern California but nearly encapsulated each day of the weekend festival.

On Saturday, the Hollywood Bowl stage had to be covered after a late-morning drizzle threatened to soak the first day of the festival's 31st installment. But thankfully, the closest thing to an umbrella seen over the weekend was a mini-parade of white parasols carried by women pulled from the crowd to dance along with the New Birth Brass Band during the group's early Saturday set.

While the New Orleans-based band enjoyed a brief flash of sun seemingly through the sheer force of "St. James Infirmary" and other raucous favorites, the Playboy Jazz Festival didn't need perfect weather to get people in a festive mood.

Indeed, weaving into the near-capacity venue through a logjam of wheeled coolers and Trader Joe's bags gave one the feeling of arriving at the city's largest multicultural potluck as much as at a world-famous jazz festival.

But for all the genial passing of plates between Bowl boxes and bleachers, the festival still comes down to the music.

On Saturday afternoon, Dizzy Gillespie-inspired trumpeter Jon Faddis led his quartet through straight-ahead jazz that earned a swell of appreciation as he touched on Lee Morgan's classic "Sidewinder" before interjecting a somewhat clumsy if well-intended rap that gave a shout-out to Coleman Hawkins, Count Basie and other swing-minded jazz titans.

Rising star Esperanza Spalding, her signature cloud of curly hair hemmed into a ponytail, combined a deep, roomy tone on upright bass with a smoothly soaring voice that ran over the chatty crowd like raw honey. At one point, she delivered a restless, weather-appropriate cover of "Wild Is the Wind" that dared recall Nina Simone, before warning that she and her band would "like to do something that could be considered fusion."

"Hmm," she added slyly.

If she expected outrage after Faddis' more tradition-minded celebration of swing, there was none coming as she switched to a Fender bass for Wayne Shorter's "Endangered Species," adding acrobatic scatting over the twisting composition, a fitting homage to Sunday's performer.

"I hope we got to you a little bit tonight," Spalding said at the close of her set. She needn't have worried.

Radio-friendly acts and underground artists share the stage at this respected two-day event, this weekend at the Hollywood Bowl.

For the hard-core jazz fan, a serious, "Kind of Blue"-dyed collector, the Playboy Jazz Festival can sometimes feel like a bit of an uneven proposition.

On one hand there is the festival itself, a sprawling two-day buffet of non-stop live music, summer sun and good vibrations happening this Saturday and Sunday in one of the most famous and naturally beautiful spaces in the city, the Hollywood Bowl. After 31 years, the combination has become a local tradition, with some fans reserving seats before the lineups are announced. 

On the other hand there is the festival's mass-appeal booking philosophy, one that inevitably leads to the scratching of a few jazz-obsessed heads. 

For every classic performance-in-the-making from such respected artists as the Wayne Shorter Quartet or up-and-coming bassist-singer Esperanza Spalding, there are sets from more broadly commercial acts that can have trouble competing with the festival's, well, festive setting. 

"It can be kind of a mixed blessing," said Herbie Hancock, who has performed at the Playboy Jazz Festival a number of times, including last year. "I'd much rather perform at night when I have some heavy stuff that I'm doing . . . The daytime, for me as a performer and as a member of the audience, it's [conducive to] -- I was going to use the word 'lighter' fare but that can be misconstrued -- anything that has a more overt kind of power to it I think works in the daytime."

Playboy always has had a welcoming attitude toward funk, blues and world music artists, and this year the always impressive Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings and Nigerian icon King Sunny Ade are sure to be among the event's highlights. But it's the festival's fondness for radio-friendly smooth jazz that makes it somewhat unique among its contemporaries.

Sunday marks the return of breezy saxophonist Kenny G, an artist that festival president and executive vice president of Playboy Enterprises Dick Rosenzweig acknowledges is a divisive figure.

"We are running the gamut on this thing," Rosenzweig said. "If a reviewer, starting with Leonard [Feather, the Times' jazz critic until his death in 1994] booked the show . . . we'd have, you know, 8,000 people there. So if the Bowl holds 17,600 or whatever it is, approaching 18,000, we have to appeal to 36,000 people if we count the two days. If we were strictly a purist festival, we couldn't do that." 

The lauded music venue may be closing its doors this weekend, but owner Ruth Price is working on plans to keep the music going.

The Jazz Bakery, a staple of the L.A. music community, will close its doors Sunday after losing its lease, but owner Ruth Price insists it's too early to write a eulogy for the club, which has occupied the same space at the Helms Bakery District for the last 16 years.

"I've been really stressing the word moving, not closing," she said. "But it's been really hard to get people's mind-set away from the most dramatic thing they can think of. It is pretty dramatic any way you look at it, frankly."

Given that the similarly lauded music venue Largo pulled off a successful (if more voluntary) transition to the Coronet Theater last year, Price has reasons to be hopeful. Despite the tough economic climate and the fact that jazz continues to be faced with a shrinking and fragmented audience, she's fielding a number of offers to keep the Bakery alive.

She's working on a partnership with the Grammy Museum downtown that will allow her to present a run of shows there starting as early as late summer, along with tentative plans with Culver City's Kirk Douglas Theatre to take over the space on open nights.

She has also pinpointed two potential sites on the Westside for the club's new permanent home and is working with architects on preliminary sketches. Still, there is no fixed timetable for a new location, or any guarantee that one truly will come to fruition.

"Everywhere we go people talk about our cachet," Price said. "And my joke is I wish we had cash instead of cachet!"

Given the excesses, indulgences and shifting tastes that come with the job, rock bands aren't generally around long enough to stage 40th anniversary tours, and if they are, it seldom amounts to more than a self-congratulatory tribute concert night after night.

Yet somehow these rules didn't apply to the Allman Brothers at the Greek Theatre on Tuesday. Though they've weathered lineup changes and tragedies (especially the 1971 death of guitarist Duane Allman in a motorcycle accident), lone surviving brother and keyboardist Gregg Allman led a seven-piece band (often featuring three, count 'em, three drummers) through an adventurous mix of virtuosic Southern rock and blues that continued and even built upon the band's legacy.

Part of what allows Allman to pull off this time-defying sleight of hand is an infusion of new blood, most notably with gifted slide guitarist Derek Trucks, who was 10 years away from being born when the Allman Brothers released its self-titled debut.

But the stoic, baby-faced nephew of original and current drummer Butch Trucks fit the Allman profile perfectly with his long blond ponytail and Western shirt, to say nothing of his lightning-fueled solos as he traded lead duties with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes. (Haynes stepped in for the departed Dickey Betts, who split with the band as a result of "creative differences" in 2000).

Together Haynes and Trucks have some tie-dyed die-hards saying the Allmans sound better than ever, exemplified Tuesday by a sprawling, 17-minute "Whipping Post" that stood tall against the fiery version from the band's acclaimed "At Fillmore East" album, released the same year as Duane Allman's death.

But to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, it was somewhere around when Bruce Willis joined the Brothers on harmonica when the drugs began to take hold.

Of all the genres in music, jazz might lead them in terms of the sheer number of eulogies that are racked up in its honor on a yearly basis.

Which is, of course, as absurd as the similar calls bemoaning rock's death that come around every few years. However, if recent tribute activity is any indication, jazz may be alive and well, but it's acquired a troubling addiction to its past; a habit that comes with its own crippling side-effects.

But this is far less a fault of the players than it is a side-effect of the schism of sorts that struck jazz in the '80s. Led by critically lauded "young lions" such as Wynton Marsalis, jazz grew fixated on its undeniably rich, pre-fusion roots, celebrating "straightahead" traits such as a swingin' rhythm section, acoustic instruments and, if possible, some really sharp suits.

While that brand of thinking was supported by Ken Burns' well done if somewhat myopic "Jazz" series, the other, seemingly more underground side of jazz that spiraled off into the future with no such boundaries has earned a video tribute of its own with "Icons Among Us," a four-part series airing Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Documentary Channel over the next four weeks.

Tonight's first episode, "A Quiet Revolution, " opens on a provocative note with boundary-pushing artists such as Matthew Shipp, Nicholas Payton, Bill Frisell, Avishai Cohen and a host of others speaking respectfully but not reverently of jazz and those giants who set the standard for the genre many years ago.

Blue Note pianist Robert Glasper (and where was he during the label's recent anniversary celebrations?) sums up a prevailing attitude of the players highlighted in the documentary by imagining Charlie Parker returning from the grave and telling many tradition-minded musicians, "I played that already. Why are you playing that?"

Marsalis also appears to defend his conservative view of jazz, explaining that every art form needs a definition, which is a fair point until you hear many of the young, out-of-the-mainstream players toss labels and limitations aside and move forward on their own. Many of these acts, such as the laptop-assisted piano excursions of Bugge Wesseltoft, don't sound like something you'd hear in a typical jazz club, but perhaps that's the point.

Gifted trumpeter Terence Blanchard sets the tone for perhaps the entire series when he says, "There's a quiet revolution going on in jazz . . . the quietest revolution I've ever heard in my life." With the help of this documentary and a little luck, perhaps the revolution will get just a little bit louder.

(Postscript: Unfortunately, the Documentary Channel is only available in Los Angeles to Dish Network subscribers. Watch a video clip from the documentary with the Bad Plus' David King after the jump.)

-- Chris Barton

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

Live review: Playboy Jazz Festival

"Rain or shine" was printed across every Playboy Jazz Festival ticket this year, a boilerplate message that seemed laughably perfunctory for a summertime concert in Southern California but nearly encapsulated each day of the weekend festival.

On Saturday, the Hollywood Bowl stage had to be covered after a late-morning drizzle threatened to soak the first day of the festival's 31st installment. But thankfully, the closest thing to an umbrella seen over the weekend was a mini-parade of white parasols carried by women pulled from the crowd to dance along with the New Birth Brass Band during the group's early Saturday set.

While the New Orleans-based band enjoyed a brief flash of sun seemingly through the sheer force of "St. James Infirmary" and other raucous favorites, the Playboy Jazz Festival didn't need perfect weather to get people in a festive mood.

Indeed, weaving into the near-capacity venue through a logjam of wheeled coolers and Trader Joe's bags gave one the feeling of arriving at the city's largest multicultural potluck as much as at a world-famous jazz festival.

But for all the genial passing of plates between Bowl boxes and bleachers, the festival still comes down to the music.

On Saturday afternoon, Dizzy Gillespie-inspired trumpeter Jon Faddis led his quartet through straight-ahead jazz that earned a swell of appreciation as he touched on Lee Morgan's classic "Sidewinder" before interjecting a somewhat clumsy if well-intended rap that gave a shout-out to Coleman Hawkins, Count Basie and other swing-minded jazz titans.

Rising star Esperanza Spalding, her signature cloud of curly hair hemmed into a ponytail, combined a deep, roomy tone on upright bass with a smoothly soaring voice that ran over the chatty crowd like raw honey. At one point, she delivered a restless, weather-appropriate cover of "Wild Is the Wind" that dared recall Nina Simone, before warning that she and her band would "like to do something that could be considered fusion."

"Hmm," she added slyly.

If she expected outrage after Faddis' more tradition-minded celebration of swing, there was none coming as she switched to a Fender bass for Wayne Shorter's "Endangered Species," adding acrobatic scatting over the twisting composition, a fitting homage to Sunday's performer.

"I hope we got to you a little bit tonight," Spalding said at the close of her set. She needn't have worried.

Radio-friendly acts and underground artists share the stage at this respected two-day event, this weekend at the Hollywood Bowl.

For the hard-core jazz fan, a serious, "Kind of Blue"-dyed collector, the Playboy Jazz Festival can sometimes feel like a bit of an uneven proposition.

On one hand there is the festival itself, a sprawling two-day buffet of non-stop live music, summer sun and good vibrations happening this Saturday and Sunday in one of the most famous and naturally beautiful spaces in the city, the Hollywood Bowl. After 31 years, the combination has become a local tradition, with some fans reserving seats before the lineups are announced. 

On the other hand there is the festival's mass-appeal booking philosophy, one that inevitably leads to the scratching of a few jazz-obsessed heads. 

For every classic performance-in-the-making from such respected artists as the Wayne Shorter Quartet or up-and-coming bassist-singer Esperanza Spalding, there are sets from more broadly commercial acts that can have trouble competing with the festival's, well, festive setting. 

"It can be kind of a mixed blessing," said Herbie Hancock, who has performed at the Playboy Jazz Festival a number of times, including last year. "I'd much rather perform at night when I have some heavy stuff that I'm doing . . . The daytime, for me as a performer and as a member of the audience, it's [conducive to] -- I was going to use the word 'lighter' fare but that can be misconstrued -- anything that has a more overt kind of power to it I think works in the daytime."

Playboy always has had a welcoming attitude toward funk, blues and world music artists, and this year the always impressive Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings and Nigerian icon King Sunny Ade are sure to be among the event's highlights. But it's the festival's fondness for radio-friendly smooth jazz that makes it somewhat unique among its contemporaries.

Sunday marks the return of breezy saxophonist Kenny G, an artist that festival president and executive vice president of Playboy Enterprises Dick Rosenzweig acknowledges is a divisive figure.

"We are running the gamut on this thing," Rosenzweig said. "If a reviewer, starting with Leonard [Feather, the Times' jazz critic until his death in 1994] booked the show . . . we'd have, you know, 8,000 people there. So if the Bowl holds 17,600 or whatever it is, approaching 18,000, we have to appeal to 36,000 people if we count the two days. If we were strictly a purist festival, we couldn't do that." 

The lauded music venue may be closing its doors this weekend, but owner Ruth Price is working on plans to keep the music going.

The Jazz Bakery, a staple of the L.A. music community, will close its doors Sunday after losing its lease, but owner Ruth Price insists it's too early to write a eulogy for the club, which has occupied the same space at the Helms Bakery District for the last 16 years.

"I've been really stressing the word moving, not closing," she said. "But it's been really hard to get people's mind-set away from the most dramatic thing they can think of. It is pretty dramatic any way you look at it, frankly."

Given that the similarly lauded music venue Largo pulled off a successful (if more voluntary) transition to the Coronet Theater last year, Price has reasons to be hopeful. Despite the tough economic climate and the fact that jazz continues to be faced with a shrinking and fragmented audience, she's fielding a number of offers to keep the Bakery alive.

She's working on a partnership with the Grammy Museum downtown that will allow her to present a run of shows there starting as early as late summer, along with tentative plans with Culver City's Kirk Douglas Theatre to take over the space on open nights.

She has also pinpointed two potential sites on the Westside for the club's new permanent home and is working with architects on preliminary sketches. Still, there is no fixed timetable for a new location, or any guarantee that one truly will come to fruition.

"Everywhere we go people talk about our cachet," Price said. "And my joke is I wish we had cash instead of cachet!"

Given the excesses, indulgences and shifting tastes that come with the job, rock bands aren't generally around long enough to stage 40th anniversary tours, and if they are, it seldom amounts to more than a self-congratulatory tribute concert night after night.

Yet somehow these rules didn't apply to the Allman Brothers at the Greek Theatre on Tuesday. Though they've weathered lineup changes and tragedies (especially the 1971 death of guitarist Duane Allman in a motorcycle accident), lone surviving brother and keyboardist Gregg Allman led a seven-piece band (often featuring three, count 'em, three drummers) through an adventurous mix of virtuosic Southern rock and blues that continued and even built upon the band's legacy.

Part of what allows Allman to pull off this time-defying sleight of hand is an infusion of new blood, most notably with gifted slide guitarist Derek Trucks, who was 10 years away from being born when the Allman Brothers released its self-titled debut.

But the stoic, baby-faced nephew of original and current drummer Butch Trucks fit the Allman profile perfectly with his long blond ponytail and Western shirt, to say nothing of his lightning-fueled solos as he traded lead duties with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes. (Haynes stepped in for the departed Dickey Betts, who split with the band as a result of "creative differences" in 2000).

Together Haynes and Trucks have some tie-dyed die-hards saying the Allmans sound better than ever, exemplified Tuesday by a sprawling, 17-minute "Whipping Post" that stood tall against the fiery version from the band's acclaimed "At Fillmore East" album, released the same year as Duane Allman's death.

But to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, it was somewhere around when Bruce Willis joined the Brothers on harmonica when the drugs began to take hold.

Of all the genres in music, jazz might lead them in terms of the sheer number of eulogies that are racked up in its honor on a yearly basis.

Which is, of course, as absurd as the similar calls bemoaning rock's death that come around every few years. However, if recent tribute activity is any indication, jazz may be alive and well, but it's acquired a troubling addiction to its past; a habit that comes with its own crippling side-effects.

But this is far less a fault of the players than it is a side-effect of the schism of sorts that struck jazz in the '80s. Led by critically lauded "young lions" such as Wynton Marsalis, jazz grew fixated on its undeniably rich, pre-fusion roots, celebrating "straightahead" traits such as a swingin' rhythm section, acoustic instruments and, if possible, some really sharp suits.

While that brand of thinking was supported by Ken Burns' well done if somewhat myopic "Jazz" series, the other, seemingly more underground side of jazz that spiraled off into the future with no such boundaries has earned a video tribute of its own with "Icons Among Us," a four-part series airing Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Documentary Channel over the next four weeks.

Tonight's first episode, "A Quiet Revolution, " opens on a provocative note with boundary-pushing artists such as Matthew Shipp, Nicholas Payton, Bill Frisell, Avishai Cohen and a host of others speaking respectfully but not reverently of jazz and those giants who set the standard for the genre many years ago.

Blue Note pianist Robert Glasper (and where was he during the label's recent anniversary celebrations?) sums up a prevailing attitude of the players highlighted in the documentary by imagining Charlie Parker returning from the grave and telling many tradition-minded musicians, "I played that already. Why are you playing that?"

Marsalis also appears to defend his conservative view of jazz, explaining that every art form needs a definition, which is a fair point until you hear many of the young, out-of-the-mainstream players toss labels and limitations aside and move forward on their own. Many of these acts, such as the laptop-assisted piano excursions of Bugge Wesseltoft, don't sound like something you'd hear in a typical jazz club, but perhaps that's the point.

Gifted trumpeter Terence Blanchard sets the tone for perhaps the entire series when he says, "There's a quiet revolution going on in jazz . . . the quietest revolution I've ever heard in my life." With the help of this documentary and a little luck, perhaps the revolution will get just a little bit louder.

(Postscript: Unfortunately, the Documentary Channel is only available in Los Angeles to Dish Network subscribers. Watch a video clip from the documentary with the Bad Plus' David King after the jump.)

-- Chris Barton

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

Playboy Jazz Festival plays to wide audience

Radio-friendly acts and underground artists share the stage at this respected two-day event, this weekend at the Hollywood Bowl.

For the hard-core jazz fan, a serious, "Kind of Blue"-dyed collector, the Playboy Jazz Festival can sometimes feel like a bit of an uneven proposition.

On one hand there is the festival itself, a sprawling two-day buffet of non-stop live music, summer sun and good vibrations happening this Saturday and Sunday in one of the most famous and naturally beautiful spaces in the city, the Hollywood Bowl. After 31 years, the combination has become a local tradition, with some fans reserving seats before the lineups are announced. 

On the other hand there is the festival's mass-appeal booking philosophy, one that inevitably leads to the scratching of a few jazz-obsessed heads. 

For every classic performance-in-the-making from such respected artists as the Wayne Shorter Quartet or up-and-coming bassist-singer Esperanza Spalding, there are sets from more broadly commercial acts that can have trouble competing with the festival's, well, festive setting. 

"It can be kind of a mixed blessing," said Herbie Hancock, who has performed at the Playboy Jazz Festival a number of times, including last year. "I'd much rather perform at night when I have some heavy stuff that I'm doing . . . The daytime, for me as a performer and as a member of the audience, it's [conducive to] -- I was going to use the word 'lighter' fare but that can be misconstrued -- anything that has a more overt kind of power to it I think works in the daytime."

Playboy always has had a welcoming attitude toward funk, blues and world music artists, and this year the always impressive Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings and Nigerian icon King Sunny Ade are sure to be among the event's highlights. But it's the festival's fondness for radio-friendly smooth jazz that makes it somewhat unique among its contemporaries.

Sunday marks the return of breezy saxophonist Kenny G, an artist that festival president and executive vice president of Playboy Enterprises Dick Rosenzweig acknowledges is a divisive figure.

"We are running the gamut on this thing," Rosenzweig said. "If a reviewer, starting with Leonard [Feather, the Times' jazz critic until his death in 1994] booked the show . . . we'd have, you know, 8,000 people there. So if the Bowl holds 17,600 or whatever it is, approaching 18,000, we have to appeal to 36,000 people if we count the two days. If we were strictly a purist festival, we couldn't do that." 

The lauded music venue may be closing its doors this weekend, but owner Ruth Price is working on plans to keep the music going.

The Jazz Bakery, a staple of the L.A. music community, will close its doors Sunday after losing its lease, but owner Ruth Price insists it's too early to write a eulogy for the club, which has occupied the same space at the Helms Bakery District for the last 16 years.

"I've been really stressing the word moving, not closing," she said. "But it's been really hard to get people's mind-set away from the most dramatic thing they can think of. It is pretty dramatic any way you look at it, frankly."

Given that the similarly lauded music venue Largo pulled off a successful (if more voluntary) transition to the Coronet Theater last year, Price has reasons to be hopeful. Despite the tough economic climate and the fact that jazz continues to be faced with a shrinking and fragmented audience, she's fielding a number of offers to keep the Bakery alive.

She's working on a partnership with the Grammy Museum downtown that will allow her to present a run of shows there starting as early as late summer, along with tentative plans with Culver City's Kirk Douglas Theatre to take over the space on open nights.

She has also pinpointed two potential sites on the Westside for the club's new permanent home and is working with architects on preliminary sketches. Still, there is no fixed timetable for a new location, or any guarantee that one truly will come to fruition.

"Everywhere we go people talk about our cachet," Price said. "And my joke is I wish we had cash instead of cachet!"

Given the excesses, indulgences and shifting tastes that come with the job, rock bands aren't generally around long enough to stage 40th anniversary tours, and if they are, it seldom amounts to more than a self-congratulatory tribute concert night after night.

Yet somehow these rules didn't apply to the Allman Brothers at the Greek Theatre on Tuesday. Though they've weathered lineup changes and tragedies (especially the 1971 death of guitarist Duane Allman in a motorcycle accident), lone surviving brother and keyboardist Gregg Allman led a seven-piece band (often featuring three, count 'em, three drummers) through an adventurous mix of virtuosic Southern rock and blues that continued and even built upon the band's legacy.

Part of what allows Allman to pull off this time-defying sleight of hand is an infusion of new blood, most notably with gifted slide guitarist Derek Trucks, who was 10 years away from being born when the Allman Brothers released its self-titled debut.

But the stoic, baby-faced nephew of original and current drummer Butch Trucks fit the Allman profile perfectly with his long blond ponytail and Western shirt, to say nothing of his lightning-fueled solos as he traded lead duties with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes. (Haynes stepped in for the departed Dickey Betts, who split with the band as a result of "creative differences" in 2000).

Together Haynes and Trucks have some tie-dyed die-hards saying the Allmans sound better than ever, exemplified Tuesday by a sprawling, 17-minute "Whipping Post" that stood tall against the fiery version from the band's acclaimed "At Fillmore East" album, released the same year as Duane Allman's death.

But to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, it was somewhere around when Bruce Willis joined the Brothers on harmonica when the drugs began to take hold.

Of all the genres in music, jazz might lead them in terms of the sheer number of eulogies that are racked up in its honor on a yearly basis.

Which is, of course, as absurd as the similar calls bemoaning rock's death that come around every few years. However, if recent tribute activity is any indication, jazz may be alive and well, but it's acquired a troubling addiction to its past; a habit that comes with its own crippling side-effects.

But this is far less a fault of the players than it is a side-effect of the schism of sorts that struck jazz in the '80s. Led by critically lauded "young lions" such as Wynton Marsalis, jazz grew fixated on its undeniably rich, pre-fusion roots, celebrating "straightahead" traits such as a swingin' rhythm section, acoustic instruments and, if possible, some really sharp suits.

While that brand of thinking was supported by Ken Burns' well done if somewhat myopic "Jazz" series, the other, seemingly more underground side of jazz that spiraled off into the future with no such boundaries has earned a video tribute of its own with "Icons Among Us," a four-part series airing Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Documentary Channel over the next four weeks.

Tonight's first episode, "A Quiet Revolution, " opens on a provocative note with boundary-pushing artists such as Matthew Shipp, Nicholas Payton, Bill Frisell, Avishai Cohen and a host of others speaking respectfully but not reverently of jazz and those giants who set the standard for the genre many years ago.

Blue Note pianist Robert Glasper (and where was he during the label's recent anniversary celebrations?) sums up a prevailing attitude of the players highlighted in the documentary by imagining Charlie Parker returning from the grave and telling many tradition-minded musicians, "I played that already. Why are you playing that?"

Marsalis also appears to defend his conservative view of jazz, explaining that every art form needs a definition, which is a fair point until you hear many of the young, out-of-the-mainstream players toss labels and limitations aside and move forward on their own. Many of these acts, such as the laptop-assisted piano excursions of Bugge Wesseltoft, don't sound like something you'd hear in a typical jazz club, but perhaps that's the point.

Gifted trumpeter Terence Blanchard sets the tone for perhaps the entire series when he says, "There's a quiet revolution going on in jazz . . . the quietest revolution I've ever heard in my life." With the help of this documentary and a little luck, perhaps the revolution will get just a little bit louder.

(Postscript: Unfortunately, the Documentary Channel is only available in Los Angeles to Dish Network subscribers. Watch a video clip from the documentary with the Bad Plus' David King after the jump.)

-- Chris Barton

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

The doors are closing, but the Jazz Bakery is still in play

The lauded music venue may be closing its doors this weekend, but owner Ruth Price is working on plans to keep the music going.

The Jazz Bakery, a staple of the L.A. music community, will close its doors Sunday after losing its lease, but owner Ruth Price insists it's too early to write a eulogy for the club, which has occupied the same space at the Helms Bakery District for the last 16 years.

"I've been really stressing the word moving, not closing," she said. "But it's been really hard to get people's mind-set away from the most dramatic thing they can think of. It is pretty dramatic any way you look at it, frankly."

Given that the similarly lauded music venue Largo pulled off a successful (if more voluntary) transition to the Coronet Theater last year, Price has reasons to be hopeful. Despite the tough economic climate and the fact that jazz continues to be faced with a shrinking and fragmented audience, she's fielding a number of offers to keep the Bakery alive.

She's working on a partnership with the Grammy Museum downtown that will allow her to present a run of shows there starting as early as late summer, along with tentative plans with Culver City's Kirk Douglas Theatre to take over the space on open nights.

She has also pinpointed two potential sites on the Westside for the club's new permanent home and is working with architects on preliminary sketches. Still, there is no fixed timetable for a new location, or any guarantee that one truly will come to fruition.

"Everywhere we go people talk about our cachet," Price said. "And my joke is I wish we had cash instead of cachet!"

Given the excesses, indulgences and shifting tastes that come with the job, rock bands aren't generally around long enough to stage 40th anniversary tours, and if they are, it seldom amounts to more than a self-congratulatory tribute concert night after night.

Yet somehow these rules didn't apply to the Allman Brothers at the Greek Theatre on Tuesday. Though they've weathered lineup changes and tragedies (especially the 1971 death of guitarist Duane Allman in a motorcycle accident), lone surviving brother and keyboardist Gregg Allman led a seven-piece band (often featuring three, count 'em, three drummers) through an adventurous mix of virtuosic Southern rock and blues that continued and even built upon the band's legacy.

Part of what allows Allman to pull off this time-defying sleight of hand is an infusion of new blood, most notably with gifted slide guitarist Derek Trucks, who was 10 years away from being born when the Allman Brothers released its self-titled debut.

But the stoic, baby-faced nephew of original and current drummer Butch Trucks fit the Allman profile perfectly with his long blond ponytail and Western shirt, to say nothing of his lightning-fueled solos as he traded lead duties with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes. (Haynes stepped in for the departed Dickey Betts, who split with the band as a result of "creative differences" in 2000).

Together Haynes and Trucks have some tie-dyed die-hards saying the Allmans sound better than ever, exemplified Tuesday by a sprawling, 17-minute "Whipping Post" that stood tall against the fiery version from the band's acclaimed "At Fillmore East" album, released the same year as Duane Allman's death.

But to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, it was somewhere around when Bruce Willis joined the Brothers on harmonica when the drugs began to take hold.

Of all the genres in music, jazz might lead them in terms of the sheer number of eulogies that are racked up in its honor on a yearly basis.

Which is, of course, as absurd as the similar calls bemoaning rock's death that come around every few years. However, if recent tribute activity is any indication, jazz may be alive and well, but it's acquired a troubling addiction to its past; a habit that comes with its own crippling side-effects.

But this is far less a fault of the players than it is a side-effect of the schism of sorts that struck jazz in the '80s. Led by critically lauded "young lions" such as Wynton Marsalis, jazz grew fixated on its undeniably rich, pre-fusion roots, celebrating "straightahead" traits such as a swingin' rhythm section, acoustic instruments and, if possible, some really sharp suits.

While that brand of thinking was supported by Ken Burns' well done if somewhat myopic "Jazz" series, the other, seemingly more underground side of jazz that spiraled off into the future with no such boundaries has earned a video tribute of its own with "Icons Among Us," a four-part series airing Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Documentary Channel over the next four weeks.

Tonight's first episode, "A Quiet Revolution, " opens on a provocative note with boundary-pushing artists such as Matthew Shipp, Nicholas Payton, Bill Frisell, Avishai Cohen and a host of others speaking respectfully but not reverently of jazz and those giants who set the standard for the genre many years ago.

Blue Note pianist Robert Glasper (and where was he during the label's recent anniversary celebrations?) sums up a prevailing attitude of the players highlighted in the documentary by imagining Charlie Parker returning from the grave and telling many tradition-minded musicians, "I played that already. Why are you playing that?"

Marsalis also appears to defend his conservative view of jazz, explaining that every art form needs a definition, which is a fair point until you hear many of the young, out-of-the-mainstream players toss labels and limitations aside and move forward on their own. Many of these acts, such as the laptop-assisted piano excursions of Bugge Wesseltoft, don't sound like something you'd hear in a typical jazz club, but perhaps that's the point.

Gifted trumpeter Terence Blanchard sets the tone for perhaps the entire series when he says, "There's a quiet revolution going on in jazz . . . the quietest revolution I've ever heard in my life." With the help of this documentary and a little luck, perhaps the revolution will get just a little bit louder.

(Postscript: Unfortunately, the Documentary Channel is only available in Los Angeles to Dish Network subscribers. Watch a video clip from the documentary with the Bad Plus' David King after the jump.)

-- Chris Barton

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

Live Review: The Allman Brothers at the Greek Theatre

Given the excesses, indulgences and shifting tastes that come with the job, rock bands aren't generally around long enough to stage 40th anniversary tours, and if they are, it seldom amounts to more than a self-congratulatory tribute concert night after night.

Yet somehow these rules didn't apply to the Allman Brothers at the Greek Theatre on Tuesday. Though they've weathered lineup changes and tragedies (especially the 1971 death of guitarist Duane Allman in a motorcycle accident), lone surviving brother and keyboardist Gregg Allman led a seven-piece band (often featuring three, count 'em, three drummers) through an adventurous mix of virtuosic Southern rock and blues that continued and even built upon the band's legacy.

Part of what allows Allman to pull off this time-defying sleight of hand is an infusion of new blood, most notably with gifted slide guitarist Derek Trucks, who was 10 years away from being born when the Allman Brothers released its self-titled debut.

But the stoic, baby-faced nephew of original and current drummer Butch Trucks fit the Allman profile perfectly with his long blond ponytail and Western shirt, to say nothing of his lightning-fueled solos as he traded lead duties with fellow guitarist Warren Haynes. (Haynes stepped in for the departed Dickey Betts, who split with the band as a result of "creative differences" in 2000).

Together Haynes and Trucks have some tie-dyed die-hards saying the Allmans sound better than ever, exemplified Tuesday by a sprawling, 17-minute "Whipping Post" that stood tall against the fiery version from the band's acclaimed "At Fillmore East" album, released the same year as Duane Allman's death.

But to paraphrase Hunter S. Thompson, it was somewhere around when Bruce Willis joined the Brothers on harmonica when the drugs began to take hold.

Of all the genres in music, jazz might lead them in terms of the sheer number of eulogies that are racked up in its honor on a yearly basis.

Which is, of course, as absurd as the similar calls bemoaning rock's death that come around every few years. However, if recent tribute activity is any indication, jazz may be alive and well, but it's acquired a troubling addiction to its past; a habit that comes with its own crippling side-effects.

But this is far less a fault of the players than it is a side-effect of the schism of sorts that struck jazz in the '80s. Led by critically lauded "young lions" such as Wynton Marsalis, jazz grew fixated on its undeniably rich, pre-fusion roots, celebrating "straightahead" traits such as a swingin' rhythm section, acoustic instruments and, if possible, some really sharp suits.

While that brand of thinking was supported by Ken Burns' well done if somewhat myopic "Jazz" series, the other, seemingly more underground side of jazz that spiraled off into the future with no such boundaries has earned a video tribute of its own with "Icons Among Us," a four-part series airing Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Documentary Channel over the next four weeks.

Tonight's first episode, "A Quiet Revolution, " opens on a provocative note with boundary-pushing artists such as Matthew Shipp, Nicholas Payton, Bill Frisell, Avishai Cohen and a host of others speaking respectfully but not reverently of jazz and those giants who set the standard for the genre many years ago.

Blue Note pianist Robert Glasper (and where was he during the label's recent anniversary celebrations?) sums up a prevailing attitude of the players highlighted in the documentary by imagining Charlie Parker returning from the grave and telling many tradition-minded musicians, "I played that already. Why are you playing that?"

Marsalis also appears to defend his conservative view of jazz, explaining that every art form needs a definition, which is a fair point until you hear many of the young, out-of-the-mainstream players toss labels and limitations aside and move forward on their own. Many of these acts, such as the laptop-assisted piano excursions of Bugge Wesseltoft, don't sound like something you'd hear in a typical jazz club, but perhaps that's the point.

Gifted trumpeter Terence Blanchard sets the tone for perhaps the entire series when he says, "There's a quiet revolution going on in jazz . . . the quietest revolution I've ever heard in my life." With the help of this documentary and a little luck, perhaps the revolution will get just a little bit louder.

(Postscript: Unfortunately, the Documentary Channel is only available in Los Angeles to Dish Network subscribers. Watch a video clip from the documentary with the Bad Plus' David King after the jump.)

-- Chris Barton

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

'Icons Among Us' shows jazz in a different light

Of all the genres in music, jazz might lead them in terms of the sheer number of eulogies that are racked up in its honor on a yearly basis.

Which is, of course, as absurd as the similar calls bemoaning rock's death that come around every few years. However, if recent tribute activity is any indication, jazz may be alive and well, but it's acquired a troubling addiction to its past; a habit that comes with its own crippling side-effects.

But this is far less a fault of the players than it is a side-effect of the schism of sorts that struck jazz in the '80s. Led by critically lauded "young lions" such as Wynton Marsalis, jazz grew fixated on its undeniably rich, pre-fusion roots, celebrating "straightahead" traits such as a swingin' rhythm section, acoustic instruments and, if possible, some really sharp suits.

While that brand of thinking was supported by Ken Burns' well done if somewhat myopic "Jazz" series, the other, seemingly more underground side of jazz that spiraled off into the future with no such boundaries has earned a video tribute of its own with "Icons Among Us," a four-part series airing Mondays at 9 p.m. on the Documentary Channel over the next four weeks.

Tonight's first episode, "A Quiet Revolution, " opens on a provocative note with boundary-pushing artists such as Matthew Shipp, Nicholas Payton, Bill Frisell, Avishai Cohen and a host of others speaking respectfully but not reverently of jazz and those giants who set the standard for the genre many years ago.

Blue Note pianist Robert Glasper (and where was he during the label's recent anniversary celebrations?) sums up a prevailing attitude of the players highlighted in the documentary by imagining Charlie Parker returning from the grave and telling many tradition-minded musicians, "I played that already. Why are you playing that?"

Marsalis also appears to defend his conservative view of jazz, explaining that every art form needs a definition, which is a fair point until you hear many of the young, out-of-the-mainstream players toss labels and limitations aside and move forward on their own. Many of these acts, such as the laptop-assisted piano excursions of Bugge Wesseltoft, don't sound like something you'd hear in a typical jazz club, but perhaps that's the point.

Gifted trumpeter Terence Blanchard sets the tone for perhaps the entire series when he says, "There's a quiet revolution going on in jazz . . . the quietest revolution I've ever heard in my life." With the help of this documentary and a little luck, perhaps the revolution will get just a little bit louder.

(Postscript: Unfortunately, the Documentary Channel is only available in Los Angeles to Dish Network subscribers. Watch a video clip from the documentary with the Bad Plus' David King after the jump.)

-- Chris Barton

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

Review: Bill Frisell's Disfarmer Project at Skirball Center

Long known for merging rustic Americana with atmospheric jazz, Bill Frisell brought to the Skirball Center on Thursday night his new Disfarmer Project, a suite of as-yet-untitled compositions intended for a future CD release that are inspired by the American photographer known as Disfarmer.

An eccentric, reclusive man, Disfarmer, born Mike Meyers, became an outsider art figure revered for his stark Depression-era portraits of farmers and families around Heber Springs, Ark.  The odd details surrounding his life seem pulled from a Tom Waits song -- his aging into a mysterious Boo Radley figure, his chosen moniker, which came as a reaction to learning his last name translated as "farmer" in German.

Projections of Disfarmer's portraits flanked either side of the stage as Frisell led frequent collaborators Viktor Krauss, Jenny Scheinman and Greg Leisz through rustic instrumentals that offered a ghostly window into the lives of the photographer's subjects.

On screens divided into panels recalling stained glass, faces from Disfarmer's time morphed into one another as Frisell's intricate compositions shifted seamlessly from one mood to the next, coloring the black and white portraits.

At times Scheinman's keening violin gave the compositions the feel of a hill country chamber recital, while in  other instances Frisell's biting tone took the evening into a more unfettered place, especially as he turned to a number of electronic effects at his side.

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

Maynard James Keenan talks Puscifer, not so much Tool

While his full-time band Tool gears up for a still-vague summer tour (wee trickles of details here), front man Maynard James Keenan has been keeping busy launching the first mini-tour for his left-field side project Puscifer (which rhymes with "Lucifer," if you're curious).

Not all that falsely described on its YouTube page as "booty bass from Jerome, Arizona," Puscifer's smirking lech-funk is a far cry from the churning guitars and catharsis of Tool, and a military-satirizing video released in advance of the band's Vegas shows in February hints at a performance that steps outside big rock show traditions.

Primus drummer Tim "Herb" Alexander, Milla Jovovich and Juliette Commagere are among Keenan's musical co-conspirators for the band's dates at Club Nokia this weekend, and "Mr. Show" alums Brian Posehn and Mary Lynn Rajskub will also appear via video. Tool drummer Danny Carey is also expected to join the fun Sunday night, though I wouldn't hold out for anything from the Tool songbook.

After the jump, I talk with Maynard about Puscifer and the band's unconventional show.

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.

Album review: Diana Krall's 'Quiet Nights'

Diana Krall's albums should come with a warning label: Do not use while operating heavy machinery. This is not a knock: Krall's round, relaxed voice is a nuanced instrument ideally suited for, as this album's title indicates, quiet nights. With this collection delving exclusively into the worlds of classic ballads and bossa nova, the singer is in an even quieter place than usual.

Which is a bit of a shame. There's nothing terribly wrong with Krall's breathy take on Antonio Carlos Jobim with a faithfully bouncy "The Boy From Ipanema" and "Quiet Nights"; the songs glide by with such an evenhanded subtlety it's almost subliminal. The only mild frustration is, other than Krall's tackling of the Portuguese-language "Este Seu Olhar" from João Gilberto, there isn't really anything new or unexpected here.

Burt Bacharach's "Walk On By" gets a slightly sassy knock from Krall's vocal turn, but any seductive kick she could have offered gets lost among the soft-focused string arrangements that shadow the whole album.

Still, Krall is in fine voice throughout, and her delicate piano work gets time to shine as well, notably on the bossa nova standard "So Nice." While fans looking for a classic, none-too-jarring soundtrack for a romantic evening surely will follow this record happily into their good night, Krall has offered us more than that in the past.

-- Chris Barton

Diana Krall
"Quiet Nights"
Verve
Two and a half stars

Albums are rated on a scale of one to four stars.