Musings

Oh, Ornette

In a porkpie hat and powder-blue suit, he shuffled gingerly onstage. At age 75, the lion of “free jazz” seemed frail, but when he put his lips to the saxophone …

Accompanied by bassists, Tony Falanga and Greg Cohen, and his son, drummer Denardo Coleman, he played, seemingly effortlessly. There were languid echoes of cool jazz, insistent hard bop and the occasional snippet of funk. Falanga mostly bowed his instrument, while Cohen plucked his. Denardo self-effacingly accompanied on drums.

I remember listening to Ornette Coleman, as a youth, on Radio Canada’s late-night jazz show. There, in my darkened bedroom, Coleman’s music seemed like a message in a bottle, unlike anything I’d ever heard before.

Tonight was the first time I had the opportunity to see him in concert. Sitting in the 4^th row, I was spellbound, from the first notes, through the encore of Turnaround.