ETHEL FAIR Part II
Tonight, nearly accidentally, I attended a musical event at Symphony Space called "the Second Annual Ethel Fair" through the auspices of my friend Lisa (who came into Manhattan with her youngest daughter to see the performance and had an extra ticket).

The evening was built around the cordial amplified string quartet "Ethel," who apparently for a decade have been touring, performing, and acquiring grants to bring progressive new quasi-hip new music all over the US. The quartet played three works on their own (including a world premiere of a Mel Stewart piece played on amplified noisemaking instruments called 'daxophones') and also presented a number of guest artists, each of which performed both on their own and in tandem with Ethel.

All the guest artists were musically more interesting than Ethel themselves, though one cannot deny that Ethel was clearly the catalyst for the rather buoyantly upbeat spirit of the evening, and the quartet's onstage persona was rather charming, either genuinely or as an adjunct to a finely-honed earnest enthusiastic stage demeanor which has probably helped them build their following and their funding. But in truth the weakest link artistically among the evening's participants was this hosting ensemble. They seem to emphasize a lot of sliding portamenti and furious tremulando in their original material, but it didn't seem to add up to much of anything as music. And the premiere was the weakest, most insubstantial thing on the long program, sounding more like something out of the Princeton Electronic Music Lab of the 60s than anything particularly cogent or compelling for the 21st century -- the 'daxophones' made a lot of farty vibratory noises which were heavily processed through reverb and effects -- there were sort-of pitches, and certainly a rudimentary rhythmic interplay, but it was certainly not particularly convincing as music. Composer Stewart did let the last of its 7 movements revert to the string quartet on their own instruments (with no participation from Stewart's daxophone until the very last note), making it a homophonic coda that was the most accessible playing Ethel did the entire evening.

But offsetting my lukewarm reaction to Ethel was the high quality of the guest artists. The most astonishing of them was harmonica virtuoso Howard Levy -- and if ever the term 'harmonica virtuoso' deserved to be used on anyone, Mr. Levy is that person. From a standpoint of sheer superhuman technique and accomplishment, Levy was one of those musicians whose skill and artistry on his instrument is rather breathtaking. He accomplished some effects (during an extended set of variations on "Amazing Grace") that I literally cannot fathom how he could achieve at all, such as one passage where he played a legato melody while simultaneously accompanying it with rhythmically staccato chords -- sounding like a two handed accordionist. But aside from the fierce technique, he was even more importantly one of those musicians that other musicians can't help but admire. Every note was active and expressive. His command of vibrato and expressive phrasing and note-bending rivaled the greatest musicians on any instrument I've ever heard. And, most impressively of all, he was infallible all night, note-perfect, virtuosic, improvising flawlessly with wit and grace, taste and stunning technique. Don't think Toots Thielemans here. Think of a Paganini on the harmonica, with equal ease in classical or jazz. Like seeing Chris Thile perform with his band "Punch Brothers" recently, I felt like I was watching one of the greatest, most accomplished musicians on his particular instrument possibly in the entire world.

The other highlight for me was the presence of Jill Sobule as the 'closing act' of the show. She performed only three songs, but they were real Sobule classics ("Mexican Wrestler," "Resistance Song" and "Cinnamon Park") and there was a certain graceful magic to the participation of the Ethel quartet with her. And for "Cinnamon Park," nearly all the performers from the entire evening joined in to join her in a raucously jubilant free-for-all. Jill's trademark combination of fiercely witty and musically accomplished songs and offbeat and eccentric stage personality were endearingly present, despite her appearing to have arrived late and rushing onto the stage (and messing up the lyrics of the first song, having to go back and pick up the second stanza of "Mexican Wrestler"). She probably had the least stage time of anyone on the program, but with Jill at the microphone, you knew you were watching one of the two people on the concert who are as good at what they do as anyone else in the world.

Nearly in this same category was banjo artist Dean Osborne, from the noted dynasty of bluegrass-playing Osbornes. Mr. Osborne may not be one of the best banjo players you'll ever hear, but he carries with him an authentic connection to the best traditions and sincerity of his field. His demeanor and music-making were gentle, winning, generous and very endearing. HIs duet with Howard Levy was the most delicately lovely moment of the whole concert.

I was also very impressed with Rives, the Def Poetry Jam performance-artist poet. It's difficult to evaluate why my impression was as positive as it was, but I think it has something to do with the fact that, unlike for example the music that Ethel played, Rives' work had a sense of proportion and direction and 'completeness,' even in its rather looser delivery, that made it seem that it had the stuff of which genuine art is made: economy, an interior logic of its own, organizational proportion that allowed us to feel that things took exactly as long as they needed to, were balanced and conclusive. The icing on the cake for this unusual performer was his contribution to the finale, where he customized his final poem to include things that had been said or done by every participant that evening, thus proving that he was both attentive to what everyone else did and also that he could construct an impromptu poem based on 'snapshots' of the evening's events, that was every bit as moving as the rehearsed material he shared earlier.

Rounding out the evening was the Brooklyn progressive jazz quartet 'Gutbucket.' Their music was not exactly my cup of tea, but I could fully appreciate and respect the tradition they were occupying (with great conviction and enthusiasm). I actually thought they were quite good at what they do, though it is a style and approach that I don't personally relate to very strongly. But, tellingly, in the penultimate finale (in which Gutbucket, Ethel and Howard Levy all performed two instrumental numbers together), it was the composition by Gutbucket's sax player Ken, with its Bulgarian rhythms, which was by far the better music. This was followed by something written by Ethel's violinist Neil, which while it allowed for some extended improvisation, most notably by Mr. Levy, was, again, quite simply NOT really very good music at all.

All in all, the evening was highly enjoyable, and I'd even consider going to the same event next year. Ethel seems to have good taste in collaborators and colleagues. But I couldn't help but find it curious that of everyone on the stage, the 'hollowest' participants from a musical standpoint were Ethel themselves. Not that they are without talent -- on the contrary, they can obviously all play their instruments well enough, and there's no denying their commitment to each other and to what they do. Yet by no yardstick that I as a fellow musician can use could I honestly say they achieved any real sense of distinction with what they seemed to do on their own. Not that it is bad, or unprofessional. On the contrary, there is a well-modulated and generally appealing sense of positive presence about them on the stage, and they seemed to be playing with earnestness, enthusiasm and obvious conviction that they have something to say. If only (based on my limited experience of them tonight) they could increase the quality of the music they are playing, and not be afraid to play music of both greater musical sophistication and more expressive range, I think they would be more satisfying.

But no-one in the house today (who had obviously bought tickets so ostensibly are fans of Ethel) was complaining. The audience seemed to embrace the spirit of the evening, in which every heart, from the four strings players through to every guest on the stage, was exactly in the right place. :) And that definitely counts for something.