LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA - Four elderly gentlemen — “gentlemen” in that forgotten traditional sense of the word — slowly came on stage wearing beautifully tailored tuxes and exuding a very friendly air of confidence. They seemed like four guys who’d played a lot of Bar Mitzvahs and weddings together. The chair at the piano with the cushion on the seat cinched up the Bar Mitzvah look.

Each went to his instrument, conferred with each other with the nod of a head, and then…and then…The Dave Brubeck Quartet slid into Jimmy McHugh’s “Sunny Side of the Street.” We, the audience, all slid into that place that we all have that just grooves no matter how old we are, what color we are, or what our personal histories are. It’s sort of like Uncle Remus’s “laughin’ place.” And we were there. Nowhere but there for this magical, what may be one of the last in a lifetime of concerts.

I grew up seeing Dave Brubeck’s record albums under my brother’s arm as he stacked the records on the spindle of the hi-fi, and then me whistling along through my teeth to “Take Five.” I was the only second grader who could “whistle/scat” “Take Five” with no front teeth. And here I was seeing him in person after all these decades. The musicians I specifically remember listening to him play with on the records were Cal Tjader, Paul Desmond, and Gerry Mulligan — all part of our musical history now — but Dave Brubeck was here in the flesh and everything I could have wished for — as “feel good” as that first kiss.

With the gentle “whisk-whisk” of the brushes of Randy Jones on his snare, and Bobby Militello on the sax, Michael Moore on bass, and Brubeck contrapuntally bringing in the broad, sweeping chords of movie music, we glided through the music with them, which ended with a final quiet “ting” resonating on Jones’s cymbals, as everyone sat spellbound as it found a new home in the distance. If nothing else, Mr. Brubeck has also come the distance — and a very unusual distance at that.

Born in 1920, he studied music with his mother who was a classical pianist, but when his family moved to a cattle ranch at the foot of the Sierra Nevadas, he stopped his music lessons and became…a cowboy on his father’s ranch! Weekends were spent playing with the local dance bands. During WWII, he led an integrated jazz band. Upon coming home, he studied composition at Mills College with Darius Milhaud, one of the most foremost French composers and theorists of the 20th century, who encouraged him to introduce elements of jazz into his classical compositions.

Mr. Brubeck’s continuing experimentation with integrating jazz and classical music is what I was privileged to be listening to now.

The second piece was unfamiliar to me (there was no program), but Mr. Brubeck played a boogie-woogie bass while Bobby Militello came to the front with his saxophone and let us go on a journey with him. A short way into his solo, which created an exciting vibrancy, there was a suddenly recognizable snatch of “The Grand Canyon Suite” by Ferde Grofe from 1931 which slid in and slid out before you could even put your finger on it.

The next piece was introduced with a strict 4/4 marching beat from the percussionist Randy Jones, and although everyone joined in, especially with Mr. Brubeck’s “walking bass” in his left hand that was truly dazzling, this piece was really all about Randy Jones and his drum solo. This solo was developed and slowly built until it was absolutely orgasmic and left us all breathless and spent as it slowly took us back to the 4/4 march, which disappeared until inaudible, not unlike “Amazing Grace” on the bagpipes at funerals, except there was nothing funereal about this piece.

From there, we were absolutely enveloped in Jerome Kern’s always hauntingly melancholic “Yesterdays.” Michael Moore lovingly embraced his bass as a lover would embrace a beloved, and with his gentle bowing, coaxed the melody out. There’s a reason that Moore has been described by The New York Times as “one of the most consistently brilliant bassists in recent history” — his interpretation of this seemingly simple melody brought its subtle intricacies to the surface to enchant those who were unfamiliar with the piece and to re-enchant those of us familiar with it.

Of course, all of us were waiting for “you know” –- “Take Five”! Age made no difference in the anticipation of this classic. Everyone, from an audience member who looked liked Charles Darwin, honestly, to a family that had brought their two young teenagers, waited in respectful anticipation thinking each piece would be “it.”

Mr. Brubeck started to gently play a truly ethereal opening to the next piece. The sound of singular clapping somewhere in the audience gave it away. This was it. Slowly, oh so slowly, the musicians who were playing their own riff wended their way together to teasingly give us just a taste of what was to come. And it did. “Take Five” became just “Take Me Alive” to the audience. Everyone was involved in their own memory of the piece in conjunction with what was being played, and everyone — audience members and musicians — was transported to another time and place. As it ended, it was easy to tell that everyone greedily wanted more…but at the same time, it was enough to digest.

To take the edge off of what we’d just experienced, Mr. Brubeck, with his wonderfully warm smile and a twinkle in his playing, went into “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”! Oh, that’s right; we were in the middle of the World Series. This bit of humor was so like the evening — nothing pretentious here. No theatrics, no wasted motion — just an invitation to feel good for a while. But I still feel good and I always will, every time I remember that special evening with four gracious gentlemen in impeccable tuxedoes generously sharing their infinite talent and love of music.

Popularity: 1% [?]