JAZZ REVIEWS : Joe Houston Delivers, With Two Honks to Spare

If it’s true that Joe Houston is the last of the honkin’ saxophonists, as the title of his latest CD suggests, then the genre is in trouble.

Houston’s first set Friday at the Club Zot in the Hyatt Regency Irvine featured a kinder, gentler Houston than one would expect, and a performance that was a far cry from the raucous sax attack that the R & B veteran has been identified with for more than 40 years.

That’s not to say that Houston has adopted a lighter, more svelte delivery, of the sort offered by Lester Young or Stan Getz. There were still plenty of exciting moments filled with squeals, goose-calls and rowdy-toned phrases. But only twice, for those who were counting, did Houston really bust out and honk, accenting a rough-hewn phrase with a blast in the lower register. The result was something akin to attending a Tony Bennett concert and not hearing “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”

But Houston did deliver the goods on other counts, playing the kind of accessible lines that mesh well with down-and-dirty blues. And though he’s not necessarily known as a singer, Houston’s voice was the centerpiece of the evening, a broad, assertive instrument that recalled B. B. King in strength and tone.

Maybe the somewhat reserved sax playing was due to the decorous setting. The bandstand in the Club Zot is set in a comfortable but small lounge with the feel of a bank president’s living room. The intimacy and directness the setting brought to Houston’s appearance made the show a special event indeed, much like having the well-traveled saxophonist appearing in your own den.

Houston, who’s expert at playing to a crowd, took full advantage of the close quarters, not only while on stage but afterward, when he circulated among the audience telling tales of his Texas roots and the days he jammed with Cannonball Adderley and John Coltrane, or roomed in Florida with a skinny piano player named Ray Charles. Houston is one musician who’s as outgoing offstage as he is on.

Backed by four-piece blues band The Defrosterz, Houston mixed classics such as “Honey Hush” and “I’m a Man” with original tunes that spun stories much like those he told between sets.

Though not always served to advantage by his support crew, Houston didn’t seem to mind, singing in a way that let the beat catch up to him while playing sax in a style that served to lead the band in a direction and pace of his choosing.

When he did cut loose on saxophone, the intensity level went up a couple of notches. He played curt, to-the-point be-bop lines on alto and grizzly-toned phrases of three or four notes on tenor. While the honks were missing, the squeals were not, as Houston charged up his solos with high-pitched hog calls at various times during the set. Long-sustained single tones allowed the band to swell behind him. The sheer enthusiasm the saxophonist projected as he bounced, turned and strutted with his instrument helped propel the sounds that came from his horn.

The Defrosterz, led by onetime Albert Collins bassist Mark St John, opened with a quartet of tunes that identified them as a game party band with a few rough edges still to work out.

Though a late substitute to the band, guitarist Rick Barcelo added some nice solo touches while struggling to add accompaniment to the out-of-kilter pace.

Drummer Kathy Voss sometimes struggled to maintain the time, but aggressively varied her play with interesting changes and accents laid against keyboardist Mike Malone’s vocals. Voss also sang on a couple of numbers with a plain-Jane, country twang that added sincerity to her effort.

The band seemed less together behind Houston, but it didn’t really matter. The saxophonist, both with his voice and instrument, had a way of keeping the proceedings on the jump, despite a wobbly looseness. If only he had seen fit to cut loose with a few more honks.