He’s Not Just Whistling Dixie

Let’s get one thing straight about Woody Allen’s clarinet playing: It’s not a stunt.

Sure, the only real reason he was on stage at the Jazz Bakery Tuesday night with the Eddy Davis New Orleans Jazz Band was to promote his new movie, “The Curse of the Jade Scorpion.” (OK, that part of it was somewhat a stunt.) But the fact is, despite his habitual protestations to the contrary, Allen is a pretty fair player.

True, he started a bit strangely with a few yelps and squeaks--the result, perhaps, of a dry mouth and a dry reed. But with a change of reed and a few tunes under his belt, he finally began to relax. Sitting on stage in the front line of the seven-piece band, with the veteran, banjo-playing Davis directly alongside for support and comfort, Allen had an endearingly ingenuous look about him.

As Allen hid behind his horn-rimmed glasses, looking straight ahead, wide-eyed, his demeanor and his manner seemed far more youthful than the weary visage he presents in “Jade Scorpion.” And by the time the program was half over, he had loosened up even more, smiling occasionally, rocking back and forth with the rhythm, even mouthing some of the words in one or two of the band vocal numbers.

His playing, despite its obvious references to New Orleans greats such as George Lewis and Sidney Bechet, had a distinctly Allen-esque character. Driven by a broadly vibrating sound--ranging from a baying low register to penetrating, high-note wails--his soloing, unlike his writing, was unrestricted by intellectual consider-ations. Improvising with a spontaneous invention that escalated in interest as the set continued, Allen’s musical offerings were emotionally revelatory, quick-take but fascinating perspectives on the nonverbal elements that lie at the root of his artistic persona.

That may sound like a grandiose claim for what was, after all, an evening of charming, immensely entertaining New Orleans music. The other players--trumpeter Simon Wettonhall, trombonist Dave Sager (filling in as a last-minute replacement), pianist Cynthia Sayer, bassist Conal Fowkes and drummer Robert Garcia--offered plenty of first-rate music-making of their own.

But Allen, earlier this week, described music-making as “a much, much more thrilling thing” than writing or directing. And the essence of what that thrill means to him radiated through every note he played--from the occasional squawks and squeaks to his ebullient up-tempo playing and his breathy ballad work.

Interestingly, Allen’s playing strengths (despite his disavowals) clearly must be apparent to Davis, since many of the group’s numbers placed his strongly projected lines carrying the melody, rather than--as might be expected in this musical style--Wettonhall’s trumpet. And it was an excellent choice. Cutting through the ensemble in pieces ranging from New Orleans standards to hymns such as “The Old Rugged Cross” and an occasional blues, Allen’s clarinet led the ensemble with surprising sureness.

The packed-house crowd, sprinkled with a few celebrities, reacted enthusiastically to every number, and especially to every solo from Allen. One couldn’t help but speculate, however, on how large the turnout would have been for the Eddy Davis band without Woody Allen.

Still, the final encore, in which Allen and Davis dueted on a few numbers--including a quiet but intense rendering of “After You’ve Gone”--affirmed that, despite the marquee glow that had brought out such a large crowd, it was Allen’s music, not his name, that really had mattered.