Chilled Out Beneath a Blazing Sun

The party atmosphere prevailed--as it usually does--at the Hollywood Bowl on Saturday during opening day of the 23rd Playboy Jazz Festival. In typical fashion, the event unfolded in three distinct segments: a laid-back afternoon opening, baking beneath an early summer sun; an early evening dinner period in which wine and food were predominant; and a final, nighttime phase largely oriented toward pop jazz.

If it sounds as though most of the music at the festival took second place to partying, lobbing beach balls around and getting an early start on suntanning, that’s pretty much the way it unfolded. Which was not surprising, given the overall scheme of things at the event from year to year.

But in other respects, Saturday’s opening was considerably more detached than usual. Surprisingly, for example, the familiar white handkerchief waving and conga lines through the aisles never quite materialized. Crowd euphoria--a staple at virtually every past Playboy event, especially around the dinner hour, when the wine, the beer and the sun have combined to do their work--simply failed to break out.

One suspects that part of the problem may have been the sequence of programming. Two of the most high-energy acts of the day--singer Banu Gibson and her New Orleans Hot Jazz and Juan De Marcos’ Afro-Cuban All Stars--were scheduled early in the afternoon, well before the crowd was properly oiled for dancing. And the placement of musically compelling performances by the Max Roach Quartet, blues singer Keb’ Mo’ and Charles Lloyd in the mid-concert segment pretty much eliminated the possibility that conga lines would snake their way through the aisles. Not even Keb’ Mo’s driving rhythms could make that happen.

And there was little possibility that anyone, even among some of the more obviously exhibitionistic audience members, would gyrate to Lloyd’s soulful tribute to his former musical associate, the late drummer Billy Higgins.

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So why complain if the opening day of this year’s Playboy Festival--criticized so often for serving as a social rather than a musical event--actually low-keyed the party exuberance?

Because it is the mixture of elements, the contrasts between the out-and-out crowd-stimulating groups and the more musically focused ensembles, that has made the festival such an engaging experience. The expenditure of energy surrounding high-voltage entertainment acts can create a relatively calm period of receptivity for more musically demanding performers. That contrast, that ebb and flow of excitement and engagement, is what Playboy Jazz is really all about. And, to a large extent, it was simply not present in the opening day performances.

What was present was an uneven cascade of acts. The opening performance by Gibson was a marvelous way to kick things off, aided by the presence of the legendary tap dancer Fayard Nicholas and a line of energetic jitterbug dancers. De Marcos’ Afro-Cuban All Stars were equally stimulating, generating a roiling torrent of rhythm and scintillating brass sounds, countered by colorful call-and-response vocals.

Nancy Wilson’s set, however, despite a familiar sequence of songs, was characteristically cool, the sort of presentation that works far better in a Vegas theater than in the wide-open stretches of the Bowl. Master drummer Roach’s performance was marred somewhat by the muddy audio reproduction of bassist Tyrone Brown, but enhanced by the leader’s magical soloing. And Keb’ Mo’ was one of the few acts to give the large venue the feeling of a small, intimate space.

Lloyd’s playing, like that of Michael Brecker, who performed with the Carnegie Hall Jazz Orchestra, provided the day’s most musically intense moments. Both artists resonated with memories of John Coltrane, with Lloyd recalling the legendary saxophonist’s soaring, lyrical qualities and Brecker reflecting his stunning instrumental virtuosity.

Pop-oriented acts David Benoit and the group Medeski, Martin & Wood, obviously on the program for their broad appeal, triggered enthusiastic applause. But neither they, nor the virtually invisible master of ceremonies, Bill Cosby, nor the balance of the program, could manage to stimulate the daylong stream of interactive excitement and musical responsiveness that are the Playboy Jazz Festival’s essential stock in trade.