Tiger Trio
Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, NY
January 4, 2020
General admission
Personnel:
Joëlle Léandre, bass, vocals
Myra Melford, piano
Nicole Mitchell, flute, alto flute, piccolo
Back in the heyday of live jazz on New York City's 52nd Street, from the end of Prohibition in 1933 until the early '50s, the Three Deuces occupied a prime spot on the south side of the street, between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Bebop's architects – Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Max Roach, Miles Davis, and the like – played the intimate room at 72 West 52nd St., where, freed from the demands of the dance floor, they innovated collaboratively, pushing each other to greater heights of virtuosity and bravado.
Swing Street, as it was known, started to fade in the late '40s, and the last 52nd Street club shuttered in 1968. But just recently, thanks to the enterprise of pianist, composer, bandleader, and visual artist Jason Moran, the Three Deuces has had a second life. STAGED: Three Deuces, a crafted facsimile of a portion of the club, has materialized now, Brigadoon-like, at the Venice Biennale in 2015… at Luhring Augustine's Bushwick gallery in 2016… at the Walker Art Center and the ICA Boston in 2018.
And, after a late summer appearance at the Wexner Center for the Arts last year, the Three Deuces finally came home to Manhattan late in 2019, sharing space with two other historical apparitions, the Savoy Ballroom and Slug's Saloon, in an eighth-floor gallery at the Whitney Museum of American Art.
courtesy of Jason Moran and Luhring Augustine
During most gallery hours, a digital grand piano in the Three Deuces set played back performances by Moran. But the exhibition also included an impressive live-performance series, comprising Friday night and Saturday afternoon engagements by artists and groups ranging from Archie Shepp and Joanne Brackeen to Fay Victor and Jamire Williams.
Early in the afternoon on January 4, I attended the last live event with my family: a beautifully brainy, brawny, and varied set by Tiger Trio, a collaborative venture featuring bassist Joëlle Léandre (who also vocalized playfully and robustly), pianist Myra Melford, and flutist Nicole Mitchell.
I won't pretend to pass off this essay as a review—not least because we arrived just as the folding chairs were running out, so I spent the first 30-40 minutes of the set standing in the back with The Girl on my shoulders. Suffice it to say that these musicians are among the most inventive thinkers, writers, and players now active, and their collaboration worked at an empathic level: something like Jimmy Giuffre's chamber trio with Paul Bley and Steve Swallow, actually. The trio has two records out on the French label Rogue Art, and deserves the widest possible attention.
I do have to relate one serious reservation about the presentation, though honestly I feel conflicted in raising the issue. The gallery that included Moran's three STAGED set pieces also featured three large video screens, on which a series of Moran's collaborations with other artists played in a ceaseless loop. As a general observation, I'd have found it much more agreeable if the Whitney had deactivated these screens for the duration of the live performances, as a show of respect to the musicians.
More specifically, a wall label clearly indicated that one work in the video sequence – National Archives Microfilm M999 Roll 34: Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen and Abandoned Lands: Six Miles from Springfield on the Franklin Road, a terrifying 2009 film by Kara Walker, scored by Moran and his wife, singer/composer Alicia Hall Moran – included graphic scenes of racial and sexual violence. But in a gallery darkened for performance, the label and its warning were easy to miss. As well, ticket holders weren't forewarned that the video screenings would coincide with the concert.
Walker's art is undeniably powerful, illustrating uncomfortable truths with macabre charisma. But when I set out for this concert, I hadn't foreseen needing to prevent a not-quite six-year-old girl, drawn to a flickering screen like a moth to a light bulb, from glimpsing images she wasn't prepared to interpret or understand.
Next time, I suppose, I probably should think to ask.
I'd like to have spent more time investigating Moran's show at greater length, but circumstances prevented my doing so. If you're curious to know what critics outside of mainstream media outlets thought, you'll find an insightful appreciation by Martin Johnson here, and a considered critique by George Grella here.
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