Reviews

Irish Timeswriters review the Branford Marsalis Quartetat the NCH and Mikaat Spirit.

Branford Marsalis Quartet National Concert Hall, Dublin

It's taken a long time for Branford Marsalis to come here but it's been worth the wait. The saxophonist seems to have reached a level of maturity in his playing, while his working group, with Joey Calderazzo (piano), Eric Revis (bass) and Jeff "Tain" Watts (drums), has the kind of seamless understanding that usually comes only after a long time together.

They have also kept at bay any tendency to coast. Their work has a freshness and a constant, off-the-cuff feel, epitomised by the opening Trieste, by drummer Paul Motian, which was given a long, rubato introduction on soprano, full of swoops and fluttering phrases, before settling on the theme and, finally, into uptempo for engaging piano and soprano solos.

It was followed by Calderazzo's beautiful ballad, Hope, taken rubato again and displaying the full beauty of Marsalis's soprano sound. But there is also an acute awareness of dynamics and the value of contrast within the group, with the composer's delicately lyrical solo set off by a passionately climactic soprano solo. The play-it-as-it-lays feel continued as Revis's fine bass solo became a segue into the next piece, Samo, with the leader remaining on soprano.

Marsalis switched to tenor for Monk's Dream, displaying a big, old-time saxophone sound, while the quartet showed it could groove, straight-ahead, as well as perform rubato. But it's also true that if rubato playing in jazz is now a modish fashion, this group's use of it was rigorous, the polar opposite of diffuse and loose.

The high level of performance continued with Marsalis on soprano and a gentle, affectionately mocking Sir Roderick, The Aloof, named after their tour manager.

They finished with a charge through the changes of Sweet Georgia Brown under the guise of Sweet Clifford and, as an encore, a slow Mood Indigo, reinforcing his Coleman Hawkins/Ben Webster tenor lineage as he turned it into a slow rocker.

Overall, it was an enjoyable concert, if not a memorable one, although, in terms of programming, another ballad or two would have been welcome.

But the concert showed, yet again, how basically unsympathetic to jazz performance is the acoustic in the NCH's main auditorium. - Ray Comiskey

Mika, Spirit, Dublin

He is introduced by a sweet-dispensing, jolly-hockey-sticks version of Alice in Wonderland called the Lollipop Girl. He take to the stage against the strains of Dolly Parton's working-girl anthem 9 to 5 in what is, presumably, a thoughtful celebration of Work Life Balance Day. And when Mika finally stands before us, a surprisingly gangly package of loose-limbed energy, he is greeted as a hero.

In an industry that likes its fortunes predetermined, Mika became the star of 2007 long before 2007 had any say in the matter. The year has been catching up with the Beirut-born, London-based former opera student ever since: his Freddie Mercury-impersonating single Grace Kelly is still at the top of the charts, his debut album not far behind.

Whatever your feelings about the sugary snap of Mika's now inescapable pop, from the nagging familiarity of its tunes to the diabetes-inducing sweetness of its tone, you couldn't quibble with the album's title. Life in Cartoon Motion sums up his phenomenon perfectly, from its Road Runner momentum to the carefree sense of invincibility in his music.

Tonight, the disco ebullience of Relax (Take it Easy) and Love Today make it seem possible that we can run off cliffs without plummeting. The trick is not to look down.

Does Mika's music collapse under scrutiny though? An elastic dancer onstage (with a multi-octave voice to match) his songs can seem like more calculated moves: My Interpretation is a pure Robbie Williams ballad for instance, while the supposedly reassuring - but drippingly insincere - Big Girl (You Are Beautiful) is, unashamedly, reconstituted Queen.

Tellingly, his efforts to play it serious on the fragile Over My Shoulder are almost drowned out by audience chatter. When you promise people sherbet dip no one thanks you for serving fillet mignon.

Instead, Mika must now provide the soundtrack to a good time, such as the deliriously camp tantrum of Grace Kelly or the jump-rope rhyme of Lollipop - here delivered in a shower of glitter, balloons and dress-up characters.

This is the voice that starts the weekend. This is the face that launched a thousand hen parties. All hail the saviour of Saturday night. - Peter Crawley.