RENBOURN John & GROSSMAN Stefan
In Concert

SGGW 135/6/7

725543171528
Stefan Grossman's Guitar Workshop
USA Stati Uniti

 

2 CDs + DVD

To label John Renbourn an English folk guitarist, or Stefan Grossman an American blues guitarist, amounts to the same: nothing. Renbourn, who's best known for his Pentangle association and fine solo albums, has played medieval, early classical, traditional, blues, regional English folk and contemporary jazz compositions. The obstreperous Grossman, who's also cut a pile of solo albums, has played classic and contemporary ragtime, delta blues, boogie, and regional American folk compositions, among others. Yet the performers and last Tuesday night's capacity crowd at the Other End shared a single-mindedness that makes one music of all this eclecticism: a passion for the acoustic guitar and its infinite expressive possibilities. The evening was not only one of the most musically exhilarating in my experience, but one of the most educational as well – a relaxed class on styles and technique and a distillation of British and American sensibilities.

John Renbourn performed solo opening with several traditional tunes from the British Isles. Renbourn looks the part – like Robin Hood's Littlejohn perhaps: a big-boned frame; broad ruddy cheeks; short, curling fair hair and beard; small, amused blue eyes. When he sings about Glasgow town and fair maids, we followers of traditional music believe him largely because of the songs’ simple beauty, but we also, I think, harbor a bad case of merrie olde anglophilia. Renbourn doesn't sigh wistfully for a lost world simultaneously bawdy and innocent – he recreates that world. He also played some instrumentals. Whether he's doing an alehouse blues or a 16th-century Italian dance, Renbourn's guitar style is characteristically delicate and controlled. He took a swig on his beer bottle and bent over Booker T. Jones's Sweet Potato, which opens with a taut bluesy little riff and then builds almost in spite of itself. Renbourn couldn't hold it in check, and the piece burst open at the seams as he leaned into it, the chords and fingerings hurtling faster and faster. Finally the tune receded into the neat, unassuming opening tiff, and ended. "You're amazing, John," somebody blurted out. The audience laughed and applauded, agreeing.

Enter Grossman, sporting a bright colored ukulele shirt and an uncompromising New Yawk accent ... Grossman is a wild, funny carny man. He banged and pulled at his bass strings, occasionally flatpicked, and sang-talked old blues and rags. Both guitarists commanded immediate respect. But while the audience was awed by the modest Renbourn's music-sculpting, they stamped and rebel-yelled for Grossman, who seemed antsy just to spit the songs out, playing strident delta blues and Reverend Davis ragtime like nobody's Aunt Sally. Grossman's brand of Americanism is as mythic as the world of traditional British balladry: red hot dogs and red hot mamas, a restless, cheerful braggadocio.

They played together for a final set that included the loopiest rendition of Candy Man I've ever heard, and a few numbers from their elegant new hybrid, Stefan Grossman & John Renbourn CD (SGGW119). The album is all instrumental, all – except for a Mingus composition – original, and a good deal more studied and dreamy than anything I'd have thought Grossman would put his hand to. Though it's much more bluesy, lilting, and sly, it reminds me of John McLaughlin's acoustic album, My Goal's Beyond, with its gentle-jazz whispers and dramatic pauses. If one has ever picked or plucked, the album is an invitation to figure out new ways to contort the fingers. If one hasn't, the liner notes by Karl Dallas of Melody Maker skillfully decode who is playing which guitar line and when. As the concert did, the album pulls together the improbable and comes up with a surprising complement, rather like ordering a measure of mead to quaff with your hot dog. And why not?
To label John Renbourn an English folk guitarist, or Stefan Grossman an American blues guitarist, amounts to the same: nothing. Renbourn, who's best known for his Pentangle association and fine solo albums, has played medieval, early classical, traditional, blues, regional English folk and contemporary jazz compositions. The obstreperous Grossman, who's also cut a pile of solo albums, has played classic and contemporary ragtime, delta blues, boogie, and regional American folk compositions, among others. Yet the performers and last Tuesday night's capacity crowd at the Other End shared a single-mindedness that makes one music of all this eclecticism: a passion for the acoustic guitar and its infinite expressive possibilities. The evening was not only one of the most musically exhilarating in my experience, but one of the most educational as well – a relaxed class on styles and technique and a distillation of British and American sensibilities.

John Renbourn performed solo opening with several traditional tunes from the British Isles. Renbourn looks the part – like Robin Hood's Littlejohn perhaps: a big-boned frame; broad ruddy cheeks; short, curling fair hair and beard; small, amused blue eyes. When he sings about Glasgow town and fair maids, we followers of traditional music believe him largely because of the songs’ simple beauty, but we also, I think, harbor a bad case of merrie olde anglophilia. Renbourn doesn't sigh wistfully for a lost world simultaneously bawdy and innocent – he recreates that world. He also played some instrumentals. Whether he's doing an alehouse blues or a 16th-century Italian dance, Renbourn's guitar style is characteristically delicate and controlled. He took a swig on his beer bottle and bent over Booker T. Jones's Sweet Potato, which opens with a taut bluesy little riff and then builds almost in spite of itself. Renbourn couldn't hold it in check, and the piece burst open at the seams as he leaned into it, the chords and fingerings hurtling faster and faster. Finally the tune receded into the neat, unassuming opening tiff, and ended. "You're amazing, John," somebody blurted out. The audience laughed and applauded, agreeing.

Enter Grossman, sporting a bright colored ukulele shirt and an uncompromising New Yawk accent ... Grossman is a wild, funny carny man. He banged and pulled at his bass strings, occasionally flatpicked, and sang-talked old blues and rags. Both guitarists commanded immediate respect. But while the audience was awed by the modest Renbourn's music-sculpting, they stamped and rebel-yelled for Grossman, who seemed antsy just to spit the songs out, playing strident delta blues and Reverend Davis ragtime like nobody's Aunt Sally. Grossman's brand of Americanism is as mythic as the world of traditional British balladry: red hot dogs and red hot mamas, a restless, cheerful braggadocio.

They played together for a final set that included the loopiest rendition of Candy Man I've ever heard, and a few numbers from their elegant new hybrid, Stefan Grossman & John Renbourn CD (SGGW119). The album is all instrumental, all – except for a Mingus composition – original, and a good deal more studied and dreamy than anything I'd have thought Grossman would put his hand to. Though it's much more bluesy, lilting, and sly, it reminds me of John McLaughlin's acoustic album, My Goal's Beyond, with its gentle-jazz whispers and dramatic pauses. If one has ever picked or plucked, the album is an invitation to figure out new ways to contort the fingers. If one hasn't, the liner notes by Karl Dallas of Melody Maker skillfully decode who is playing which guitar line and when. As the concert did, the album pulls together the improbable and comes up with a surprising complement, rather like ordering a measure of mead to quaff with your hot dog. And why not?

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