FLASHBACK 1999: Salt Lake's other jazz players strike chords even as their sounds get harder to hear 

click to enlarge

In commemoration of City Weekly's 40th anniversary, we are digging into our archives to celebrate. Each week, we FLASHBACK to a story or column from our past in honor of four decades of local alt-journalism. Whether the names and issues are familiar or new, we are grateful to have this unique newspaper to contain them all.

Title: Blue Note Blues
Author: Bill Frost
Date: April 8, 1999

click to enlarge

Salt Lake City has always been a haven for masochistic musicians; those who aren't concerned with recognition or compensation. However, ironic as it may seem, these conditions (i.e. the former Soviet Union) have a tendency to produce good musicians. Such is the case with the Satyrs. After successful and lucrative experiences before appreciative audiences across the country (and in Europe) the band members have always returned to Utah. For they are artists, and artists need adversity. And if they moved away, what would they have to complain about?

The passage comes from the liner notes of Live at the Dive, a caught-in-the-act CD by local jazz combo the Satyrs. It's attributed to "Anonymous," but saxophonist Michael "Saxman" Johnson knows better.

click to enlarge

"That was Wayne [Christiansen, keyboardist and vocalist]—Wayne's mind on one day when he was feeling that way," Johnson laughs.

The CD's 11 tracks were recorded by Johnson, Christiansen and drummer Mark Chaney last year at two Salt Lake City venues: The Fiddler's Elbow, which used to showcase a wide range of music—jazz included—but no longer has any live sounds, and The Library, a downtown jazz club that closed up shop last year. Perhaps not coincidentally, The Library was voted Best Unlike Utah Bar in City Weekly's Best of Utah 1998.

The demise of that club, in particular, got many casual fans to thinking that jazz of the non-basketball variety was fading fast in Salt Lake City.

"There's a real heritage of wonderful musicians coming out of this area, starting in the '60s with the Westminster College jazz department," Johnson counters. "But, the market changes and rolls over. We're on a downtrend right now, in transition—it's a cyclical thing. Places come and go, management changes, but I don't think the market's dying. Jazz is appropriate for dining and background music, but some club managers don't seem to think so."

There are still clubs in and around SLC featuring live jazz, but they're fewer and farther between: The Rhino Grille in Murray, even though it says it still serves up a mix of jazz and blues on the weekends, its calendar shows the Rhino has cut out live jazz almost completely. And Green Street, which featured jazz on weeknights for years, dropped those nights as well.

click to enlarge

Another regular player, saxophonist John Flanders, shares Johnson's burden. He can be seen around town with Spittin' Lint, the Sun Masons, Pat Carnahan's Hear & Now in Park City, his own John Flanders Trio and practically anyone on a stage or in a studio.

"Me and a few other players lost out when Green Street ended their jazz nights during the week," Flanders recalls. "I had been playing there for maybe three years. A new manager came in who wasn't a big jazz fan, and it was kind of a drag the way it went down—I remember having a conversation with Mike and those guys [Johnson played at Green Street with the Jazz Bros.] when it was happening. We were all eventually let go." Flanders pauses, then smiles: "I'll say that I quit, to save face."

Fortunately, players like Johnson, Flanders and others still had a place to wail in The Library: The Satyrs held down Thursday nights, and the John Flanders Trio did Fridays. For Flanders, at least, it was a good gig.

"I don't know how well the other nights did. I stopped in once in a while, but it's tough to get around and see other bands when you're working, yourself," he says. "I did Friday nights, which was a great night to get, man. They had a lot of faith in what we were doing, and we did it for the better part of a year. We did well; we had good, responsive crowds. It seemed like a place where people actually came to see bands. They'd watch you and listen, then we'd go talk to them between sets—they were really into what we were doing, which was great. It was a cool club."

Johnson had a few good nights, as well, but he thinks it could have been better. The downside to performing arts locally has been inconsistency—places opening and closing. "Look how popular the Jazz at the Hilton series is. You can go to a show and there will be 800 people there listening to whomever, virtually sold-out every time," he says. "One of the frustrating things as a player to me is, here's a wonderful audience—if they only knew what talent there is in their own town. I would see a well-received show at the Hilton, then walk over to The Library and listen to excellent, stellar local players in an empty bar."

The question is, would Jazz at the Hilton patrons actually go to a bar?

"A percentage of them probably wouldn't, being non-smoking and non-drinking Mormons. But, if they could get past that, I think they'd show up," Johnson reasons.

The successful Jazz at the Hilton series, which has been going strong for five years now, usually showcases one local jazz artist per season. Unfortunately, the current '98-'99 run will feature none.

"Mike and I think alike on that," Flanders says, referring to the Jazz at the Hilton conundrum. "I could talk for hours about this. I don't want to be doggin' the scene, but I'd like to try explaining it. The Jazz at the Hilton is a good example: It's a great thing, I really like the music I hear there sometimes. But, and this has been my problem with the scene since day one, there's a lack of cohesiveness in the jazz community. Jazz, to me, is a communal thing; it needs cooperation and support within itself.

"I've lived in a lot of places—East Coast, West Coast. I've had a fair amount of experience in the bigger cities' jazz scenes. This scene is lacking, internally and externally. One Hilton show a few weeks ago drew about 1,200 people. The next night, I was at D.B. Cooper's. If 1 percent of those people had shown up to see local jazz, it would have been a packed house," he laughs. "The Hilton series could maybe mention once in a while that there's local jazz going on every night, but they don't. In the long run, the whole scene is going to benefit if we support each other."

One Salt Lake City club that's stepped up its jazz consistency is the aforementioned D.B. Cooper's, a jazz haven for four years steady. Since Park City piano-rocker Rich Wyman has vacated his long-running Friday-Saturday gig at D.B.'s, the club now features live jazz five nights a week.

D.B.'s manager Tony Moe, an avid jazz fan, has been building the club's jazz rep for years: The George Brown Quintet has been there about two-and-a-half years; Greg Floor has been playing there on and off for a year-and-a-half, but he's been a regular for two months now; and Frank Page has been playing there, on a weekly basis, for two-and-a-half years. "I'm trying out a couple of bands for the next four weeks [to fill Wyman's former weekend slot]. By May or June, I should have a regular schedule. It's going to be 100 percent jazz now," Moe says proudly.

Apparently, not all college students are into just frat-funk and clanging alt-rock: Moe says the majority of his audience is of the collegiate variety. "Thursday nights do very well [with the college crowd]. I can say one thing, though: The new semester system with the schools has killed some of it off," he says. "On Thursday nights, though, that's 99 percent of our crowd, ranging from 22 up to 28. They love it—there seems to be more of them than anyone else."

One of the acts trying out on the weekends in April is the Ken Critchfield Group, whose less-than-traditional sound would probably be a hard-sell anywhere outside of an open-minded jazz joint. "They play a really crazy, alternative style of jazz," Moe says. "A lot of deep bass and percussion, with a keyboard player who throws in funky sounds—it's exciting to listen to."

It takes a long time to establish a place where you can go and know what you're getting, which is probably why D.B. Cooper's has been successful for so long. "People may drive from Ogden or wherever because they know the George Brown Quintet's going to be there on Thursday and they know the place is all right," Johnson says, emphasizing the need for consistency.

According to Moe, the jazz community lacks consistency, but it's more a lack of consistency on the part of clubs allowing jazz musicians to play. "What I'm trying to accomplish here is, if I'm consistent, they'll always come to me. When The Library closed down, I started working more toward making D.B. Cooper's a total jazz club. I've got a great reputation with the jazz players around town. I show a loyalty to them and they like it. I give them a place to play and to have fun. It's developed very well, but it's going to get much better."

The John Flanders Trio turns up at D.B.'s occasionally, but their best regular club gig for the past three years has been Friday night at Caffe Molise. When they were also closing Fridays at The Library, Flanders would hoof it, saxes in hand, from Molise down to 200 South. Friday nights are less hectic now for Flanders, but no less fun.

"[Caffe Molise] is going great. It's the one exception to the jazz scene for me, anyway. We get good crowds and we get regulars who come to hear the music," Flanders says happily. "I dare say that it may be the longest-running jazz gig I'm aware of—I've been doing it for three years now. I may be wrong, but it feels like one of the longest-running gigs. When the weather warms up, we move it outside onto Dinwoody Plaza. You kick back, have some wine, listen to jazz and actually feel like you're not in Utah."

For those who don't mind feeling very much in Utah, the hills are also alive with the sound of jazz. Larry Jackstein is helping to create a new market by bringing jazz musicians to Snowbird. He was director of the Jazz at the Hilton series, and before that, the jazz series at the Hotel Utah. "Now, he's been doing three nights a week at the Aerie Restaurant of local jazz, so he's made a dynamic push. He also books himself in there—you can't blame him, he's a phenomenal piano player," says Johnson.

Larry Jackstein's Jazz at the Bird idea has gone over so well during the winter months that it won't stop when the snow does. The normal winter schedule is over, but they'll do some isolated shows during April and May. Then, the plan is to start in June again doing three nights a week. "As before, we'll lean toward jazz trios with a singer, and we'll continue to do it in the Aerie's lounge. That area isn't necessarily ideal for bands, but it seems to be attractive to listeners. I'd like to keep the lounge as an exclusively jazz venue, and I'll expand as much as I can," Jackstein says.

Snowbird hosts the annual Jazz & Blues Festival, which has been expanded to three nights this year, but why the Aerie lounge? "As a jazz fan and musician, I like how the music fits the room. And frankly, at a hotel or resort like ours, you need live entertainment—people expect it," Jackstein explains. "We were able to budget a certain amount this year; I'd like to continue to expand it. I think you need something livelier than solo piano."

At least one distant cousin of jazz is on the upswing: Neo-swing, still hanging onto its 15 minutes of musical fame, is loosely related and certainly livelier than the solo piano acts that populate the valley's restaurants and clubs. It's also good news for horn players, jazz or no, who've taken a back seat for years in guitar- and drum machine-saturated pop music.

"Again, it's a cyclical thing," Johnson says. "Swing music is popular right now, so the Satyrs added two more horn players and now we have a swing combo called Zoot 66, kind of a smaller version of the Swingorillas (a nine-piece neo-swing band that was arguably SLC's first)." It's adaptation, really. Zoot 66 does cover some of the current hits, but also sticks with standards they've been playing for years. "We just put a higher-energy spin on them and pick up the tempo. It's also really fun to watch some good dancers when you're up there playing. It's like the visual completion of the music."

Contrary to what some may think, not all jazzbos are snooty provincialists interested in only playing to the choir, Flanders says. "Jazz is an art form that has to be communicated. Yeah, the more you know about it, the more you appreciate it, but jazz is more than just technical wizardry and chordal complexities—it's feel, man. If it has the feel, that's the highest point of jazz or any other music.

"Most jazz guys are good chart readers," Flanders continues. "But you've got to make it leap off the paper and feel it—that applies to any music. It's more about the feel than the technical stuff, and I don't hear enough of that. I'm talking about myself, as well. Like other jazz guys, I enjoy playing all kinds of music, rock or whatever. If I'm involved with good people and there's communication and a groove, it's great."

Surprisingly, there actually are people making a living playing music in Salt Lake City—just not in the bars. Johnson teaches, and he, Christiansen and Chaney prefer to skip the private clubs in order to play private parties.

"We get referrals from someone who saw us play at a wedding or a party. They call the person who threw the party and ask, 'Who was that band?' More people recognize what kind of music you play and, if that's what they want, you can stay pretty busy," Johnson says matter-of-factly. "Playing at conventions has picked up, too. It's more lucrative than clubs—club money hasn't changed in years. The Jazz Bros. played at the same club for six years, but the money always stayed exactly the same."

Flanders laughs upon hearing about Johnson's convention work. "Really? I'd better give him a call." Flanders also does private parties, and he stays busy fielding studio work in the daytime. "I've been lucky with that. It's funny, because that's the one place where I guess having a jazz background pays off. I get a lot of calls to record on CDs, and I love playing on CDs. They know I'm a jazz player and I can come and technically read the charts and give it the feel."

Just don't ask him to play like the frizzy-mopped Celine Dion of pseudo-jazz cats. "Kenny G is the jazz saxplayer's nemesis! The sad thing is, he can really play. I've got some old albums he did with Jeff Lorber, some hard fusion—Kenny was a good tenor player and still is a great flute player." KG sold out, which is cool with Flanders. "If I were offered a million dollars to play that shit, I'd take it—I'm not proud. But, after he got the attention and the success, he could have put out some more traditional jazz, covered some Coltrane or something and said, check this out. He could have done that easily, but he's continued to do the syrupy stuff," Flanders laughs. "And that's why I hate him."

Jazz in Salt Lake City is very much alive and well, but the club scene is a bit lacking. Some jazz players swear that club gigs help them maintain their edge—that there's no substitute for the atmosphere of a smoky bar and an attentive audience.

Even though things are looking up again, SLC isn't exactly a jazz mecca. So, why do players stay here? There's been a plethora of great talent to come out of this area. Some leave, some come back. "I was born here, I went to the University of Utah—there was a very good jazz department there at the time. I moved to Chicago in the '70s to work. I played some big shows, made good money, and then I came back," Johnson says.

There are only two reasons anyone comes back, Johnson rationalizes. The surrounding mountains are kind of a sublime, mothering environment, and "if you were raised in the mountains, you're more comfortable in the mountains; if you were raised by the sea, you're more comfortable by the sea, etc. That's my thinking, anyway."

Flanders, an East Coast transplant who's lived in Utah for more than 10 years, simply loves the outdoors and doesn't plan on moving—even if he's vague on how he wound up here in the first place.

"I went to Ohio State, which is a great music college; then the University of Connecticut, studying theory and arranging. But I only went there to be nearer to New York City, where I got my real education." Finishing his beer, Flanders comes clean: "OK, I ended up here through a long trail of bounced checks and bad women."