Every year, the production of the Grand Band Slam issue reliably supplies a few things: a lot of creative scrambling in the newsroom, some praise and some criticism varying from mild to extra stout. It's all rather like a surprising carnival ride.
The process, as has been covered in this column before, is influenced by readers' choices and expectations, staff, and the precedents of years past. This year saw its share of controversy and criticism, revealing the always imperfect nature of a big and well-scrutinized undertaking.
But a couple of Saturdays ago, I stood in the parking lot of Maximum Capacity in Chicopee with the pressures of the Grand Band Slam issue dissipated. All that remained was the event itself.
First, The Primate Fiasco unpacked. They waited a little while for everything they needed to get set up, did a quick sound check, and, had there been a roof instead of a tent, they would have blown the roof off the sucker. The fast strum of Dixieland banjo echoed off a nearby wall while clarinet and trumpet melodies intertwined. The band played with conviction, nailing the rhythms and switching off on vocals on tunes like "It Don't Mean A Thing." The set was full of surprise, solid musicianship and just plain fun. To play that way in front of a crowd consisting of a few diehards blasted by the wind and a couple of curious across-the-street onlookers with bottles in bags is certainly a mark of experienced gigging musicians.
The afternoon kept on going in just that fashion, the crowd getting bigger with each set. Tony Vacca's World Rhythms Ensemble assembled an impressive pile of percussion and took the stage a while later, and the result was a similar bit of magic. The energetic interplay of Vacca, bassist Jo Sallins and electric violinist Derrik Jordan is world music, but in the broadest, least constricting sense of the term. Their sounds borrowed from jazz, folk, rock, Middle Eastern, African and probably several other subtle ends of the flow chart. The crowd smiled right along, following the trio on long instrumental excursions with unwavering interest.
The performance was all the more remarkable in light of the fact that the three had played in upstate New York the night before, offering a young jam band-oriented crowd an unbroken four hours of highly physical playing, putting them back in the Valley many long hours later.
Those scenes make the Band Slam voyage worthwhile. No matter the exact approach of any year's particular Band Slam, the Valley's remarkable crop of talented musicians stays consistent in delivering performances full of surprise and spectacle.
After Vacca's set, the fortunate listeners outside Maximum Capacity received a rare treat: a small show by a local group gone national, The Fear Nuttin Band.
I stood chatting with Vacca while Fear Nuttin filled the chilly air with their Jamaican/hardcore rhythms, and at one point, he pointed over to the crowd with a smile. It looked as if a wave of Caribbean vibes rippled through the listeners; blissed-out faces bobbed in unison, everyone locked in with the band. Later, a boy, maybe four years old, joined the band on stage and danced for all he was worth, leaping high into the air to smash down with both feet as the drum hits landed.
It's pretty hard to care about the nuances of category, who deserves what, and how everything works when you see pure musical abandon like that. That's what the Band Slam is for, and why bellyaching and praise alike end up fading away, leaving me ready for another round. The Valley offers few instances of local musical diversity delivered with such skill, especially in a free show spanning 12 hours. We're fortunate to live in a place with so many talented musicians, and the Band Slam show never fails to make that clear.
