The secret is complete confidence,” a magician might tease, right before whipping the tablecloth out from under a mountain of balanced glassware. So too could have been the mantra of the sublimely able Bobby Bradford/Hafez Modirzadeh Quartet during a recent concert at the UMass Amherst Bezanson Recital Hall. Before a raptly attentive house, the quartet exhibited their seasoned progressive history with what can only be described as deft aplomb.
Bradford on coronet and Modirzadeh on saxophones have decades-old connections to Ornette Coleman, patron saint of structural adventure, and an army of fellow travelers. Their bona fides are truly gilded. Along with Royal Hartigan on drums and Ken Filiano on bass, the band flung around a savvy freedom that didn’t so much break away from straight ahead playing as it did regally establish its own self-possession.
From the opening “Silhouette,” with its bowed and plucked sounds-of-the-souk bass intro, Ghana-inflected hands-only toms drumming, and horns pulsating in playful jazz drive, the menu was set for a smoking, inviting kabab.
And the band delivered. They juggled tempos and timbres and atmospheres, and seemingly, geographies. Bradford used an assortment of mutes to suggest human speech, an advance party patrolling urban environments. With Modirzadeh’s sax, their unison playing could morph from long-line Greek chorus laments into verdant valley calls-of-muster for the faithful; calls of rally and prayer. The extent to which they engaged would sometimes leave Modirzadeh literally hugging his instrument in rapture. Other movements would find them, horns raised, totally elephantine, braying above fray. They inhabited trench-deep grooves. One calypso number uptown or downtown-strutted (depending on where you live) so irresistibly hard that it elicited uninhibited knee bends and knee lifts. This wasn’t midtown. This wasn’t mid-anything!
I can’t emphasize enough how much breathing technique appeared to shape and color their tone. Whether it was Bradford skittishly sputtering in the Don Cherry pocket trumpet, almost kazoo-like mode, or Modirzadeh playing just his mouthpiece, from the lower end, Coke-bottle style, every breath was purposeful. They were so supportive of each other, so yoked in pursuit of sculpting exactly the right sound, that they were underwater divers breathing on the buddy system.
There was an interlude near the end of the evening when Bradford, Modirzadeh and Hartigan spoke on a personal plane about the genesis of the compositions. Modirzadeh related how extensive travel had led to the development of his “chromodal” tuning system, an amalgam of American jazz culture and his Iranian dastgah heritage, after which I could hear nothing else but that influence.
Joe Major lives in Pittsfield. Contact him at jmajor@pittsfieldch.com.
