A Tale of Two Artists, and two Wines.
Where the hell have I been, you ask, well after my little sojourn out to Napa Valley last month I’ve been having my ass handed to me in the store and wine bar – but that’s a good thing. Though the blog might have been a little derailed since then, good thing is that I have a month’s worth of great material to share: opinions, tasting notes, dining reports, etc, etc. However, as I sat this morning to get my oenological mind to work blogging away I instantly started daydreaming about the incredible weekend of music I just witnessed at the first weekend of the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. I was so moved by one performance in particular and another provided for me a perfect comparison to wine that, well, I just thought I’d sit down, compare the performances to wine and let the thoughts flow.
Gran Cru Burgundy: The Wynton Marsalis Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra & Yacub Addy and Odadaa!
Its still too close to the bone, this performance is, for me to make such sweeping generalizations as “the watershed moment in my love of music” or “the most ethereal, other worldly performance I’ve ever seen” and once a little distance gets between me and last Friday’s performance of Marsalis’s composition “Congo Square” with his Lincoln Center Jazz orchestra and the Ghanan tribal drum corps of Odadaa, I might back down from the fact that it was the most culturally expansive, beautiful, spiritually uplifting musical performance I’ve ever witnessed – but then again maybe I won’t.
I’m not a musician, nor am I educated in the metrics and mathematics and structure of music, so I won’t make myself sound more foolish here than I actually am. That said, the composition of this piece of work was so profound, so amazingly intense and tight – yet delicate and balanced and it never let you know what was coming next. Having the good fortune to have a seat literally on the front row I was able to witness the intensity and seriousness with which Marsalis took his mantle as leader of this unlikely orchestra. He’d start moving his hands, the musicians sitting up sharply on ready and then the music began. The rising tribal drum beats of Odadaa that Marsalis would conduct slowly and then raising the tempo faster, faster, faster, then into a crescendo only to drop it down into the soft, delicate sound of a single flute on the Jazz side, then layering the silkiness of a tenor sax, the precise piano handling of Dan Nimmer (who I would love to see in a battle of the keys with Jonathan Batiste) all joined together by the stand up bass which, in turn, allowed entry of the African music back into the fold – the whole sum of which climaxed into something glorious, something otherworldly, something seemingly impossible to have been created by the hand of man, thus allowing you a glimpse into the incontrovertible fact that despite claims to the otherwise, there are indeed higher forces at play.
The comparison of this performance is exact to the description of Grand Cru Burgundy. Grand Cru Burgundy, too, defies definition or logical understanding. Its delicate balance and soft approach belies its power, strength and precise definition. Grand Cru Burgundy at its finest moment is an experience that transcends the pleasure of simply drinking wine. It is as much defining and liberating as it is intoxicating. It is an experience that requires focus and patience, but one that also offers a reward which has the potential of offering a defining moment in a wine drinker’s life. Much like the myriad ways that Marsalis’s performance kept my head on a swivel while providing my senses with an overload of intellectually challenging pleasure, a glass Grand Cru Burgundy can be equally as deep, thought provoking and other-worldly.
I remember my first great Grand Cru Burgundy and you bet your ass I’ll always remember where I was at 4:30 on Friday, April 24.
Syrah on Stage: The Del McCoury Band
I like Syrah for the same reason I like Bluegrass: They both provide a tremendous amount of pleasure and its hard to tell whether or not its bad. To be a little playful with the comparison (no emails, please) but I liken Del McCoury as the Miles Davis of Bluegrass, an artist that has done much to define the genre by both honoring its roots and origins and bringing it into modern times. Always performing in well coiffed suits with smiles on their faces, five musicians play to a single microphone brining a cacophony of mandolin, guitar, stand-up bass and – of course – banjo and fiddle with silky smooth voices into one channel, allowing the audience to enjoy a singular point of reference influenced by so much exuberance behind it. No hard edges, loads of real, true honest stuffing in the middle all wrapped up by excitement and unparalleled showmanship, that’s a Del McCoury show. And its damn fun too.
The exact same is true of Syrah, in its purest form. Syrah can range from the noblest of grapes to something fun and fruity – depending on its origin – but one thing is certain if you pay attention, Syrah has something to say. It is a grape, unlike both Pinot Noir and Cabernet Sauvignon, that can be blended with success, or stand alone with success. It plays well with others, but can also stand on its own with a singular voice and – most important – is a true, honest grape that has the ability to tell you where its from. Much like the way Bluegrass is an overtly honest musical genre that teaches the listener a lesson in history as much it pleases the ear, Syrah too is an unabashedly honest grape – not as elusive as Pinot Noir, as unapologetically rigid as Cabernet Sauvignon, – a grape that shows you where its from, gives you a sense of place and, most important, a grape who’s main aim is to please. Both Bluegrass and Syrah have much difficulty hiding their true colors, and that’s fine with me.
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