Double bass

Check another of the greats off my list. But with all due respect to Mr. Burrell, the last jazz icon to cross my path, Ornette Coleman has still got it in a way that Kenny just don't got it anymore.

It might have something to do with the space, like a stadium on one of the lesser planets, but it's also the powerful function of wisdom + creativity + insanity that Ornette carries in spades. He took the stage with one of the strangest quartet combos I've seen: drums, two uprights, and the man himself. The drummer is Ornette's son, trained from age 10 to be the frantic, tight rhythm for his father's mental explosions. He more than held his own, surrounded by an odd glass screen that made him seem like Mona Lisa with hands you could almost see.

First upright did his duty, tied the discordance together like a plucky hero. Second bass made his near superfluousness felt with perpetual underlying siren-like drags across the strings, lending the whole scene a tense quality that I could have done without.

But the sum was ethereal, off but on, making time pass unremarked. After my brain switched over to the necessary realm, I didn't notice anything else until they stood up and signaled the end.

Ornette didn't say a word the entire show. He may have mumbled an offering after the first ovation, but we left to catch the tail end of our dinner reservation, so I couldn't quote him for you.

The masters are sacred, but so is a fine meal, and I was glad to have the better part of both.