The Artistry of Marilyn Crispell

Last night, a friend and I made the trek up to La Jolla to witness a solo performance by one of jazz and modern music's most original and talented individuals, the pianist Marilyn Crispell. The performance took place inside the Athenaeum Music and Arts Library in downtown La Jolla, an attractive library devoted to the arts. The piano was placed inside one of the larger rooms, and chairs had been set up amid shelves of books. It was cozy and a bit odd (and the lack of any elevated seats meant that only those in the first rows could see Crispell's hands on the keyboard), but this is how the Athenaeum has conducted concerts at this location for many years now, so I suspect they know what they're doing and the audiences don't mind.

Marilyn Crispell is tagged as a jazz pianist, but what she creates moves far beyond any simple genre designation. She first gained notice in the 1980s playing with Anthony Braxton, and has since recorded and performed in lineups varying from solo excursions to duo and trio settings. This was a solo performance, and the lack of any fellow musicians allowed her to follow her own logic and whims as the night progressed. Indeed, one of the most remarkable aspects of the evening's performance was how seamlessly she moved between composition and improvisation - it was difficult at times to know where one stopped and the other began.

Her style is complex and individual, but many often resort to comparisons to Cecil Taylor, perhaps the foremost free jazz pianist in American music. When Crispell swept up and down the keyboard in crashing cascades of noise, hammering away at high-pitched clusters or summoning up deep rumbles with her left hand, the Taylor comparisons are obvious. But she seems equally enamored with pure melody, and her abrupt transitions from dissonance to hummable lyricism was startling. My friend noted at times a resemblance to fellow ECM-labelmate Keith Jarrett, especially in her use of folk-like melodies and circular patterns of rhythm. This was difficult, gorgeous and impressive music.

Unfortunately, as has been my experience with Athenaeum concerts, much of the audience seems out of place. Many tickets, and all those in the first several rows, are set aside for donors and benefactors of the Athenaeum, and while these individuals may be generous with their funds and time (and their cause is certainly a good one), their taste in music seldom runs to the adventurous or even slightly experimental. I've witnessed this crowd stream out in droves during a Charles Lloyd concert, watched them fail to even applaud Jim Hall long enough for him to walk off stage. When Crispell took a short intermission, many seats emptied for good. This allowed others to move closer to the piano, but I wonder how many other San Diegans might have been interested in seeing this concert and were turned away thanks to reserved seating for generous but uninterested benefactors?

Still, I'm thankful for the opportunity to witness Crispell in performance in such a small venue. For over two hours of near-constant music, I was in the presence of a master.