ny times

by nate chinen

This longtime working band, led by the sly pianist-raconteur Dred Scott, recently released “Going Nowhere” (Ropeadope), a good showcase for its puckish but aggressive take on postbop aerodynamics. The trio’s acclaimed weekly residency here has ended, after a productive six years — but this one-nighter kicks off a new one, the last Tuesday of every month.

review of going nowhere

by tim baker

By: Tim Baker Album Rating: 9 When I listen to Going Nowhere by the Dred Scott Trio I find myself transported to a land where every fucking step I take is cool. Not cool in the “Oh that's cool" kind of passive aggressive approach so many take to feign detachment, no I am talking smoking a cigarette and hanging out downtown cool. Levi's rolled up with two-tone suede oxfords, a pork pie hat and a wool coat cool. It is an attitude and vibe that the music instills in me that helps me to forget that I am a 30-something father rapidly descending into middle age and colonoscopies. Dred Scott plays the kind of piano that gets you pussy, and not just suburban mom pussy, I am talking chic statuesque broads that know about art, literature and who order off the menu when they go to popular eateries, cause they have it like that. It is a sensual and smooth brand of piano that dabbles at hints of darkness and possible violence but keeps it all contained enough for you to ride with it throughout the weekend. Throw in a rhythm section, Ben Rubin on Bass and Tony Mason on drums, that drives the whole shebang forward and you have a potent blend of Jazz that sounds both new and classic and makes you dick pop out the pee-hole of your boxers when it chubs up from the sound. It conjures up a classic kind of sensibility, of a manhood oft talked about in classic novels but rarely seen in real life. It is progress and passion rolled into one scotch soaked dandy of a time, which is best displayed in Final Resting Place. There are so many moods on Going Nowhere, whether it is the aforementioned Final Resting Place, the lazy afternoon drinking music of Apropos of Nothing, the heroin fueled violence of Mojo Rhythm (Son of Yaah!) and 7 Steps to Heaven, or the sensual comfort of Press Play and Schneidleweiss; it delivers the type of wallop that one often dreams of but rarely gets. I am jealous of the genius of Dred Scott and the Dred Scott Trio. I would kill to be as masterful with my chosen craft as they are with their's. Going Nowhere is a substantial and glorious statement of at time past and a longing for something better. It is beautiful beyond words.

emusic review of going nowhere

by brit robson

Pianist Dred Scott uses an irreverent veneer to disguise old-fashioned jazz scholarship, which buttresses his rich, well-rounded intonation and flair for phrasing. Thus, a song entitled “That Lick I Invented” betrays a deep appreciation for the vintage bop thrill-rides of Bud Powell, and the thunderous block chords in “Mojo Rhythm (Son of Yaah!)” are an impressive nod in the direction of McCoy Tyner with or without the chanted obscenities that occur halfway through. But Scott — who founded the now defunct hip-hop-jazz outfit Alphabet Soup, has played with everyone from Anthony Braxton to Charlie Hunter, and has fronted this trio with bassist Ben Rubin and drummer Tony Mason through many years and countless Tuesday nights at the Rockwood Music Hall in New York — is hardly a retro stylist either. His antic nature precludes sustained narratives and turns many of his songs into impressionistic collections of sectionalized, kindred phrases. (A notable exception is the short, heaving ballad, “Press Play,” nicely coupled with the also quieter “Schneidleweiss.”) In that sense, his lone cover here — Miles Davis’s sprightly classic “Seven Steps To Heaven,” which closes the disc — is a shrewd choice that enables Scott to proceed with his giddy hop-scotching without impugning the song’s integrity. If you are searching for the more experimental side of Dred Scott, check out Prepared Piano, his solo attack on a strangely tuned instrument in disrepair, released the same day as Nowhere. And if you want to hear more fully developed interactions with his trio, consider Live At Rockwood Hall. But to get the best taste of Dred Scott the pianist — with his ingenious and gleeful forays shaded by neo-bop conservatism — Nowhere is the best place to go. Read more: http://www.emusic.com/music-news/review/album/dred-scott-trio-going-nowhere/#ixzz1k0cl7ptc

The Village Voice - Countdown to Armageddon

by aidan levy

The Dred Scott Trio Completes its Countdown to Armageddon Tonight at Rockwood Music Hall Midnight closed out October 18, and Dred Scott took to the stage with his trio at the Rockwood, as he has every Tuesday for the past six years. "What is CMJ?" Scott asked the boisterous crowd. "It's the Christian Music Jesus. CMJ comes around every year to see if we've been saved, and the answer's always the same." In case anyone doubted the answer, he began banging up and down the piano, tearing through a combustible original called "66 6ths." The Rapture didn't cut CMJ short, but Scott will finish his own "Countdown to Armageddon" tonight with his sixth annual Halloween show at the Rockwood. The gonzo pianist—no relation to the 19th-century Virginian slave—has been a consistent musical presence on Tuesday nights, but this show will be his last. Expect some jazzed-up Black Sabbath covers, a reprise of the trio's winking homage to Anton LaVey "66 6ths," and a whole lot of "Hail Satans"—the swan song from hell. "I've established my late-night supremacy. It's time to cast a wider net," said Scott, who decided to curtail the residency for reasons that included the arrival of his three-month-old daughter, Lucy. Scott isn't cutting back on his performance schedule as much as redirecting his efforts, though, playing earlier shows, now for a cover. To bolster this shift in circadian rhythm, he's releasing two albums —the trio full-length Going Nowhere and the solo album Prepared Piano, both on Ropeadope Records—before the end of the year. Moby, Trevor Dunn (of Mr. Bungle and Secret Chiefs 3), Sasha Dobson (who's worked with Norah Jones), and Steven Bernstein (of Sex Mob) are among the dozens of special guests who have passed through over the years, and the final showdown should bring more out of the woodwork, although everything from the set list to the band's drink orders will be improvised, as they have been for years. At any given moment, eccentric Village figures such as MC Extra Cheese might appear on stage. "Dred Scott is a astronaut. He'll take us all to space and prepare for blast off," the 40-Year-Old Rapper riffed at a recent show. The no-cover Tuesday night residency was one of the best-kept secrets downtown, a boozy throwback to a more sleepless era when jazz haunts like the Five Spot wouldn't get hot until at least midnight and John Coltrane might drop by for an impromptu nightcap at a 3 a.m. basement jam. Between the old-fashioned bar stools, red key lights, and the iron-grated window to nowhere (it looks out on a brick wall), the Rockwood fosters the type of guiltless debauchery that might make the pure of heart pray not to go to heaven. Scott himself is an irreverent repository for the execrable, the profane, and the profound—part Falstaff, part Bacchus, with a rapier wit and the key-pounding dexterity to make a battered, untunable baby grand sound like it's about to burst into flames. He's also a demon on the ping-pong table, not to mention one of the only people left in the city who can believably sport horn-rimmed glasses and a porkpie hat without any irony. The trio has a palpable psychic energy and a wide breadth of material. Chick Corea's "Quartet No. 1" might be followed by "Live and Let Die," all filtered through their frenetic hard bop style. Bassist Ben Rubin and drummer Tony Mason have an explosive Keith Moon-John Entwistle cohesiveness, knowing when to play fast and loose with the time and when to dig deep into the pocket. But the one defining feature of any Dred Scott show is the idiosyncratic, uncensored stage patter—the wild shaggy-dog stories, the self-deprecating gallows humor, the penetrating observations into the absurdity of airport logistics and text message etiquette. (A vamp on Scientology culminated in this nugget: "Only Tom Cruise has made it to level 7. Level 7 is just smoking a lot of weed.") Scott closed last Tuesday's set with a Miles Davis classic done at breakneck pace. "All Christian Music Jesus participants have to play some Christian music, so this is a song called 'Seven Steps to Heaven.'" The audience, now unanimously slain, at least by the comedy, had a resounding response: "Hail Satan."

bsc review of prepared piano

by guillaume lagree

Ouvrez un piano. Placez divers objets dans ses cordes: morceaux de papier, bouts de bois, ce qui vous tombe sous la main. Refermez. Laissez mûrir quatre mois. Ouvrez le piano, asseyez vous devant, posez vos mains sur le clavier. Jouez. Jouissez. C'est ce qu'a fait le pianiste américain Dred Scott dans un appartement situé dans le quartier de Brooklyn à New York City, USA, entre novembre 2007 et février 2008. Dehors il fait froid, dedans il fait chaud. Le résultat publié en 2009 aux Etats Unis vient de me parvenir en France en 2011. Cela valait la peine d'attendre. Comme la musique est improvisée, il y a des hauts et des bas. Peu importe. Ce qui compte ici, c'est l'envie, le jeu, la fantaisie de ce pianiste humoriste. Dred Scott est atteint d'une bonne maladie. Il ne peut pas s'empêcher de swinguer même sur un piano préparé. Cette musique va vous stimuler le cerveau, vous déranger, vous agacer, vous amuser, vous emporter. Partez avec elle, sans préjugé. La pochette de l'album est une variation sur un tableau de Salvador Dali: " Apparition de six portraits de Lénine sur un piano ". Je laisse aux lectrice raffinées, aux lecteurs raffinés le soin d'examiner les liens entre la peinture de Salvador Dali( Avida Dollars selon André Breton) et la musique de Dred Scott.

french review dst live at duc des lombards

by guillaume lagree

Well you might, une variation sur Well you needn't de Thelonious Monk. Il y a deux jours, ce trio jouait à Cannes derrière Courtney Love, la veuve de Kurt Cobain. Such a sweet girl dit d'elle Dred Scott. C'est la première fois que j'entends Courney Love qualifiée ainsi. Pourquoi pas? C'est pêchu, viril, soudé dès les premières notes. Une sorte de Blues bien funky. Ces gars là savent swinguer. Pourquoi les serveuses sont-elles si minces au Duc des Lombards? Pour pouvoir se glisser entre les tables. Je ne vois pas d'autre explication possible. Le pianiste dirige mais c'est bien à trois qu'ils cavalent joyeusement. Dobo. Surnom de Belina, ville de Californie. Ce n'est pas le chien " Bobo " dans les Simpson nous explique Dred. C'est une ballade un peu à la Bill Evans même si Dred ne joue pas dans ce genre là. Le batteur masse avec ses balais, le bassiste caresse ses cordes, le piano distille les notes. Ca berce. Cette ville est-elle si calme que cela? Ou donne t-elle tant de nostalgie? La contrebasse hausse le ton tout en douceur. C'est doux, chatoyant comme un foulard en soie. It's time for the hard stuff. Le batteur est toujours aux balais. C'est plus énergique mais cela reste léger, fin. Le batteur passe aux baguettes. Ca pulse un peu plus fort mais sans rien brusquer. Solo de contrebasse. Batteur aux balais. Ca swingue. Ma jambe droite bouge toute seule. Mademoiselle F apprécie elle aussi. Dred aime finir en prolongeant la note avec la pédale. Sixty six six. 666, le chiffre de la Bête, celui du nombre de carreaux de la Pyramide du Louvre par ailleurs. Le Jazz est une musique diabolique (Devil's music), n'est ce pas? Le batteur est aux balais. Morceau vif., dynamique. Certes il y a un gros son mais ce sont là de gentils diables. Je ne vous raconte pas le show de Dred Scott pour présenter chaque morceau. Allez le voir en concert pour en profiter, sapristi! Batteur aux baguettes. Tout le monde chante avec eux, à intervalles réguliers: Sixty six, six. Morceau technique, ludique, diabolique. Don't fear the rapture. The Rapture c'est l'Assomption de la Vierge Marie pour les catholiques. Fête le 15 août, fête patronale de la France depuis le voeu de Louis XIII (certains esprits malicieux prétendent que ce n'est pas Dieu mais le cardinal Mazarin qui aida le Roi de France à avoir un fils mais c'est une autre histoire). Pour résumer, c'est une force extérieure, irrésistible qui vous emmène au Paradis avant le Jugement dernier. C'est bien l'effet que procure ce morceau. Ca sonne comme une chanson pop américaine, de la meilleure qualité. Avec un gros son, le sens de l'espace, du rythme. Un truc qui vous emporte, vous enlève comme son titre l'indique. Ca donne envie de se lever et de danser. Les Dieux savent qu'il est rare qu'un trio de Jazz produise un tel effet de nos jours. Cela devient emporté, orageux, cyclonique. Retour au calme avant que le thème ne revienne et nous emmène à nouveau très loi, très haut. Cela me fait penser à Keith Jarrett lorsqu'il jouait derrière Charles Loyd, un enchantement. Au centre, la contrebasse creuse dans le ventre. A gauche, la batterie casse les cailloux. A droite, le piano coule comme un torrent de montagne. Mother. Dred Scott sera père en juillet prochain. Cette chanson est extraite de l'album " The Wall " des Pink Floyd, qu'il est inutile de présenter. Jolie version. Ca change à la fois de l'original et des standards du Jazz. Doggie and cookie dont une autre version live in concert illustre cet article. C'est une philosophie de vie. Soit vous êtes le chien qui mange le biscuit, soit le biscuit que mange le chien. Le batteur est aux maillets. C'est la chasse au cookie. Le chien a faim. Imaginez le joyeux bazar. Le batteur est repassé aux baguettes. Le Duc des Lombards a arrêté l'annonce genre embarquement dans un avion au début du concert. En français et en anglais. Avec la consigne d'applaudir comme dans les émissions de télévision avec public. C'est mieux pour l'ambiance. Autre progrès: les serveuses ne vous réclament plus de payer vos boissons pendant le concert. Solo puissant de contrebasse ponctué par un chaos enlevé de la batterie aux baguettes. Le pianiste revient dans la danse. C'est agité, tourmenté comme un chien qui a faim, prêt à tout pour manger les biscuits. Swirling grimly. Un morceau qui tourne puissamment avec des breaks de batterie énergiques. Mission accomplie pour le trio de Dred Scott au Duc des Lombards. Public conquis par la joie, la vitalité de cette musique. Il ne reste plus qu'à espérer qu'ils quittent le cadre clos des clubs parisiens pour s'ébrouer au grand air des festivals de Jazz en France de Bretagne en Provence.

bsc news review of going nowhere

by guillaume lagree

Sur la pochette, au recto, la photographie prise par Dred Scott représente une rue de New York où les voitures sont immobilisées par la neige. D'où le titre " Going nowhere ". Au verso la photographie de ce trio rassure l'auditeur inquiet, l'auditrice suspicieuse. Nous ne savons pas où vont ces gars là mais ils y vont joyeusement. Impression vite confortée par cette musique ludique, énergique, rythmique, humoristique. Ecoutez par exemple " Mojo rhythm (Son of Yaah!) " (n°4) puis, à suivre, pour vous en remettre " Press play " (n°5). Il y a là une filiation, rare chez les pianistes américains, avec Martial Solal avec une touche new yorkaise. Ce sont des hommes qui font leur travail sérieusement sans se prendre au sérieux, la meilleure démarche à mon sens. Ils swinguent terrible, ils ont de la joie et de la vitalité à partager. Ils dispensent du bonheur. Ce n'est pas pour rien qu'ils terminent leur album par une ascension vers le Paradis, " Seven steps to heaven " (n°8).

lucid culture review of smalls gig 3/30/11

the dred scott quartet gets devious at smalls

Iconoclastic jazz pianist Dred Scott’s Tuesday midnight residency at Rockwood Music Hall has become a New York legend – and it’s still going on every week. Last Wednesday he and his trio stole away for a quartet gig at Smalls with Ratdog’s Kenny Brooks on tenor sax, a treat for anyone daunted by the prospect of the F train, or any train for that matter, in the wee hours. It was a characteristically rich mix of devious fun and ferocious chops. Scott’s deadpan cool is something of a front: there’s a pretty much unlimited supply of power and joy in his playing, to go along with the clever, occasionally snide humor and the “hmmm, let’s see if anybody in the house gets this” japes. The set was a characteristically memorable mix of tunes. A swinging, Monk-ish new number, Scott alluded, took a cue from Glenn Miller’s Pennsylvania 6-5000: at the end of the verse, the band all shouted, “Sixty-six, six!” The melody was a little creepy but short of satanic, bassist Ben Rubin taking the first solo, reaching for the rafters quickly. Either Scott’s humor is contagious, or he’s found a fellow traveler, the two throwing “are you ready” elbows at each other until Scott took it down to a noir, modal groove, finally hammering against drummer Jochen Rueckert’s pulsing cymbals. From there, they took it absolutely noir with another modal number where Scott worked his way in lyrically, sprinting through a maze of cascades to where Rubin shifted from a boogie bass solo into some bracing swoops. Another Scott tune was gorgeous and plaintive in a Brubeck-meets-Frisell, Americana-tinged vein and served as the springboard for the best solo of the night, from Scott, apprehensively bending and twisting against the rhythm section’s one-two-three assault. A number by Cleveland saxophonist Ernie Krivda – “The Mad Hungarian – no, that was Al Hrabosky,” Scott mused – had Brooks playing amiably against a cyclical Joe Zawinul-esque melody, Rueckert and then Rubin taking it into jaunty bluesfunk territory against Scott’s big block chords and Brooks’ soulfully nocturnal lines. They wound up the set with what sounded like a couple of seriously altered standards, the first shifting back and forth to doubletime, Scott practically spinning on his bench with a blistering series of torrents, the second with a bustling Weather Report-gone-acoustic vibe where Rueckert wouldn’t let Scott tack on an ending until he was done with an amusing series of crescendos. By now, everybody was in on the fun. And that was just the first set. All this can be streamed at the Smalls site, since they archive all the shows there.

Ken Rockwood

Rockwood Music Hall

Dred Scott is a monster on the piano, one of the best players I have ever seen. In my opinion he's already a legend. It has been and continues to be an honor to have the Dred Scott Trio perform every Tuesday night . This residency has become a key part of the clubs reputation for good music any time any day. I have seen the Dred Scott trio hundreds of times and every time he blows my mind.

Village Voice

by jim macnie

"While playing, the pianist sometimes gets antsy and stands up, a la Jerry Lee Lewis. It's a move that reminds just how physical his music can be -- especially a piece like "Mojo Rhythm." Splash is part of this group's persona. This summer at Newport they made groggy morning crowd act midnightish. For the last three years at this downtown venue, they've been making a midnightish crowd act rockish (meaning whoopish). Blending pop, bop, pulse, and clatter, they get to a place that swings on its own terms. And they entertain as well. Prep for the Halloween gig by donning your 'anything goes' psyche."

ny times article - ping pong playing jazz musicians

by aidan levy

It was 1:30 a.m. on a balmy Friday and the jazz musicians were still swinging for the fences. A palpable air of sweat and Pabst Blue Ribbon pervaded the dank walls of Fat Cat, the gritty basement jazz club-cum-pool hall in the West Village. As the band counted off a barn-burning arrangement of Miles Davis’s “Nardis,” pianist Aaron Goldberg paused, took a deep breath — and drew back his ping-pong paddle to launch a serve deep into the backhand corner. Mr. Goldberg’s opponent, the guitarist Steve Berger, countered with a defensive chop. A veritable human backboard, Mr. Berger sliced back shot after shot, the point building in intensity until in a sudden show of bravura, Mr. Goldberg employed his entire 88-key wingspan, plunking a forehand winner down the line that rattled off the back wall and landed among the unreachables: a ping-pong ball graveyard. The scene was not uncommon. Before, after, and sometimes even during gigs, many of the city’s eminent jazz musicians flock to Fat Cat, where they compete for an elusive variant of a title once bestowed on Benny Goodman—the “King of Ping.” When they’re not performing, they make a different kind of music with a paddle, the syncopated clave of ping-pong balls ricocheting off walls, bodies, and the familiar blue table with a percussive thwack that at any moment could mean humiliation, emasculation, or instant canonization into the pantheon of this sub-subculture. The live jazz is only the soundtrack. “I was pleasantly surprised to discover that some of my jazz musician friends played ping-pong, and a few of them were even more serious about it than I was,” said Mr. Goldberg, who has released four albums as a bandleader and performed alongside Joshua Redman and Wynton Marsalis recently. He had rushed downtown to Fat Cat to meet a dozen of his jazz cohorts following a performance at Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola at Lincoln Center, where he was featured in a tribute to drummers Art Blakey, Elvin Jones and Max Roach in a group led by drummer Ali Jackson. “He’s the new Forrest Gump,” Mr. Jackson said of Mr. Goldberg during his group introduction. “Jazz pianist by night, ping-pong extraordinaire by day.” Mr. Blakey himself once recorded a song called “Ping Pong” but the kinship between the two forms is not just sonic. “When things are going well, you’re in the zone,” Mr. Goldberg said. “You’re just hitting the ball over the net. You don’t even realize how you’re doing it and it’s pretty much the same with music, the solo just transpiring of its own accord.” The joint history of jazz and ping-pong is deep. Thelonious Monk, Zoot Sims and Jack DeJohnette all wielded a paddle at one point or another, and in 1960, Monk bested Milt Jackson, Max Roach, Abbey Lincoln and others to win a musicians-only ping-pong tournament held by Metronome Magazine. “Monk won handily,” said Herb Snitzer, a former editor of Metronome, and a skilled ping-pong player in his own right who later challenged the mercurial pianist to a game. “He was a huge guy, but he could really move around that table, so he whooped me.” Among the musicians at the tables at Fat Cat that early Friday morning last month, no one could get a game off Mr. Berger, veteran fingerpicker for Bob Dorough, better known as the principal composer of the television series “Schoolhouse Rock.” Though he makes his living in jazz, Mr. Berger has competed professionally for decades in ping-pong and was once ranked among the top 20 American players. Mr. Berger, in fact, came to jazz through ping-pong. He spent the greater part of his adolescence at the storied Riverside Table Tennis Club on the Upper West Side, where he taught ping-pong lessons to rhythm guitarist Wayne Wright, who accompanied Tony Bennett, Judy Garland, and Peggy Lee. Mr. Wright returned the favor, and the rest was jazz history. “The universal factor is time,” Mr. Berger said. “It’s not jazz music, it’s music. Jascha Heifetz loved ping-pong. It’s time, it’s rhythm.” In 2002, Mr. Berger toured Latin America through the State Department’s Jazz Ambassadors program, playing in 13 cities in seven countries, all the while still finding time to beat the top-ranked ping-pong player in Paraguay. “The only time I ever missed a gig with Bob was when I was booked to play nationals,” Mr. Berger said. Tenor saxophonist Noah Preminger, another contender that evening, with a crackerjack forehand and an even deadlier backhand, is known for fanning the flames of competition at all hours of the night. “I think it improves my jazz game,” Mr. Preminger said. “It’s fun, it makes you sweat, it makes you nervous. It’s good mind exercise.” Mr. Preminger has for years maintained a fierce ping-pong rivalry with journeyman pianist Dan Tepfer. “If we’re playing at Small’s or 55 Bar, Fat Cat’s kind of an obvious hang,” said Mr. Tepfer. “I’m not saying pianists are better than saxophonists at ping-pong, although I am better than Noah.” Many players believe that their instrument gives them a competitive edge. “There’s definitely a correlation between ping-pong and the drums, probably more than any other instrument,” said drummer Bill Campbell, who plays often at the New York Table Tennis Federation in Chinatown or Spin, Susan Sarandon’s club by Madison Square Park. “With both table tennis and the drums, you play with power, finesse, and touch. You have to really have a lot of control.” Following an exhaustive recording session with his trio, pianist Dred Scott came out to Fat Cat to administer a paddling to any cocksure musician who had his number. “I played tournaments when I was a kid,” said Mr. Scott, who has maintained a Tuesday night residency at Rockwood Music Hall in the East Village for the last five years. “One time this nine-year-old kid played up into my age group, and he beat me bad. I couldn’t even return his serve. I haven’t played seriously since.” Saxophonist Rebecca Buxton, the only jazz musician representing the fairer sex at Fat Cat that night, played ping-pong during stints in cruise ship bands. “We’d try to play, but that was really hard, because the boat’s rocking, so the ball sort of just goes.” Back at Fat Cat, Mr. Goldberg had already dispatched a fellow pianist, Eldar Djangirov. “This is Ultimate Fighting for jazz musicians,” Mr. Goldberg said. In the hotly contested final game against Mr. Berger, Mr. Goldberg served at 20-18, hoping to eke out two more points to bring the game to deuce. Mr. Goldberg swung with reckless abandon from the backcourt with the same aplomb he brings to the piano bench. But it was a simple flick of the wrist from Mr. Berger that ended Mr. Goldberg’s bid for ping-pong glory as he scrambled to retrieve a well-placed drop shot. As Mr. Goldberg wiped the sweat from his furrowed brow and gave Mr. Berger a warm handshake, it was clear he considered the slim margin a minor coup. “We’re battling it out as best we know how,” he said. “It’s all with love and respect … up to a point.”

french review of live at rockwood

by guillaume lagree

Un club où un musicien peut jouer des mois et développer sa musique, c’est rare de nos jours. Le pianiste américain Dred Scott a trouvé cet endroit à New York, le Rockwood Music Hall.Si vous êtes à New York le mardi 1er juin 2010 à minuit, avant d'aller vous coucher, passez écouter le trio de Dred Scott au Rockwood Music Hall.Si vous repassez le mardi 8 ou le mardi 15 juin à la même heure, ils y seront encore.Au Rockwood, le mardi soir, il y a 5 concerts différents à suivre et c'est ce trio qui ferme le ban. Qu’y jouent ils ? La formation est classique pour le Jazz : piano, contrebasse, batterie. Leur style est-il pour autant classique ? Non. Est-il alors d’avant-garde ? Non plus. Alors est-ce entre les deux ? Pas plus. Leur style est à côté, au-delà, au-dedans et au dehors des genres du Jazz. Ils peuvent aussi bien improviser sur du TS Monk ( Well You might basé sur Well You needn’t) que sur du Black Sabbath (The Wizard). De plus, ils jouent les compositions personnelles de Dred Scott : amusantes, rafraîchissantes, énergiques, subtiles. « Doggie and cookie », « Ain’t no russian novel, baby » ou « Sans Francisco » jeu de mots voulu par un San Franciscain légèrement francophone, Dred Scoot. Ce « Sans Francisco » clôt cet album live in concert par un pur bijou fantastique et nostalgique. Le trio a bien progressé depuis cet album comme je l’ai pu le constater de visu et de auditu lors de leur premier concert à Paris. Cet enregistrement est une étape dans le développement de cette musique. Il faut la connaître pour mesurer le chemin parcouru depuis. Vous y trouverez la générosité, le swing impérieux, l’esprit rock’n roll du Dred Scott Trio. Aller à un concert de ce groupe, c’est être sûr d’en avoir pour son argent. Acheter cet album aussi.

review of paris gig at sunside

by guillaume lagree

Belle attaque. Beau swing. Je bats la mesure tout de suite. C’est bon signe. C’est frais, clair, énergique. C’est le premier concert de ce trio à Paris. Lundi soir, ce n’est pas la bonne date. Ils s’en moquent, ils jouent. La batterie est métronomique mais pas lassante. Impulsion de la contrebasse. Le piano tourne comme une belle toupie. Ca donne du plaisir. Ils nous emmènent dans leur monde et nous ne sommes pas déçus du voyage. Fin avec une note prolongée par la pédale de droite sans les mains. Pas mal… Une ballade. Intro au piano. Pour l’instant, ils jouent des compositions personnelles. Il y a des réminiscences de Martial Solal dans le démarrage du trio. Cela ne peut que me réjouir. Le batteur est en cuisine, aux balais, fouettant la sauce. Ca s’anime gracieusement. Le batteur est repassé aux baguettes. Autre similitude avec le jeu en trio de Martial Solal, ce n’est pas l’habituel défilé thème/solo/thème. Ca joue vraiment à trois en même temps. Le pianiste est bien le chef mais les deux autres ont leur mot à dire. Au tour du bassiste d’être le Boss. Pianiste et batteur dialoguent avec lui, jouant en arrière plan. Personne n’applaudit. Ce n’est pas un solo démonstratif, c’est une prise de parole. A chacun son tour. On applaudit l’ensemble. Dred Scott aime finir le morceau avec la pédale. C’était « Time for the hot stuff », expression idiomatique américaine qui signifie « le moment de boire des alcools forts ». « Don’t fear the ripper ». Dred Scott teste son français. Il reviendra à Paris ce qui lui permettra de progresser. Ca sonne comme une chanson populaire (pop song in english). J’entends une voix de femme chanter dessus. Ca vous entraîne bien loin de Paris. Ca respire au large, les grands espaces américains, la forêt. Un petit intermède et ça repart plus brutal, plus inquiétant. Il y a un esprit rock’n roll, dans le bon sens du terme, chez ce trio. Retour au thème de chanson américaine juste le temps de passer à autre chose. L’humour de Dred Scott me fait aussi penser à Martial Solal. Une ballade « Regrets ». Tout le monde a des regrets, n’est ce pas ? (Dred Scott). Alain Souchon en a fait une jolie chanson. Le batteur masse ses tambours avec ses balais. Le contrebassiste impulse doucement. Les doigts du pianiste semblent tituber, hésiter sur le clavier mais tout cela est maîtrisé pour exprimer les regrets. « Mojo rhythm » écrit pour un enfant de deux ans nommé Mojo Rhythm Davis. Pas facile à porter ! Morceau très énergique, haché. C’est assez loin du « Mojo working » de Muddy Waters quoique… Le mojo est un grigri, un héritage des cultes africains chez les Noirs américains. C’est une œuvre explosive, pleine de bombes qui éclatent pacifiquement. Le jeu du piano est extrêmement libre mais il y a toujours une assise rythmique derrière comme dans le Free Jazz d’Ornette Coleman d’ailleurs. Autre point commun avec Martial Solal : Dred Scott joue sur le clavier et uniquement sur le clavier du piano. Solo bien énervé avec des influences du classique. C’est la charge de la cavalerie légère mais plutôt du côté des Indiens. Dred enlève sa veste à la fin du morceau. Il est bien échauffé. « Press Play ». « Pousser Jouer » ça rime en français note Dred. Ca commence tranquillement mais avec des pauses, des virages surprenants. Un couple âgé vient d’arriver. La dame n’a pas apprécié la fin du précédent morceau. Avant le début de celui-ci, elle a dit : « Je crains le pire ». Elle écoute en faisant la moue. Pendant ce temps là, le trio nous berce et nous réveille tour à tour. Ces trois là sont très à l’écoute. Le mari applaudit un peu. Pas l’épouse. « Well you might » variation sur « Well you needn’t » de TS Monk. Un blues rapide. Il y a des rappels de la mélodie de Monk mais transformée, dilatée, accélérée, sévèrement secouée. La dame désapprouve toujours. Jusqu’à quand tiendra t-elle ? Des crabes fous courent sur le piano. Ce sont les doigts de Dred Scott. Breaks de batterie et non pas solo. C’est une solution préférable pour relancer la machine sans la casser. La dame n’est toujours pas d’accord avec les musiciens. Elle a dû applaudir deux fois. « Casa de luz » (Shorty Rogers). Hommage à la West Coast car Dred Scott est originaire de San Francisco. Il y a en effet cette « Spanish tinge » chère à Jelly Roll Morton. C’est joyeux, lumineux. Ca swingue très agréablement. Le jeu est plus classique, West Coast. C’est une musique peu jouée aujourd’hui alors qu’il y a tant de clones du bebop et du hardbop. Merci à Dred Scott et son trio de nous rafraîchir la mémoire. Au batteur de mener la danse, bien poussé par les deux autres. La dame applaudit un petit peu. Enchaînement sur un vieux standard. Ca pète et ça brille. Défi entre pianiste et batteur avec le contrebassiste pour arbitre. Après la présentation des musiciens, retour à un swing plus calme pour conclure. PAUSE Le couple de mécontents aux cheveux blancs est parti. C’est le premier concert de Dred Scott à Paris. Ca m’étonnerait fort de les revoir au deuxième. Démarrage au piano sur une ballade. « Dansez sur moi » chantait Claude Nougaro sur « Girl talk » de Neal Hefti. Ca se ballade tranquillement. Le morceau est dédié aux deux personnes qui sont parties après le premier set parce que le batteur jouait trop fort. Vous avez deviné de qui il parlait, n’est ce pas ? Swing plus puissant, en vagues. Le batteur hache fin. Le contrebassiste reste tranquille. Le pianiste démarre, accélère sans forcer. Ca swingue méchamment comme le chantait Claude Nougaro. Ca fait du bien par où ça passe. Dred parle moins, n’annonce plus les morceaux. Une ballade. Le batteur frotte aux palais. Les notes sont distillées. C’est agréable mais ces musiciens sont plus surprenants, plus créatif, plus à leur aise sur tempo rapide. Ne boudons pas notre plaisir. Sur tempo lent, ils caressent bien les tympans. C’était « Bobo », un hommage à Paris certainement. En tout cas, c’était délicieux, tout simplement délicieux. « Doggy and Cookie ». Etes-vous un chien qui veut manger le biscuit ou un biscuit qui veut être mangé par le chien ? Telle est la philosophie de la vie de Dred Scott. Le morceau est bien agité au départ. C’est bien le chien qui court après le biscuit ; Le solo de contrebasse est assez agité lui aussi. Le batteur prépare les biscuits en malaxant les cymbales. Très beau solo à la fois rêveur et énergique. Il est 0h05 et je dois aller à l’école demain matin pour 9h. Je m’en vais donc avant la fin du concert. Irai-je jusqu’à New York ou attendrai je leur retour à Paris pour écouter à nouveau le Dred Scott Trio en concert ? En tout cas, au loin ou au près, ce groupe mérite le voyage. Swing, blues, énergie, esprit rock’n roll, compositions, standards connus ou méconnus, la carte est variée. Il y a de quoi satisfaire tous les goûts sauf si vous avez peur d’être attrapé, secoué, surpris comme le couple de mécontents aux cheveux blancs.

lucid culture review of small's gig with strings

by alan young

Jazz with strings – what a great trend this could be! Guitarist Gene Bertoncini turned in a lushly beautiful set with a string quartet at the Jazz Standard back in March and this was even better. The Dred Scott Trio’s weekly Tuesday midnight residency at Rockwood Music Hall is now over four years old, at the point where legendary status starts to creep in, and this show in the more spacious, comfortable downstairs confines of Smalls reaffirmed that eventuality. Scott’s a fast, sometimes pyrotechnic pianist in the Kenny Barron mode, but more playful and stylistically diverse, as adept at ballads as he is barrelling along at full throttle. There’s a fearlessness and a completely out-of-the-box sensibility in his playing and his writing that ultimately goes back to punk rock. This show was typical in that Scott, bassist Ben Rubin and drummer Tony Mason, lushly augmented by an all-female string quartet, aired out pretty much every weapon in the arsenal. They opened with a swinging original, Apropos of Nothing, vividly lyrical strings doubling the intro’s syncopated hook, then accentuating the end with a fast, staccato eight note passage. Wayne Shorter’s Nefertiti, a genial, pretty straight-up bluesy number vastly benefited from the sweep of the strings. Scott had named another original Mojo Rhythm after a friend’s kid of the same name (you have to wonder about guys like that), a striking, intensely rhythmic number with Mason kicking up rolling thunder, Scott swaying and stomping through the opening melody, Rubin bringing in the crescendo on the chorus as the strings ably doubled it. And then Scott and Rubin yelled “Fuck you!” in unison. It was the only lyric of the set. An unsettling violin solo appeared amidst the pandemonium but without amplification, was pretty much lost in the melee.The cheesy eighties hit Let’s Get Physical was redone as a bossa tune with some tastefully incisive fills by Scott, ironically the evening’s least physical number. Best song of the night was Bobo, the nickname for a California town Scott had spent some time in as a kid, a plaintive, Dave Brubeck-esque jazz waltz lit up by an absolutely gorgeous eight-chord head that screamed out to be brought back, again and again. And finally, it was. Scott then brought up longtime co-conspirator Carol Lipnik (whose show at the Delancey earlier this spring had to have been one of the year’s most transcendent live moments so far) for vocals on a cover of Brian Eno’s By This River. Warmly and inclusively, backed only by Scott’s piano, the occasional minimalist bass note or cymbal touch, her vocalese took the crowd way out to a different place (she’s going to Yaddo in a couple of weeks – maybe that had something to do with it). The band wrapped up the set with a scurrying, somewhat apprehensive tableau taken way up by a Scott solo, furiously and intricately working vast permutations of a walk down the major scale. If you haven’t seen this band yet, they’re at the Rockwood every Tuesday – you have no excuse.

sf chronicle article

by david rubien

It seems a long time ago when Dred Scott was a prince of the city. It was the mid-'90s, and Scott was keyboardist and founding member of rap-jazz-funk outfit Alphabet Soup, which held down a weekly spot at the Up and Down Club on Folsom Street. This was the last time San Francisco had a jazz scene actively supported by nightclubs. They called it acid jazz, and bands like the Broun Fellinis, the Charlie Hunter Trio and Mingus Amungus packed clubs like the Paradise Lounge, the Club DV8 and Bruno's. When the scene fizzled, Scott left for New York, gradually making a name for himself as an iconoclastic entertainer in a jazz-trio format with a muscular, unpredictable style and a penchant for covering pop tunes. He lives in Brooklyn, plays weekly at the Rockwood Music Hall in Manhattan's Lower East Side and gets side gigs backing up lots of singers. This week Scott, 45, returns to the Bay Area with his trio - Ben Rubin on stand-up bass and Tony Mason on drums - for shows at the Oakland Yoshi's and the Kuumbwa Jazz Center in Santa Cruz. The Chronicle caught up with Scott over the phone. Q: Let's get this out of the way first: There's also a rapper named Dred Scott. How do you avoid confusion? A: Well, to my knowledge I'm the only white guy named Dred Scott (laughs). There's also a visual artist named Dread Scott, and occasionally I get calls from galleries asking if I want to display my work. Q: How does a white guy have the name of a famous slave? A: My real name is Joseph Patrick Scott. I grew up in St. Louis, and when I was out with my mother she'd always point to the courthouse steps and say, "Right over there, that's where they used to sell slaves." And it was mind-blowing to my young mind that people would do something like that. And St. Louis is where the Dred Scott decision went down. ... It was the catalyst for the Civil War. It's part of my history growing up, so when I was looking for a name, that came up right away. Plus, I have a really sarcastic, dark sense of humor. Q: So I hear you're in the movies these days. A: Yeah, the Dred Scott Trio is in a scene in the movie "Once More With Feeling" that played at Sundance. I also composed the score for a documentary called "Home" with Susan Sarandon, Mike Myers and Liam Neeson. The actors talk about their relationship to New York. Q: What else is up with the trio? A: We have a new album out called "Live at the Rockwood Music Hall." We've been playing every Tuesday night there at midnight for three years. It's a great gig. We're also gonna make a second album of tunes, "Standards 2000 Vol. 2," that'll be covers like "California Dreaming," "Physical," "Don't Fear the Reaper" and "The Long and Winding Road." Q: "Physical" by Olivia Newton-John? A: Yeah. We do it as a slow bossa nova. I got the idea from Goldfrapp - they do a great version of it. Q: Why play pop tunes as opposed to jazz standards? A: It's what jazz musicians have always done. They play the tunes that are around them. It connects to the audience. The problem is, these days, songs don't have enough chords in them. That's why I play a lot of songs from the '60s. Also, a Zep tune or Pink Floyd tune, that's deep in the lexicon. People love that. Q: Your old band Alphabet Soup played the Monterey and San Francisco jazz festivals. Last summer, the Dred Scott Trio played the Newport Jazz Festival. A: Yeah, that was a huge opportunity for us. The crowd was really into it even though it was early in the morning. You know, we had a PR guy working with us who came up with this slogan, "Jazz for people who don't like jazz." I didn't really like that, but when you hire people you gotta let them do what they do. But when I look out into the crowd and see girls having a really good time - as opposed to people just staring at the band with blank faces - that feels really great. Dred Scott Trio: 8 and 10 p.m. Wed. Yoshi's, 510 Embarcadero W., Oakland. Tickets $10-$16. Call (510) 238-9200 or go to www.yoshis.com. Also, 7 p.m. Thursday, Kuumbwa Jazz Center, 320 Cedar St., Santa Cruz. Tickets $18-$21. Call (831) 427-2227 or go to www.kuumbwajazz.org. To hear music and watch videos by the Dred Scott Trio, go to sfgate.com/ZGKU.

review of lily pad show in boston

by mark

I've come across pianist Dred Scott's intriguing name a few times -- memorably in this funny anecdote from Ethan Iverson's blog -- but never heard him before I saw him play with his long-running trio Friday at the Lily Pad. I got to Inman Square a few minuted before the posted start time of 10 and, on my way to get a coffee, crossed paths with someone I recognized to be Mr. Scott. I asked what time they might go on, and he answered with a grin that they'd start when the audience outnumbered the band. There were eight in the crowd when they started, and by the time they finished a bit before midnight, the "crowd" had grown to maybe 20 or 25, this even after a nice plug in the Phoenix the day before. Scott's Monk-ish fur hat and choice of nom de jazz suggested a kind of studied eccentricity that made me nervous, but while the originals that made up the bulk of the set ranged from lyrical West Coast pieces to more rhythmically dense and thorny numbers, nothing in the set felt weird for the sake of weird. Well, okay, maybe engaging the 'crowd' in a feeble call and response of "Hail Satan!" as the band turned to what I think was the only cover of the evening, Blue Oyster Cult's proto-metal epic 'Don't Fear the Reaper,' was unnecessary. But tellingly, even the let's-make-a-classic-rock-hit-into-a-piano-trio-number move didn't come off as winkingly clever or ironically bombastic as it might too easily have. The song has quite an engaging melody and, as Mr. Scott reminded us, jazz has long appropriated pop songs for its own use. And I really enjoyed the apparent homage/response to Monk, 'Well You Might' -- I don't know the musical terminology for this, but it sure sounded like part of 'Well You Needn't' had been inverted or otherwise creatively deconstructed in creating this new but familiar piece. Scott's apparently long-time partners are bassist Ben Rubin and drummer Tony Mason, both of whom look like they keep top-shelf company and stay very busy in New York's jazz-and-beyond world -- Rubin told me as we chatted after the set that they were headed back to New York that night as he had a brunch gig the next day; I think Mason played the night before with Charlie Hunter, an apparently frequent collaborator these days. Anyway, Rubin and Mason both sounded great too, and the three have clearly worked up comfortable synergy through their apparently nearly weekly gigs at the Rockwood Music Hall on the Lower East Side. Many of the pieces they played on Friday appear on their most recent recording on Ropeadope, a live set from this latenight Tuesday residency. Check out Dred's website for free sample MP3's, dates, info on how to order CDs, and compilations of his "dispatches."

all about jazz review of live at the rockwood cd

by christopher shoe

This album is the Dred Scott Trio 's tribute to one of its most frequent gigs in New York. In a city where regular engagements are more and more scarce it is a beautiful thing to see the relationship this band shares with a venue; Live at the Rockwood Music Hall is a beautiful showcase of this dynamic piano trio. Right away the listener is drawn in to the group's lively energy. "Well, You Might" is a solid opener, with a pulsating melody that speaks of modernism. Scott's solo is equally mesmerizing; his lines soaring through the chord changes at a speed that leaves listeners wondering what just flew by them. The band shows they know how to groove on "The Wizard." This modern and somewhat funky take on Black Sabbath's "The Wizard" speaks of a musical heritage in a forward-looking style. Drummer Tony Mason shines on this track with his cohorts driving him forward with the repetitious melody. "This Ain't No Russian Novel, Baby" is beautiful in its simplicity and swinging in its feel. The band blends together nicely for a fresh take on the modern trio sound. One comes away from this album confident that jazz is still alive and kicking and that there are still places where it is welcomed.

newport review

by ejalyssa

Our jazzy journey began this morning with an electric set from OurStages Dred Scott Trio over at the Waterside Stage. This New York based group delved into a modern vibe right off the bat and opened with Apropeau of Nothing followed by the R-rated heavy hitter, Mojo Rhythm where they occasionally interjected the word f@#k between a hard, complex and ever-shifting melody – and at times even included Dred Scott himself banging on the piano with his full forearm! Sensing the modern sounds might have thrown off the early morning crowd, Dred Scott shifted gears slightly and worked in a spunky little Don’t Fear the Reaper rendition that pulled people right back in line. The spiffily dressed MC Extra Cheese came out for a few songs and added a quirky comic edge to the performance with his song Not on my album, which lists all of the artists that Dred Scott and friends will NOT be collaborating with … unless of course they were ‘Lil Kim’ and promised sexual favors (yes that was in the song).

review of dst w/ kenny brooks cd - all about jazz-new york

by terrell holmes

On first glance, the most striking thing about the disc Dred Scott Trio with Kenny Brooks is the leader's historically significant name, a paradigm of injustice that still resonates through the continuum of racism and social reform. But the issue of real name or stage name is quickly made irrlevant by the group's shimmering talent. Another striking thing about the disc is its anachronistic brevity: the disc clocks in at just over 37 minutes. The conciseness and on-point musicality recall a time when jazz players' eloquent and enduring statements were long enough to make their points without defeating their own purposes. Jazz lovers can sample this Tuedays during Scott's midnight set at the Rockwood Music hall, where he leads a trio featuring bassist, Ben Rubin and drummer Diego Voglino through a wide range of originals and standards, all played with style and verve. The tunes on the disc are originals, with Scott sharing the writing duties with bassist Wilbur Krebs. Krebs' "(Rumpled) Wilskins" begins with a lyrical, sparkling statement by Scott, a Jarret-like calm before the storm, before the rest of the goup jumps in with a jazz-funk riff, with Scott and Krebs playing the theme in tandem. Guest star tenor man Kenny Brooks builds strong and lyrical harmonic ideas on the tenor, Krebs ditty-bops on electric bass and the under-appreciated Kenny Wollesen shines on drums. Scott's solo here is wonderfully constructed, punctuating the ideas he hinted at in his opening with flowing harmonic riffs. Scott's "Regrets" is a soft bop, brooding tune on a slow burn, skillfully interpreted by the band, with Scott playing a thoughtful, melodically-flowing solo before Brooks lowers the curtain with his feather-soft tenor. Krebs" "King Biscuit" is a burner with quickly shifting tempos and textures. Scott builds the tension slowly, along the melody/harmony like a Formula 1 driver. Wollesen provides the accents on cymbals and snare and then its Scott's turn to shine, soloing with an ingenuity and ease that recalls Kenny Kirkland. The disc concludes with the ballad "Bobo", on which Krebs plays the acoustic guitar as well as the bass (dred's note: it was just bass - a six string), with more lush and introspective piano from Scott that recalls Bill Evans and McCoy Tyner.

sf weekly review

by victor haseman

The Dred Scott Trio wore sunglasses -- dark, obnoxious UV blockers. Pianist and bandleader Scott's were thick, round, white numbers with smoky black lenses that matched his white leather jacket. Bass guitarist Wilbur Krebs opted for a pair of sleek gray ones. And drummer Joe Brigandi's were reminiscent of the Gargoyle wraparounds that Arnold Schwarzenegger wore in Terminator 2: Judgment Day: black lenses, in black frames. Practically speaking, wearing shades probably made it easier for the three to block out any visual distractions from the intimate Yoshi's Nitespot bandstand. But foremost, the trio's eye accessorizing played into a tacky-cool showmanship that Scott indulges in every chance he gets. Fifteen years ago, he might have been described as a disciple of psychedelic subterfuge coupled with post-cool intensity. But in our modern age of musical eclecticism, his pathos is not as easily pinned to the donkey. A fixture in that SOMA crowd of hip-boppers -- with whom the Broun Fellinis, Josh Jones, Graham Connah, and Charlie Hunter are affiliated -- Scott's strength as a keyboardist has always seemed more rhythmic and percussive than melodic. He is the culprit feeding you squealing chords over kick drum-heavy breakbeats as you start the second verse of your freestyle rhyme (witness his collaborations with Alphabet Soup, the improvisational band that features two local rap talents). On this second evening of the Jazz in Flight-sponsored Eddie Moore tribute, Scott was also the brain behind a collection of piano-driven arrangements that started with an extended version of Pink Floyd's "Breathe in the Air" and concluded with a rousing interpretation of "Time for the Hard Stuff," an Allman Brothers number covered on his trio's latest recording. The intermediate time was littered with standards and original tunes that stretched out along the jazz continuum, connecting bebop to cool to avant-garde. But more important, the night's performance was strewn with mood swings, sometimes boisterous and frolicsome ("Well You Might"), other times more esoteric ("Swirlee Girlie"). And then there were those contemplative moments, as in "A Gentle Behind Her" or "Bad Car Sickness (Black Narcissus)," featuring Krebs' subtle, Spanish-inflected strumming. Krebs has a way of raising the stakes on any tune he is featured on. He plays four-string and 12-string bass guitar with an ear for the melody, rhythmic texture, and counterpoint all traditionally shunned by most bassists in favor of strict timekeeping. Fortunately, the metronomic role was left primarily to drummer Brigandi, who spent the majority of the night driving the beat wherever it was supposed to go. But the evening's crowning jam came shortly after Scott relayed an anecdote about popping mushrooms at one of his first visits to the old Yoshi's, on Claremont Avenue in Oakland (the new Nitespot is located in the ever-hipper Jack London Square district of downtown Oakland). "In memory of that show," he growled, "we're all on mushrooms tonight." The crowd went wild with glee. "And now, 'Swirlee Girlie.' " Finally, a concrete reason for wearing sunglasses at night -- if you can take the word of a musician wearing a huge dollar-sign medallion, a low-cut print shirt, nylon warm-ups, and Puma sneakers.

review of small clubs are dead cd

by miles boisen

In this self-assured debut, Dred Scott acknowledges his acoustic piano influences, then drowns them in torrents of hip facility. He throws down the gauntlet to Chick Corea and Thelonious Monk on "Well, You Might," weaving unfettered pantonality between tributes to his mentors’ chiseled approaches. "Papa Pete" typifies several cut-and-paste pursuits, with bluesy swing, glittering unisons, and lush chordings gathered into layered trio arrangements that hint at a hidden orchestral potential. On the crepuscular beauty of the title track, he downplays the piano’s percussive qualities, exhibiting the moody resonance of Keith Jarrett. But such semblances are trivial compared to the abundance and magnitude of original ideas here. Scott’s more striking constructions ally him with other innovators who use jazz heritage as a foundation for group improvisation, "serious" compositions, and formal experiments. "Yaah!" integrates these disparate elements perfectly, using an ominous main theme to connect singsong phrases, tumbling free passages, and twisted backbeats. Along with "Spiritual for Two Dead Charlies" (an appropriation of Mingus’ late-‘50’s charts), "Yaah!" adds the intertwined voices of saxophonists Ken Brooks and Carlos Valdez to a commendably warm mix. The piano sound is a bit lean in the lower registers, but superb imaging and high-end clarity are a desirable side effect with advantages for the gentler material, especially on the hypnotic inside string-plucking of "Youngstown." Despite the gloomy prognosis about small clubs, this disc confirms a hopeful sentiment; after nearly a century, jazz piano still has plenty of life left in it.

sf examiner

by phil elwood

What did my wondering ears behold while strolling by Enrico’s recently but the sounds of a piano wafting over the din of diners’ chatter and out into the night air. To my astonishment, I heard some brilliant keyboard variations on "Seven Steps to Heaven," one ot the best compositions played - and recorded a couple of times (1963-64) - by one of the best Miles Davis groups ever. "What have we here?" I wondered. What we had, I discovered, was pianist Dred Scott, empathetically joined by bassist Wilbur Krebs and drummer Joe Brigandi. "Seven Steps..." was written by Victor Feldman during his short tenure as Davis’ pianist. It’s a very tough chart, designed to accommodate screaming outbursts from Davis’ trumpet and George Coleman’s sax. To weave through its complex fabric in a piano improvisation is an ambitious venture, yet Scott, Krebs and Brigandi tossed it off impressively - with ease. As the set moved along, fragments of Lennie Tristano’s strolling left hand figures popped up occasionally, as did some of the elegant, subtle chording that Ahmad Jamal introduced to 1950"s "cool" jazz. Scott is not just a fine - in fact, magnificent - pianist; he is a fine, magnificent all-around musician. Although he has been on the San Francisco music scene for a number of years, he’s not nearly as well known among the jazz crowd as he is to SOMA club habitues. He’s a main cog in the hip-hop/acid-jazz/rap ban Alphabet Soup as well as a guiding force in Third Plane. Scott also plays with funk groups like President’s Breakfast and Moe Dark and the Love Posse, and has played, composed and acted with the S.F. Mime Troupe as well as working with the Margaret Jenkins Dance Company and others. It’s that musical eclecticism that encouraged famed new-music guru Anthony Braxton to include Scott on an L.A. recording session, and over the years Scott has recorded with Steve Horowitz’s The Code, drummers Joe Morello and Andrew Cyrille and bassist Cecil McBee. Scott studied music at the University of Akron in Ohio and seems to find inclusion of riffs from Schoenberg and Stravinsky to be as natural as keyboard references to Bud Powell or Thelonious Monk. Sometimes, as in this improvisations on "What Is This Thins Called Love?" ("Hot House" to the bopsters) Scott combines a dozen styles in playing on top of delightfully bopping, bouncing, swinging bass and drum rhythms. He is obviously an enthusiast of interesting, original music that appeals to a young, body-moving audience. Scott’s CD, "Dred X-Mas," (available wherever he’s playing, and in a number of hip CD shops) is a one-man tour de force. On 11 Christmas songs, Scott plays nearly as many instruments - piano, bass, guitar, accordion, keyboards, timbales, tablas, conga drums and others. And though some interpretations are adventures in jazz ("Jingle Bells," "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"), most are delightfully unusual performances - "Let it Snow" becomes a polka, featuring an accordion trio; "Silent Night" becomes a country-western waltz, with slide guitars; "God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman" is played by piano and tabla as a raga. Scott plays at Enrico’s Thursday night, if he gets back on time from a Hong Kong gig.

santa cruz metro review

by curtis cartier

Dred Scott has a highly abusive relationship with his piano. One minute he’s in a furious rage, poking, jamming and slapping the keys around like a coked-up mobster. Then, after cooling down a bit, he’s apologizing with tender ticklings and delicate caresses, trying to convince each key that he’s sorry and he’ll change. But no matter how bad it gets, sooner or later they always come back to each other. Plus, one listen to the fusion of rock, funk and hip-hop-laced jazz that comes out of their union proves that dysfunctional relationships are often the most exciting.

time out ny blurb

This disc (Live at Rockwood) demonstrates that Scott's vision of bop is a deeply personal one, which can be either cozily swinging or devilishly tricky.... Pianist Dred Scott and Co. play jazz breezy enough to get your toes tapping, yet eccentric enough to tease your brain.