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Herbie Hancock At Masonic Temple

Herbie Hancock At Masonic Temple image Herbie Hancock At Masonic Temple image
Parent Issue
Day
18
Month
October
Year
1974
OCR Text

Human Beings have to eat. Herbie Hancock is human. Thereby, Herbie Hancock has to eat. The problem is: Does Herbie eat to live or does he live to eat? Or to use the language of those who pay attention to the market behavior of artists- Has Herbie sold out?

Let me water down my own argument by admitting that I was, like many others at Masonic Auditorium last Saturday, riveted by those irresistable rhythms. Sly has never been so sly nor Stevie as wonderful as Herbie Hancock and the Headhunters managed to be. And yet the question remains and begins to gnaw- Is Herbie talking down to us? Is his music the equivalent of Sir Laurence Olivier selling Polaroids as Hamlet on American TV? oThe posing of the above question presupposes that Herbie Hancock is a musician of greater depth than his current music betrays (and anybody who is familiar with Miles' quintet of the late sixties or Herbie's own efforts as a leader before and after that will attest to that depth). His older forms, which were melodically and structurally inventive, have degenerated into simplistic and monotonous repetition. Add monotony and electronics together and you get a music that is Supremely Marketable, despite the trifling detail that this music, in my opinion, curtails the growth of the musicians involved.

But whereas it was the record companies who laid their greasy hands on the genius of Wes Montgomery, it is Herbie Hancock who has decided that he will sell himself. At the Hilton Hotel, after waiting all day for an interview that didn't materialize, Herbie told us in the elevator that: "If you were TIME Magazine, I'd do the interview, cause that would be worth more to me." Well, need I say more?

A half hour later I was in Masonic ready to forget what Herbie was like and just use my ears like everybody else. The matter was greatly simplified. Despite the fact that these cats could be playing more, despite the fact that the frontiers of jazz were not being threatened by their performance-they did have the people moving out of their seats and onto their feet, me included. And though Herbie had a little trouble controlling the many moods of his synthesizers, he used them to great effect on the only relaxed tune of the affair, "Butterfly." Bennie Maupin calmed down a little and began to create lines that were softer and more melodic. Percussionist Bill Summers was always there with an unwavering rhythm on various exotic instruments.

Nevertheless, I am sitting here listening to Herbie comp on Wayne Shorter's SPEAK NO EVIL and wondering why the man ever wanted to stop playing this music. Maybe I'm just a sap for that fresh and lyrical conception that he coaxed out of an acoustic piano. I suppose it boils down to picking the Herbie you dig and letting the other one go. Still, I think he could do with a little less regard to the mediacies of popular taste.