Concert Hall, June 15
8/10
Well, that answers that question. In the four years since the Concert Hall’s major acoustic revamp, I haven’t sat up in the seats that seem nearer the Lower North Shore than the CBD. In case you’re wondering, the sound is equally pristine. Every note had absolute clarity, from the tiniest cymbal “ping” to the fat warmth of the bass.
It helps when the sound engineer is mixing some master musicians. This band doesn’t quite match the one that US trumpeter Chris Botti brought here in 2010 on the first of his visits, which tried to lift the skyscraper off the top of the Basement. But he’s too good (and too successful) to settle for ordinary players, and these were exceptional. Guitarist Mark Whitfield has returned to the fold, and drummer Lee Pearson is a fine substitute for Billy Kilson’s otherworldly virtuosity. Pianist Julius Rodriguez and bassist Barry Stephenson admirably completed the core band, to which were added the guests: long-term associate Caroline Campbell on violin, pop singer/guitarist John Splithoff and opera singer Fernando Varela.
Those guests give a swift clue that a Chris Botti concert is like opening a chocolate assortment, with centres of jazz, funk, rock, pop, classical, opera and cinematic music. Drifting through it all is Botti’s bittersweet trumpet sound and gorgeously lyrical lines. One could quibble about the excessive reverb on both trumpet and violin, but, ultimately, it’s an aesthetic choice to make those instruments more sparkly and larger than life.
As ever, there was a nod to Miles Davis, this time with Some Day My Prince Will Come, played using a Harmon mute, although with a timbre more honeyed and less lonely than Miles’. A medley that began with When I Fall in Love was, surprisingly, the only real feature for the livewire Whitfield, whose rhythmic sense is unerringly supple. He then accompanied Botti in a duet version of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah (more chocolate assortment), on which the trumpeter achieved something of that Jeff Buckley ecstasy.
The middle of the show contrasted the keen sense of humour underpinning Pearson’s dextrous drum solo with the lavishness of Campbell playing Emmanuel and Cinema Paradiso, while wafting about the stage attired like some golden Greek goddess. A bigger surprise was that she and the band then tore up an instrumental rendition of Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir, to equally amusing and thrilling effect.
Splithoff was the first guest singer, his wide-ranging, pretty voice sliding effortlessly between pop and jazz, amid which he slipped in a burning guitar solo for good measure. Then, another dip in the box, and out popped Fernando Varela, lighting up Nessun dorma with his incandescent tenor, before Pearson gave his Louis Armstrong impression on What a Wonderful World. As you can tell, there were a few kernels of corn among the gems, but it’s impossible not to admire Botti’s playing and keen instinct for mixing broad appeal with high-calibre music.