| The
Man Who Dances On The Keys...
What makes the musician
Uli Lenz so extraordinary? His piano playing
is a synthesis of the entire history of jazz, a treasure
trove: he's not particularly interested in the so called
spirit of the times, doesn't seek orientation there. His
thing is far rather reminting jazz classics. From Count
Basie through Errol Garner, Monk, Peterson, McCoy Tyner
or Don Pullen, he leaves his imprint upon the tradition
of the classical jazz piano in his own way. He's only prepared
to pick up on what his inner voice dictates to him: the
aptness and the sheer variety of musical riches, which he
bestows upon us, the manifold colours, patterns, moods and
musical metaphors he finds, always just a wink of an eye
before the heart expects them! He knows how to put us in
a permanent state of breathless excitement.
"The man who
dances on the keys", is how the maestro thinks of himself
as a pianist. That unmistakeable, powerful left hand...
because he's left handed and the urgency of rhythm is second
nature to him, his moving - astonishing - force. It's like
changing gears when driving a racing car. Lenz was once
a rally driver. He knows how to make the turbo engines drive
the piano.
Listen to the dramatic
technique in the introduction to Love Channel, moving
from the sound of splintering, glittering glass in the highest
treble keys through the melodic middle registers to the
circular dancing feel of the bass lines by that extraordinary
Ed Schuller and of There is no Greater Love,
in which the melody, broken into fragments with Brechtian
finesse suddenly moves with the hiss of brushes on highhat
from drummer Victor Jones and a doop-booping from
bass player Ed Schuller, with an abundance of bright, shining
notes and exquisite timing, into that classical swinging
jazz thing.
Rondo
about 'Echoes of Mandela'
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