Out of everyone on the talented KRUI Online Content team, I am probably the last person who should be reviewing experimental jazz. I’m the stand-up comedy reviewer—it’s what I know best—and in terms of how it works as art, stand-up is probably the opposite of jazz. Stand-up routines are meant to be done in pretty much the same way every time, tweaked and tightened in small ways until the set runs like a freshly-oiled machine. It’s also an art form meant for the largest possible audience, as comics will often take the same set to different cities, states, even countries.

After listening to a lot of jazz over the past week, culminating in an amazing performance by renowned trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire and the PUBLIQuartet last Friday at the Stop/Time Festival presented by Hancher Auditorium, I’ve come to the conclusion that most jazz isn’t meant for an audience at all. Instead, it serves as a forum for the performers to express themselves abstractly, turning pain and love into a confused, revelatory experience for audience members to hear, but never really understand. 

For Akinmusire’s performance, we sat on the Hancher stage in a small row of bleachers; I was less than five feet away from the nearest performer. The stage was bathed in a display of shifting, zebra-patterned lighting, which changed to a singular spotlight as poet and UI English professor Donika Kelly opened to the floor for a reading of her poems.

Kelly’s poetry was excellent, as expected, but what really struck me about this opening performance was the rhythmic, almost percussive quality of her delivery. Her first poem, “Its gone be what it is,” hops back and forth through familiar phrases like a record skipping. Kelly even incorporated snapping into her performance to punctuate certain moments—which, I later discovered, is written into the text. The poems were a beautiful way to ease into the performance that followed. Poems have more structure than jazz, but they still encapsulate that same spirit: art as a playground for the artist, rather than a product for the audience. 

After Kelly had walked off, Akinmusire and the PUBLIQuartet joined us on stage, along with several accompanying artists. Akinmusire and his band seemed totally in sync as soon as they entered, and would often laugh with each other in quiet, stolen moments during the show. It felt a bit like I was intruding on a secret conversation they were having through their instruments.

A highlight: drummer Elijah Revell, the heart of the performance, giving it rhythm with a steady beat and creative embellishments. Roughly halfway through, just as the concert was beginning to drag, Revell snapped the audience back to attention with a drum solo I can only describe as “sick.” When he stopped, Akinmusire could tell we liked it so much that he nudged him to keep going.

In fact, Akinmusire seemed to be radiating with pride the whole night. He smiled, laughed, and stared deeply at his fellow performers like he was coming to life. As pianist Sam Harris poured himself out onto the keys, Akinmusire would peer at him through the gap in the piano lid and nod to the rhythm, as if acting as an extension of the audience. When improvisational vocalist KOKAYI stepped to the mic to deliver fast and powerful rhymes, Akinmusire reacted to each new bar with a gentle contentment, full confidence in KOKAYI’s masterful wordplay and control of the beat. Players would often look to him as a guide to the song, making him the quiet leader of the show, but never in a way that overpowered or overshadowed anyone else. Even though he got top billing that night, I never got the impression that he thought of himself as the lead performer. He was just a fragment of the greater story.

The PUBLIQuartet gave the performance a raw, unfiltered feel. They did things to their instruments I had no idea strings could do until that day: sharp plucking, creaking, shrieking, and groaning. Usually cellos, violins, and violas automatically make a piece feel more classical to me; in this show, they actually made the music feel less refined, unrestrained in a way that complemented the rest of the music. In contrast, artist chiquitamagic lent the night a slightly psychedelic quality with their synthesizer and haunting backing vocals. The two styles may have clashed at times, but overall, the layering felt intentional, and added a new dimension to the sound.

But I know that I can only guess at what the meaning of the music actually was. KOKAYI’s vocals touched on anxiety and betrayal, and Akinmusire said before the final song that this performance felt like reaching the other side of impending doom. But watching these artists perform felt almost joyous, slightly muted, like watching a house party from outside the house. Akinmusire’s trumpet playing never formed a cohesive song; rather, he gave us short bursts of emotion that we could not decipher. Only he and the other performers know what he meant by his instrument’s passionate wails and moans. It was an experience only understandable by its creators.

The concert was not for me, but for them.

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