today's Austin Statesman review of Ornette Coleman concert

[Michael Eisenstadt]

By Joe Gross
Nov. 18, 2004

Sunday night, Ornette Coleman was treated like a conquering hero by a
shockingly packed Bass Concert Hall. When a frail-looking Coleman took the
stage in a powder blue suit and black hat, everyone rose to their feet, a
standing ovation for a man everyone was thrilled to see still standing. He
may look every day of his 74 years, but he sure doesn't play like it.

At the same time, he does not play like the aggressive, muscular Ornette of
years past. Though it took him a good two or three pieces to truly find his
footing, his gorgeous tone swooped over a low end too often muted (depending
on where you sat) by the concert hall's unforgiving acoustics.

Joined by son and drummer Denardo Coleman, bassist Tony Falanga and bassist
Greg Cohen, Coleman's 11-song set leaned on the gestural sketch artist's
still-magical ability to fold multiple melodies into a single piece. Though
hampered by frustrating sound and dull drumming -- a transparent baffle
muted Denardo's drums, robbing them of what little snap and punch his
occasionally shaky timekeeping had -- there were moments of bracing,
group-think beauty sprinkled throughout the set.

Much of this was due to Falanga's remarkable bass. Bowing his bass and
acting as a lead instrument, his rich tone was alternately mournful and,
well, funny, echoing Coleman's melodic phrases with a keen but respectful
wit. The set's pacing was a bit of a problem. The songs became sharper,
bluesier and more riff-based as the set went on; we really could have used
some of those up front. The first piece zipped by too quickly and without
development, and was followed by a gorgeous ballad filled with moody, almost
cantorial statements from Falanga, who throughout the evening took
responsibility for development of a piece's themes. A bowed duet between
Flanaga and Cohen in the sixth piece was rich and savory.

Ornette's trumpet playing walked a fine line between subtle color and
tentative reserve, and his violin playing was mostly limited to staccato
textural gestures. It was not a perfect set, and Ornette acknowledged as
much, commenting after a bracing, bluesy encore, that they would be better
the next time around. But it was still wonderful to hear the master's line,
part lithe folk, part rich Texas clay, still all his own.