Reviewed by Barry Lenny, Tuesday 10th March 2015
Born Adolphe Johannes Brand,
Abdullah Ibrahim was known as Dollar Brand for the early part of his career. Moving to London, he was discovered by
Duke Ellington. He then moved to the US, where he played with some of the other jazz greats, as well as recording under his own name, before changing it when he converted to Islam. Interestingly, he is also a follower of Zen Buddhism, and studies martial arts.
At 80, his powers of inventiveness and his technique on the piano both still seem to be expanding, as this sensational performance demonstrated. His style is referred to as Cape jazz, acknowledging the influence of the music that he heard around him when growing up in Cape Town, South Africa. There were numerous musical influences, which includes traditional African music, gospel songs, and more, as well as, obviously, all of the jazz forms up until that time, from New Orleans, to Be Bop, West Coast Cool, and beyond.
As well as writing the score for the film,
Chocolat, he wrote the very important piece,
Mannenberg, which is considered to be the de facto national anthem for South Africa, where he has lived since the insanity of Apartheid ended.
There were no big entries or exits, just a modest man walking on stage, sitting at the piano, and opening a booklet, which he then seemed to ignore for the rest of the evening. His first piece ended, an hour after it began and, following applause that showed no sign of ending until he put a finger to his lips, he began the second and final piece in
the concert, a shorter work of fifteen minutes. In those two works, Ibrahim took us through a meditative, emotion filled, and brilliantly varied set of improvisations. Briefly, here and there, a hint of a recognisable theme surfaced, and just as quickly, vanished.
I am sure that I heard snippets of the love theme from
The Godfather,
Speak Softly Love, recurring in the first piece, along with other hints of pieces including, I am certain, the American national anthem. The second piece seemed to keep referring to the jazz classic, which Nat King Cole made famous,
Let There Be Love. Trying to follow the chord changes confirmed both of these suspicions, to a degree, but, with such an inventive genius, more and more alternative chords, added notes, and inversions of themes, surpassed the ability and, in deed, the need to recognise the bases for the works. I was content to allow myself to be absorbed in the music.
Given half a chance, I would still be there, avidly listening to this remarkable musician and composer and, from her glowing comments after
the concert, so would my guest, who had never heard his work before. I hope that we see him again in Adelaide very soon.
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