Performing Arts: Gene Bertoncini, "Winter Heat," John Eddie

Monday, January 12, 2009

GENE BERTONCINI

No doubt that for many listeners of a certain age at Blues Alley on Friday night, Gene Bertoncini's performance brought to mind the late Washington jazz legend Charlie Byrd and his mastery of the nylon-string acoustic guitar. Like Byrd, Bertoncini has a penchant for Brazilian melodies, particularly those of Antonio Carlos Jobim, and a finger-style technique that allows him to combine sublime lyricism with a supple rhythmic attack.

Part of the pleasure of catching Bertoncini's opening set was hearing what the veteran guitarist could do with a melody worth savoring. He often introduced a piece in free time, in ruminative, single-note fashion, then slowly added harmonized lines or full chords that retained and even amplified the tune's melodic charm. His subsequent improvisations frequently generated colorful variations of a theme -- swift and inventive and, always, neatly resolved.

Bertoncini also used his guitar's low register to delightful effect, occasionally transferring the melody to the bass strings for additional color and contrast. But more often he relied on bassist Tommy Cecil to fluidly accent or embellish the theme. Indeed, the trio arrangements were dotted with complementary solos and concise breaks by both Cecil and drummer-percussionist Chuck Redd, who adroitly served Byrd in the same role.

There's not much quarrelling with Bertoncini's taste and repertoire. Tunes by Jobim and Michel Legrand made the cut this time around, along with an evocative, George Shearing-inspired rendering of "East of the Sun." It all led up to a funk-charged "Eleanor Rigby," a vibrant, crowd-pleasing closer.

-- Mike Joyce

'WINTER HEAT'

At "Winter Heat," a program that brought an eclectic group of African American artists to the Lansburgh Theatre on Saturday afternoon, some of the pieces sizzled, while others came off as lukewarm.

Anyone who has seen Coyaba Dance Theater perform knows that it can deliver a crisp, fiery performance. But, in "Harmony" and "Come Back to US," the dancers seemed to be conserving their energy for something else -- perhaps the evening run of the show. As a result, the movement lacked the punch and ferocity called for by the choreography.

"Students of the Asphalt Jungle" is undeniably fun, but is hardly one of hip-hop choreographer Rennie Harris's most thought-provoking or complex pieces. After a brief unison movement sequence at the start, six male dancers from his company, Rennie Harris Puremovement, take turns doing solo improvisations. They are showboating, packing each series with impressively controlled handstands, whirling kicks and muscle isolations that look like they could be done only by an automaton.

In "Drumfolk!," Step Afrika revived the traditional African American percussive styles from which contemporary step dancing evolved. Their bodies became drums, with dancers clapping hands, stomping feet and slapping their chests, hips and thighs. This piece was pleasing, but when the troupe took the stage again for "Trio" and "Shhh!" it became immediately apparent that these contemporary works are its comfort zone. Their clear rhythms and precise formations came with a heavy dose of sass and a spot-on sense of comedic timing.

-- Sarah Halzack

JOHN EDDIE

He's a lowlife. He spent seven days in Vegas and he don't remember six. It's getting pretty old being young at heart. On the evidence of his crowd-pleasing late-night marathon at Jammin' Java on Saturday, Jersey bar-rocker John Eddie has an apparently bottomless catalogue of these teetering-on-the-edge-of-novelty tunes.

They come from three major-label albums (plus a few self-released efforts) cut since the mid-'80s. Back then, Columbia Records was behind him, believing -- stop us if you've heard this one before -- they had another Springsteen on their hands.

And how did that work out? Well, the 49-year-old troubadour's most recent album isn't really all that recent (2003), and more to the point, it's called "Who the Hell Is John Eddie?" The self-deprecating humor of its title was all over Eddie's affable, high-spirited gig, performed for the delight of a smallish but enthusiastic cult of true believers who tripped the light geriatric (well, getting there) while their weathered but indefatigable hero rocked the hits-that-never-were well into Sunday morning. He did take a 30-minute intermission (if you can call it that when the headliner sits at the bar among his public), but still played for better than two hours.)

With his country inflections and his wont to make every chorus a punch line, Eddie is more in the vein of Steve Earle or John Fogerty than the Boss. There are sharper funny-country writers out there -- Drive-By Truckers' Mike Cooley springs to mind. But if it's not quite a mystery why stardom eluded him, Eddie is still likable enough for a Saturday night, even if that closing cover of "Suspicious Minds," in which he jumped into the audience, was kind of embarrassing. Dude, that's not a wireless microphone.

-- Chris Klimek