Roy Ayers Ubiquity, Jazz Café, London

Richard Liston
Friday 02 January 2004 01:00 GMT
Comments

Your support helps us to tell the story

From reproductive rights to climate change to Big Tech, The Independent is on the ground when the story is developing. Whether it's investigating the financials of Elon Musk's pro-Trump PAC or producing our latest documentary, 'The A Word', which shines a light on the American women fighting for reproductive rights, we know how important it is to parse out the facts from the messaging.

At such a critical moment in US history, we need reporters on the ground. Your donation allows us to keep sending journalists to speak to both sides of the story.

The Independent is trusted by Americans across the entire political spectrum. And unlike many other quality news outlets, we choose not to lock Americans out of our reporting and analysis with paywalls. We believe quality journalism should be available to everyone, paid for by those who can afford it.

Your support makes all the difference.

When a musician can claim to have played to your father and even your grandfather you know he's either lying or is of an age when he shouldn't be inviting audiences to feel the vibes. Well, at 63, age doesn't seem to bother Roy Ayers, the vibraphonist who, at the Jazz Café, danced, clowned and stomped around like a man half his age.

Among Ayers's band of merry men was Ray Gaskins, whose party piece is playing the saxophone and keyboards at the same time. And it never fails to impress: tonight he even found time, with one hand clawing at the keys, the other racing over the sax, to adjust a slightly wonky mike.

Before Ayers went on stage, his main concern was how he was going to enter the arena with sufficient impact to quell the audience's impatience at his being more than 30 minutes late for the scheduled 9pm start.

In keeping with the showman that he is, Ayers, wearing a black-and-white striped suit with a white fedora finished off with a red band, ran through the dining area of the venue, down the back stairs and without even a cursory hello, was straight into "Can't You Feel Me".

The high-energy start did not let up all night. His opening song, taken from a pool of 88 albums starting in 1963 with West Coast Vibes and spread over a prolific recording period of more than 40 years, was quickly followed by "Running Away" and "Evolution".

The funky solos from the band offered Ayers time to pause for breath, and a chance for his musicians to show off. When Ayers again took centre stage he used the opportunity to express his comic talents. "We live in London, baby, we shop in Tescos, baby," - the lyrics to the original "We Live in Brooklyn Baby" are somewhat different, as he went on to demonstrate. But it typified a man who was having fun at a time in his career when he can afford himself a few laughs.

Ayers is a survivor, a musical Goliath whose resilience has seen him at the start of the Sixties emerge from the jazz school of hard bob, graduate to funk, specialise in fusion and r&b, before drawing the template for acid jazz in the Nineties. He is now an icon of the hip-hop fraternity; his distinctive vibe sound being sampled ad infinitum. But then Ayers's musical catalogue allows him such elevated status among fellow musicians.

At the Jazz Café he only scratched the surface of his vast songbook. "Searchin'", a rousing rendition of Dizzy Gillespie's "Night In Tunisia", and "Everybody Loves the Sunshine" were just a few of the favourites he performed. Had he wished, he could have played all night; and I dare say, the young, appreciative and lively crowd would have happily stayed awake to be entertained by a man who is charging through his sixth decade and who may well, indeed, have played to their grandparents.

Join our commenting forum

Join thought-provoking conversations, follow other Independent readers and see their replies

Comments

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged inPlease refresh your browser to be logged in