It is impossible to experience one's death objectively and still carry a tune. -- Woody Allen

This is a concert that I waited for over many years. For decades now, Woody Allen has played clarinet with his New Orleans Style jazz band at the Carlysle Hotel in New York City almost every Monday night.

This year he came to Montreal. Claire, Danny Stone, (college student at SUNY Buffalo) and Erin Duffy, (former balet student at Ottowa, CA and now a freshman at the University of Vermont) -- both Claire's friends joined me at the Place D'Art in Montreal for a great, great concert.

It was Woody Allen himself who said that 80 per cent of success is showing up, and sure enough, just walking on the stage of Place des Arts’ Salle Wilfrid Pelletier earned him an almighty cheer from the audience. There he was with his oversized black-rimmed glasses, legs crossed and leaning back in his chair, both feet tapping away to the rhythm of his New Orleans Jazz Band. So the fact that his subsequent first notes elicited laughter rather than more cheers could, if we’re being kind, just be attributed to his demeanour. Even the way Woody sits is funny. Maybe listeners were remembering their favourite embarrassing moment in Annie Hall or Manhattan. But maybe, more likely, they were caught off guard by the strange sound being produced by his clarinet – a sound so squeezed, it’s a wonder anything comes out at all. Squeaks, buzzes and the odd identifiable note turned out to be the beginning of Woody’s first solo of the night. But did it really matter? My guess is that most of the audience was dying to hear Woody speak more, but he made it clear he was here for his music. For the whole set, he sat resolutely as just one of the band. And so the band played on, seven white guys strumming through old-time hymns and gospel marches. Sometimes the trumpet or trombone player got up to croon a verse or two. For Woody, playing the clarinet has been a lifelong labour of love, and that’s a pleasure to witness no matter what the sound ends up being.

Okay so he's no Benny Goodman, but give Woody Allen a break. He and his New Orleans Jazz Band gave a great show. A bunch of old guys getting together and jamming out some classic ragtime – what's not to love? Yeah, Allen squonked his way through the first few numbers, but when he warmed up he revealed a real feel for the music, even getting into some creative syncopation toward set's end. And his bandmates were characters, every one of them. The trombonist and trumpetist played it straight, but brought the songs to life when they had the spotlight. The banjo player was a riot, grinning ear to ear throughout, letting off the occasional "woop" and convincing Allen to come back for not one but five or six encores, and even to play a few more tunes in what was likely a rehearsed routine. The drummer was the best, staying almost perfectly still all evening, moving only his wrists, and maybe a foot, just enough tap out a light rhythm. Then, on one of the last encores this understated drummer sang like a New Orleans nightengale. Add piano and standup bass, and you've got a party. Allen for his part was borderline narcoleptic, keeping his head down when he wasn't playing (to let his bandmates shine), springing to life long enough to take a solo or play off the others. Several members got up to sing a song, the drummer surprising everyone with a great voice when his turn came, late in the show. All in all, a hoot, allowing us to rediscover the fun and unpretentious poetry in an often overlooked style of jazz, and to see a pop culture icon in another light.

More on the Jazz Fest later...

By the way, will someone other than Maureen, Claire, Isaiah, Al and I write on this?????????? If you don't I swear I'll go into "edit" on this thing and change the name to "The Outlaw Blog".

-- Joe