David Binney: No math required

Early this evening, I spent some quality jazz time on the deck, pointing the left-channel speaker out the kitchen window, the right channel out the sliding glass door from the living room. My chair on the deck is precisely placed to provide balanced sound. I was playing Barefooted Town by alto saxophonist David Binney.

I enjoy his restrained, searing yet swooping lines. Binney is part of a progressive crowd in jazz, people who use time signatures of hefty prime numbers, but much of his work is enjoyable in a casual way — and I must say that I have never counted off the rhythms to determine whether I am experiencing transformative or routine music.

In any case, my neighbor emerged to refresh his birdbath and water various plants. I hailed him and informed him of some potentially loud and intrusive operations that contractors I had hired would be carrying out early next week. He appreciated the heads-up. Then he asked, "Are you playing music?"

"Yes."

"I like it," he said, smiling, and subsumed himself within the confines of his dwelling.

He was enjoying "A Night Every Day" (video above), a piece that integrates lyrical and abstract passages from Binney, Mark Turner on tenor and Ambrose Akinmusire on trumpet, in a spacey, ballad-like ambience.

On one hand, the moment was mundane. On the other, it was an explosive, insightful moment. A person with no apparent expertise in cutting-edge music was enjoying it in a spontaneous way. No math required, apparently.

There's something wrong about jazz — its' easily enjoyed without any prompting, yet most people would say they hate it.

By the way, the wine of the evening was a heavily oaked Chardonnel from Lindwedel Wine Garden of Branson, Mo. It presented a fitting combination of lyrical (white grape) and abstract (oak) elements, meshing nicely with Binney's aesthetic.