<< Back 11/13/02 Making sense of MMW Improvisational group attracts jazz elitists and jam-band fans By Hunter Pope Medeski, Martin, and Wood’s music is like going through birth. With the latter, there is a struggle, an almost asphyxiated effort to breathe and make it out of the womb. The same can be applied to a jazz meltdown, which MMW has mastered in all its frustrating intricacies. John Medeski’s Hammond B-3 will clang and chatter, looking for that tiny avenue as big as a needle thread. The Mingus flash of Chris Wood’s bass helps in the quest, the thump of the stand-up seemingly having nowhere to land. Percussionist Billy Martin looks as lost as the others. He slaps on his infinite number of toys, but none of the percussive instruments seem to have the key to the outside. All of the sudden the trio finds each other, the triumvirate of sounds falls into a raging stream that parts the gray matter of the unsuspecting fans. I’ve seen this many times and every time I say, “Ahh,” like I’ve just stepped in from the Arctic tundra. It’s like an orgasm meshed with seeing the world for the first time. When MMW comes out on the other side, it’s a beautiful thing. Sometimes it’s as smooth as Miles Davis’s teenage hand, and other times it’s as funky as week-old garbage on the dance floor. Going to see this trio summons up images of what it must have been like to see Charlie Parker awaken out of a narcotic slumber and blast his divine horn to the late niters at Birdland. MMW defines jazz because it’s hard to pigeonhole them into the genre of jazz. They are constantly pushing the envelope, improvising until a new sound materializes and then they put their own stamp on it. “Music is its own thing that people need to do and hear and dance to, it’s an innate human need,” John Medeski told Errol Nazareth of the Toronto Sun. “Categories happen as a way to market or they happen after the fact to give a historical description. It’s all marketing and a way to make money off something, that’s how I see it. We just keep making music.” Like their predecessors (Ellington, Hancock, Hendrix, to name a few), MMW has given their soul to music and all they ask in return is internal satisfaction. Unlike their other contemporaries on the Blue Note Jazz label, MMW makes more collateral on the tour market as opposed to the record selling market. And they are attracting throngs who usually spin their stuff to jam heavies like Phish and Widespread Panic (although, one can look around at one of their live shows and still see a good demographic of coffeehouse jazz elitists). “We get part of that audience that relates to the improvisatory sides of those bands,” Medeski told Nazareth. “What that audience is looking for is that cathartic experience — that orgasmic release — and I think, really, you can only get it from improvised music.” “There are plenty of people who would argue against us being jazz,” Medeski continued. “I would be honored to be considered jazz, but I also see the argument against us being jazz. But, what I have seen through our website is that young people who’ve never heard of John Coltrane or Duke Ellington are going out and buying those records after seeing us, and that feels good.” Since their inception in Brooklyn in 1991, MMW has released nine albums, as well as a slew of side projects and production pieces. Folks like Marc Ribot, John Scofield, Karl Denson, and Iggy Pop have employed their services. Their music has appeared on the “Sopranos” and the John Travolta comedy, “Get Shorty.” John Medeski was the producer for the Dirty Dozen Brass Band’s “Buck Jump,” and Billy Martin did a Break beat album with MMW’s “fourth member,” DJ Logic. They are also establishing new trends, with many jazz wannabes emulating their unique sound. One of Medeski’s trademarks is the B-3 organ solos. Since MMW’s mercurial rise, there has been a rebirth of the B-3 solos. When DJ Logic came on board (live and on the 1998 landmark album, “Combustication”), the idea of a “record scratcher” with a jazz band seemed taboo (although it had been done many times before.) MMW made it chic, and now, a guy with a turntable is as given as an added horn section. Half the bliss of going to see MMW in concert is to watch them. There are no flashy seizure lights, nor do any of the members feel it necessary to jump up and down for motivation purposes. They don’t need to. Billy Martin is in constant motion, going from one percussive gadget to the next. His drumset is like the old “jazz-sets” where the toms are connected to the bass drum, unlike the modern sets where everything is isolated. Martin is a slut for the tone, he believes that if one drum is hit, the whole set should vibrate. Chris Wood helms the middle spot, and he works his bass (stand-up and electric) with feverish intent. His facial contortions reveal a man who believes in every thumped note. John Medeski is like some deranged choir leader behind the keys, his fingers dance over the ivories with such reckless abandon that anyone getting near could be injured. Where did all this madness begin? Medeski began his training at the age of 5 in Florida. Handed the title of prodigy early on, Medeski trained with luminaries like Jaco Pastorius in high school. He then moved on to the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston where he studied with Ron Blake and esteemed drummer, Bob Moses. Chris Wood grew up in Colorado, where he earned All State jazz bassist, as well as All State Orchestra principal bassist honors in high school. Like Medeski, Wood studied at the New England Conservatory in Boston with Dave Holland, Bob Moses and Geri Allen. Billy Martin is a NYC native, and his musical lineage included a mother who was a Rockette and a father who was a violinist for the New York City Ballet and the New York City Opera orchestra. Tutored at an early age, Billy studied under professional drummers like Joe Morrello and Michael Carvin. In high school, Martin became immersed in Afro-Cuban and Brazilian music, and he collaborated with drummer Bob Moses on several Gramavision recordings. Drummer Moses seemed to be linchpin for the future of the trio. He knew all three at some point in their musical foraging, and he was partly responsible for their paths constantly intertwining in the 80’s. “I just wish more musicians at a high level would get out and play for the younger audience,” Medeski once lamented to Bob Makin. “I wish they would direct their music toward that audience. I think jazz is an advanced musical language and that people need to become familiar with the language. The more you do that, the more layers you find.” First billed as an acoustic trio in 1991, Medeski switched to electric organ once they began touring extensively. The exchange was not for innovation sake, but for survival: “We started touring and there were no pianos anywhere,” Medeski told Makin. “We couldn’t afford to rent a piano, so I started using an organ. Like any good Darwinist, Medeski and crew adapted, and the B-3 became a staple groove emancipator. The classic album “It’s a Jungle in Here” (Gramavision) featured the new electric sounds along with medleys of Thelonious Monk’s “Bemsha Swing” and Bob Marley’s “Lively Up Yourself.” “Friday Afternoon in the Universe” (Gramavision) followed, and many believe it was MMW’s coming out party. Fans’ and bands’ heads swiveled alike, and by 1996, MMW was opening for the likes of Phish. They also arranged “Shack Parties” at the Knitting Factory, inviting revered musicians like DJ Logic and Vernon Reid (of Living Color). Logic became the undisputed “fourth member” when he toured with MMW and performed on the insta-classic “Combustication” (virgin ears should consult the track “House of Logic”). It was their first album for Blue Note Records, the winner among 17 record companies who were vying for the MMW sound. 2002 saw the release of “Uninvisible,” which is by far their most accessible. Funk is the main culprit here, and they feature a slew of guests including Col. Bruce Hampton (spoken word), the Crash Test Dummies singer Brad Roberts, DJ Olive, and the horn section from Brooklyn’s Afrobeat band Antibalas. Like any revolutionary band, MMW continues to scoff at the boundaries. Parameters don’t equate into their vocabulary. A new sound is always obtainable, no matter how far away or elusive that note may be. They’ll tweak the noise until it says uncle, and then it becomes part of the MMW family. Sure, the listener may have to go through darkness blacker than a womb to get there, but once it opens up, the only wail from the fan is one of ecstasy. And it happens more than once in a show. Since I can’t remember my birth, I might as well be reborn a dozen times in a single MMW show. Mother, forgive me.