Grègoire Maret’s Harmonica Is Pocket-Sized Brilliance

Maret channels stunning intensity through every note.
Photo source: Klara Radio

If the jazz realm were a solar system, then the harmonica would be its shooting star – the streak of surprise that brings brilliance wherever it goes. In the hands of Grègoire Maret, however, the harmonica is more than just a shooting star.

At the New School’s 25^th Anniversary Legacy Concert last April, Maret graced only a corner of the Tishman Auditorium stage in duet with pianist Andy Milne (with whom he also appeared on Scenarios). The pair followed an explosive program of big bands, whittling the evening’s gymnastics down to an introspective simmer. They interpreted “Body and Soul” with delicate modesty, but resonated through every molecule of air. As Maret charged forward, Milne strayed from the melody in many diverse directions. Maret too explored freer terrain, unwinding his momentum into airy experimentalism.

Maret (right) and Federico Gonzalez Peña (left) at a prior performance.
Photo source: jackylepage.com

But it was on the Jazz Standard stage that Maret blossomed into vibrant colors. Alongside pianist/keyboardist Federico Gonzalez Peña, bassist Ben Williams, and drummer Clarence Penn, he brought his new eponymous album to visceral territory. Maret’s intensity shone through his facial expression before the harmonica reached his mouth. While the band stirred awake, he silently pondered – and then speared into the cymbal-synth-bass pool like an aural diver. He conjured the spirit of a horn through his pocket-sized instrument, flaring with a sophisticated groove echoed by Peña’s piano. Penn’s drums crashed but never burned, crackling with subtly boisterous energy. Williams’ electric chords lent a funky edge to the acoustic affair.  

Once guest Cassandra Wilson arrived, the scene took a sensational turn. She and Maret exuded unmistakable chemistry on “The Man I Love”, leaning toward the microphone in innate harmony. Wilson’s raspy gospel sound carried a sultry sadness on its shoulders, punctuated by gentler streams of harmonica. The vibe soon cruised under a milder light, drifting to the beat of Wilson’s sighs and Maret’s meanders. Peña, Williams, Penn, and guest guitarist Jean-Christophe Maillard subdued their melody with remarkable grace.

Maret (left) and Clarence Penn (right) unite with fiery spirit.
Photo source: Ben O’Brien Smith Photography

Several pieces later, Maret pensively slumped on a stool to deliver his goodbyes for the last time of his week-long residency. He and his band-mates retreated behind the curtain, yet a sense of melancholy lingered in the air as folks gathered their belongings. And while the Jazz Standard stretched its arms to greet the late evening, the band quietly slipped back onstage. Their encore was laced in a medley of intricate, bittersweet textures. But one solitary harmonica wail was enough to say it all: Maret spills his heart into every melody and note, transforming his instrument into a paintbrush of the soul.

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At the New School: Eight Musicians, One Stage, Five Unforgettable Moments

All the magic happens up there, in the New School's Arnhold Hall.
Photo credits: forgotten-ny.com

Gather a group of jazz musicians into a concert hall, and you’re guaranteed an interesting night. When those musicians are part of the New School’s renowned jazz faculty, that interesting night takes a quirky turn. Randomly selected to perform together in Arnhold Hall with bandleader Andy Milne, the two pianists, two bassists, tenor saxist, trumpeter, and vocalist filled the modest venue with a few standards, faculty originals, a folk tune or two…and five moments that stretched the bounds of instrumentation to creative heights.

5. Standing before a laptop, gong, and drum set, pianist (and percussionist for the night) David Lopato introduced “Shadow of a Bird in Passage”, a Tibetan-inspired interpretation of the soul’s journey to birth. Wielding several metal bowls in hand, bassist (and also impromptu percussionist) Johannes Weidenmueller joined Lopato in crafting an earthy vibe, punctuated by Cecil Bridgewater’s siren-like trumpet. The layering of rustic and sleek textures was surprisingly intuitive, even when Lopato digitally remixed Julie Hardy’s vocals against an organic aural backdrop.

4. As soon as the opening notes of “11211” seeped from the piano, only one thought came to mind: This must be Jay Bianchi’s piece. And Bianchi –hunched over and immersed in the keys – did indeed craft the intense composition. While he pensively pushed forward, Weidenmueller’s upright bass twisted into Alexis Cuadrado’s Latin-tinged electric chords, both bassists infusing the air with a playful edge.

3. Amid the stew of tangents in “The Farmer’s Market” – Milne’s keyboard synths, Bianchi’s acoustic musings, Bridgewater and tenor saxist Arun Luthra’s brassy conversation – one voice stood strident and sensational. Hardy’s voice, that is. Her scatted “do-dah”s recalled the plump sound of a xylophone, especially when dancing across Weidenmueller’s mellower plucks.

2. Lopato, Milne, and Bianchi raised Duke Ellington to the third power in a musical and gymnastic feat on “In a Sentimental Mood”. Alternating as lead pianists, they lent the piece three distinct flavors in a matter of minutes. Lopato dipped in and out of melodic conventions in a warm opener, passing the aural baton onto Milne, who – while Lopato played on his knees to make room on the bench – brought a cooler ambience to the florid affair. Bianchi slipped in after, echoing the warmth and ease of his piano predecessors in a more traditional context.

Weidenmueller proves along with Luthra, Milne, and Cuadrado that percussion hides in the strangest places.
Photo credits: Tory Williams

1. Throughout the evening, the band was vocal about its lack of a drummer and ironic abundance of pianists and bassists – but Luthra transcended the obstacle in his witty, cross-instrumental “Collective”. Saxophone slung over his neck, he jolted right into the improvised jam…though not with his brassy tone. Luthra’s konnakol (a South Indian form of vocal percussion) launched a funky rhythm accented by Milne’s piano string plucks and Cuadrado’s acidic electric bass. Weidenmueller knocked away at his upright bass frame, adding a hollow foil to the pungent mix. And Bianchi summed up the mood in Arnhold Hall as he watched from the stage steps, swinging, twisting, tapping, and grooving to the downright irresistible beat.

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