Review: Garaj Mahal @ Fez Ballroom

Each member of the band is a virtuoso of their instrument. Besides Fareed Haque on guitar, there’s Kai Eckhardt on bass, Eric Levy on keyboards and, for this tour, Sean Rickman on drums. Haque is a professor of jazz and Classical Guitar Studies at the Northern Illinois University. Levy is one of his former students. The fact that they can communicate almost telepathically allows their styles to mingle, wrapping each note around its counterpart on song after song.

This is how they started (after the shitty day reference). Haque and Eckhardt grabbed on the opening riff of Weapons Of Mass Destruction. This song has a bit of call and response, with a dynamite drum pace. They segued into The Paladin, with its Return to Forever like hook. Then, when it was drummer Rickman’s turn, he remarked that it was 37 years since Jimi Hendrix was found dead. They then blasted off with Who Knows from Live At The Fillmore. With its intricate guitar and bass parts, Rickman was left to fill the gaps with an unbelievable delivery of both rhythmic flare and plain old hot dogging. It went on like this all night.

Not only jazz, Garaj Mahal serve up trippy rock, delicate blues, Mediterranean-influenced raga as well as some of the prettiest experimentation I have ever heard. And they looked as if they were having the time of their lives playing it. No smile was larger than Sean Rickman’s. He seemed to be making eye contact with each audience member and gave each one a grin, communicating the fact that he was doing something he loved. Smooth and imaginative, Rickman’s drumming set the tone for each song. The combined rhythms of his and Eckhardt’s playing were more than just a rhythm section playing. Their interplay bordered on playing two different songs at once that somehow come together at the crest of the jam and force the audience to acknowledge their creativity with sudden gasps and spontaneous applause.

Before I knew it, their second set ended. I checked my watch and could not believe the amount of time that had elapsed. Like Garaj Mahal’s music, time seemed to flow one moment into the other, smoothly blending as the night bled off into early morning. Driving home, I calculated the amount of sleep I would be able to cram in before the day job. A decade or two ago, I would have probably stayed up, relying on coffee, cigarettes and loud music to get me through to the end of shift whistle. Not anymore.

I decided that a couple of hours sleep is better than nothing. Working the day job on that little sleep would make for a difficult day, to say the least. Not a shitty day, mind you. Just a rough day. Shitty days were reserved for the loss of a valuable instrument and having to perform with less than a full arsenal of musical weapons, like Fareed Haque was forced to do Thursday night. If the show he and Garaj Mahal put on at the Fez was indicative of a shitty day for them, punching the time clock and giving eight hours to the man was the least I could do. It may have been a shitty day for them, but it was a magnificently brilliant night for Garaj Mahal.

Rock on through the fog, shitty by day, brilliant by night.

A.J. Crandall

Portland, OR.