March 18 2003

EVEN THOUGH SCHOOL arts and music programs are woefully – criminally – underfunded, the minimal amount of dough the authorities have thrown at, say, high school bands and orchestras means that there are still plenty of folks out there who play instruments – Harold Hill/Music Man kind of instruments. Big honkin' brass sections. Giant vibraphones. Woodwinds, for Christ's sake – like Benny Goodman. Often, they play them very well.

You can see the signs of their presence everywhere. For instance, in San Francisco, over the past few years, it seems like there's been a marked increase in the number of brass bands, marching bands, and big ensembles packed with awesome instruments you haven't seen in action since 12th grade.

Many of these instrumental ensembles seem to be firmly in the groove-heavy New Orleans tradition, inspired by the likes of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band and the Rebirth Brass Band. Bay Area outfits wail and shimmy and shout, often mixing their N'awlins with a jammy West Coast approach that is more boogie than bop.

The preeminence of boogie is, in fact, my only complaint. There's a huge difference between a jam band and an improvisational jazz combo. Jam bands may indulge in instrumental vamps, but they're mostly about getting the kids up out of their chairs and tend to rely on tried-and-true beats and grooves to do so. If you're not a fan of the form, it can get tedious.

The Realistic Orchestra – a huge groove band comprising more than 20 members of outfits such as the Brass Monkey Brass Band, the Marcus Shelby Jazz Orchestra, and Cannonball (which pays tribute to Cannonball Adderley) – came together Feb. 25 at Bruno's for two sets of eruptive, bombastic groove and boogie music. The place was absolutely packed – people were pressed in all the way to the back of the room and crouching down between seats and stools. The band itself filled every square inch of the performance floor, from the edge of the bar through the curvy, semisubmerged "orchestra pit" and up again to the banister of the tiered "nosebleed" seats against the far wall.

They had it all. Vibes. A half-dozen trombones, including a crazy bass-looking trombone, the bell of which you could fit your head into. Ranks and ranks of saxes and trumpets. Two clarinets – rare, indeed. Bandleader Adam Theis was a virtuoso on this nutty seven-string bass guitar contraption with an absolutely tooth-rattling lower end.

The compositions were, it seemed, entirely original, despite occasionally having names like "Take the A-Train." Musically the tunes were intriguing and complex, making full use of the band's capacity for both massive volume as well as rippling texture.

The problem, again, came down to the part about the boogie. Remember, I am pinched and square, and despite being a devoted Deadhead and salivating jazz fan, I really can't stand jam bands. So if you are a fan of that genre, take my opinion with a grain of salt.

Despite the extraordinary talent of the band, the rhythm section spent about half their time stuck in these boring-as-fuck cracker-funk grooves. To their credit, they didn't wallow in it. These guys are fabulously talented. Their bass lines were wiggly and wandery enough to escape jam-band repetition. And Eric Garland's extraordinarily fluid drumming always came to the rescue, eschewing the standard-issue, mercilessly redundant high-hat funk staccato of, say, Karl Denson's Tiny Universe in favor of crazy hard-bop workouts – with some flavorful real-time dub effects in the mix – that would have turned the ear of Mr. Art Blakey himself.