Natalie DietzThat's right. Jazzgroove used to be based at 505. Now, for whatever reason, it's moved to 107 Projects. There's doubtless a story there, but I'm not privy to it. 107 Projects is something of a compromise, in acoustical terms, being a nightmarishly reverberant brick and concrete structure. It's been tamed, somewhat, by very secondhand Persian rugs, strewn on the hard floor; a curtain, behind what suffices as a stage; sundry sumptuous, old couches. It helps. But a crisply-tuned snare will vibrate almost continuously; aggravated, perhaps, by an amplified guitar, low bass note, or sax solo. Vocals tend to disappear, unless the playing is quite subdued.

Into this mess steps a somewhat tentative Natalie Dietz, to showcase songs from her just released, NYC-produced EP, Believe In Love, along with a few other surprises.

Whereas the record features native New Yorkers Aaron Parks (okay, so he was born in Seattle), on piano, Mike Moreno, guitar, Josh Crumbly, bass and Justin Brown, drums, this live performance gives us Matt McMahon, Rhodes and grand, Carl Morgan, electric guitar, Alex Boneham, bass and Tim Firth, drums.

The Australians play more assertively, methinks. If anything, it's the always lyrical, sensitive McMahon who seems to assume, by mutual, unspoken agreement, the role of musical director, mediating the mood of each tune. The opening song, Believe In Love, betrays Dietz's later confided past life near-obsession with r'n'b: much as I admire it as a jazz number, I can't help hearing it as a well-produced track in that genre, also. But I digress. McMahon plonks (well, plonks is the wrong word, as he never plonks) down some very pleasing chords on Fender Rhodes; an instrument that proves very sympathetic to the composition, with its trademark nexus of warmth and sublime, shimmering attack. It changes the character of the piece, without in any way compromising it, or disparaging the recorded arrangement. Boneham's bass, too, is more decisive than Crumbly's. Both players keep it elegantly simple, just enough to buoy Dietz' vocal. Firth is often quite busy, but even when playing loudly, is in no way disruptive; on the contrary, he's always fresh, inventive and surprising. Mostly, he deploys profound finesse, particularly on his taut snare. Morgan interpolates an extended solo, confiding clean, crossover influences that put me in mind of Jeff Beck and Carlos Santana at the rock end of the equation and Frank Gambale at the other end. Tragically, the mix exhibited quite a lot of distortion, with the vocals disappearing into the ether, aggravated by excessive reverb. Neither was Natalie's voice thoroughly warmed-up: she sounded a little scratchy and wasn't quite nailing pitch; I suspect nerves, as I'm not even sure these songs have had a live outing as yet.

Ironically, she had nothing to worry about, as the PA issues were progressively sorted and there's no rational reason for any lack of confidence in her songwriting ability. And the pesky vocal gremlins were evicted in next to no time. Believe In Love is sophisticated and mature, with an enchanting and memorable melody. 'It can seem so far away', she sings. It isn't. She's there, as both vocalist and composer. One of her sweetest traits, as a singer, is she knows when not to sing; she seems intuitive about phrasing and breathing. Of course, this instinct probably derives from years of hard yakka, but it manifests as entirely natural, which is all that counts.

For New Day, once again, there's a satisfying simpatico between piano (acoustic, this time) and bass; they seem to be in idyllic aural alignment. There are consecutive solos from McMahon and Morgan; the latter, younger player giving nothing away. It might be called New Day, but sounds more evocative, here, of the wee, small, quiet hours; more ruminative than on the EP, where it sounds lighter, brighter and sunnier. Again, it's not as though one prevails over the other: it's a function of players and context; both are worthy and eminently listenable. It's not quiet bedroom eyes sultry; it's more romantic, perhaps with a capital r. And while it differs, it's a matching bookend with Believe In Love: there's a distinctive Dietz style already emerging; a trademark tenderness. And it's an original sound, not a breathy recapitulation of Norah or Diana, or a cynical repackaging of something from the Sinatra songbook.

ND' arrangement of Antonio Carlos Jobim's Corcovado is imbued with sadness and poignancy on her EP. Live, it brought yet another layer, by way of a new, unexpected tension. Quiet nights of quiet stars suddenly seemed like restless nights of portentous stars. Quite unlike, say, the sassy, straightforward bossa Getz and Gilberto gave us, Lisa Ono's more recent homage, or Cannonball Adderley's swinging rendition, Dietz delivers a darker reading. It shows her to be as gifted an arranger as composer: thesis virtually a reinvention of the song; a creative and courageous subversion. Playing with a standard is playing with fire, but this rekindles a classic. Again, there were solos with waiting for from McMahon and Morgan, too.

Covering an Aaliyah song written by Missy Elliott and Timbaland and produced by the last is another bold move that so easily have gone awry. By way of introduction, Dietz mentioned Gretchen Parlato, a young jazz singer whose enjoyed a meteoric rise and one hopes Dietz will follow a similar trajectory. She's every inch as good and, thus, as deserving. And again, hers is a highly distinctive, essentially unrecognisable arrangement. Happily, it's a song that's very amenable to jazz chords and Dietz enslaves it, pressing it into her service and fashioning it in her own image and style. She lays it bare and renders it so laid-back, it's almost prostrate. If it's not sacrilege to say it, she strips away the hackneyed production sound present in the original to expose the beating heart of the song. She makes it extraordinary: aching and heartfelt. Lyrics that might otherwise go in one ear and out the other suddenly lodge and linger, surrendering almost tragically devotional sentiments. Now, when we hear a line like 'turn me inside out and make my heart speak' it wrenches, shatters and moves; yet it's effected with such subtlety. McMahon's Rhodes solo is a helpmeet in casting the mood and Firth endows it with understated rhythmic dynamics. It's clear Dietz admires and connects to the song. As a result, it's easy for us to do so as well. In fact, she hardly needs to contextualise it with patter: like the adopted, cherished child, she's bonded with it and made it hers.

Break The Code is a Dietz original and follows seamlessly in the footsteps of One In A Million. There's a stylistic integrity between it and the arrangement of the Aaliyah number. Morgan's short solo is thoughtfully subdued; Firth is in the driver's seat, even interpolating march snare, as madly as a march hare; but it works. The song is so good, so well-constructed, so ripe for interpretation, that if Aaliyah hadn't died in a light plane crash (at twenty-two), Dietz might return the favour and send it to her. This was the song that, on the night, made me realise that if, at any point, for any reason (God forbid), ND was to give up singing, she could have a fulfilling career as a songwriter. Fulfilling for her. Fulfilling for us.

The Mood I'm In is sung wordlessly, an experiment centred around, or at least inspired by, Monk's Mood. Like so much of Dietz' work, it hovers and haunts, insinuating itself into those parts of the central nervous system that are subject to frisson, triggering the brain to recognise beauty. She sings in unison with Morgan's guitar and the melody floats like a butterfly. Featured is yet another of McMahon's masterly solos; impressive stretching out on bass; fine technique and idiosyncratic stylings from Firth, who keeps things chugging along and more of Morgan's mellifluous fretwork.

She's a young woman of eclectic predilections, this Natalie Dietz. From Brooklyn-born prodigy Aaliyah to Bohemian-born Austrian poet, Maria Rainer Rilke: her influences are diverse. Since his work is famous for grappling with the challenge of meaningful connection in a time of cynicism and high anxiety, it ought, surely, to enjoy a second lease of life. Dietz draws on he Germanic origins in relating Rilke's milieu by way of Darkest Hour, another of her songs that builds with a tumescent stealth. It's made even more substantial by dint of another of McMahon's elegant gambols on Rhodes and an urgent, intensely expressive Boneham bass solo.

Falling, with its plunging bassline and flutterby guitar solo, is an ocean-going vessel; sturdy, with Firth and Boneham as the backbone, but, from the removed perspective of the onlooker and listener, all one sees is the billow of sails, lending softness to the robustness that's under the skin. I was particularly taken by the phrase 'you become my gravity'. Who needs Rilke when you can write like that?

Dietz' music is a delicately fragrant and atmospheric, a new brand of jazz perfume, wafting and seeping into one's consciousness, tickling sensibilities. It butters you up; snuggles; suggests. It's as if she's taken to heart the opening line of Rilke's first Duino elegy. 'Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angelic orders?' Natalie Dietz doesn't shout. She doesn't need to. She whispers. Sweet somethings. Hers is a new form of jazz poetry. Her own. And her voice is hypnotic. As warm and comforting as a doona; satin-smooth, like a cloud, or a lullaby. Easy on the ear.

Happily, I acquiesce and allow these sensual ripples to embrace me. Resistance isn't only useless, but pointless.    

Reviewer:

Lloyd Bradford Syke – 'Braddo' is a creative director, journalist and broadcaster; a man of many passions, not least among them leftist politics (hell, he's even lefthanded!) and the multifarious arts; both visual and performing. He is or has been a gun communicator (is, for hire); former and, hopefully, future radio presenter; ABC Local Radio film reviewer; documentary filmmaker and more. Jazz was, is and will ever remain one of his primary, guilt-free pleasures. 

For an obligation-free peek at his folio, to damn him with faint praise, or, indeed, just to damn him, or on any other flimsy premise, please email lloydsyke(at)optusnet.com.au, or call 0414 BRADS 2.

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