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When Chicago jazz pianist Ryan Cohan toured Africa two years ago, he expected a fascinating journey. He did not anticipate a transformative one.
But his travels through Rwanda, Congo, Uganda and Zimbabwe fundamentally altered his perception of a distant continent and its struggling and heroically resilient people.
The odyssey also deepened Cohan’s understanding of the African cultural roots of American jazz.
That much was apparent through much of Cohan’s epic suite “The River,” which received its world-premiere performances last week, culminating with a concert Friday night at the Gorton Community Center in Lake Forest. Based on this impressive rendition of “The River,” the piece could mark a turning point in Cohan’s art, for it attains a depth of expression and pictorial luster beyond Cohan’s earlier works. And though “The River” surely has its minor flaws — most notably a surprisingly deflated finish — its greatest passages be ar repeated listening.
Essentially, Cohan has designed “The River” as a series of ensemble tone poems, each movement punctuated by an extended instrumental solo. The solos represent the meandering course of a river; the ensemble pieces portray stops along the way.
For the most part, this unusual structure works surprisingly well, mostly thanks to the ingenuity of Cohan’s overall conception. Each movement is followed by a solo that blossoms organically from the music that preceded it.
So the “Storm Rising” section, which portrays the horrors of Rwandan genocide, expresses violent clashes via volatile rhythms and surging instrumental textures. When Tito Carrillo’s trumpet solo follows, the profundity of his crying lines not only sums up the anguish of “Storm Rising” but prepares listeners for the dirge-like music that opens the next movement, “Forsaken.”
Not that “The River” dwells entirely in darkness and sorrow.
In the “Brother Fifi” movement, Cohan and his septet evoke the soulful rhythmic sway of African folkloric music, imbuing it with the deepest shades of blue. In “Domboshava,” the transparent front-line work of John Wojciechowski on flute, Carrillo on flugelhorn and Geof Bradfield on bass clarinet draws a dusky portrait of the Zimbabwean landscape.
But then Cohan paints himself into a corner.
The final big movement of the piece, “Last Night at the Mannenberg,” brilliantly depicts an ebullient nightclub scene in Harare, Zimbabwe. With the band attaining extraordinary rhythmic momentum, the suite reaches an exultant finale — only to be followed by one more solo (from Cohan) and a footnote of a coda.
In so doing, Cohan has provided an anticlimactic closer; he needs to figure how to end this ambitious suite more satisfyingly.
Once he does, “The River” likely will stand as his strongest work to date and, perhaps, a gateway to important music yet to come.
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Nice to be mentioned in Chicago Elizabeth Nugent
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