Lisa Clark reviews Bill Frisell at the Iron Horse

I would crawl across broken glass to see Bill Frisell perform. I practically did years ago when I suffered a major bicycle accident on my way to a performance. I opted for postponing my trip to the emergency room and sat at the concert with ice packs, Advil at hand and medicinal bourbon. It was the right choice.

Fortunately, there were no accidents before arriving at the Iron Horse on Tuesday night. The performance opened with Bill Frisell plucking his guitar, unearthly magic distorted through his mysterious wooden amp. Spare and deliberate, his music can conjure up an old back porch or a HAM radio, either playing lead or supporting his band, as was the case this evening. Jenny Scheinman eerily bowed the violin, as Viktor Krauss (brother to Alison) played electric upright bass and Greg Leisz the pedal steel, to paint a moody and staccato introduction, everyone meandering in their own sonic landscape until they magically met up in a tight enough groove that you’d swear they counted off and began together.

Frisell finds chords that more exactly resonate with our complex world, an overlay to homespun tradition. His music is almost always American, whether old-time, bluegrass, swing, jazz, contemporary classical but with a signature twist of a complex chord change, a minor feel instead of a major one. The tension or surprise reflects the way we try to fit our lives into a simpler template and it doesn’t always quite go predictably.

Jenny was more or less the centerpiece of this group, her black frilly prairie dress loosely hanging between her knees and she swooped and pointed like a weathervane to each player, nimble fingers reaching like Paganini with the swing of Bill Monroe. Being a rhythm section as well as melody, her aggressive staccato changed often to graceful long notes.

The band’s timing was so precise, that quoting old hits like Presley’s “That’s All Right” (originally performed by Arthur Crudup), Ma Rainey’s “C. C. Rider,” (performed by too many to mention) Stephen Foster’s “I Dream of Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair,” all made perfect sense in the midst of Frisell’s own unique compositions. Snippets of“I Wish I Were a Baby Bumblebee” were as complex as the “Flight” itself. “The Rite of Spring” or an Ennio Morricone film score came to mind with Victor Krauss’s deep resounding bass tones, shaping and coloring with one long note, as well as maintaining a groove compatible with Frisell’s invitation for call and response with each player. One smile and a raised eyebrow from Frisell resulted in a fine delta blues emerging from Greg Liesz on mandolin, blossoming into a funky jam John Lee Hooker would have enjoyed.

Judging from the many knowing smiles between Frisell and each of his players, he looked as happy as the audience and ready for the next surprise. I wasn’t quite ready for mine, as a large glass of water fell from the balcony above me and smashed on the table in front of me, showering me with shards of glass and soaking my lap with water. But what would a Bill Frisell concert be if not a happy accident. It was worth the risk. -Lisa Clark