Cassandra Wilson seems to be a portal for music of the spheres. Passing through, it moves her like winds through a windsock, sometimes forcefully, sometimes gently, often erratically. A vision in orange, her body sways, arms reach, eyes close, fingers move as if searching for frets. She kicks off her shoes and wanders the stage, sits, fans herself, and listens.

Bob Dylan’s “Lay, Lady, Lay” given unexpectedly rhythmic backbone by the terrific drummer Herlin Riley, emerges in short, one-tone phrases ending with soft scat, more mood than a song. (Most of Wilson’s numbers tiptoe out.) “The Man I Love” (George and Ira Gershwin), fares better. Notes stretch out long enough to savor. Feelings are revealed, though not built upon. Her low, velvety vocal is without yearning. The only mournful sound we hear comes from Gregoire Maret’s brilliant harmonica. A Gabriel of mouth organists, his contribution throughout the evening is priceless.

A lengthy trace-like number based on the shanty proverb, “Even a broken drum can save the moon,” seems melodically formless but is evocative and well received. The highpoint of the set in my book are classics from deep in Wilson’s Mississippi roots: Charlie Patton’s “Pony Blues” (Marvin Sewell’s guitar sang like the dickens); “St. James Infirmary” (with Reginald Veal’s bass gravitas); and “Redbone,” which got the audience clapping.

Cassandra Wilson has a fine instrument. Like Miles Davis, it’s a question as to when she chooses to share it. She didn’t share much of it tonight. Most of the evening was instrumental.

Alix Cohen
Cabaret Scenes
September 30, 2011
www.cabaretscenes.org