When Labor Day weekend rolls around each year, summer’s waning days come to an end. Having lived in Chicago for close to 32 years, I know that in just a few short months, Millennium Park’s great lawn will be covered in snow and the Hawk will whip through Chicago’s cavernous Loop. Yet, since I started attending the Chicago Jazz Festival in the mid-Eighties, I’ve always welcomed Labor Day weekend because it brings four days of jazz to Chicago.

The 2025 Chicago Jazz Festival kicked off today with six hours of performances in the Chicago Cultural Center, just across the street from Millennium Park. The Cultural Center performances always turnout to be the most enjoyable of the weekend. The music is largely acoustic. Yes, there are amps on stage, but the sound is not pumped through a gigantic sound system. Both the Claudia Cassidy Theater and Preston Bradley Hall—with its large Tiffany-domed ceiling—are intimate spaces.

When I arrived today, the STOMACHS had just begun their set. Comprised of Nick Meryhew on electronics, trombone, and bullhorn, Carol Genetti singing wordless vocals, Mabel Kwan on synths, and Bill Harris on drums, the STOMACHS do not strike me as a jazz band. Not a problem. Labels are nice shorthands, but they should not be limiters. After the set, I asked Meryhew how he characterizes the music that the STOMACHS play. He used the words, “electronics,” “Avant-garde,” and “drones.” I asked whether La Monte Young might be an influence, while also suggesting that the STOMACHS would be right at home if they played Young’s Dream House. Meryhew definitely like my reference. The STOMACHS do not, however, limit themselves to just extended single note drones. At times, the music has abrupt stops and starts, with structured chaos bridging the gaps.

I was particularly fascinated by drummer Bill Harris, who kept pulling out what seemed to be one found object after another to accentuate his work on the drums. Those objects included what appeared to be paint scrapers and a hose. I thought of Louise Nevelson, the sculptor who used to walk the streets of New York City looking for discarded objects that became part of her rectangular pillars. Harris was doing the same thing, but sonically rather than visually.

Given the stage lighting, I would normally convert my photographs to black and white, but the pinks, blues, and greens washing over the musicians fit the mood perfectly. My favorite moment came when Meryhew picked up a white bullhorn—the sort I regularly see at protests—and positioned it in his trombone’s bell. Afterward, I asked him if he ever attends protests. Occasionally.

When the STOMACHS finished, someone from the audience yelled, “Hell Yes.” I concur.

[Click on an Image to Enlarge It. The Images Are Not Necessarily in Exact Chronological Order]

**Carol Genetti Adding Worldless Vocals to the Mix, While Mabel Kwan Works the Synths**

**Bill Harris on Drums and Percussion with STOMACHS**

**Just Like Louise Nevelson: Using Another Found Object to Make Art**

**STOMACHS Making Some Electronic Noise**

I then headed to the Preston Bradley Hall to check out the Hana Fujisaki Trio, with the leader on piano, Mary Halm on bass, and Andres Lopez on drums. Unfortunately, I arrived five minutes before the end of the set. What I did hear was the strong influences of Seventies Keith Jarrett piano improv in a trio setting. Next year, I will need to pay more attention to the schedule.

**Mary Halm Playing During the Final Moments of the Hana Fujisaki Trio’s Set**

Like a ping pong ball, I headed back to the Cassidy Theater for Ernest Dawkins and the Young Masters Quartet. Dawkins, who deserves a MacArthur Genius Award, works with a group of high school students. The late Joe Segal would be very pleased to see the next generation taking up the jazz’s mantle.

This year, the term “high school students” is a misnomer. Because some of the players graduated from high school and are now off to far flung locations attending music school, Dawkins brought back some local alums, mixing them with several younger students who were just beginning on their journey with Dawkins.

As usual, I was stunned when the music first leapt off the stage. What I heard was Art Blakey and Jazz Messengers from their peak period in the early Sixties. The unit was propelled by Macari Ramsey on drums and Galen Morris on contrabass. Miles Richey held down the piano seat, and Jamal Damien blew trumpet—that belief being based on photographs from last year’s festival. Rounding out the group were Kevin Kimbrough on tenor saxophone and Dawkins on soprano saxophone. While Dawkins does play, his contribution is modest timewise; letting the spotlight fall on his young proteges.

The group opened with a number penned by Dawkins, entitled Zulu Alchemy, which was followed by compositions written by the students. The stage bore a striking resemblance to a circus clown car. Throughout the set, more kids kept coming out. Another protege came out with a trumpet; Charlie Demski brought his guitar out; a young women replaced Galen Morris on contrabass; another sax player appeared out of thin air.

For its second number, the group slowed the tempo down, opting for a bossa nova penned by Kimbrough. During a later number, Dawkins launched into some bluesy vocals, singing, “Don’t want anyone messing around, so I am moving my baby to the other side of town.” He invited the audience to join him in the refrain, adopting a call and response pattern.

Yet, my head kept coming back to the Jazz Messengers, particularly with Lee Morgan on trumpet. Dawkins and company—known as Live the Spirit—certainly lived up to their name.

**A New Young Master on the Contrabass**

**Charlie Demski Adding Color to the Mix**

**Miles Richey Returning for Another Year at the Piano**

**Several of the Young Masters Playing with Ernest Dawkins**

Immediately prior to Live the Spirit, I spent 20 minutes listening to John Skillman’s New Normal Jazz Band, which works the Trad Jazz vein. Skillman doubles on vocals and clarinet. According to the program, Adam Neal was on sax, Frank Gualtieri played trombone, Aaron Butler played my favorite instrument, bass saxophone, Roger Hintzsche added rhythm using his guitar, and Scott Mertins worked the ivories.

Skillman took the lead vocals on Ma Rainey’s Jellybean Blues. The band also played a composition written by Aaron Butler entitled Humming to Myself, which had a loping, slinky beat. Butler is a farmer, who Skillman referred to as outstanding in his field—the pun was clearly intended.

**Staring Down the Barrel of Frank Gualtieri's Trombone**

Later in the afternoon, I caught the Greg Fundis Quintet. The group chose to play Herbie Hancock’s 1974 album, Thrust, in its entirety, together with a few self-penned numbers. With drummer Fundis were Casey Fitzpatrick on saxophone, Vijay Tellis-Nayak on keyboards, Marco Villareal on bass, and Ric Fierabracci on bass. Tellis-Nayak set the tone, playing electric piano and some sort of synth keyboards, so he brought the bright tonal qualities that mark early Seventies jazz with him. I listened to the Hancock album when I arrived home. It was less energetic I have strong preference was for what I heard this afternoon.

The performance was curated by the Fulton Street Collective, which encourages musicians to perform albums in their entirety. Although recreating a half-century-old album is somewhat nostalgic, I like it because the set tends to be more cohesive.

**Marco Villareal Playing Some Highly Electric Guitar**

**Casey Fitzpatrick (with Some Help from the Blues Brothers) on Saxophone**

**Vijay Tellis-Nayak Recreating that Seventies Electric Piano Vibe**

**Casey Fitzpatrick Switching to Flute**

**Ric Fierabracci Playing the Electric Bass**

I also caught sets by the Big Bari Band, featuring saxophonists Julie Wood and Jimmy Farace, Mike Allemana on guitar, Matt Ferguson on bass, and Cliff Wallace on drums. I am particularly enamored by Mike Alemana, who adds rhythm chords as needed, but can always add color and texture with the clean individual notes he plays on his hollow-body amplified guitar. Alemana is a team player.

During the set, the band took on Wayne Shorter’s United, one of three Wayne Shorter compositions I heard during the day. Shorter provided Wood and Farace with the opportunity to mount a frontal attack using their horns.

**Clif Wallace Adding his Subtle Touch**

**Mike Allemana with the Bari Big Band**

Before taking a quick break for dinner, I closed out the afternoon with drummer Charles Heath, who had with him Ryan Bills on saxophone, Isaiah Jones Jr. on piano, and bassist Jeremiah Hunt, who was smartly dressed in a striped unstructured jacket. As might be expected, the set is best described as propulsive, with the powerful Heath keeping the beat and adding flare to a set filled with straight-ahead jazz.

**Jeremiah Hunt on Electric Bass with Charles Heath**

**Ryan Bills on Saxophone Doing His Best Bill Gates Impersionation**

**Three Quaters of the Charles Health Quartet**

After enjoying a steak salad at the Hard Rock Hotel, I walked back to the Millennium Park, cleared security, which seemed far tighter this year, and headed to the Pritzker Pavilion. Following the National Anthem and an extended version of Lift Every Voice, guitarist Henry Johnson took the stage, accompanied by pianist Billy Foster, bassist Mark Sonksen, and drummer Charles Health. Tonight’s special guest was vibist Thaddeus Tukes, who frequently flashed his toothy grin.

Johnson began the set by identifying his connections to the other band members. At one point, Johnson noted that he has been playing the festival since its days at the Petrillo bandshell. He then noted that Billy Foster is the one who turned him on to jazz by taking Johnson to the Jazz Showcase when Johnson was just a teenager. I am sure Foster appreciated the not-so-subtle reference to his age. But to Johnson’s credit, he admitted that he first met Tukes when Tukes was just a teenager. What comes around, goes around.

If you have seen Johnson perform before, you already have a pretty good sense of what I heard this evening. Johnson is a solid player, who is deeply rooted in blues-influenced jazz. Tonight, he sang twice; the second time was the stronger of the two efforts..

What was particularly notable was Johnson’s relationship with Tukes. Throughout the set, he gravitated toward the vibraphone. Looking at Tukes, Johnson would play several lines, challenging Tukes to outdo Johnson. Tukes usually succeeded, often with a grin plastered on his face. It was a very enjoyable “cutting” session; one that should be repeated.

My favorite number from the set was Freddie Hubbard’s, Straight Life. Foster and Johnson did battle, going back and forth on the main theme, but once again, Johnson turned to Tukes as his foil. I hadn’t realized that Johnson played with Hubbard until Johnson revealed that association.

But Straight Life was not the only jazz standard that found its way into Johnson’s set. He and his bandmates did justice to Duke Ellington’s Caravan and Ramsey Lewis’ The In Crowd. The latter is one of my favorites. I remember hearing it on a transistor radio while waiting for the school bus in 5th or 6th grade.

**Pianist Billy Foster Having a Good Laugh**

Henry Johnson Taking on Freddie Hubbard's *Straight Life*

When the set came to an end, I could feel the anticipation in the air for the evening closer, bassist Esperanza Spalding. I, however, was highly skeptical. I saw Spalding around the time that she won her first Grammy. The new phenom walked onto the Chicago Symphony Hall stage. As I recall, the other musicians were already on stage. The stagehands had placed a rug, a comfortable chair, and a small side table toward the front of the stage. On the table was a shaded lamp.

After making her grand entrance, the young phenom sat down in the chair, and then turned on the lamp. I seem to recall a beverage sitting on the table, possibly tea in a cup, or wine in a glass.

Spaulding then began her set; one in which she largely ignored and failed to acknowledge the other musicians playing with her. Despite all the accolades that had been heaped on Spaulding, she didn’t know the first thing about jazz, which fundamentally is about the interaction among a group of people.

Since then, I have never again seen Spaulding, nor listened to any of her records. Tonight, she was Day 1’s closing act, so I was stuck with her whether I liked it or not. Despite the passage of at least a decade since that fateful night, Spaulding has not matured. Yes, she did acknowledge the others on stage—guitarist Matthew Stevens, drummer Eric Dobb, and Morgan Guerin on keyboards and saxophone. But she still oozes with self-satisfaction.

I must admit, I liked her opening remarks about our times, which were comprised of a thinly veiled reference to Donald J. Trump. To drive home her point, she opened the set with I Want it Now, Veruca Salt’s song from the 1971 film, Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory. Veruca is greedy, conniving, obnoxious, and nasty. Sound like anyone in today’s (and everyday’s) headlines?

Much to my surprise, Spaulding fashioned herself more a vocalist than a bass player. I don’t think there was a straight instrumental in her set. Midway through, Spaulding told a story that perfectly captures what transpired this evening. Prince asked her to accompany him on his tour as the opening act. Being a jazz artist, she wasn’t sure whether she would be well-received by Prince’s audience. Hoping for crossover appeal, Spaulding decided to incorporate Wayne Shorter’s Endangered Species into her set, but thought writing lyrics for the instrumental would make the song more appealing to the rock crowd. When the song came to an end, very few of Prince’s fans applauded; in other words, it landed with a gigantic thud.

In telling the story, she reported that Wayne Shorter does not like people adding lyrics to his songs. Shorter apparently liked her version. In her telling, he said, “That’s what I meant” when he heard her version. For me, Spaulding needs to decide whether she plays jazz or folk rock. She hasn’t successfully bridged the two genres from an artistic standpoint. Albeit, who am I to say? She has succeeded from a marketing standpoint.

Along the way, Spaulding played Dancing the Animal, yet another critique of screen culture.

Now my laptop or device is where I shop for wisdom. . . . So maybe the holy spirit is simply a mighty network.

She also revealed that she was an authority on metaphysical anatomy, which teaches that every human being came into this world with his or her own Thang. Occasionally, a person loses touch with his or her Thang, requiring stride grease to be applied to the human’s joint before he or she can recover his or her Thang. Thang turned into a bit of a sing along.

And so the concert went. Lots of words. Lots of sophomoric pretentiousness. In fairness, I should acknowledge that I am in a distinct minority. The vast majority in the audience loved Spaulding and her lyrics.

Tomorrow we start all over. Plenty of great music today. And there will plenty of great music tomorrow.