Viva Carlos Vega
Carlos Vega’s drumming on the 1993 recording, James Taylor (LIVE), exemplifies startlingly his supportive, dynamic, and unfailing commitment to groove and song. With huge ears and deep pocket, his playing disappears into the musical whole and rises into focus at just the right moments; eliciting his taste and discipline as a first-call L.A. session master and his technical attributes as an original member of David Garfield’s fusion mainstay, Karizma. It is my favorite—of many—Carlos Vega recordings. He would commit suicide five years later at the age of 41.

Seaton rearstage for the 13th Annual Carlos Vega Memorial Concert, Sunday, December 5th

Garfield hosted the 13th Annual Carlos Vega Memorial Concert this past Sunday, December 5th, at Cafe Cordiale, where many of his friends and admirers gathered in remembrance and celebration of the man and his gifts—gone tragically too soon. Not surprisingly, some this town’s best musicians can be counted among them, and the overflowing, floor-level stage included Paul Jackson Jr., Jimmy Earl, Denny Dias, Lenny Castro, Jimmy Vivino, Alex Ligertwood, and, of course, Garfield. The drum throne was the natural focal point this evening and was graced by Oscar Seaton, Vinnie Colaiuta, and Walfredo Reyes Jr, in order.

Vinnie. Period.

Peaceful Succession
Seaton, a long-time Garfield cohort, hosted the throne—opening the set and proffering his instrument for the evening: a pop-y bass and snare, de-tuned floor tom, and angular cymbal array including auxiliary-hat positioned in lieu of a mounted tom. He delivered correspondingly bold and angular groove behind the inspired band, often to the delight of an otherwise intense Garfield.

Vinnie. He relieved Seaton, didn’t touch a wingnut, and proceeded to play in effortless tribute to his old friend. It was interesting watching him navigate the foreign set-up fluently as he adjusted his stick angle to accommodate the aft-tilted ride cymbal; mostly avoided the prominent x-hat; and generally adapted seamlessly to the voices, angles, and heights at hand—never compromising his Vinnie-ness. Notably, he even seemed to coax an extra inch or so out of Seaton’s cranked 5.5″ deep snare. Really, with the hall-of-fame body of work behind him, it would be exciting to watch the guy dial a phone.

Seaton and Colaiuta pretty evenly divvied up the bulk of the show, with Walfredo Reyes Jr. sitting-in for the final two or three tunes. His easy, soulful pocket and savvy musicality ensured a soft-landing for a high-flying night of music, and offered satisfying resolution to an evening dedicated to Carlos Vega.

Wally’s World

Cordially Yours
Cafe Cordiale is testament to the enduring power of good music and exceptional musicianship to attract a crowd in a scene as saturated and spread-out as Los Angeles’. A no-cover policy doesn’t hurt. The restaurant/bar has earned a reputation as a musician’s hangout through its commitment to music with a stage-centric room, consistently high-quality calendar, stellar jam nights, and open-door hospitality.

Of the many times I’ve been there, this was the first I’d actually reserved a table for dinner and sat proper-like in the dining room. We were seated practically in the horn section, front stage right, and half-expected to have to double on flute at some point. We relaxed, settled in, stretched out, and mocked the poor bastards crammed at the bar. It was packed.

Yuletide Treasure
There is something special about Cafe Cordiale at Christmas time. The white walls and white open-ceiling, tasteful glowing lights, white flowers, and splashes of greens and reds combine to turn the place into a striking and warming Holiday sanctuary. Add the chill and rain outside this night, and it made for an especially cozy communion and tribute. If you missed it, and even if you didn’t, you might consider dimming the lights, fixing a glass, and sitting down with James Taylor (LIVE) for a cozy communion and tribute of your own.

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Photo © Lissa Wales

Steven Nistor is Brian Blade’s drummer. Forget that he is also a regular call for artist/producers Daniel Lanois and Danger Mouse. That Nistor is the musician’s-drummer’s-drummer is plenty to motivate egress from the cozy pad on a cool and wet Wednesday night to an anonymous Hollywood dive bar to hear him play.

Money, Baby
You’ve likely driven past the place on Vine St. at Santa Monica Blvd. You may even have noticed it. A dull flat slab of a building-front with a miraculously in-tact 60s green blown-glass lamp hanging above the Vine St. entrance and that gloriously stark, monochrome bug-zapper of a neon protuberance that plainly reads, “COCKTAILS”.

Like all superficial facades and illuminated aliases in Hollywood, there is more (or less) than meets the eye, and it has an actual name: Three Clubs. Turns out it is one of the triumvirate (two surviving) of old-school Los Angeles bars forever asterisked by appearances in the movie Swingers. The old martini lounge has withstood its cycles of hipness and relevance and is reemerging as a happening and vibey performance venue.

Wood And Metal
Nistor’s drums were already occupying a sliver in the rear of the smallish stage when we entered the main room. The 28″ x 8″ DW satin veneer woofer as bass drum helped shrink his footprint and elevate his style. A 14″x14″ floor, forward-tilted snare, right-side crash and equivalent-diameter hats completed his set-up.

Glass And Rock
A glass of Redbreast in hand and agreeably seated, the mirror ball began its hypnotic rotation and the band—the drippingly named (and umlaut-ed) Boyz Sküle—ambled on. Class was in session. Essentially a trio, the group is led by guitarist/singer Brett Farkas, with Jonathan Ahrens on bass, and an evidently revolving drum throne. The overall effect evokes the scuplted pop-rock of Elvis Costello and The Attractions. Minus Elvis Costello, naturally. Ahrens’ bass lines are melodic, lifting and deep; and Farkas contributes driving, precise rhythm along with some of the Baddest guitar solos you’re likely to hear in any current rock band, let alone one playing beneath a mirror ball in south Hollywood on a Wednesday night. Tucked in the rear of the constricted stage, Nistor had plenty of room to stretch out.

Aggregate
The set matter-of-factly and inexplicably began with the familiar intro to Yes’ “Heart of the Sunrise.” Familiarity can breed contempt; it can also fluff a few ears at the beginning of an original rock show. The incongruous start aroused attention. Nistor’s drums were buttery and warm. Here comes the sun. In a way, this opening salvo was a fitting signal of things to come…

Composed and precise; loose and earthy. That is Nistor in a fragmented sentence. He maintains a strong and balanced sense of commitment to form and arrangement with improvisational daring and presence. His groove is propelling and relentless, yet relaxed and rooted—never manic. With traditional grip choked up high on his left stick and with full, round strokes, he approaches the instrument and music with sensitivity and strength. Nistor’s drumming reveals a hallmark of most powerful art (and happy souls): contridiction in harmony. Too heavy? OK, the dude rocks. And rolls.

Apparently, I’m not the first to notice.

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