by Peter Gerler
Jack Soref Trio, Jack, Greg Toro, Jameson Stuart
Millis, MA, 2/25/16. This lovely town is a schlep from where I live in Newton. On a cold February night, it took a solid hour to get to Primavera restaurant, where the young gypsy jazz guitarist Jack Soref brought his trio to play for an appreciative audience of perhaps 18 people. But let it be said: Jack’s not in it for recognition. He’s in it for the tradition.
“Gypsy jazz” appeared in the world largely through the genius of the French guitarist Jean “Django” Reinhardt, whose iconic sound parallels that of Louis Armstrong in American jazz. (Django wept when he first heard Armstrong. “He was like a large animal, mute and dazed in the blaze of the sun,” a colleague recalled.)
Interestingly, the word “tradition” usually evokes older, simpler styles—folk and roots music, country melodies, even the old brass band marches. In the case of gypsy jazz, the prognosis is denser. To play it right, you have to practically begin as a virtuoso.
The best players are of European manouche extraction. They grew up with it, around the caravans. There was dancing, which fueled the rhythm. Whereas American folk-music guitarists might first learn a simple G chord, youthful gypsy players sought to articulate Django’’s lightning-fast, intricate melodies with full, complete tone. Sort of like being born as Jascha Heifetz. Or as Sisyphus.
Jack Soref on custom made Grande Bouche guitar
Jack, a Wisconsinite, dove right in. Graduated from Berklee, started hanging with European itinerants, moved to France in order to live and play with them. (He still wears their weird pointed shoes.)
It’s a reversal: when American jazz came around with its je-ne-sais-quoi swing, the world turned toward New Orleans and Chicago. Django and his cohort even pulled inspiration from the seminal American guitarist Eddie Lang. Today, American “gypsy” players model themselves after the Parisians.
 Jameson Stuart on custom made Petite Bouche guitar |
 Greg Toro on double bass |
Soref’s trio is well on their way up the mountain. Their set swelled with standards from both sides of the pond—Dream of You, Sweet Georgia Brown, Menilmontant, Coquette--played with musicality and adventure.
On Valse Jacek, listeners were practically delivered to European soil. On All Of Me, (“Take my lips, I want to lose them”), Jack’s guitar whined, “Take me already!” The rhythm guitarist Jameson Stewart and the bassist Greg Toro held down a strong foundation.
All of Me
On Nuages, the veteran swing vocalist Mollie Malone sat in, singing in rippling French with ache, regret, and hope.
The last decade has seen a flowering of Django’s legacy, with bands and festivals popping up internationally. (It comes alongside the current resurgence of swing dance among Millennials.) In any case, the music has its addicts, young and old, whose life goal is to reincarnate as Django. They talk incessantly of altered chords and alternate fingers, and of their guitars, many of which they custom-order hand-made. But it’s not so much the technique: they have heard the downstage, ringing pompe of Django Reinhardt.
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Photos and Videos by Marce
