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	CLUB D’ELF Groovin’ AT THE MFA

A groove-based band like Club d’Elf depend on varied textures and strong soloing to avoid monotony. That’s why it’s so remarkable that the band’s three recent double CDs on the live-concert-specialist Kufala label are consistently compelling. At the MFA’s Concerts in the Courtyard event on Bastille Day, Club d’Elf were sometimes less than compelling, but the high points were very high indeed.

Because of the threat of rain, the event was removed to the shelter of Remis Auditorium. The first tune began with a spoken-word sample from Mister Rourke’s turntables ("And now for our feature presentation . . . "); that was followed by a bowed bass melody from d’Elf main man Mike Rivard (who also doubled on electric), a bit of electric viola from Mat Maneri, and some outta-space comping from Roger Miller’s keyboard before everything settled into a hard groove. Maneri became more garrulous, getting busy with scratching, buzzing notes, long tones, and wah-wah effects. Rourke provided vocal shouts from his platters; Brahim Fribgane thickened the textures with fast, pattering cross-rhythms on his dumbek against drummer Erik Kerr’s trap set. When Maneri really took off with screaming, guitar-like solos against the polyglot rhythmic din, the effect was like one of Miles Davis’s early electric bands at their live-evil best. But for stretches of the two-set, near-two-hour concert (including intermission), the groove became an end in itself (whether reggae, drum ’n’ bass, North African, or straight funk), in need of a new solo voice, or for people to take to the dance floor — as one woman did at the beginning of the second set.

Mat’s father, Joe, the seventysomething guru of microtonal jazz, provided some variety when he was introduced as a special guest about 40 minutes into the first set (he’s on several of the new live CDs as well), and he stayed for the remainder of the evening. He began with tenor saxophone, and when he and his son played overlapping Middle Eastern–flavored melodies, it was a tonic. At one point, Joe took the horn out of his mouth and sang in his own made-up language, breaking here and there into shouts and passionate, comic chatter. Fribgane’s oud was idle until the final tune of the night, when he plucked a delicate melody and sang, eventually joined by the rest of the band playing behind him. It was a short melody — another kind of groove, and a welcome one.