The triumphant, though masked and proof of vaxed, return of the Firehouse jazz series. With reduced seating, and only one set of music, you could feel the pandemic pent up need for live jazz from performers and audience. Miller, the drummer, was the leader, with Boston based shredder Eisenberg on guitar, and Dunston on standup bass. Miller seems like an exotic and cool aunt who infrequently blows into town with lilac spiked hair, turns you on to Sun Ra, then returns years later to see how you’ve “evolved”. The drum kit was spare, but she had a seemingly endless array of shakers, bells, and assorted pokers. One bell looked like she swiped it from the Bronze Age exhibit at the Met. Her sound was not forceful, but shaded with sounds and noises. Sheet metal, shoe horns, and brushes made for an atmospheric listen. At one point she dropped a mallet and seamlessly grabbed another tool from the bag as if that was part of the improv. Eisenberg is newer to the scene. She squeaked and squiggled before launching into full blown cacophony on most tunes. At one entry, she sounded like a mosquito, before latching on to the drum and bass groove. She sang one haunting “ballad” that started with the lyric “my silent nightmare is watching me”, creepy, yet inviting. Dunston played an admirable bass, his instrument looked like it spent too many hours in baggage claim. Almost full crowd for this most welcome return. Miller said the trio was hanging out at the Firehouse for a few days to bang out a new record.
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