Around Hear

Gil Scott-Heron, founder of politically oriented hip-hop, once famously stated, "The revolution will not be televised." Indeed, news of Scott-Heron's appearance in Kansas City to perform his still-revolutionary material was not televised -- or even advertised by way of fliers in record stores. His set at 18th & Vine's Blue Room on Wednesday, February 21, marked the year's first truly great concert, as Scott-Heron fused brilliant free-association spoken-word social commentary with stirring renditions of classic tunes, such as "Winter in America" and "South Carolina." His deeply soulful vocals lent shiver-inducing intensity to such lines as Whatever happened to the protest and the rage?/Whatever happened to the voices of the sane?, and his four-piece band, Amnesia Express, contributed some unforgettable jams. Unfortunately, many music fans who might have attended the show either didn't find out about it in time or still are unaware that it happened.

To be fair, Gerald Dunn, the venue's entertainment coordinator, didn't have much advance notice. He caught Scott-Heron at Blues Alley in Washington, D.C., where Kansas City's American Jazz Museum had just officially joined the Smithsonian Affiliations Program. "I went to the dressing room, talked with him for a bit and let him know that we wanted to bring him to KC," Dunn explains. Scott-Heron then set a date that left the venue little more than two weeks to get the word out, and the Blue Room mailed announcements of the show to patrons who have signed up for its mailing list and members of the Black Poets Collective. Relying solely on these mailings and a few radio plugs, the Blue Room managed to attract a respectable, wildly enthusiastic crowd.

However, even when the club books shows a month or more in advance, it often turns to the same promotion methods. "It's a silly operation," says Bill O'Connor, who did his part by playing four Scott-Heron songs on his three KKFI 90.1 shows, including his Armstrong to(Weather Report keyboardist Joe) Zawinul jazz show on Wednesday from noon to 2 p.m. "Mike Metheny [editor of Jam] has gone through the roof trying to find out information about the place. He didn't even find out about the show until Monday. People wonder why it doesn't work -- it's because they're not doing the basic, simple things." O'Connor, an occasional bartender at the club, says even the drink-dispensing facet of the Blue Room's operation is disorganized. "All the ice is in the basement," he explains. "The whole situation is ass-backward."

Dunn says the Blue Room aims to use its mailing list to construct a solid core of regulars. "It seems to be difficult for a lot of jazz venues to build an audience," he notes (a shocking admission for someone located in the cradle of jazz). "No clubs other than the Grand Emporium are doing any major presenting, which requires that you build an audience." Short of visiting the venue to sign up for its mailing list, interested jazz fans can consult the Blue Room's two-month schedule in Jam or call 816-474-2929 for a recorded message listing the next week's shows.

The Blue Room's publicist, Adrie Taylor, claims the venue's visibility should improve now that she's been alerted to computer problems that prevented the delivery of the past month's press releases. "The network server has been extremely screwed up," she says. Taylor says the venue doesn't have enough funding to plaster the city with posters. "Do you think someone would volunteer to design them and print them? We wouldn't have any problem getting them out."

A genuinely classy venue that offers a refreshing no-smoking policy and hundreds of engaging historic artifacts to browse, the Blue Room attracts repeat visitors and generates positive word of mouth. But while word of mouth is a time-honored method of concert promotion, it certainly is not the fastest, which is why revolutions can come and go while a large percentage of the listening population remains regrettably unaware.

You Didn't Hear It From Me ...
Like the Blue Room's schedule, Big Jeter's Audio Visual Club lineup is shrouded in mystery, but in this case the intrigue is wholly intentional. Members of this secret society (which meets the first Saturday of each month at midnight at the Fine Arts Theatre to view a spectacularly awful film and the performance of a Big Jeter tune related to the flick's plot) take a vow never to reveal what they've seen, a commitment to which even journalists aren't immune. "You took the vow," reminds Jeter when I confessed an interest in blabbing about February's ridiculous film. "Bo will take you right now and put some funny sounds in that tape recorder of yours," he adds, pointing menacingly at his innocuous-looking bandmate.

Okay, so there's little to say about February's inaugural installment of Jeter's A/V Club, other than that the movie, in conjunction with a medley that merged a warped revision of the Bee Gees' "Night Fever" with Big Jeter's own provocative "Skinflute," provided more laughs than any cinema newcomers have in 2001. (Admittedly, clearing the likes of Saving Silverman was a small hurdle.) On Saturday, March 3, Jeter presents a film that bears the truly dubious distinction of being dubbed "the worst horror film of 1976." Further details are unavailable, given that a penalty of "flaming bags on the doorstep" awaits anyone foolish enough to divulge further details.