By 11am the Village Café was packed — standing room only, half the room clutching flat whites like concert tickets. The usual pre-show ritual was underway: reeds getting wet, valves oiled, and a stage full of 15–16 year olds radiating the kind of nervous energy usually reserved for the Michael Fowler Centre.
This was the Kuripuni School Big Band’s first ever gig “on the road,” and not one of them intended to be late. Give kids a stage and they’ll turn up an hour early, polishing shoes, saxophones, guitars and the double bass like seasoned pros.
On keyboards, an aspiring Duke Ellington — all elbows and concentration. Behind him, a young Charlie Watts keeping time with more swagger than most musicians manage after decades. Backing vocals carried shades of Maria Muldaur (consider this an open request for “Midnight at the Oasis” next time — camel optional). Madoo’s dulcet tones floated around the rafters. All eyes stayed locked on the flailing, waving arms of ‘Sir,’ keeping immaculate time.
The tunes were tight, the solos fearless, and when the full band sound kicked in, it filled the café right out to the footpath. There’s something about a room full of school kids playing brass with total, unselfconscious commitment — the exuberance of youth doing what it does best: showing up the rest of us for holding back. Big in sound, bigger in spirit. Next time they’re at the Village Café, get there early and prepare for your morning to improve considerably. Martinborough is lucky to have music like this on its doorstep.
The tunes were tight, the solos fearless, and when the full band sound kicked in, it filled the café right out to the footpath. There’s something about a room full of school kids playing brass with total, unselfconscious commitment — the exuberance of youth doing what it does best: showing up the rest of us for holding back.
(What is the collective noun for a room full of very proud, sometimes tearful parents? A Village of parents — and it’s a sight.)
Then came the encore-that-wasn’t. The Big Band’s repertoire is still a work in progress, and although the crowd hollered for “MORE,” they’d already played the full set. Full stop. Except five of them simply refused to leave the stage. Out of sheer stubbornness (and possibly a reluctance to return to maths), the MONS Quintet was born on the spot.
It was more of the same — slick, enthusiastic, and timed with the precision of kids who take this seriously. They drifted into improvisation, channelling their inner Ernest Ranglin. Then came the moment: “We’re going to do ‘Lullaby on Kitchener Street.’ We don’t really know how it goes, but we’ll try.” And they did — confidently, joyfully, unrehearsed.
Both concerts were part of the ever-fantastic Martinborough Jazz Festival, hosted with trademark warmth by the Village Café. Excellence, top to bottom.
