The raspy scrape of a shoe from behind startles me. I’m not
asleep—the pews are too stiff for napping—but the
big stone box that is St. Mark’s Cathedral has a faint background hum
that fosters contemplation. I look around and watch people trickle in
for the Compline service. Arriving early confirms what I’ve witnessed
for years—contrary to the segregation by age, class, and chosen
subculture I see at classical, jazz, and every other kind of concert,
Compline has, as a pollster might say, a demographic unlike any other
show I see in Seattle.
Young and old, shabby and chic settle into pews. Some lean against
the wall. Hushed whispering and the blip of a silenced cell phone
accompany the quiet welcomes from the volunteer greeters. On the altar,
a brazen or dumbly indifferent trio of hipsters slouch into thronelike
chairs usually reserved for officiating priests. A few, perhaps from
the tent city camped in the cathedral’s parking lot, carry backpacks
and satchels. No one minds. Here, divine space belongs to everyone.
Clad in full ecclesiastical gowns, Peter Hallock and the singers
file to the corner of the nave. A stirring recitation, “I believe…”
prompts everyone to stand; I’m almost converted right there. Read and sung, the anthems and psalm settings have a comprehensible,
unadorned beauty. Words ring out clearly and plainly.
Compline began over 50 years ago when Hallock and a clutch of
students from the University of Washington began investigating
plainchant, a slow, speechlike style of singing that has a single
melodic line; harmony is implied and rises, cloudlike, from the words’
held vowels and resulting resonance of the surrounding space.
For me, the religious experience of Compline rests not in the sacred
text or a promise of salvation but in the holy act of listening
itself. 
Tune into Compline every Sun at 9:30 pm on KING 98.1 FM or attend at
St. Mark’s Cathedral, 216 Union St, 838-4333, 9:30 pm, free.
Thurs 7/31
ERNESTINE ANDERSON
A former stalwart of the annual New Year’s Eve gig at Jazz Alley,
this stellar singer makes a rare summer appearance. Bedeviled by recent
financial difficulties, Anderson will likely turn her recent distress
into what she does best: burnish the blues with a technique honed with
Lionel Hampton, Gigi Gryce, Ray Brown and other fellow jazz greats.
Through Sun Aug 3 with weekend sets at 7:30 and 9:30 pm. Jazz Alley,
2033 Sixth Ave, 441-9729, 7:30 pm, $24.50.
EDWARDS/KRAABEL
The London-based Edwards, who with saxophonist Caroline Kraabel
compose Shock Exchange, plays with uninhibited mastery. Watch Edwards
slap, thrum, and writhe with his upright bass and you’ll swear he’s
doing his damnedest to crawl inside the instrument. Here, the pair
teams up with saxophonist/singer Amy Denio. Also, the Seattle-born
Kraabel conducts a large improvising ensemble stocked with local
players. Gallery 1412, 1412 18th Ave, 322-1533, 8 pm, free but
donations accepted.
Fri 8/1
SCMS SUMMER FESTIVAL
The Summer Festival concludes with a suitably eclectic finale. The 7
pm recital contrasts two works for solo cello, Ernest Bloch’s Suite No.
1 for Cello and the early Sonata for Cello by György Ligeti
(1923–2006), who before becoming a master postmodernist, was
deeply in thrall to Béla Bartók. The main concert
includes the obligatory Schubert (the Trio for Strings in B-flat major,
D. 581), an early Rachmaninoff string trio nicknamed the
“Elégiaque,” and some more Bartók, the wiry and harrowing
Rhapsody No. 1 for violin and piano, Sz. 86. Unlike the festival’s 8 pm
concerts, the 7 pm recitals are not broadcast on KING 98.1 FM. Go there
to get the music. The Summer Festival resumes next Wed in Redmond on
Aug 6. Lakeside School, 14050 First Ave NE, 283-8808, 8 pm, $8-$38.
THOMAS MARRIOTT QUARTET
Having gigged with an impressive roster of jazz luminaries including
trumpet god Maynard Ferguson, Rosemary Clooney, the Tito Puente
Orchestra, and Chico O’Farrill, this rising trumpeter can switch from a
slow, creamy tone to incisive passagework in a trice. Marriott’s
straight-ahead quartet plays classic bop tunes and forward-looking
originals. Tula’s, 2214 Second Ave, 443-4221, 8:30 pm, $15.
Sat 8/2
AIDA
Perhaps the acme of grand opera, Verdi’s masterpiece boasts an
exotic locale (ancient Egypt), a weepy plot, unstintingly beautiful
arias, and roof-rattling choral writing. Lisa Daltirus, who sang Aida
for the Portland Opera earlier this year, and Ana Lucrecia
García alternate in the title role while two Seattle Opera
favorites, Stephanie Blythe and Margaret Jane Wray, trade off as
Amneris, the King’s daughter. Through Sat Aug 23; see www.seattleopera.org for details.
Sung in Italian with supertitles in English. McCaw Hall, 321 Mercer St,
389-7676, 7:30 pm, $25-$162.
SOUND FOR THE ORGANIZATION OF SOCIETY
Their potpourri song titles such as “Interval Mechanic,” “For
Octet,” “Your Babbling Is Driving Me Crazy,” and “Invisible Beats” tell
it all. Too brainy to be described as fusion, this nonet borrows,
thieves, and transmutes classic ’70s fusion, funk, and 20th-century
avant composition. Gallery 1412, 1412 18th Ave, 322-1533, 8 pm, free
but donations accepted.
Mon 8/4
JIM KNAPP ORCHESTRA
Seattle Circle guitarist Andrew Boscardin teams up with Knapp’s
adventurous big band, which boasts a semirotating cast of excellent
players, including hornman Jay Thomas, bassist Phil Sparks, and many
others. Seattle Drum School, 12510 15th Ave NE, 364-8815, 8 pm,
$5/$10.
Tues 8/5
DULL KNIFE
Seattle’s Dull Knife spearhead a quadruple bill of deep drones and
heavy sound with Portland’s Tecumseh and two acts trekking from afar,
Pussygutt from Boise and the alluring Bay Area psychedelic
trance-makers Barn Owl. Funhouse, 206 Fifth Ave N, 374-8400, 9:30 pm,
$7.
Wed 8/6
JESSICA WILLIAMS
Many jazz pianists possess superb technique, but Williams remains
one of the few who can connect the constituent parts of keyboard
virtuosity—a calibrated touch, blinding speed, prudent use of the
sustain pedal, harmonic ingenuity, melodic invention, and a well-timed
sense of simplicity—into a coherent solo performance. Triple
Door, 216 Union St, 838-4333, 7:30 pm, $20 adv/$25 DOS.
