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Miguel ZenónPLIABILITY&THRUSTBy Jim Macnie // Photos by Jimmy KatzSeems like everywhere you go, MiguelZenón is somehow involved with dance.Last summer at the Newport Jazz Festival,the saxophonist was tearing up an outdoor stagewith a storm of alto lines. Lots of audiencemembers were swaying in their seats, but oneparticular fan at the edge of the tent was liftinghis heels in a truly committed way—turns outJoe Lovano likes to get his bounce on. No onecan blame him; Zenón’s quartet can be a fiercelittle swing machine when it gets going, stretchinga post-bop lingo to fit some wildly propulsivetime signatures.The Puerto Rico native has no problem movinghis body to music that he’s stimulated by,either. On stage he renders a clockwork bob ’n’weave motion while flashing out those horn flurries.He even rocks when he’s part of an audience.On a January night at New York’s JazzStandard, Zenón was spotted doing some shoulder-shakingwhile sitting in the front row of ashow by Fly—drummer Jeff Ballard’s snarecommanding everyone to have some kind ofrhythmic reaction.But it’s the rotund guy in an aisle seat at arecent Zenón show who’s top dog when itcomes to shimmying. Sporting a ski parka in awarm New Jersey concert hall, he couldn’t resistthe thrust of the plena drummers the bandleaderhad by his side. With pianist Luis Perdomoadding extra depth to the percussive attack byswooping his right hand up and down the keys,there was plenty of tension in the air. Mr. SkiParka was a dude who—quite correctly—sawlittle reason to stay still. Finally, during anexclamatory conclusion to “Despedida” fromZenón’s Esta Plena, he had to let go, leapingforward and bellowing “Puerto Rico!” Thewoman behind him didn’t follow suit, but shelooked like she wanted to.“It happens,” says Zenón. “It’s not our intentto make dance music, but yeah, some peoplereally get excited. I can’t ever remember seeingpeople actually dancing while we were playing—maybeat Newport—but if they were, I’mtotally cool with it. If we can do what we do andstill tap that feeling, fantastic.”Nope, the 31-year-old saxophonist doesn’tplay dance music per se. Esta Plena is a reedspiano-bass-drumsjazz disc bolstered by a trio ofhand drummers—pleneros. Its feisty tunes arethe result of cultural pride, a curious mind and aGuggenheim grant. Zenón’s horn is known forits agility; there are solos on the album that fly atbreakneck speed, stressing his fluency in bopidioms that stretch from Charlie Parker’s frenzyto Cannonball Adderley’s sensuousness. Thedance elements bubble up because he controlsthe music’s temperament by gracefully thrustinghimself into the rhythm section’s agitation. Theroller-coaster pas de deux he performs withPerdomo on the opening of “Residencial LlorensTorres” is a jaw-dropper, blending acute teamworkand killer chops while riding the band’svery intricate groove. The Boston Globe deemedit a “kind of Latin accent we haven’t heardbefore.” For Zenón, it’s a present-tense approachto Afro-Caribbean cadences that lets listenersknow he appreciates the traditions of his homelandbut lives in a fully modern realm when itcomes to musical design—even if the result doesput a few butts in gear.“I remember that day at Newport,” laughsLovano, “it was beautiful. Miguel has a joyousway of playing, and his rhythmic sense is powerful;it captures you. He was really letting loose,and hey, I’ve been known to dance a bit. Whenyou let the situation you’re in completely be apart of what you’re creating, then you’re workingin the moment, spontaneously creating ideasfrom the feeling in the band. If you let that happen,you will dance, and people will dancearound you.”Esta Plena is Zenón’s fifth album as aleader and second to investigate a PuertoRican folkloric music; 2005’s Jibaroapplied itself to the comparatively rural stylethat comes from the island’s central mountainregion. Plena, built on a rhythm made by threedistinct tub-less drums called panderos (thinkoversized tambourine), is a street beat prevalentin the barrios in the southern city of Ponce.Nurtured by non-professional musicians bothblack and poor, plena is often considered vulgar.These days it’s everywhere, especially onthe corners of San Juan, where lyrics about sexand politics are threaded through its cadences.Thanks to pliability and thrust it’s become abedrock rhythm for all sorts of party music.You can catch its essence in Zenón’s“Despedida,” a rocking piece of reportage aboutan annual New Year’s Eve bash that he and hisfriends attend at plenero Hector “Tito” Matos’Puerto Rico home. The lyrics contain lovinggibes at pals who want to quit their revelry earlyor get too tipsy too fast. “Whatever happens atthe party is in that song,” says Zenón. “That’sthe spirit of the whole thing: working in themoment. A guy tries to leave? Sing about it. Aguy falls down? Sing about it. You want someoneto break out his instrument? Make up asong. It’s all about improvising.”Zenón’s not bad on the drums himself.May 2010 DOWNBEAT 27