Live shows make safety a priority

When the Ottawa Jazz Festival announced this past weekend's series of four concerts at the Arts Court, they were designed as COVID-19proof livestream shows.

Not long after announcing the program, though, pandemic restrictions were lifted slightly in Ottawa, allowing the festival to sell a few tickets to fans wanting an in-person experience.

But then by the time the weekend rolled around, the number of coronavirus cases was on the way up again, and it felt like a risky proposition to be going anywhere, let alone a non-essential thing like a live-music concert. “Don't get COVID,” one friend cheerfully texted when I shared my bold plan to attend one of the four shows in person.

The program featured performances by the Miguel De Armas Quartet, Whitehorse and Roddy Ellias' quintet, but the one that drew me was the Friday night appearance by The Lemon Bucket Orkestra. That's the Toronto-based Balkan-klezmer-gypsy band responsible for some legendary shows in Ottawa over the years, including the only mosh-pit at Chamberfest and a massive circle dance in the after-hours tent at the jazz festival in 2019.

They're a tight, dynamic and musically adventurous party band. But with almost a dozen people usually on stage, some of them playing particle-spewing wind instruments and all working together to concoct a fiery energy that's hard for dancers to resist, it also felt like the most risky of the four concerts.

Nonetheless, all 40 of the $30 tickets were snapped up in advance. In fact, the 40 tickets that were available to each of the four shows sold out, a clear indicator of the pent-up demand for live music. Hundreds more bought a $10 ticket to watch the live streams.

Of course, part of feeling comfortable at a show these days is having confidence that the promoter will follow the required safety protocols. Jazzfest had it covered: In addition to the spaced-out seating, concertgoers were asked to wear their masks throughout the show. No dancing was allowed and the bar was closed. Hand sanitizer and extra masks were available at the door, and everyone had to provide their name and number in case contact tracing became necessary.

But the most obvious prevention measure was the Great Wall of Plexiglas that towered between the musicians and audience. While it didn't affect the view from the seats (and the sound was adjusted to accommodate), it did seem like we were witnessing the activities of a rare animal behind glass in a zoo.

And on the stage side of the transparent barricade, seeing their reflection in the glass prompted singer-violinist Mark Marcyzk to remark that he felt like part of a museum exhibit designed to show kids what things were like back in the good old days when bands played live shows.

Another consideration affecting bands during the pandemic is the reality that not every musician wants to play in person, just like not every fan wants to see a show in person. Lemon Bucket showed up in Ottawa on Friday with a seven-member configuration, a few bodies short of their usual 11. Some were out of the country, while others had elderly relatives to worry about, Marcyzk explained, adding that no one was forced to come to Ottawa to play.

The shuffled lineup meant that some of the musicians played instruments they don't usually play, but this is a band that has the talent and versatility to adjust on the fly, and there was little sense of reining things in. The 75 minutes flew by, and everyone on stage looked delighted to be playing together for a real audience, especially sax and clarinet player Julian Selody, who also works for the Ottawa Jazz Festival in the summer. The red-bearded musician was on fire, whether wielding a klezmer clarinet or honking a jazz solo on sax.

At one point, bandleader Marcyzk attempted to express what it meant to the band to have a professional gig, their first in eight months.

“It feels like a homecoming,” he said. “This is home for us, being here on stage. … It's something I definitely took for granted, being in a space together, listening to music, watching music, sitting next to somebody you love or somebody you don't know and just feeling whatever it is you feel, whether that's nostalgia or excitement or `Turn it down, it's too loud.' It doesn't matter, we're all here together.”

Or, as Selody succinctly put it after the show, “It's better than being alone in my room staring at the walls.”