Picture four monsters sharing a tub of Jiffy Pop over an open flame—that dangerous, beautiful moment when you're not sure if you're about to get perfectly popped kernels or a kitchen fire, but you're committed to finding out together. That's what happens when these four get in a room: controlled chaos, collaborative combustion, and the kind of musical conversation that happens when everyone's holding the pan handle at once.
The beauty of monster jazz is nobody's trying to be polite. There's no "after you" at the bridge, no gentle suggestions about dynamics, no passive-aggressive eye contact about tempo. Just four players who've spent enough time in the trenches to know that the best music happens when you stop being precious about your ideas and start treating the bandstand like a shared kitchen experiment. Some nights you get gourmet. Some nights you get scorched. Most nights you get something in between that tastes better than it has any right to, served with the kind of chemistry that only comes from musicians who trust each other enough to occasionally make terrible decisions together.
Featuring
From the church pews of Orangeburg to the concert stages of Japan, Will Boyd carries the sacred fire of soul saxophone in his lungs and heart. This South Carolina State University alumnus didn't just study the tradition of Eddie Harris and Hank Crawford—he absorbed their DNA, then filtered it through his own musical genome to create something both reverent and revolutionary. Now splitting his time between the classrooms of UNC Asheville and Warren Wilson College, Will serves as both professor and prophet, teaching young musicians that technique without soul is just expensive noise. His EWI (Electronic Wind Instrument) doesn't replace his acoustic arsenal—it amplifies his voice across dimensions, while his wife Kelle Jolly's vocals provide the perfect harmonic counterpoint to his reed-driven narratives. Winner of the MLK Arts Award and inductee into South Carolina State's jazz hall of fame, Will transforms every stage into a sanctuary where the secular meets the spiritual, and the ancient language of the blues speaks directly to tomorrow's possibilities.
In the sonic laboratory of Asheville's Blue Ridge Mountains, Jay Sanders conducts experiments where Sonny Sharrock's raw electricity meets John Hartford's pastoral wisdom, where Bill Frisell's ambient textures dance with Dave Holland's rhythmic architecture. This guitarist-composer-alchemist doesn't just write music—he constructs musical universes from the ground up, whether he's crafting intimate chamber pieces or preparing symphonic statements for the Blue Ridge Orchestra. His 2024 solo debut 'Evanescent' reads like a love letter to impermanence itself, featuring seven original compositions plus a tone poem dedicated to the Voyager spacecraft, performed by an eight-person ensemble that German critics praised for its 'astonishing range of styles and sounds.' From organizing Asheville's inaugural Improvisational Music Festival to serving on URSA Asheville's board, Sanders embodies the community-building spirit that transforms mountain towns into musical meccas. His upcoming 'Sinfonietta Helene,' premiering with the Blue Ridge Orchestra in September 2025, represents not just a personal artistic milestone, but the moment when decades of cross-genre exploration crystallize into symphonic form—proving that the most profound musical innovations happen when you're brave enough to let jazz, rock, blues, metal, and African influences speak the same language.
Ben Bjorlie grew up in a household where the Charlotte Symphony Orchestra wasn't just background music—it was the family business. His mother played cello, his father played bass, and by the time Ben hit fifth grade, he was starting on clarinet, eventually landing spots in the National Honors Band and every all-state ensemble that would have him. Then at 13, he picked up his dad's bass and started learning Stanley Clarke and Marcus Miller tunes by ear, which is the musical equivalent of learning to drive on a Formula One racetrack. Somewhere between high school marching band drum line and his undergraduate percussion degree at Appalachian State, Bjorlie developed a dangerous superpower: complete fluency on both bass and drums, which means he understands rhythm from both sides of the conversation—he's the guy who knows what the bass player needs from the drummer and what the drummer needs from the bass player, because he's spent decades being both people. Since moving to Asheville in 1998, Bjorlie has become one of those musicians other musicians call when they need someone who can play literally anything—funk, bebop, Latin, swing, big band, salsa—with the kind of taste and sensitivity that comes from actually listening instead of just executing. For over a decade, he's been the house bassist at Asheville Music Hall's Tuesday funk jam and the house drummer at Barley's Thursday jazz jam, which is code for "he's logged more stage hours than most people log sleep hours." He's played with the Asheville Horns, Bayou Diesel, Orange Krush, Nuevo Montuno Salsa Orchestra, David Zoll Trio, Asheville Jazz Orchestra, Spork!, and countless other projects that needed someone who could read the room, read the chart, and make everyone else sound better. And when he's not performing, he's teaching the next generation at Asheville Music School—because apparently being proficient on bass, drums, AND guitar while maintaining dual careers as an educator and working musician isn't enough of a challenge.
Vic Stafford's drumming résumé reads like a musical travelogue written by someone who can't sit still: Asheville native, Donna The Buffalo anchor, Toubab Krewe founding member, sound engineer, session player, and general rhythmic architect for whoever needs someone who understands that groove isn't just about keeping time—it's about creating the gravitational field that keeps everyone else from flying off into space. After helping build Toubab Krewe's West African-meets-American-rock fusion from the ground up—recording two albums, playing over 2,000 shows, and performing everywhere from Bonnaroo to the Festival in the Desert in Mali—Stafford relocated to Atlanta, where he continues his dual life as both percussive force and sonic craftsman. His transition from Toubab's drum throne to the engineering booth for their Stylo album proves he understands music from both sides of the glass: how to make it and how to capture it without losing the magic in translation. Whether laying down the pocket for Donna The Buffalo's socially conscious folk-rock, sitting in with whoever needs someone who can navigate Cajun, zydeco, reggae, and straight-ahead groove with equal fluency, or engineering sessions that require someone who knows the difference between "technically correct" and "feels right," Stafford represents that rare breed of musician who's equally comfortable behind the kit and behind the board—and knows that sometimes the best contribution is knowing when to play less and let the music breathe.
Admission
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