First, you call your album Night Grooves, which--face it--carries hefty cheese potential. Not bad in and of itself, but the danger abides. Then you decide to write most of the songs yourself. And this is jazz we're dealing with, a genre relentlessly (to its own detriment) enamored of standards. But why not throw in a few covers, too? And why not choose a Thelonius Monk tune, only one of the most iconic jazz pieces? And a composition by the late bass legend Leroy Vinnegar, possibly the most revered Portland jazzman ever?

Finally, the bar high enough at last, you decide to record the damn thing almost-live, after just one rehearsal.

Somehow Stan Bock pulls it off. The second album by the trombonist who spent 19 years blowing his horn for the U.S. Air Force, Night Grooves harnesses some of Portland's hottest jazz players to a chassis of suave nightclub funk. It's an album you can imagine cranking, or turning down to a simmer when it's time to dim the lights, put the Riunite on ice and unfurl the satin sheets.

Bock's incredible collaborative octet includes Thara Memory, keyboard demon George Mitchell and the incomparable drummer Mel Brown. Portlanders are lucky enough to have these guys working clubs like Jimmy Mak's on a near-nightly basis, and the players' mutual familiarity breeds smoothness and subtlety.

Bock says touchstones included groups like Art Blakey's legendary Jazz Messengers, from the days before jazz splintered into opposing camps of academic abstractionists and lobotomized lite noodlers. On original compositions like the racy, jet-set "Night Flight from Nairobi" and kicked-back "Groovin' with J.R.," Bock captures a seamless blend of cultured sophistication and unashamed funk.

That equilibrium seems tailor-made to Bock's post-military employment: Willamette University jazz prof by day, trombone gun-for-hire by night. "In teaching, I get to think about the music all day," he says. "By evening I'm just ready to play, and once the downbeat hits, everything else is forgotten." Zach Dundas

The Stan Bock Ensemble plays two sets Wednesday, Dec. 18, at Jimmy Mak's, 300 NW 10th Ave., 295-6542. 7:30 and 9:30 pm. $7 cover; $20 cover + a copy of Night Grooves.

HISS and VINEGAR

OLCC: TALES FROM THE FRONT
Portland musicians and music fans love to hate the Oregon Liquor Control Commission. And why not? The booze agency has been accused of being anti-rock, anti-hip-hop, anti-electronica, racist, ageist, you name it. The rhetoric is sometimes silly, but it's not always groundless.

But this divide has two sides. Music folk are often clueless as to how the OLCC operates. Sometimes they don't even know exactly what the Commission is. For many, anti-agency angst amounts to directionless bitching about The Man.

Here's the deal: Like it or not, the OLCC is here to stay. Re-engineering the system would take considerable political will. It appears there ain't none. The Legislature is where dreams of OLCC reform go to die, and an initiative aimed at restructuring the agency didn't even attract enough Jack Hancocks to make the ballot this fall.

If musicians and fans want to improve their lot, they have to engage the OLCC. In two recent cases, music supporters are trying to do just that; different approaches illustrate the promise and pitfalls of political grappling.

First, hip-hop. Many assume the OLCC is out to get the genre. And, in fact, the agency has yanked licenses from a long line of troubled hip-hop clubs. In October, performers and fans gathered for a forum at Portland State; representatives of both city government and OLCC showed up to answer questions and absorb the venting. It could have been a one-off bitchfest, but each side followed up.

Last week, OLCC spokesman John Stubenvoll pow-wowed with David Parks, veteran local musician and primary organizer of the forum. Both sides express hope that an oppositional-at-best relationship might be redefined. "We have a grand opportunity," Stubenvoll says. "People and organizations of good faith understand they don't understand each other very well, but realize they have to work together on issues of common concern."

A formative dialogue, but a dialogue. Contrast such halting--but real--progress to what's going down with new OLCC regs governing minor entertainers. New rules primarily designed to keep 18- to 21-year olds from working as strippers will prevent many under-21 musicians from playing small venues with full alcohol service. (Venues that serve more food than booze aren't affected, and any bar can try to work with the OLCC to get an exemption. OLCC spokesman Ken Palke says those exemptions may be hard to get.)

Naturally, musicians are furious. An online alert's making the rounds, calling for outrage. Unfortunately, the mass email (the origins of our copy are unclear) amounts to too little, too late. The rules take effect at the first of the year, and the time to lobby OLCC commissioners has long passed. "They'd have to get on our agenda for next Monday," Palke said last week. "It just doesn't seem like there'll be time." Add that the email's statements regarding relevant state law is muddled and, according to Palke, partially incorrect, and you have a formula for well-meaning ineffectiveness.

No question, the spirit of both efforts is laudable. But steps taken by Portland hip-hoppers, who've engaged an often-faceless entity one-on-one, seem more likely to bear fruit than an email coming out of the ether. Both situations show that Oregon music partisans have begun the long climb up the political learning curve, and that's a very good thing.

Sound off: hiss@wweek.com.