Last week, I spent four days in Manhattan. I saw Aztec art at the Guggenheim, rode the subway up and down the Green line, munched corned beef at Katz's Deli, wandered through Chinatown, and rode the Staten Island Ferry. And with three nights to fill, I found my way to the Jazz Standard, Blue Note, and Village Vanguard.

I really am not starved for top jazz artists or venues. On any day of the week in the Twin Cities, I can find high caliber live jazz; at least a few nights per week, I can hear the same performers in downtown Minneapolis who appear in New York clubs; often on weekends I can hear national touring artists at St Paul's Artists Quarter. But rarely do I have to make tough choices. In planning my trip to New York, I was a small child turned loose in Toys R Us--on any given night, there were at least four or five options with significant appeal. Agonizing over each club's calendar for the week, I finally settled on two clubs for Thursday and Friday night, and ultimately added a third for Saturday night. And although I had previously seen some of these musicians, each club date presented the artists in uncommon combinations. Further, each club has its own personality, creating a unique interaction between venue and performers.

Thursday at Jazz Standard. I've long been a fan of Fred Hersch, described by Bob Blumenthal (Atlantic Monthly) as "one of the most sensitive and genuinely lyrical players in jazz." Previously I saw him with his trio at the Artists Quarter in St. Paul and in a solo performance at the Healdsburg, CA Jazz Festival. From October 19-24, Hersch held a residency at Jazz Standard, in duo format with a different guest artist each night. Such pairings are not new to Hersch, who recently released a sublime recording of duets with British vocalist Norma Winstone. On October 21, his guest was keyboard colleague and Grammy-winning virtuoso Kenny Barron.

With the two grand pianos back to back, these two lyrical improvisers traded roles throughout the set, and despite the excellent sound system, from our seats near the rear, it was not always possible to tell who was playing what at a given moment, their transitions typically seamless. On some selections, the melodic line was carried by one piano or the other, as on the opening "Star Eyes"; on other selections, the deconstructions were simultaneous, the harmonies densely layered, resembling two dueling horns, as on "Con Alma," played in honor of Dizzy Gillespie's birthday. Eubie Blake's "Memories of You" was a keyboard Cirque de Soleil, initiated with Barron's heavy embellishment of the melody that folded into the duo's interplay of hesitating rhythms and alternating basslines. Hersch and Barron created a particularly graceful "Up Jumped Spring," each pianist taking on the role of the drummer, comping with cymbal-like accents and anticipating each other's moves in a manner worthy of Astaire and Rogers, trading spaces and always mindful of the whole.

The set included a solo from each pianist, Barron demonstrating his lyrical chops with runs of arpeggios and short, playful, dancing phrases on "Skylark," while Hersch's crystalline touch and incandescent lines created a shimmering and dynamic rendition of "Peacocks." The set closed with a Monkish, swinging reading of Tommy Flanagan's "Confirmation."

Individually, these are two of the finest pianists of modern jazz. Together, with two voices, the swing factor seemed to increase exponentially and the resulting harmonies were rich and celestial. Of the two, Hersch seemed to take on the role of explorer more readily, with Barron a bit more conservative, but there was nothing restrained or hesitant about the partnership, which one hopes will one day reach the recording studio.

The only drawback to the evening was the din and occasional clatter from the kitchen. Perhaps only annoying to those of us seated toward the rear of the room, the otherwise quietly attentive waitstaff seemed to let loose once they crossed the threshold. Arriving early enough to be seated closer to the front is advisable. And I do recommend the Key Lime pie. (The upper level restaurant, Blue Smoke, is known for barbecue.)

Friday at the Blue Note. One time or another, I have had the pleasure of seeing veteran trombonist/bandleader Slide Hampton, the always-entertaining sax man, James Moody, young lions Benny Green (piano) and Roy Hargrove (trumpet), Italian vocalist Roberta Gambarini, and the legendary trumpeter, Clark Terry. But all on the same stage? With drummer Dennis Mackrel and bassist John Lee, Hampton led the Dizzy Gillespie Alumni All-Stars in a week-long engagement at the Blue Note. This group is a downsized version of the Gillespie Alumni All-Star Big Band that formed in 1998 under the leadership of John Faddis and John Lee, comprised primarily of musicians who played with the late great trumpeter at some point. For the Blue Note gig, the guest chair was filled by either Jackie McLean or Clark Terry, and on Friday, October 22, it was Terry's turn.

The band's repertoire is primarily focused on the music written by or associated with Dizzy Gillespie--Afro-Cuban infused bop at its best. Prior to Terry's appearance, the band ran through a few popular standards, including "Salt Peanuts" featuring a Diz-worthy solo (and some growling vocals) from Hargrove and a burning, intricately executed improvisation from Green. James Moody predictably delighted the crowd with his irreverent lyrics on his "Moody's Mood for Love."

Clark Terry, whose credits include Charlie Barnet, Count Basie, and Duke Ellington, has battled health problems in recent years and needed help walking to the Blue Note stage. Once seated with his flugelhorn in hand, however, Terry seemed to propel the band to a higher level on the aptly chosen "Tour de Force." While at 83 Terry may be short on his blowing power of the past, his growling vibrato was nevertheless long on passion. Midway through the set, vocalist Roberta Gambarini joined the band on "Stardust," initially singing with just Terry's muted trumpet accompaniment; the two paired up for a playful scat rendition of "Squeeze Me" with Hampton, Moody and even Hargrove joining in, and the set closed with an even more rambunctious scatted vocal quartet that seemed to make the instrumental powers of the band irrelevant.

Although the set was clearly built around Clark Terry and the other elder statesmen of brass, there were many sparkling gems of musicianship throughout the evening--Dennis Mackrel's snappy percussion introduction and shimmering close to "Salt Peanuts"; Roy Hargrove's rapidly shifting dynamics on "Tour de Force"; Slide Hampton's growling and dancing runs through "Salt Peanuts"; James Moody's hot tenor on "Tour de Force" and "Stardust"; John Lee's consistent, pacesetting basslines throughout; and the ever-swinging Benny Green, whose comping was perfectly executed with glistening solo passages, particularly on "Tour de Force" and "Stardust."