Requiem for a Flag-Waver  As I was saying. Why complain if a
jazz festival is no more than a congested confluence of
concerts? JVC followed on the heels of Texaco (discussion of
jazz is fated forevermore to sound like Madison Avenue adspeak)
and lay over the city like a shroud. People were still asking me
when it would open as it was closing. Critics made the rounds
glassy-eyed and somnambulant, shoulders set in permanent shrugs,
as if to say don't ask before anyone could. Buzz? There was no
buzz--no can't-wait-to-hear-that or what-a-cool-idea-for-a-
concert or wasn't-that- amazing. As always, there were moments:
I won't soon forget Al Grey's ''Black and Blue'' or Clark Terry
reviving his brass duets, or especially Joao Gilberto, who isn't
a jazz musician but made almost everyone else look like an
amateur or...ran out of things I won't soon forget. Will consult
notes.  The festival began with six concerts at the Kaye
Playhouse, a pleasingly petite theater that fosters specialty
ideas that can barely make a den