4 Significant as it is that the Manhattan Transfer has been around for 40 years, it is far more remarkable that those four decades have been marked by near-continuous artistic expansion and advancement. The Four Freshmen and the Hi-Los can statistically claim greater longevity, but the Manhattan Transfer must rightfully be credited as the most enduringly creative vocal group in jazz history. The key distinction, and the principal reason for the group’s sustainability, is that the Transfer has not simply built upon the foundation laid by the Freshmen and the Hi-Los. The Transfer has also drawn from all adjacent wells, cleverly appropriating everything from big-band swing and the bop-centric brilliance of Lambert, Hendricks & Ross to East Coast doo-wop and the West Coast intricacy of the Mel-Tones. Over the course of 23 albums (24 if you count the 1969 one-off Jukin’), bass Tim Hauser, alto Janis Siegel, tenor Alan Paul and soprano Cheryl Bentyne (who replaced Laurel Massé in 1976) have taken continuous detours, rarely making a wrong turn. Along the way, they’ve delivered more than their share of masterpieces, including the bold, vibrant <I>Pastiche</I> (with Massé) and the zoot-sharp <I>Swing</I>. But none, save the landmark Hendricks tribute Vocalese, can match the ingeniousness of <I>The Chick Corea Songbook</I>. In the liner notes, Siegel rightly describes it as a “magical and transformational odyssey.” It is less an album than a series of soul-stirring journeys, unfailingly respectful to their source while sagely retooled to take wing in fresh directions. Songbook opens and closes with a new Corea composition (featuring Corea himself on synthesizer), “Free Samba,” a transcontinental, perhaps even trans-planetary, exercise in soaring liberty that cleverly hints at the varied adventures it brackets. There is the innocent passage from birth to infancy shaped by Siegel and Bentyne around “Children’s Song 1,” arranged by Fred Hersch, whose gently tinkling keystrokes lead all four voices on a playful calliope ride. There is the dazzlingly cacophonous circus train, steered by Paul, which winds through “Pixiland Rag.” There is the spicy paella of Siegel’s “The Story of Anna & Armando” (based on “Armando’s Rhumba”) conveyed on waves of brass as it probes the deep passion of Corea’s parents. Hauser teams with lyricist Van Dyke Parks (the notorious, widely misunderstood eccentric who toiled with Brian Wilson on the ill-fated Smile) for the antithetical gems “One Step Closer” and “Another Roadside Attraction.” The first, based on “The One Step,” is a softly swinging world tour that ultimately crosses the Rubicon in pursuit of pure, lasting love; the other is a hypnotic, chant-fueled inner voyage built upon “Space Circus” to create an otherworldly carnival. Though Corea fans will recognize Neville Potter’s lyrics for “500 Miles High” and “Times Lie,” they’ll also surely appreciate the free-floating expansiveness of Michele Weir’s arrangement of the former (gorgeously accented by guest percussionist Alex Acuña) and the multilayered, Hersch-arranged joyousness of the unfettered latter. Familiarity reaches maximum comfort and inspiration on what languidly unfurls as a majestic meander through Corea and Al Jarreau’s “Spain,” propelled by fogged reveries of desire and punctuated by the suggestion of staccato heels on hardwood. Hauser and Paul have both commented that this project has been on the group’s backburner since the 1970s. Would a younger, less seasoned Manhattan Transfer have handled such material with the same care, precision and imagination? Not likely. It has required the interceding decades for the foursome to reach the necessary level of assured, relaxed maturation. In other words, to paraphrase Gloria Steinem, this is what 40 sounds like. true 204 2009-11-04T22:26:15-05:00 false 25275 178 true 20 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

Significant as it is that the Manhattan Transfer has been around for 40 years, it is far more remarkable that those four decades have been marked by near-continuous artistic expansion and advancement. The Four Freshmen and the Hi-Los can statistically claim greater longevity, but the Manhattan Transfer must rightfully be credited as the most enduringly creative vocal group in jazz history. The key distinction, and the principal reason for the group’s sustainability, is that the Transfer has not simply built upon the foundation laid by the Freshmen and the Hi-Los. The Transfer has also drawn from all adjacent wells, cleverly appropriating everything from big-band swing and the bop-centric brilliance of Lambert, Hendricks & Ross to East Coast doo-wop and the West Coast intricacy of the Mel-Tones. Over the course of 23 albums (24 if you count the 1969 one-off Jukin’), bass Tim Hauser, alto Janis Siegel, tenor Alan Paul and soprano Cheryl Bentyne (who replaced Laurel Massé in 1976) have taken continuous detours, rarely making a wrong turn. Along the way, they’ve delivered more than their share of masterpieces, including the bold, vibrant Pastiche (with Massé) and the zoot-sharp Swing . But none, save the landmark Hendricks tribute Vocalese, can match the ingeniousness of The Chick Corea Songbook . In the liner notes, Siegel rightly describes it as a “magical and transformational odyssey.” It is less an album than a series of soul-stirring journeys, unfailingly respectful to their source while sagely retooled to take wing in fresh directions. Songbook opens and closes with a new Corea...

2009-11-07T11:01:00-05:00

4 Last we heard from Harry Connick Jr., he was firing on all cylinders with the simultaneous release of <I>Oh My Nola</I> and <I>Chanson du Vieux Carré</I>, his twin-engine, high-octane homage to his hurricane-ravaged hometown. So it’s initially disconcerting to hear him take such a dramatic U-turn, downshifting to easy-glide for 14 covers that run a smooth gamut from Rodgers & Hammerstein to Bacharach & David. Connick’s widely stated intent was to indeed change gears and craft an album that focused on vocals. Much has been made of his unprecedented willingness to cede a degree of artistic control by collaborating with seasoned gold miner Clive Davis. Yes, Davis’ fingerprints are clearly evident, notably on the pop orientation of the playlist and the shifting of the needle away from jazz and toward easy listening. But Connick maintained controlling interest, writing all of the arrangements and orchestrations, overruling Davis’ objection of certain tunes (notably “Some Enchanted Evening,” easily the album’s best track) and encouraging longtime pals and frequent collaborators Wynton and Branford Marsalis to add guest solos on three tracks. Connick opens with “All the Way” and closes with “Mona Lisa,” songs that rank among the most beloved and familiar of the Frank Sinatra and Nat Cole canons. They are fitting bookends, since <I>Your Songs</I> is, stylistically and atmospherically, reminiscent of the now-classic albums that defined the Sinatra and Cole sounds throughout the late ’50s and early ’60s. It may not be what Connick’s hardcore jazz fans expect—or want. Nor, as he has firmly averred, is it a groove he intends to get stuck in. But it is an astute adaptation of a durable blueprint, constructed by a musical architect who has never settled for cookie-cutter replication, and likely never will. true 204 2009-11-04T22:31:55-05:00 false 25277 178 true 20 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

Last we heard from Harry Connick Jr., he was firing on all cylinders with the simultaneous release of Oh My Nola and Chanson du Vieux Carré , his twin-engine, high-octane homage to his hurricane-ravaged hometown. So it’s initially disconcerting to hear him take such a dramatic U-turn, downshifting to easy-glide for 14 covers that run a smooth gamut from Rodgers & Hammerstein to Bacharach & David. Connick’s widely stated intent was to indeed change gears and craft an album that focused on vocals. Much has been made of his unprecedented willingness to cede a degree of artistic control by collaborating with seasoned gold miner Clive Davis. Yes, Davis’ fingerprints are clearly evident, notably on the pop orientation of the playlist and the shifting of the needle away from jazz and toward easy listening. But Connick maintained controlling interest, writing all of the arrangements and orchestrations, overruling Davis’ objection of certain tunes (notably “Some Enchanted Evening,” easily the album’s best track) and encouraging longtime pals and frequent collaborators Wynton and Branford Marsalis to add guest solos on three tracks. Connick opens with “All the Way” and closes with “Mona Lisa,” songs that rank among the most beloved and familiar of the Frank Sinatra and Nat Cole canons. They are fitting bookends, since Your Songs is, stylistically and atmospherically, reminiscent of the now-classic albums that defined the Sinatra and Cole sounds throughout the late ’50s and early ’60s. It may not be what Connick’s hardcore jazz fans expect—or want. Nor, as he has firmly averred, is it a...

2009-11-06T12:13:43-05:00

4 <I>Songs From the Heart</I> is, in a word, astonishing. It finds Ramsey Lewis, after 50 years playing R&B- and pop-laced jazz piano, reinventing himself as a composer—hence the subtitle, Ramsey Plays Ramsey. The trio disc (Larry Gray, bass; Leon Joyce, drums) contains 12 straightahead tunes of extraordinary delicacy, lyricism and finesse, all sounding thoroughly fresh. Gospel and classical have always been Lewis favorites, particularly the former, but classical takes the wheel here. That’s only natural, since two-thirds of Songs was originally commissioned for the Joffrey Ballet. Nonetheless, the Satie-like quiet of “Clouds in Reverie” and “Watercolors” is surprising, as is the formal precision of “To Know Her Is to Love Her” and the achingly lovely “Conversation.” He even nods to John Lewis, the great classical-to-jazz bridge-builder, in his bluesy but crisp attack on the romantic “The Glow of Her Charm.” Gospel still makes its presence known via “The Way She Smiles,” a happy stomp. Lewis does bring in something from his pop immersion: instantly memorable tunes. The funky “The Spark” sinks in so immediately it seems you’ve known it for years; ditto the lithe bossa-nova “Rendezvous.” Gray and Joyce have no small part in the catchiness; the bassist offers excellent arco work on “To Know Her Is to Love Her” and an irresistible double-stop line on “Exhilaration,” while Joyce simmers with gregarious fills on “The Way She Smiles” and rock-ish backbeats throughout. <I>Songs From the Heart</I> is likely to rise on first listen to the top of the year’s best-of lists—and stay there. true 10607 2009-11-04T22:34:28-05:00 false 25278 178 true 20 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

Songs From the Heart is, in a word, astonishing. It finds Ramsey Lewis, after 50 years playing R&B- and pop-laced jazz piano, reinventing himself as a composer—hence the subtitle, Ramsey Plays Ramsey. The trio disc (Larry Gray, bass; Leon Joyce, drums) contains 12 straightahead tunes of extraordinary delicacy, lyricism and finesse, all sounding thoroughly fresh. Gospel and classical have always been Lewis favorites, particularly the former, but classical takes the wheel here. That’s only natural, since two-thirds of Songs was originally commissioned for the Joffrey Ballet. Nonetheless, the Satie-like quiet of “Clouds in Reverie” and “Watercolors” is surprising, as is the formal precision of “To Know Her Is to Love Her” and the achingly lovely “Conversation.” He even nods to John Lewis, the great classical-to-jazz bridge-builder, in his bluesy but crisp attack on the romantic “The Glow of Her Charm.” Gospel still makes its presence known via “The Way She Smiles,” a happy stomp. Lewis does bring in something from his pop immersion: instantly memorable tunes. The funky “The Spark” sinks in so immediately it seems you’ve known it for years; ditto the lithe bossa-nova “Rendezvous.” Gray and Joyce have no small part in the catchiness; the bassist offers excellent arco work on “To Know Her Is to Love Her” and an irresistible double-stop line on “Exhilaration,” while Joyce simmers with gregarious fills on “The Way She Smiles” and rock-ish backbeats throughout. Songs From the Heart is likely to rise on first listen to the top of the year’s best-of lists—and stay there.

2009-11-06T12:16:57-05:00

4 Who said three’s the charm? There’s a lot to be said for those moments when the John Patitucci Trio isn’t acting alone on <I>Remembrance</I>, an intimate studio session that primarily finds the veteran bassist-composer-bandleader collaborating with reedman Joe Lovano and drummer Brian Blade. Take “Scenes From an Opera,” for example. It’s a performance that wouldn’t be nearly as evocative or soulful without the inspired input of cellist Sachi Patitucci, the bassist’s wife. Or “Meditations,” one of four arrangements on <I>Remembrance</I> deftly accented by percussionist Rogerio Boccato. Then, too, there’s the album’s title track to consider, a solo homage to the late Michael Brecker that makes haunting use of Patitucci’s six-string electric bass and six-string electric piccolo bass. Of course, that’s not to say that the teaming of Patitucci, Lovano and Blades doesn’t deliver on its promise. Remembrance may be dedicated to, as Patitucci puts it in his liner notes, “fellow musicians who have inspired us that have recently and not so recently departed this world,” but it’s scarcely a solemn affair. The trio performances capitalize on the ensemble’s great chemistry, each in a different light, starting with the rhythmically and harmonically skewed “Monk/Trane”; the insinuating stroll “Sonny Side,” a splendid showcase for Lovano’s robust and restless tenor; and “Blues for Freddie,” a jaunty postbop salute composed, like all the tunes here, by Patitucci. When it comes to regional flavoring, though, nothing proves tastier than the Boccato-augmented quartet performance of “Messaien’s Gumbo.” true 110 2009-11-04T22:40:53-05:00 false 25280 178 true 20 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

Who said three’s the charm? There’s a lot to be said for those moments when the John Patitucci Trio isn’t acting alone on Remembrance , an intimate studio session that primarily finds the veteran bassist-composer-bandleader collaborating with reedman Joe Lovano and drummer Brian Blade. Take “Scenes From an Opera,” for example. It’s a performance that wouldn’t be nearly as evocative or soulful without the inspired input of cellist Sachi Patitucci, the bassist’s wife. Or “Meditations,” one of four arrangements on Remembrance deftly accented by percussionist Rogerio Boccato. Then, too, there’s the album’s title track to consider, a solo homage to the late Michael Brecker that makes haunting use of Patitucci’s six-string electric bass and six-string electric piccolo bass. Of course, that’s not to say that the teaming of Patitucci, Lovano and Blades doesn’t deliver on its promise. Remembrance may be dedicated to, as Patitucci puts it in his liner notes, “fellow musicians who have inspired us that have recently and not so recently departed this world,” but it’s scarcely a solemn affair. The trio performances capitalize on the ensemble’s great chemistry, each in a different light, starting with the rhythmically and harmonically skewed “Monk/Trane”; the insinuating stroll “Sonny Side,” a splendid showcase for Lovano’s robust and restless tenor; and “Blues for Freddie,” a jaunty postbop salute composed, like all the tunes here, by Patitucci. When it comes to regional flavoring, though, nothing proves tastier than the Boccato-augmented quartet performance of “Messaien’s Gumbo.”

2009-11-06T12:17:23-05:00

4 Get past the froufrou packaging, complete with chintz, lace, chenille and adorable, snoozing pups, and inside you’ll find the precise opposite: an album (or two, depending on which version you choose) of deceptive simplicity that is the quintessence of quiet elegance, exquisite taste and impeccable musical instincts. Not since the mid-’60s era of <I>Simply Streisand</I> and <I>The Third Album</I>, when the roots of her career-igniting cabaret and nightclub days still showed in her recordings, have Streisand’s inimitable storytelling skills been more astutely exercised. Sure, the crystalline purity of that singularly magnificent voice has grown slightly cloudy (though the deterioration is remarkably minimal). But such slight imperfection only serves to heighten the silken wallop of her interpretative abilities. Where once she would soar, she now stoops to conquer, newly appreciating that less can be more, a lesson reinforced by one of its sharpest practitioners, Diana Krall, who served as co-producer (with Tommy LiPuma) and advisor. Adapting to Krall’s approach, Streisand recorded 13 standards with just piano, bass, guitar and drums. Naturally, when you’re Barbra Streisand you’re provided only the very best, including arranger Johnny Mandel, bassist John Clayton, guitarist Anthony Wilson, drummer Jeff Hamilton and a rotating who’s who of pianists, including Krall, Tamir Hendelman, Alan Broadbent and Bill Charlap. (Orchestral backing, conducted by Bill Ross, was added later.) The single-disc version of <I>Love Is the Answer</I> features all 13 tracks with orchestra. The deluxe edition includes a second disc with the quartet-only versions of 12 of the selections. Though both are stunning, opt for the latter. Gems this glittering are best nestled in minimally ornate settings. true 204 2009-11-04T22:54:13-05:00 true 25285 178 true 60 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

Get past the froufrou packaging, complete with chintz, lace, chenille and adorable, snoozing pups, and inside you’ll find the precise opposite: an album (or two, depending on which version you choose) of deceptive simplicity that is the quintessence of quiet elegance, exquisite taste and impeccable musical instincts. Not since the mid-’60s era of Simply Streisand and The Third Album , when the roots of her career-igniting cabaret and nightclub days still showed in her recordings, have Streisand’s inimitable storytelling skills been more astutely exercised. Sure, the crystalline purity of that singularly magnificent voice has grown slightly cloudy (though the deterioration is remarkably minimal). But such slight imperfection only serves to heighten the silken wallop of her interpretative abilities. Where once she would soar, she now stoops to conquer, newly appreciating that less can be more, a lesson reinforced by one of its sharpest practitioners, Diana Krall, who served as co-producer (with Tommy LiPuma) and advisor. Adapting to Krall’s approach, Streisand recorded 13 standards with just piano, bass, guitar and drums. Naturally, when you’re Barbra Streisand you’re provided only the very best, including arranger Johnny Mandel, bassist John Clayton, guitarist Anthony Wilson, drummer Jeff Hamilton and a rotating who’s who of pianists, including Krall, Tamir Hendelman, Alan Broadbent and Bill Charlap. (Orchestral backing, conducted by Bill Ross, was added later.) The single-disc version of Love Is the Answer features all 13 tracks with orchestra. The deluxe edition includes a second disc with the quartet-only versions of 12 of the selections. Though both are stunning, opt for the...

2009-11-06T12:10:36-05:00

4 It’s tough not to admire the pluck of the indie-jazz vocalist. He or she has chosen one of the thorniest of musical paths and is out there all alone, handling everything from bookings and album production to promotion and CD sales. Take Scot Albertson, now four albums into a slowly developing career and slugging as hard as one man can. Trouble is, as is often the case with indie projects, Albertson tries to paint on too broad a canvas. It’s as if, in assembling the 15 tunes for <I>With Every Note, a Step</I>, he’s determined to demonstrate everything he can do. The result is a sort of jazz/cabaret version of a Whitman sampler, with a few creamy ballads, a couple of darker numbers to chew on, a bit of whipped froth and even the occasional nutty addition. So we’re subject to such discordant pairings as Spike Jones’ silly “Pass the Biscuits, Mirandy” against Andrew Lloyd Webber’s grandiose “Music of the Night,” and the folk prayer “Hymn of the Highlands” beside a jaunty “Save the Bones for Henry Jones.” Albertson has a voice built for Broadway and the dexterity to go with it. Indeed, it seems a voice ideally shaped for the Rodgers & Hammerstein songbook (represented here only once, with a sweetly rendered “No Other Love”). If, on his next outing, he opted for such a narrower focus, it could result in a big step forward. true 204 2009-11-04T22:56:21-05:00 false 25286 178 true 60 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

It’s tough not to admire the pluck of the indie-jazz vocalist. He or she has chosen one of the thorniest of musical paths and is out there all alone, handling everything from bookings and album production to promotion and CD sales. Take Scot Albertson, now four albums into a slowly developing career and slugging as hard as one man can. Trouble is, as is often the case with indie projects, Albertson tries to paint on too broad a canvas. It’s as if, in assembling the 15 tunes for With Every Note, a Step , he’s determined to demonstrate everything he can do. The result is a sort of jazz/cabaret version of a Whitman sampler, with a few creamy ballads, a couple of darker numbers to chew on, a bit of whipped froth and even the occasional nutty addition. So we’re subject to such discordant pairings as Spike Jones’ silly “Pass the Biscuits, Mirandy” against Andrew Lloyd Webber’s grandiose “Music of the Night,” and the folk prayer “Hymn of the Highlands” beside a jaunty “Save the Bones for Henry Jones.” Albertson has a voice built for Broadway and the dexterity to go with it. Indeed, it seems a voice ideally shaped for the Rodgers & Hammerstein songbook (represented here only once, with a sweetly rendered “No Other Love”). If, on his next outing, he opted for such a narrower focus, it could result in a big step forward.

2009-11-06T12:16:31-05:00

4 That singer-pianist John Proulx bears a striking vocal similarity to the young Chet Baker was made undeniably apparent three years ago with the release of Proulx’s debut, Moon and Sand. Rather than deny or mask the resemblance, Proulx embraces it on this belated follow-up, paying tribute with a dozen standards from Baker’s mid-’50s repertoire plus one new, supposedly honorific composition (the upbeat “Before You Know It,” which suggests little knowledge of the moody, demonized Baker). But likeness doesn’t necessarily translate to like-mindedness. Proulx sings without shadows. Exploring sentiments gray or sunny, he exudes a fundamental sincerity, conveying precisely what the lyric intends. Baker was all about shadows. Seemingly cool detachment belied intense introspection as he bent the words to his will, carving undercurrents that could both enhance and obscure the song’s emotional intent. Consider the two songs Baker is most strongly associated with: Where Proulx’s “Let’s Get Lost” travels a breezy path of romantic escapism, Baker’s suggests a worldlier, more sexually charged motive; and while Proulx’s “My Funny Valentine” unfolds like the tender billet-doux it is, Baker’s is laced with haunted desperation that borders on sinister (its murky creepiness used to chilling effect by director Anthony Minghella in The Talented Mr. Ripley). Which isn’t to suggest that Proulx’s interpretations are in any way lacking. Indeed, his readings—particularly a calypso-esque “Look for the Silver Lining” and an “I Remember You” that rides a gentle bossa wave—are consistently clever and fresh. But they emulate Baker in name only. true 204 2009-11-04T22:58:06-05:00 false 25287 178 true 60 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

That singer-pianist John Proulx bears a striking vocal similarity to the young Chet Baker was made undeniably apparent three years ago with the release of Proulx’s debut, Moon and Sand. Rather than deny or mask the resemblance, Proulx embraces it on this belated follow-up, paying tribute with a dozen standards from Baker’s mid-’50s repertoire plus one new, supposedly honorific composition (the upbeat “Before You Know It,” which suggests little knowledge of the moody, demonized Baker). But likeness doesn’t necessarily translate to like-mindedness. Proulx sings without shadows. Exploring sentiments gray or sunny, he exudes a fundamental sincerity, conveying precisely what the lyric intends. Baker was all about shadows. Seemingly cool detachment belied intense introspection as he bent the words to his will, carving undercurrents that could both enhance and obscure the song’s emotional intent. Consider the two songs Baker is most strongly associated with: Where Proulx’s “Let’s Get Lost” travels a breezy path of romantic escapism, Baker’s suggests a worldlier, more sexually charged motive; and while Proulx’s “My Funny Valentine” unfolds like the tender billet-doux it is, Baker’s is laced with haunted desperation that borders on sinister (its murky creepiness used to chilling effect by director Anthony Minghella in The Talented Mr. Ripley). Which isn’t to suggest that Proulx’s interpretations are in any way lacking. Indeed, his readings—particularly a calypso-esque “Look for the Silver Lining” and an “I Remember You” that rides a gentle bossa wave—are consistently clever and fresh. But they emulate Baker in name only.

2009-11-06T12:16:13-05:00

4 On his third recording, pianist Aaron Choulai—a legally blind, albino, New Guinea-born twentysomething of startlingly eclectic descent—taps into a reservoir of deep feeling on an ultra-sensitive rendering of “You Go to My Head” and his own introspective compositions. His trio, with bassist Sam Anning and either Ben Vanderwal or Rory McDugall on drums, swings “I’ll Be Seeing You,” during which Choulai adopts a playful, Keith Jarrett-inspired deconstructionist aesthetic. The band also turns in fresh readings of Neil Young’s “Tell Me Why” and Radiohead’s “The Tourist.” true 21 2009-11-04T23:01:50-05:00 false 25288 178 true 125 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

On his third recording, pianist Aaron Choulai—a legally blind, albino, New Guinea-born twentysomething of startlingly eclectic descent—taps into a reservoir of deep feeling on an ultra-sensitive rendering of “You Go to My Head” and his own introspective compositions. His trio, with bassist Sam Anning and either Ben Vanderwal or Rory McDugall on drums, swings “I’ll Be Seeing You,” during which Choulai adopts a playful, Keith Jarrett-inspired deconstructionist aesthetic. The band also turns in fresh readings of Neil Young’s “Tell Me Why” and Radiohead’s “The Tourist.”

2009-11-06T12:16:13-05:00

4 Bassist Miriam Sullivan has reinvented herself as Mimi Jones, her singer-songwriter alter ego cast in something of a Cassandra Wilson-meets-Patrice Rushen vein, with a little bit of Esperanza Spalding on the side. For this rather startling transformation she is accompanied by versatile guitarist Marvin Sewell (a longtime Wilson sideman), pianist Miki Hayama, trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire (stunning on the hard-hitting “Suite Mary”) and the superb young drummer Marcus Gilmore. Mimi finds her voice on evocative originals like “Spiral” and “Mighty Time,” the mellow “Close Your Eyes,” the blues-drenched “Watch Your Step” and the funky “For Granted.” true 21 2009-11-04T23:04:27-05:00 false 25289 178 true 125 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

Bassist Miriam Sullivan has reinvented herself as Mimi Jones, her singer-songwriter alter ego cast in something of a Cassandra Wilson-meets-Patrice Rushen vein, with a little bit of Esperanza Spalding on the side. For this rather startling transformation she is accompanied by versatile guitarist Marvin Sewell (a longtime Wilson sideman), pianist Miki Hayama, trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire (stunning on the hard-hitting “Suite Mary”) and the superb young drummer Marcus Gilmore. Mimi finds her voice on evocative originals like “Spiral” and “Mighty Time,” the mellow “Close Your Eyes,” the blues-drenched “Watch Your Step” and the funky “For Granted.”

2009-11-06T12:16:13-05:00

4 On the burning title track, Parisian-born saxophonist Alex Terrier comes out of the gate wailing on alto, with pianist Roy Assaf, bassist Francois Moutin and drummer Steve Davis providing interactive sparks along the way. They settle into more reflective terrain on “The Spirit Will Not Descend Without a Song” and the poignant “Departure,” then tackle the rhythmic puzzle “E.S.B. and Ecstasy.” Terrier is a compelling balladeer on tenor on “Song for Keli” and a first-rate composer on the stirring suite “Le Miroir Des Anges Deguises,” the lyrical “Tompkins Square” and the frantic closer, “The Dark Side of Democracy.” true 21 2009-11-04T23:06:04-05:00 false 25290 178 true 125 2009-12-01T00:00:00-05:00

On the burning title track, Parisian-born saxophonist Alex Terrier comes out of the gate wailing on alto, with pianist Roy Assaf, bassist Francois Moutin and drummer Steve Davis providing interactive sparks along the way. They settle into more reflective terrain on “The Spirit Will Not Descend Without a Song” and the poignant “Departure,” then tackle the rhythmic puzzle “E.S.B. and Ecstasy.” Terrier is a compelling balladeer on tenor on “Song for Keli” and a first-rate composer on the stirring suite “Le Miroir Des Anges Deguises,” the lyrical “Tompkins Square” and the frantic closer, “The Dark Side of Democracy.”

2009-11-06T12:16:13-05:00

4 Last year there was an exhibition at a gallery in New York of photographs of World War II battlefields. They were recent photographs, and the scenes were tranquil, with wildflowers. It was the knowledge that these sites had once contained carnage and agony that gave the photographs their particular resonance. <I>Testament</I> is like that. The full experience of the recording depends on information that is separate from the work of art: Keith Jarrett’s liner notes. This three-disc set contains a solo concert in Paris and one in London, four days apart, in late 2008. Jarrett’s wife of 30 years had just left him, and he was having “as close a brush with a nervous breakdown” as he had ever experienced. He went through with the concerts because he saw them as a “scramble to stay alive.” He writes, “I decided that if I backed down now, I would back down forever.” When you have been told that a man is playing music for his life, you listen differently. But the emotional journey contained in these 20 pieces, eight from Paris, 12 from London, is not understood quickly. The opening movement in Paris, with its transitional melodic gestures, sounds like the middle of something. Part II is a rolling, prancing processional, relentlessly driven by Jarrett’s left hand. Part III already sounds like a conclusion, in dramatic tremolos and melodies in chords that coalesce to a brightly lit single-note strand and become ringing chords again. It is hard to believe that Jarrett is not finished. He has just begun. Over two more hours of improvised piano stream-of-consciousness, including a move from the Salle Pleyel in Paris to the Royal Festival Hall in London, a spiritual and musical organization emerges. Pieces of slow, piercing poignance alternate with outbreaks of wild ebullience and thunderous grooves. Parts V and VII of Paris, and I, IV, VI and VIII of London, contain human feeling inseparable from the distilled lyricism of its expression. They embody a central paradox of art: The honest creative portrayal of pain is its own liberation. Parts VI in Paris and II, III, V and VII in London are proclamations of rhythmic power. In Jarrett’s “scramble to stay alive,” each quiet immersion in crushing sadness is followed by a loud refusal to surrender, and a celebration of survival. The last two movements of <I>Testament</I>, Parts XI and XII of the London concert, bring these two opposing forces together, into resolution. They proceed slowly, yet Jarrett attacks the keyboard ferociously. They gather what has preceded them into a riveting formal ceremony. (Jarrett needed heat therapy on his arms after the concert, a first.) To compare the fearless searches and naked commitments of Jarrett’s solo piano concerts to most standard piano jazz is like comparing the full turbulence of actual life to a selective memory of it. true 209 2009-10-12T22:05:32-04:00 false 25188 177 true 20 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

Thomas Conrad reviews pianist's latest - a 3-CD set of solo concerts

2009-10-25T18:03:36-04:00

4 If you listened only to the first and final tracks of bassist-composer Ben Allison’s new album, <I>Think Free</I>, you might have good reason to assume that Allison—who has experimented with more chamber-esque music in the past—is in hot pursuit of a new pop-jazz aesthetic for the ’00s. The opener, “Fred,” proceeds over a pleasing backbeat with a tune of bittersweet cheer and pop-hook-like charm, laid out in savory textures by violinist Jenny Scheinman and trumpeter Shane Endsley. To close the album, “Green Al” is, as you might surmise from the title, a sly, soul-ish song, with winking quotes from John Barry’s haunting “Midnight Cowboy” theme. Alas, those bookends are actually deceptively straight items on a project full of left turns, funny metric math problems, and harmonic and structural sensibilities that complicate the pop factor (even though that factor hovers over the project’s entirety). More progressive notions filter into the album’s mix starting with track two, “Platypus,” marked by the intricate 7/8 groove of drummer Rudy Royston, or the floating and dislodging rhythmic feels on “Sleeping Giant,” which also features an inventive solo—with and without a mute—by Endsley. Solo-wise, the nimble and always interesting guitarist Steve Cardenas takes the most conventional spotlight turns while Scheinman veers toward the conceptual, as with her percolations on the African-flavored “Peace Pipe” or her turn on “Kramer vs. Kramer vs. Godzilla” (which, despite the cheeky title, sports Allison’s slight, melancholic melodic touch). Allison himself works in some brief moments of solo spotlight but mostly keeps his mind and ears on the conceptual clock, working and re-working his twin relationships with the muses of pop and jazz. true 34 2009-10-12T22:08:09-04:00 false 25189 177 true 20 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

Josef Woodard looks at how Ben Allison's newest combines pop and jazz sensibilities.

2009-11-04T10:54:51-05:00

4 This latest chapter in the Basie band legacy leads with a scintillating rendition of “Too Close for Comfort.” On that track, guest vocalist Nnenna Freelon swivels the singsong verses five different ways while the orchestra hews to its swinging template. Freelon (who has gigged with the CBO off and on for years and cites it as a formative influence) also shellacs the chestnut “Yesterdays,” which is sautéed by Butch Miles’ shuffle beat, then roasted and cleaved by Dennis Wilson’s punchy arrangement. Far from perfect, <I>Swinging, Singing, Playing</I> is besotted with guest stars (the inclusion of Jamie Cullum is a triumph of commerce over art) and bereft of terrific sax solos—mostly because only a couple are permitted the entire disc. And featuring the eminent but 87-year-old vocalese master Jon Hendricks on the concluding “Blues on Mack Avenue” makes for great nostalgia but disappointing music. Yet none of these drawbacks are absolute. CBO members are able to prove their mettle sans guests on the simmering toe-tapper “Naiomi’s Blues.” Elsewhere, many of the guests prove to be shrewd additions, including 91-year old pianist Hank Jones, whose legato lines and sage inferences echo Basie’s own virtues on the ivories, and 87-year-old flutist Frank Wess, who captures the whimsical energy in Quincy Jones’ arrangement of “Jessica’s Day.” So hunt and peck these tracks—there are rewards aplenty true 17907 2009-10-12T22:12:04-04:00 false 25191 177 true 20 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

This latest chapter in the Basie band legacy leads with a scintillating rendition of “Too Close for Comfort.” On that track, guest vocalist Nnenna Freelon swivels the singsong verses five different ways while the orchestra hews to its swinging template. Freelon (who has gigged with the CBO off and on for years and cites it as a formative influence) also shellacs the chestnut “Yesterdays,” which is sautéed by Butch Miles’ shuffle beat, then roasted and cleaved by Dennis Wilson’s punchy arrangement. Far from perfect, Swinging, Singing, Playing is besotted with guest stars (the inclusion of Jamie Cullum is a triumph of commerce over art) and bereft of terrific sax solos—mostly because only a couple are permitted the entire disc. And featuring the eminent but 87-year-old vocalese master Jon Hendricks on the concluding “Blues on Mack Avenue” makes for great nostalgia but disappointing music. Yet none of these drawbacks are absolute. CBO members are able to prove their mettle sans guests on the simmering toe-tapper “Naiomi’s Blues.” Elsewhere, many of the guests prove to be shrewd additions, including 91-year old pianist Hank Jones, whose legato lines and sage inferences echo Basie’s own virtues on the ivories, and 87-year-old flutist Frank Wess, who captures the whimsical energy in Quincy Jones’ arrangement of “Jessica’s Day.” So hunt and peck these tracks—there are rewards aplenty

2009-10-21T09:45:54-04:00

4 Mike Disfarmer was a reclusive eccentric in Heber Springs, Ark. Fifteen years after his death in 1959, when 3,000 of his glass plate negatives were discovered, it became known that he was also one of the greatest artists in the history of photographic portraiture. Encountering Disfarmer’s indelible human images for the first time is a disturbing yet uplifting experience. The faces of farmers and soldiers from the Depression and World War II eras look startled by how hard life is, yet undefeated. When guitarist-composer Bill Frisell discovered these works, they inspired him to create musical miniatures as stark and unexplained as Disfarmer’s photographs. Frisell’s 26 pieces, many under two minutes, are music in praise of the deep silence contained in Disfarmer’s single frames. Greg Leisz (steel guitars and mandolin), Jenny Scheinman (violin) and Viktor Krauss (bass) play with concise, quiet intensity. They must also have looked long and hard at Disfarmer’s pictures. Sometimes Frisell’s vivid original melodies segue seamlessly to preexisting songs of the era like “That’s Alright, Mama” and “Lovesick Blues.” Many of the pieces are unadorned, but there are also complex group improvisations like “Shutter, Dream,” a collective act of the imagination that comes close to deciphering Disfarmer’s mystery. This highly personal response to the work of an “outsider artist” is one of Frisell’s most accessible albums, perhaps because the haunting sonorities of rural America are universal in their longing and loneliness. When Frisell’s four-person string choir sighs and twangs and interlaces its counterpoint through a solemn version of Hank Williams’ “I Can’t Help It,” it is old and new, rich in common history, and beyond genre. true 209 2009-10-12T22:16:31-04:00 false 25192 177 true 20 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

Thomas Conrad reviews guitarist's musical homage to photos of Mike Disfarmer

2009-10-28T23:48:47-04:00

4 Formidable pianist Robert Glasper joins the ranks of jazz bandleaders and project-makers, alongside Christian McBride, Roy Hargrove, Stefon Harris and others, who deftly juggle acoustic “mainstream” jazz with more plugged-in and groove-lined sounds. But whereas other musicians often separate out those instincts into different bands and recordings, Glasper dares to mix and match the personae on this novel twofer album. Playing up the conceptual quirk of the venture, splitting the album between tracks by his acoustic trio (with bassist Vicente Archer and drummer Chris Dave) and the Robert Glasper Experiment (with Dave and electric bassist Derrick Hodge), Glasper includes voicemail cameos from Terence Blanchard and the Roots’ Ahmir ?uestlove Thompson, both vying for his presence in different settings and venues. Clearly Glasper has both approaches well covered, extending energy, intrigue and grace on both grand piano and Fender Rhodes. On the acoustic side, Glasper’s sweet-spirited tune “59 South,” in homage to a route in his home turf of Texas, yields to the cerebral feistiness of his re-read of Thelonious Monk’s “Think of One.” In the “electric” portion of the program, Mos Def pays a quick aural visit, our indication that it’s time to plug in. Glasper pays double respects to a hero by covering the sinuous Herbie Hancock tune “Butterfly”—and Hancock, of course, is another earlier generation master of both the acoustic and electric domains. Casey Benjamin (also heard on Stefon Harris’ new, funk-ified album) brandishes his distinctive vocoder chops, and works out on assorted gadgetry and actual saxophone on the extended “Festival,” weaving around Glasper’s keyboard multi-tasking, acoustic and otherwise. In the end, <I>Double Booked</I> contains much admirable music and playing, at both the acoustic and electric ends of the spectrum, and affirms Glasper’s place in the upper ranks of keyboardists on the scene. But the jury is still out on whether the stylistic-diversity scheme expands or divides artistic focus. true 34 2009-10-12T22:19:05-04:00 false 25193 177 true 20 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

Formidable pianist Robert Glasper joins the ranks of jazz bandleaders and project-makers, alongside Christian McBride, Roy Hargrove, Stefon Harris and others, who deftly juggle acoustic “mainstream” jazz with more plugged-in and groove-lined sounds. But whereas other musicians often separate out those instincts into different bands and recordings, Glasper dares to mix and match the personae on this novel twofer album. Playing up the conceptual quirk of the venture, splitting the album between tracks by his acoustic trio (with bassist Vicente Archer and drummer Chris Dave) and the Robert Glasper Experiment (with Dave and electric bassist Derrick Hodge), Glasper includes voicemail cameos from Terence Blanchard and the Roots’ Ahmir ?uestlove Thompson, both vying for his presence in different settings and venues. Clearly Glasper has both approaches well covered, extending energy, intrigue and grace on both grand piano and Fender Rhodes. On the acoustic side, Glasper’s sweet-spirited tune “59 South,” in homage to a route in his home turf of Texas, yields to the cerebral feistiness of his re-read of Thelonious Monk’s “Think of One.” In the “electric” portion of the program, Mos Def pays a quick aural visit, our indication that it’s time to plug in. Glasper pays double respects to a hero by covering the sinuous Herbie Hancock tune “Butterfly”—and Hancock, of course, is another earlier generation master of both the acoustic and electric domains. Casey Benjamin (also heard on Stefon Harris’ new, funk-ified album) brandishes his distinctive vocoder chops, and works out on assorted gadgetry and actual saxophone on the extended “Festival,” weaving around Glasper’s...

2009-10-21T09:44:36-04:00

4 Given Roy Hargrove’s chameleonic track record to date, having moved restlessly from a classic Miles-like acoustic quintet format to Afro-Cuban grooves to hip-hop-generation biz and back, one might suspect that his first big-band album is yet another casual addition to his expanding musical wardrobe. But, in fact, Hargrove has been working on—and workshopping—this project since 1995, mostly out of NYC’s Jazz Gallery. No doubt, that depth of involvement and passion for the medium are reasons Emergence comes out swinging, searching and cooing as assuredly at it does. On the album, Hargrove keeps his cool and lets the band enjoy a loose camaraderie rather than going for a too-slick big-band approach. The leader also manages to incorporate various stylistic interests he has shown in the past, including a shuffling old-school blues chart (“Ms. Garvey, Ms. Garvey”), nods toward Cuba (Chucho Valdés’ “Mambo for Roy”), and ’60s-style modal musings (“Tschpiso,” arranged by pianist Gerald Clayton). Subtler energies account for much of the album’s strongest moments, including the opening and closing bookends in the sequence, “Velera” and “Trust,” Hargrove originals featuring his glowing, burnished flugelhorn solos. Hargrove also works well in interactive dialogues with the wondrous vocalist Robert Gambarini, who lends her ample, post-Ella graces to a touching reading of “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye” and acts as resident Cuban chanteuse on “La Puerta.” Hargrove himself offers up another first on the album, with a compact cameo as vocalist on “September in the Rain.” With this new yet lived-in, road-tested and fine-sounding project, Hargrove does himself and the marginalized big-band culture a big favor. true 34 2009-10-12T22:21:09-04:00 false 25194 177 true 20 2009-11-01T00:00:00-04:00

Roy Hargrove thinks big (band) on latest. Critic Josef Woodard approves.

2009-11-06T12:07:14-05:00