You are reading the words of an Andrew Hill fanatic. The kind who has spent years poring over his music, track by track. And why not? Hill is a singular figure in jazz with a singular vision. Just as Art Tatum (apocryphally) learned to play via a player-piano roll he didn’t know was made by four hands, Hill sounds like he learned to play along with Bud Powell records that he didn’t know were warped.
“Warped” sounds pejorative. It’s not: It’s simply the best descriptor available for what Hill does with the conventions of bebop language. He takes the innovations of Herbie Nichols and—especially—Thelonious Monk yet further. It wasn’t an artistic path that anyone expected from a blues- and bebop-soaked pianist from Chicago’s South Side … but then there’d be little point to jazz if it conformed to expectation.
In addition to his distinctive pianistics, Hill was also a composer of renown, one who worked to break through jazz’s established formal conventions just as he did its harmonic ones. In the process, he incorporated a remarkable amount of contemporary classical thought (Hill studied with Hindemith) into the garden of the 1960s “New Thing”—and well beyond. The 10 tracks below aren’t enough to cover all his dimensions, but they’re a great place to start.
Listen to a Spotify playlist featuring all the tracks in this JazzTimes 10:
Hill’s solo albums have been spotty; his brand of harmonic and rhythmic exploration really requires a foil. Verona Rag, however, is an exception, a beautiful and strongly individual recording. “Darn That Dream” is a rare glimpse at Hill covering a jazz standard. On the one hand, he’s as subversive as ever, bending the Jimmy Van Heusen composition to his own will and finding new possibilities in its newly exposed nooks and crannies. On the other, those new possibilities can be cloaked by the lushness and lyricism that Hill displays, his fractured clusters and phrases landing on the billowy chords he spreads out underneath them. A player known for his mysterious complexities doesn’t usually get this warm and knowing … and, frankly, charming. Even the halting, rhythmically unmoored gait of the tune, so often a challenge to the listener, has a kind of welcoming friendliness to it.