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AllAboutJazz.com Smalls Records : Sound Stewardship For
US Treasures From trumpeter Bunk Johnson waxing reverential about Buddy Bolden to saxophonist Michael Brecker bowing at the altar of John Coltrane, a strong sense of nostalgia is woven through the history of jazz. The phrase “when giants walked the earth” is frequently invoked or implied, and the feeling that the best is already behind us bothers musicians and listeners alike. Label owner and producer Luke Kaven adopts this overly reverential tone when he recounts halcyon memories of New York's Smalls club in the mid to late 1990s. Reading Kaven on the subject is like gaining entry into a secret enclave where improvisatory marvels occur nightly and the obscurity of the musicians-cum-magicians is a product of a wider society in which cultural priorities are egregiously inchoate. But regardless of Kaven's rose-tinted prose spectacles, and despite the fluctuating fortunes of its club namesake, the music on these discs hits the spot—the Smalls label continues to release some of the finest New York-bred ensemble jazz available. Kaven strikes a welcome balance between archival sets taped during the club’s storied years and studio recordings of more recent vintage. His passion for and protective impulses toward the players and their independent-minded art is palpable in every project, from well annotated sleeve notes through high production values and aesthetic integrity. Such thorough stewardship is a rarity in the music business and Kaven’s reasons appear rooted in the awareness that he is preserving distinctly American treasures. The label’s latest five releases celebrate several of the Smalls community’s stalwarts and sustain a well-earned reputation for tradition-conscious top quality jazz. Ned Goold At over 76-minutes the generously sequenced program of originals and standards displays Goold’s singular saxophonics at length and in detail. Bassist Neal Caine, who routinely seems to channel the musical mien of Wilbur Ware, and Goold’s son Charles on drums complete the quartet. Goold’s outward resemblance to the late Charlie Rouse in charcoal dry tone and a serpentine style of phrasing can be uncanny. The rhythmic and harmonic complexities of Warne Marsh make for another easy set of dots to connect and Goold also shares a fair bit in common with his label mate Stephen Riley. His 12-tone derived improvisations thread temperately through the tunes, materializing in slippery, sometimes willfully smudged modulations that don’t subscribe to predictable harmonic trajectories. Perry is a master at complementing such expositions with a comping style that accents and punctuates, but doesn’t interfere. The younger Goold’s rhythms sometimes sound a bit staid by comparison, but he keeps steady snare and cymbal-centered time. Swing in the conventional sense is frequently just an afterthought: these four players are after something far more personal and intimate, sourcing subtle eccentricities that invest each track with reliable replay value. Sacha Perry Perry has a clever habit of stretching a piece beyond its expected harmonic
parameters, filling the ensuing space with terpsichorean interjections
as on the opening stroll through Gershwin’s “Mine.”
Bassist Ari Roland and drummer Phil Stewart are well accustomed to the
pianist’s proclivities and they do far more than gird his improvisations
with stoic time keeping. Stewart’s lithe touch with sticks and brushes
propels the pieces without leaving an obfuscating exhaust trail and Roland
alternates between emery board arco and a warm walking pizzicato. The
string of culminating breaks on the reading of “Love” is one
of several episodes where the old superlative of improvisatory telepathy
seems an apropos ascription. Omer Avital Group Taped in performance at Smalls in early 1997 the three track set presented here stretches to over an hour, but still seems to shuttle by. Avital’s “Kentucky Girl” occupies a third of that temporal space, but contains just two discrete horn solos, one a fiery fulmination from alto saxophonist Myron Walden, the other a contemplative-to-ecstatic turn from tenor saxophonist Greg Tardy. Both are showstoppers. Avital’s bass is a constant rudder, moving from foreground to fringe and sustaining a stabilizing presence with Joe Strasser’s dynamic drums that nullifies their outnumbered ratio to the horns. His frequent and felicitous solos evince a guitar-like phrasing and agility and make attractive use of amplification. Cole Porter’s “It’s Alright With Me” and Coltrane’s “26-2” receive atypical readings and Avital invests each with plenty of twists and turns, weaving his febrile bass lines through strings of rapturous reed solos and cunningly reconfiguring the latter standard as a samba-injected march. Walden’s unaccompanied improvisation in pole position on the former piece bleeds pathos and his band mates' muted exclamations of approval only add to the semblance of a preacher and pulpit perspective. Statements from tenor saxophonists Charles Owens and Grant Stewart and Tardy (on clarinet) follow, once again parsed by lively interstitial interplay between Avital and Strasser. Perhaps most promising in the wake of listening to this exciting concert date is the realization that Kaven’s Avital tape trove is far from tapped out. Chris Byars This studio date, recorded in November 2006, and the first Smalls release to feature him in a small ensemble setting, finds him in the copasetic company of the club’s house rhythm section. The quartet runs through a program comprised completely of selections from Byars' songbook, pieces imbued with strong bop flavors that allow for ample solo space. Byars recounts the personal details relating to each composition in his notes, a pithy change of pace from the usual liner strategy of allowing some hired pen to sketch ascriptive assumptions to the origins and meanings of tunes. Musically, the ensemble is tight and cooperatively attuned, exhibiting the sort of repartee only earned from regular and lengthy sojourns on the bandstand together. Roland’s Paul Chambers-reminiscent method of bowing takes a bit of getting used to with its sometimes acerbic pitch slides, but his placement is always on point. Watson is a muscular drummer, even on brushes, and his cross-rhythms blend well with the bassist’s rounded and prominent pizzicato. Byars surfs atop the support of his mates with a lithe attack and congenial pacing of melodic line. Standouts to my ears include the ballad “Safe At Home,” a title with both literal and baseball associations, “Riddle Of The Sphinx,” scripted in honor of dearly departed drummer Jimmy Lovelace, and the Perry-less trio piece “A.T.” that offers a chance to hear Byars' ingenuity in the absence of a defined chordal presence. Byars is one of a salient number in the Smalls fraternity whose discographies are finally catching up with their talent. Charles Davis Davis’ enduring connection to Smalls solidified in a regular Saturday night gig as featured guest of the Frank Hewitt Trio that ran for several years. He seems to have excised baritone saxophone from his arsenal, perhaps a function of that weighty horn’s respiratory demands, but his work on tenor and soprano still place him as a contender. The rhythm section represents Davis’ working band , in which pianist Tardo Hammer is a particularly potent foil. The session sound is a bit bright and congested, but part of that is the band’s barely bridled energy. These four musicians are all about swinging hard and Davis’ authoritative tenor readily leads the charge on stout burners like the opening “JC”, initials no doubt reflecting musical marrow transplanted from Coltrane. Hammer’s effulgent chords recall McCoy Tyner and drummer Jimmy Wormworth handles his kit with an energy and verve evocative of Elvin Jones. Standards and originals alternate throughout the remainder of the set with Davis making a surprising foray into Herbie Nichols territory via “Some Wandering Bushman” along with more predictable Monk and Porter fare. A grafted Latin beat spices up “How Am I To Know?” and a lengthy reading of Tad Dameron’s “If You Could See Me Now” finds Davis reeling off one romance-ready chorus after another against a plush bed of brushes, bass and gilded piano comping. No great departures from his past work arise, but neither are they necessary in the case of a player as rightfully venerated as Davis. March Of The Malcontents Not Brand X Room To Grow Photos In Black, White And Gray Land Of Dreams |
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