Jazz record sales continue to limp along at the infamous three percent (+-) of the market, but the output of jazz CDs seems to accelerate day by day. That is a contradiction worthy of serious study. I hope that some brave scholar or resourceful reporter takes it on. Part of the explanation, of course, is the impact of technology. In the days of the LP, the costly business of making records was dominated by big companies. Each major label and independent company released, at most, a few jazz albums a month. For the critic or reviewer, keeping up with the releases was demanding but manageable.
Digital advances have made possible cheap CD production. Every musician can be his own record company, and CDs come out by the hundreds every quarter. Musicians use CDs the way actors use 8X10 glossies and lawyers use business cards, to get attention and, they hope, work. People who write about music or broadcast it receive copies of those CDs, more albums than they can possibly audition. I have discussed this dilemma with others who review music. The conscientious ones feel equally frustrated and don’t know what to do about the deluge of CDs other than to let them pile up and hope to identify those that they should hear.
To the lay music fan, that may seem an embarassment of riches, but the experienced professional listener knows that a huge percentage of the accumulated discs aren’t worth a second hearing. The problem is finding the time for a first hearing. Listening is a linear activity. Only so many seventy-minute albums will fit into the day. So, one tries to do justice to the outpouring of efforts by musicians who deserve to be heard, and hopes that he won’t overlook the next Charlie Parker, Bill Evans or John Coltrane.
This week’s Rifftides postings will catch up with a scant few of the scores of albums that have appeared in the past few weeks and some that have been around longer. We begin with one of each.
Bill Frisell, Ron Carter, Paul Motian (Nonesuch). Guitarist Frisell’s world is so wide that his fans in some of its precincts will inevitably be disappointed that he plays here with economy and reserve. There is no looping (well, not much), no wah-wah, no feedback, no outrageous humor (only subtle humor), no hoedowns, no skronk. This is Frisell with bassist Carter and drummer Motian–masterly peers– improvising on themes as varied as Carter’s “Eighty-One” from the 1960s Miles Davis Quintet book, “You Are My Sunshine,” Thelonious Monk’s rarely played “Raise Four” and Hank Williams’s “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.” There’s a straight-ahead jazz performance in “On The Street Where You Live,” with a tag ending in which Sonny Stitt would have felt at home, and another with great blues playing by all hands in Monk’s “Misterioso.” This is Frisell more or less back where he started, as a jazz musician, playing music for listening.
Mal Waldron, Mal/4 (New Jazz OJC). Waldron is not a household name these days. Nor was he in 1958 when he recorded this trio album with bassist Addison Farmer and drummer Kenny Dennis. Nonetheless, his compositions and his piano work with Billie Holiday, Charles Mingus, Eric Dolphy and his own trio earned him a substantial following and the respect of the jazz community. Waldron died in 2002 at the age of 76.
Initially inspired by Thelonious Monk, Waldron was also a deep student of Bud Powell. His Powell component is obvious in a spirited version of “Get Happy,” but Waldron’s unique use of his left hand sets him apart from other Powell disciples. The highlight of this CD is a joyous eleven-and-a-half-minute “Too Close For Comfort,” which he injects with Monk spirit and all but transforms into a blues. The album does not include Waldron’s most famous composition, “Soul Eyes,” but he plays “J.M.’s Dream Doll,” a musicians’ favorite among his songs. He treats “Like Someone in Love” not as the rapid exercise into which it has evolved in jazz circles, but as the deliberate, reflective ballad Burke and Van Heusen intended it to be. This CD is not a recent reissue, just one I thought you should know about.