Saluting Tim Thomas and Babe the Blue Ox

I'm the kind of person that often finds a deep connection to an album or band. Sometimes it feels like I'm being overly enthusiastic, taking things too deeply. Or it could be that a song just takes me right back to where I was when I first gave it a deep listen, returning me to the mindframe of that time.

Last week, I saw online that Tim Thomas (above), the guitarist of Brooklyn-based Babe the Blue Ox (and another band or two) had passed away. Of course, the death of any musician in my age bracket is sad to hear. (I'm in my late 50s. At this writing, I have not seen the cause of Tim's death.) But in the days that followed the news, I began to remember how much he and his band meant to me in the '90s, when I first heard them and watched as they made the leap from indie Homestead Records to major label RCA. This was a bit of a stretch, but I felt a kinship with them. In the last two years of Bone of Contention, I was the lone dude in a trio with two women (though I played bass, not guitar). Mystery Date, my next band, had the same gender lineup at first, and we even got to open for Babe at one of their shows at the Bloomfield Bridge Tavern (where these pictures were taken).

After all that time, I almost for awhile, they were my band for awhile. Or I was their fanboy.

One of the things I dug about the band was their ability to go from raucous, noisy grooves straight into relatively gentle pop hooks. That dichotomy made itself clear immediately on their debut [BOX]. "Home" starts with a Minutemen-inspired mix of slippery bass pops (from Rose Thomson, above) and chicken scratch guitar before going into a more legato (but still funky) chorus, where Thomson and Thomas harmonize sweetly.

For every skronky moment, obtuse lyric and mumbled vocal, the group counterbalanced it with a pop sensibility that hinted that beneath the wild exterior were some vulnerable folks just trying to be understood. Thomson could go wild, yelling about shedding a skin or being an elephant who never forgets, but second full-length Color Me Babe ended with a sweet, self-deprecating vocal and bass song, quite the dichotomy with what preceded it ("There's a Hole In the Crotch of my Workpants"). 

"Tattoo," aside from being one of the best indie songs of that era, might have put all of Babe's attributes on the table at once. (The song was so strong, they recorded it twice, once on EP Je m'Appelle Babe and on their second RCA platter The Way We Were; detect a title pattern here?). Thanks to an article on the band, I know the riff of the song consisted of three bars of 7/4, followed by one of 5/4. Hanna Fox (pictured below) was skilled at drumming in a manner that implied a backbeat even if she was filling in the space otherwise, and this wobbly pattern grooved with ease. The slinky, somewhat dissonant guitar lick was not out of place in the burgeoning math rock scene that was sprouting up at that time, but Babe was more about the rock than the math.

One of the times I saw them live, Thomas introduced "Tattoos" by saying something to the effect of the song being about getting older and regretting decisions (like getting tattoos, presumably). Lyrically, he kept it vague, perhaps borrowing another page from Mike Watt, with lyrics delivered almost in a whisper, consisting largely of "red light/ stop light/ red light" before bursting into a chorus where he and Thomson blended in a manner that was right on the edge of a scream - "I'm not anything/ I'm not anything like you." 

Writing about it seems to shortchange the power of the band's delivery. (At this point, it might be best to listen to it here.) Not only does the chorus act as the release after the tension of the verse, it delivers that sentiment we all once felt while struggling to be your own person ("I'm not like you!"), coupled it with self-doubt ("I'm not anything"). Maybe it's just a lyric that fit, but the way it hits makes it so much more.

That's part of what endeared Babe the Blue Ox to me so much. They could put out a distorted rock bit called "Fuck the Song" and follow it with a near-ballad like "Breathe" (which I swear has a chorus copped from a line in the Warner Brothers cartoon Dough Ray Me-ow, another endearing element.) Then there's their brilliant version of Billy Squier's "Everybody Wants You," with a brand new set of lyrics that read like the best Exquisite Corpse game come to life. That's here. 

The band played at the BBT twice (with an earlier show at Pitt, which I missed). I got there early at the first one, in hopes of doing an interview for my zine Discourse, hoping to talk to Thomson specifically, having been impressed by the bass playing on Color Me Babe. This was right before their RCA debut People was about to be released and we had a great chat, with her bandmates joining in towards the end. Everyone was really down to earth, and when I stepped away from the table, they commandeered my micro-recorder for some goofball moments. 

Upon their next visit, Mystery Date got to open for them. For a band that had been on a major label for a while, they were still the same down-to-earth, friendly folks that had been before. This story has been told (by me) several times, but bears repeating: "Underground," a song by our guitarist Bridget, was one of my favorites in our set and one that I always felt could have been a pop hit. After we finished it, I heard Tim Thomas bellow from the bar, "THAT SONG RULLLLLES!" It felt really good to know that someone else felt the same way about it as me, especially a guy in a touring national band.

Another band of mine, the Fearnots, once covered a Babe song, "Gymkhana," another number with a strange storyline that is only clear when introduced by Thomas (it's about buying a shirt and not liking the way it fits). Our guitarist Hille could yell like Rose or Hanna and I barked like Tim, getting so wrapped up in the song that took a lot out of me.    

It seemed like the band went as far as an imaginative indie band could go, and decided to call it there. It felt like a sign. Mystery Date had a similar fate, though nothing near the track record that Babe had. But upon looking them up online a few years ago, it looked they were at it again, playing once in a while, when and where they wanted, still doing their own thing. Again, those three were setting the new standards. Actually, they were four now, as Eddie Gormley joined the band as a drummer too.

Thinking back on those fruitful days, I realized a number of Babe-isms factored into my songwriting, not that anyone but me can notice them. The idea of a harmonized chorus after a verse full of noises; adding a mumbled lyric over a dirty riff; contrasting sweet and sour - it's all from them. After seeing Tim and Rose do some sort of dirty boogie with their guitar and bass crashing into one another and making some great Beefheartian metal-on-metal noise, I convinced Bridget to bang her guitar into mine once in a while during a set too. 

All of it came floating back to me after pulling out some of their CDs. Thanks, Tim. Thanks and love to Hanna and Rose and the Thomas family too. 

 

CD Reviews - Phillip Golub/Lesley Mok - Dream Brigade & Camilla Nebbia/Marilyn Crispell/Lesley Mok - A Reflection Distorts Over Water

The idea for pairing these two albums came from seeing them listed together in another publication. While someone else wrote that piece, I still wanted to hear and write about both albums.

Phillip Golub/Lesley Mok

Dream Brigade

(Infrequent Seams) dreambrigade.bandcamp.com/album/dream-brigade

At a concert of free improvisation, it's possible to see the musical connections between players, e.g. when one hits upon an idea and the other performers respond and react to it. Observing this in real time can have electric results for those who pay close attention to such details. There have been many instances when musicians smile or even laugh a little in surprise after a performance, as impressed as the audience at what just transpired in their hands.

Listening to a recording, that immediacy might not come across the same way. It requires listeners to give a little more. Dream Brigade, a set of duos by pianist Phillip Golub and drummer Lesley Mok, is marked by several places where the absence of sound, or the sparse quaility of the music, actually serves as a way to generate a closer listen. "Invisible Ink" starts off like a piano nocturne, with Golub alone, playing bits of notes that hang in the air and decay. It feels like a solo piece but eventually cymbals begin stirring in the background, followed later by brushing sounds. Mok never disrupts or reshapes Golub's work, instead adding complements.

In the two "Low Passage" pieces, Mok sounds deliberately low in volume or in the mix. Cymbals bowed by sticks in part one and a distant floor tom roll in part two lend intrigue. Even when Golub digs into a two-note vamp in part two (in a rhythm that almost recalls Suicide's "Rocket USA"), Mok cuts loose with cymbal splashes and rolls around the kit, avoiding any temptation to blast. When they do play louder, in the rollicking "Tunnel Throat," Mok locks in with Golub, who scales the whole length of his instrument. 

Along with six improvisations, Dream Brigade includes two standards. "Darn That Dream" doesn't make itself clear until Golub teases the theme out later in the track. Prior to that, his hesistant chords recall how Thelonious Monk used starkness in a solo performance. George Shearing's "Conception" maintains a little more of its bop grounding, though the pianist's inspired lines forego any rhythmic tethers and Mok makes the whole thing dance.

Camila Nebbia, Marilyn Crispell & Lesley Mok

A Reflection Distorts Over Water

(Relative Pitch) relativepitchrecords.bandcamp.com/album/a-reflection-distorts-over-water

Mok joins tenor saxophonist Camila Nebbia and pianist Marilyn Crispell for a set of largely improvised pieces, some based on Nebbia's scores plus one original work. The drummer actually contributed their piece "Longing" to the session, which blurs the line between composition and improvisation with over 60 seconds of ringing cymbals before Crispell plays the gentle melody. 

Nebbia doesn't appear on that track, at least not blantantly, but leaves an impressimve mark on the rest of the session, drawing on a varied range of techniques. A throaty rasp factors into "Transitoriness" to create a mix of short thoughts with more extended ones. "Streamside" concludes the album with a gentle spray of multiphonics over brushes and light piano chords.

The 10-minute title track launches the album in a slow and cautious manner. Once Mok unleashes and fiery press roll, things take off, with Crispell jabbing chords beneath the tenor saxophone. The drummer and pianist really lock in together throughout the album, offering a good reminder of how the pianist still manages to blend post-Cecil Taylor fire music with a distinct melodic quality. As strong as the entire set sounds, "A Room is Being Erased" gives the best example of an unhinged three-way conversation about where this music can go. 

I probably end a lot of reviews by pondering if a group of this stature ever gets the chance to perform live, tour or even reconvene in the studio at some later date. But it's not my fault that a session of such wide ranging ideas and playing leaves the listener wanting more.

CD Review: John O'Gallagher- Ancestral

John O'Gallagher

Ancestral

(Whirlwind) whirlwindrecordings.com or johnogallagher-whirlwind.bandcamp.com/album/ancestral

Of all the riveting moments that take place on Ancestral, the most impressive ones come from the interactions between drummers Andrew Cyrille and Billy Hart. Not to discredit leader John O'Gallagher, whose alto saxophone acts as a guiding force of melody and heavy fire, most notably in "Altar of the Ancestors." The same praise is earned by the forth member of the group, guitarist Ben Monder, who deftly combines roles as a foundation of the music, playing bass lines, with moments as the second harmonic voice in O'Gallagher's compositions or in the group improvisations.

At the same time, the way Cyrille and Hart - both imaginative players, to put it mildly - interactive with one another, sharing the percussive space, really makes the music electrifying. (Presumably Andrew Cyrille is in the left channel and Billy Hart occupies the right channel.) In the flowing opener "Awakening," Hart plays sparingly with mallets. The alto and guitar play the melody as one, though Monder occasionally slips in some chords to bump it up. Cyrille doesn't come in prominenently for about two minutes, and he emerges with brushes in hand, which adds more color to the rubato feel of the song.

A track like "Tug" reveals the almost telepathic connection both drummers. Hart begins tapping the tempo on the rims, moving to the toms, responding to Cyrille's snare crack with a crack of his own. All of this while Monder keeps the steady groove going. Throughout the eight tracks, one drummer seems to know the right time to play the full kit, while his partner might stick to the snare. When they both come to a full boil during Monder's rapid solo in "Profess" things sound more complementary than busy.

O'Gallagher's PhD work on the music of John Coltrane has inspired his own writing, which often feels free but never completely forgoes struacture (one of this conclusions in his deep analysis of late-period Coltrane). "Altar of the Ancestors" takes a hint from the Trane-Elvin duet "Vigil," with the saxophonist spontaneously creating torrents of lines, accompanied only by the drummers. Conversely "Under the Wire" has a playful, Monk-like theme. 

After having his own quality time with Cyrille and Hart, O'Gallagher extends the courtesy to Monder for "Contact" which climaxes with a wave of chords that, in the guitarist's frequent fashion, sounds massive without getting too loud. The album ends with "Postscript," a group improvisation that, ironically, was the first recording of the session. Guitar and saxophone both create some heavy lines as the drummers alternate snare and tom work.

Despite the relative spareness due to a lack of  a bass anchor, the album has several spots where things never get minimal, moving instead in a direction that recalls the fire of Sonny Sharrock's Ask the Angels. Or to put it another way, these guys rock.

A Report on Jazz Congress 2026

As I type, it's been two weeks since I atteneded Jazz Congress, the annual gathering at Jazz at Lincoln Center of musicians (both established and aspiring), industry folks (elaboration to come), media types and whoever else can make it. On January 7th and 8th, a series of panel discussions took place, all geared towards expanding the audience for jazz, as the organization's website states. With people all huddling around the lobby of J@LC, there are opportunities for networking, as well as playing what I like to refer to as the game of Who's Here? 

I hadn't attended the Congress since 2020, just a few months before the pandemic hit. That year proved to be a worthwhile trip (especially since it occurred the same week at Winter Jazz Fest). JazzTimes was still alive in print form and I ended up coming across a story idea, pitching it to my editor and getting the greenlight while I was there. (I even had time later in the week to start on the story, which provided a current look at the ESP-Disk' label. That story seems to be missing from the JT website but it was later published in the Jazz Journalist's Association's compendium Jazz Omnibus: 21st Century Photos and Writings). 

With lingering pandemic issues and a few years where there was no JazzTimes or any other writing opportunities for me, there didn't seem much reason to attend the event. But with a former guru - if I may call him that -  receiving an award, and the desire to try and get back into the jazz fray appealed to me, it seemed like a good time to return. 

It certainly felt like an important time to be discussing ways to reach the jazz audience. Back home in Pittsburgh, the word has just gone down that the once-daily newspaper the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette plans to cease publication completely in May (at this point, print copies are only available two days a week; the rest is all online). Pittsburgh City Paper, an alt-weekly that just happens to have the same parent company as the P-G, was also going under. Which means the ways in which jazz fans can find out about local events and concerts in town has gotten even more limited. Maybe that means people like me need to step up to the plate more. Though a big part of that means that folks need to know I'm out here.

The act (or perphaps the art) of getting the word out to people was tackled in several panel talks on the second day. One panel was titled Jazz and Spotify: How Streaming is Shaping Jazz for Listeners and Artists Alike. The panelists included Liz Pelly who just wrote a book about Spotify. As much as I wanted to attend that one, it ran at the same time as The Future of Public Radio, which was moderated by no less than Scott Hanley, the General Manager of WZUM- The Pittsburgh Jazz Channel (he's on the far right, below). 

Along with Hanley, the panel (pictured above) included, left to right Bill Johnson (WRTI-FM, Philadelphia), Marta McLellan Ross (NPR), Ken Poston (KSDS-FM, San Diego) and Steve Williams (WBGO-FM, New Jersey). 

Another blow to the industry came a few days earlier when the Corporation for Public Broadcasting announced that it was voting to dissolve. Hanley, who was a fountain of important info throughout, took the opportunity to quote Lyndon B. Johnson, who was president was the CPB was established. "It will get part of its support from our Government. But it will be carefully guarded from Government or from party control. It will be free, and it will be independent-and it will belong to all of our people."

Hopeful words that have been dashed by the blatant disregard for media and reporting in general these days. But in the room that day, the panelists remained committed to their work and continuity seemed like a forgone conclusion. When the question was raised why radio stations still matter, Williams replied, "Because we have constitutents to serve."  Johnson, whose station broadcasts both classical and jazz music, added, "We're stewards for the university [Temple] and we have a responsibility for what's ideal. It's a relationship we're managing."

Later that afternoon, a friend joked that a panel titled The Changing Media Landscape was going to be bleak. But if anything, the crew of writers and publicists on the panel - moderated by Larry Blumenfeld - also seemed more optimistic, if not simply just determined to plow forward. Publicist Lydia Liebman (third from left above) compared efforts to promote artists as similar "to the Wild West," where so much product is on the marketplace. NPR Music's Executive Producer Suraya Mohamed (next to Blumenfeld) agreed. Michael J. Moore (far right), a New York Times contributor, said his "career has always been about [spotlighting] people you should know," something he does both in print and online. 

As things wrapped up, Blumenfeld probably summed things up best by opining, "There is still a potent jazz ecosystem, but not the same connective tissue."

The previous day's opening discussions were a little more easy going, at least the ones I saw. Juke Box Jury always seemed like something that would not appeal to a free skronk lovin' guy like me. But it was the first panel of the day and a good adventure to kick it off. 

The format of the event features a batch of new music excerpts being played for a "jury" of radio folks, in this case, left to right above, Michael Valentine (WDNA), Sheryl K. Symister-Masterson (Jazz/Fluxus), Leo Sidran (The Third Story), Rachel Smith (WKCR) and moderator Jae Sinnett (WHRV). After 30 to 60 seconds of music, everyone is asked for their take on the music.

The nine selections included a vocalist setting up a rather dramatic post-romance scenario (Sylvia Brooks), a tenor saxophone leading a drummer who sounded inspired by Elvin Jones (Rick Roe), a tribute to pianist Oscar Peterson (Scott Routenberg Trio) and some greasy B3 organ/guitar work (Dave Stryker). 

As someone who usually needs at least two full listens to a track before knowing if I like it, I agreed with Valentine, who commented, "I'd like to see how long [the track] would be," after hearing a snatch of a tune by saxophonist Noah Preminger. The whole radio station approach -  where some programmers insist that you don't play a track that starts with a bass solo - is not something that I agree with. Sinnett commented, "We need to play accessible music these days, when we need funding." True in a way, but jazz listeners like a challenge too.

Further, 30 seconds isn't enough to really enough to make a decision to these ears. After initially balking at Brooks' overly dramatic story, I found myself wanting to know where the song went next. The initial jarring dissonance of Meg Okura's Pan Asian Jazz Ensemble got more intriguing as it continued. 

Later that day, Lee Mergner received the Bruce Lundvall Visionary Award, an honor he took with a bit of a shrug because, as one of the founders of Jazz Congress and an organizer of the event, he was the one to place the order for the trophy itself. Nevertheless, as the former editor of JazzTimes and organizer of Jazz Connect (the event the pre-dated Jazz Congress), Mergner has done a lot for the music and the people in it. Thankfully his wife convinced him to take it. 

Christian McBride introduced Merger, stealing some of the honoree's material, and adding that he had "a celestial message" from the late jazz critic Stanley Crouch from the great beyond who had a message about where the trophy could be shoved. Mergner, without missing a beat, adding that if Crouch came back, he could fire him again. On a more serious note, Mergner brushed off the idea that he "singlehandedly" kept events like Jazz Congress alive, saying that he, like musicians, collaborates with a host of people. In closing he added, "My life is all in my work - and it hasn't felt like work."

The year's keynote address came from actor Wendell Pierce, a strong jazz advocate who, among other roles played trombonist Antoine Batiste of the HBO series Treme. "Culture is not a luxury, it's a necessity," he said, pointing out something that seems to have been lost at places like the Kennedy Center in recent weeks.

"This nation does not need more volume, it needs more listening," he said, adding later, "Keep playing as if connection is possible, because it is!"

Meet Schuyler Iona Press

Last week I made my annual trek to New York City for the Winter Jazz Fest and, for the first since the pandemic, the Jazz Congress conference. My report on the festival can be found here. Please check that out. But this post is dedicated to a show I caught when I went off the WJF grid for about an hour. 

Schuyler Iona Press came to my attention several months ago when I stumbled across her videos on Instagram. Here was a young woman staring directly into the camera while playing the piano (sometimes guitar or ukulele) and singing funny songs. Not funny as in "the title of the song is the punchline, which gets less funny each time" nor so-so jokes that are sung in a loud voice, which is supposed to be what makes them funny. Schuyler has a knack for snappy couplets, in a way that reminds me a bit of one of my favorite tunesmiths, Franklin Bruno.

New posts appear on her IG account almost daily. They're brief but they come across like completed projects rather than rough musical drafts. She sings about childhood crushes on unlikely actors, how she dealt with fear in the middle of a haunted house and what happened when she worked in a juice bar in Los Angeles. There's also the song about how her Thanksgivings during many of her teen years were spent traveling to an Irish dancing competition, which never achieved the results she hoped for. If her music and her crisp delivery paint a picture of someone who should be on a theater stage, it's not surprising. She's working on a musical about the bond between Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe. 

When I found out Press was playing while I was in town, I didn't want to miss it. 

Last Friday, she played on a four-act bill in Brooklyn at a place called pinkFROG Cafe, during the first night of Winter Jazz Fest. Her show was not part of the festival but in New York, there's always something else going on top of the multitude of acts playing each night. Why not go rogue for a short while? The kid had me intrigued.

Catching her set meant hightailing out of the jazz first show of the evening, jumping on a subway and hoping to arrive on time. (Someone told me residents find such rushing around to be crazy. To me, it's par for the course, even if it stokes my anxieties in the process.) If Press started at 7:40, as promised, it could make it without missing too much of the festival. (Apologies to the other acts at pinkFROG, who I missed.) 

 

Onstage, Press evoked my memory of seeing singer/songwriter Danielle Howle for the first time. (It was in New York also, during a CMJ Music Marathon in the mid-'90s.) Howle, whose twang immediately betrays her South Carolina upbringing, is a far cry from native New Yorker Ms. Press, but they both have a welcoming stage presence, with the ability to develop immediate rapport with an audience through song introductions, as well as the songs themselves. Before singing "Ode to the Performative Male," a song inspired by an ex-boyfriend, Press told the story of how her mother pinpointed the song's character as soon as she heard it. It took her a few years to come clean because, as she quipped, no one wants to admit that their mom was right.

As good as she is with the light-hearted songs, Press (again like Howle) can also pen a serious one that can stop you in your tracks. "Welcome to the End" was a timely song that compared the world to a decrepit diner where, among other things "The jukebox won't stop playing 'American Pie.'" There were even better metaphors but I couldn't write fast enough and pay attention at the same time. In the wake of the events that went down a few days earlier, her words proved to be right on the money. Hopefully she'll release this one sometime soon. Two songs released four years ago can be heard on Bandcamp, with two more on Spotify (one of the latter, "Let's Have a Picnic," was part of her set last week).

Every night there's probably someone playing a show in Brooklyn that should be heard by a larger mass of people. If the right people hear Schuyler Iona Press, big things could happen.

 

Final Thoughts on Shows of December 2025

I was hoping to close out 2025 with one more post, looking back on the year a little and talking about a couple shows that happened earlier in the month. But, of course, fate and time had other plans yesterday. So here we are today. 

Happy New Year! Anyone reading this take that Polar Bear Plunge this morning in the beautiful Mon River? 

One of my resolutions for this year is to stay focused on projects at hand, and not to get distracted by little things. As 2025 moved on, I, like many people, got infuriated by the sweeping cuts our clueless leaders made to programs they didn't like and didn't adhere to their kowtowing standards.

But I also often got locked into reading social media comments from people who rehashed tired lines about the current administration doing a good job and "well, you know/but what about...." comments about previous administrations. It's only been recently that I have started to wonder if many of these are bots or the result of AI. I'd like to think real people can't be that naive. ("Naive" being a generous description here.) 

So as 2026 begins, I am going to try to avoid my time responding to manufactured rage and more time trying to find and celebrate the good. As my late mother would say, "We'll see."

Having said that, let's go back a few weeks to a show that Kente Art Alliance presented at the New Hazlett Theater. 

The Dwayne Dolphin All-Stars was something of a hometown celebration/homecoming for half the band. Dolphin himself has been a fixture on the local jazz scene for several decades, leading several of his own groups and playing with Roger Humphries in RH Factor. (Both of those gentlemen once dropped in for an interview at WPTS when I did a morning jazz show in the early '90s). Drummer Jeff "Tain" Watts grew up here before moving on to become a significant leader and sideman (with both Branford and Wynton Marsalis). Orrin Evans was originally slated to be the group's pianist but the spot was taken by David Kikoski, a dynamic player himself. Trombonist Fred Wesley was the extra guest that night. 

The night started with just the rhythm section. After a laidback blues, things shifted into a rubato piece that eventually segued into what I'm pretty sure was the classic "Alone Together."  Tain excelled at this flowing opening, creating excitement as Kikoski dug in for two-handed ripples. An animated guy, it seemed like throughout the evening, he could have slipped off of his piano bench. 

When Dolphin introduced Fred Wesley, he said he had been playing with the trombonist in the New JBs for 35 years, more than half his life. Dressed in a gray suit and silver shoes, Wesley didn't quite look like a guy who might have once played in a group known as the Horny Horns, with Funkadelic. But looks can be deceiving. His first tune with the band was a sweet rendition of "Like Someone In Love" which had authority and lyrical depth.

Later in the set, he dug into "All the Things You Are." At the end of the night, for those who wanted to hear him get funky, he and the band kicked it up with a groovy version of the JB's "Pass the Peas." 

I don't normally like being asked to sing along but I couldn't say no during "Snooky," a Dolphin original about a character he knew from his young days in the Hill District. Over a sharp vamp, the bassist had us singing:

"I remember Snooky

Snooky wasn't smart

Snooky kept his bottles in a cart"

Reggie Watkins (trombone), Ian Gordon, JD Chaisson (trumpets), Paul Thompson (bass)

On the day after Christmas, Opek played what is starting to become their annual show/gatherting at Kingfly Spirits. The ensemble has been around for about 25 years, started by saxophonist Ben Opie to dig into the repetoire of Sun Ra. Over the years, he has added the works of other composers to their book - Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk, Anthony Braxton.... This show also included a reading of Led Zeppelin's "Since I've Been Loving You," which really lends itself to a big band setting; Pittsburgh's Billy Strayhorn and Akira Ifukube, the latter who wrote a piece that was sung in Godzilla vs. Mothra. 

Ben Opie (alto), Chris Parker, John Purse (guitars), Lou Stellute (tenor)

I had an upfront seat,which was a great place to get shots of the horns, but I didn't get a shot of Kelsey Wooley Jumper, who sang a couple songs with the band, the first vocalist to ever sit in with the band. She also added some tap dancing to the sweet version of "We'll Meet Again" towards the end of the set. Last year, Opie sang this song, and the feeling was a little bittersweet, and the thought of a future Opek show not being a guarantee. When Jumper sang it, it felt like a promise and an acknowledgement that we need to do this again.

Apologies to drummer Dave Throckmorton and baritone saxophonist Rick Matts for not appearing in the pictures. They were definitely felt that night.

 

CD Review: Jeff Walton - Pack Animals

Jeff Walton

Pack Animals

(Jules) www.jeffwalton.nyc or jeffwalton.bandcamp.com/album/pack-animals

Straightahead jazz - the type that stays faithful to a tune's chord changes and remains pretty rooted in tempo - can come off feeling a little tepid or at least unadventurous if it merely maintains a decades-old status quo. Rather than dare to push it forward, too many artists are content to merely celebrate the past and leave things at that. Not that the past is bad.  And some musicians find new things to say with old warhorses. Yet a lot of times it feels rote.

But every so often someone shows up who starts with a tried-and-true setting, like horn plus rhythm section, and brings a certain je nais se quois to it that elicits a "woah" reaction. (Julieta Eugenio springs to mind.) Tenor saxophonist Jeff Walton comes across that way on his debut album. The Massachusetts native, who now lives in Los Angeles, spent several years in Brooklyn, teaching, and playing jazz as well as getting involved with choral music. The latter experience manifests itself in his current quartet, a tightly knit group that gives everyone an active role, with a big payoff.

The forward momentum begins with album opener "NQT." Walton plays with a relaxed tone, thoughtful and a little smoky, spinning a line that begins with a short, descending hook but keeps on moving. The rhythm section (pianist Santiago Leibson, bassist Eli Heath, drummer Chase Elodia) move urgently behind him at first, sliding into a more relaxed pace as they go. It might be a stretch to compare the group to the Second Miles Davis Quintet (aside from their four-piece lineup), but their ability to bend and flex together inspires that similar attribute. This is confirmed greatly by the time Elodia takes his impressionistic solo.

Pack Animals features a three-track suite, composed intially with just rhythm parts for each instrument, bringing pitches in later. The title piece sounds through-composed, with Leibson's syncopated chords out front, Heath's bass and the leader's tenor eventually joining him. "Orange Away" feels almost like a ballad, with a rich tenor melody. Elodia's part keeps things spare initially with just a few hi-hat taps, before bringing in brushes. "Celings" utilizes counterpoint between tenor and piano, who meet up at the end of phrases. All three passages are relatively brief (two last less than three minutes each) but a lot happens in that space.

The interplay of the quartet becomes the element that keeps the sparks going throughout the album, from the suspenseful set-up of "Blues for George" (George who, Jeff?) to the closing "Crunch" where Leibson's upper register clusters add a fun, slightly dissonant edge that adds to the mood. 

Pack Animals might be the sleeper album of 2025, so consider this a wake-up call.