This stimulating new release from drummer Jason Marsalis contains the expert musicianship and compositional ingenuity associated with the Marsalis name, but there’s also a playful, experimental flavor which sets it apart. It speaks of a young artist coming into his own, embracing his roots while confidently venturing into fresh territory.
The ensemble interplay on this effort is also more dynamic than on Jason’s debut, Year of the Drummer, which came out in late ’98. That record unveiled his adventurous conceptual tendencies (the layered drum over-dubbing on “In The Tradition” and “Discipline,” the unusual tempos and time signatures of “Upper Second Line” and “Lucky #7) as well as his affinity for experimental drum techniques (playing the kit with bare hands on “Hand Jivin’,” simultaneously attacking and sweeping brushes on “At The House, In Da Pocket”). The new record, with 74 minutes of original compositions, further explores these realms, but now Jason’s band is firing on all cylinders, creating a more organic, cohesive context.
Trumpeter Antonio Gambrell has been replaced by saxophonist John Ellis, whose hearty tenor, both in solos and in counterpoint to Derek Douget’s alto and soprano, fills the album with warm depth. Two saxes creates a richer, more malleable texture, and the rapport between the two men, as on “The Sweeper,” when they start bouncing off each other, intertwining briefly, then crumbling apart again, makes you think they were twins separated at birth. Bassist Peter Harris and pianist Jonathan Lefcowski provide an equally “locked in” underpinning, and the band as a whole seems undaunted as they adeptly follow Jason into challenging terrain.
“It Came From The Planet of Nebtoon,” for example, centers around a ten minute group improvisation without chord changes (a song form called “neb” for nebulous), requiring the keenest sensitivity from the players. “The Steepistician” is in the spirit of older Marsalis brother Branford’s ambitious trio recordings (The Beautiful Ones, Bloomington, The Dark Keys)—the changes remain but are difficult to detect. The solos on “There’s a Thing Called Rhythm” slow down successively, until a masterful drum solo by Jason ties all the tempos together.
On “Maracatu de Modernizar,” derived from a northeastern Brazilian dance rhythm which Jason learned while working with New Orleans-based Brazilian ensemble Casa Samba, the percussive sound of the “agogo” bell is simulated superbly by Lefcowski’s piano while Jason cooks on a sublime Brazilian shuffle. Here, like on “Seven-Ay Pocky Way,” which is driven by a Mardi Gras Indian-esque second-line groove, and in so many other crucial instances on the album, Jason resists the temptation to overplay, relying instead on his tasteful multi-layered grooves to propel the music.
For variation, there are several short interludes at the end of tracks two, five and nine where Jason’s drums accompany a mesmerizing synthesized vibration that sounds like a voice echoing inside a Tibetan prayer bowl. When you listen very closely, you realize it’s a modulated voice saying “Music is in motion all the time….” Thanks to crafty drum over-dubs on “Discipline Strikes Again,” we get to hear what it would sound like if Jason had twenty hands and feet. A “hidden” last track features an extraordinary whistling solo with bass accompaniment. With only two moist lips, Jason references a wide range of famous jazz melodies (throwing in “Eleanor Rigby” to boot) and connects them with dazzling runs. It’s a dramatic presentation of the sheer musicality bursting at the seams of this young man.
