Dry spells are an expected obstacle in the life of an improvising jazz musician. Occasions to preserve one’s sounds for posterity are usually governed by access to the almighty dollar, a tight commodity when you’re dealing in modes of artistic expression outside the popular culture sphere. As such even players who have been part of the music’s fabric for decades have discographies pock-marked by holes and lapses. Frank Lowe’s portfolio is no different and the last several years have found him for the most part out of the recording circulation loop. Thankfully the drought is availed by these two recent offerings from Alan Schneider’s No More imprint.
Lowe and Billy Bang are textbook kindred souls. Each man approaches his instrument, albeit in different ways, with passionate resolve to wrest from its attributes every modicum of honest emotion attainable. Lowe always sounds on the verge of caving under the weight of self-imposed expectations; his improvisations routinely become balancing acts on the tightrope of continually tested faculties strung above the bruising rocks of failure. Moments arise when he slips and stumbles, but it is his tenacious reach for the uncertain edge of his abilities, an inherent sense of the daredevil facing danger, that invariably makes his work so absorbing.
Bang’s sound is more cocksure and technique driven, his scintillating arco lines streaking in high velocity arcs off his strings. Marshalling the assistance of Ed Schuller and Abbey Rader, he and Lowe convene the latest incarnation of The Jazz Doctors on One for Jazz, an aggregate they first founded with the now departed drummer Denis Charles. The current band, like its progenitor, draws from a freebop songbook engrained with open-ended heads and rhythms, but with a strong inclination toward individual solo space.
Lowe and Bang may be the lead voices, but that doesn’t preclude Schuller and Rader from having a substantial say as well. Rader opens “Aliens”, while Schuller has first crack at “I Promise You the Moon” tossing in some precisely placed stop time slaps at the close. Bass and hand percussion also form a heady syncopated groove on the prestidigitatory “Smoke & Mirrors” laying down a foundational funk whilst Lowe and Bang harmonize above. Lowe’s labored overblowing on “Times Squared” is tempered with snatches of straight lyricism and gives way to a martial barrage of snare rolls from Rader.
Bang and Schuller converge in a wailing weave of bowed sound ribbons riding the piece to an ensemble close. “Slamma Jamma” is an odd blend of Bang and Rader at full tilt and Lowe flanked by Schuller slowly examining the theme, an effective contrast that builds to a fever pitch as the latter team swells in speed and intensity. Lowe and Bang are at their most unabashedly emotive on the balladic “Show Real” with the latter worrying the upper registers of his instrument in an almost dirge-like fashion. Switching to pizzicato perforated by sharp bow slices in the piece’s second half Bang maintains a mood of sorrow mixed with longing.
“Zoom Tipsky” is perhaps the band’s best entry on the disc. Another folk-inflected theme serves as the springboard for solos, but each man takes the space allotted and works alchemic magic with the base melodic materials provided. Lowe is especially centered here conjuring a cogent exposition that makes gripping use of his signature diffusive tone. The closing title track adds rhythm-infused poetry around the trio of Lowe, Schuller and Rader crossing the finish line on a meditative note.
Trading studio surroundings for concert venue Soul Folks acquires all the risks inherent in a live date. Recorded in real time with the pressures of an attending audience Lowe’s assembled quartet, and most noticeably the leader himself seem to be feeling the stress. The presence of pianist Bertha Hope and the compositions themselves, which are for the most part heavily rooted in recognizable chord changes, makes for a more structured musical milieu. But instead of working as a safety net the program seems to stifle Lowe’s vibrancy and the saxophonist sometimes treats the charts like an obstacle to improvisation rather than a starting point. “Eddie’s Dream” is a prime example where the open intricacies of the tightly scripted head are negotiated with a brusqueness that seems almost methodical. Jack Walrath’s solo unlocks in fits and stops and it’s up to Ralph Peterson’s linear workout with sticks to shore things up and salvage the piece. Lowe’s beautiful Caribbean-tinged ballad “Nothin’ But Love” suffers from a similar lack of ensemble cohesion and Hope nearly trips up the horns during their initial unison head statement, but later Lowe glides through registers from guttural honks to lilting alto-range lines caressing the melody as the pianist comps effectively beneath.
Walrath achieves a similar feat with the aid of mutes on “Ms. Bertha’s Arrival” coaxing bluesy phrases from his brass that flirt with trombone and tuba sonorities. Dealing in bright punchy smears during “Mirror Minded Rose” his flexibility is further compounded. Lowe responds in kind embroidering the whimsical tune with lovely variant phrasings. The title track rests on similar juxtapositions poised around the forward momentum of Peterson’s staccato stick chatter and loping shuffle beats. Both horns cavort in a wobbly dance of smudged lines, thick with feeling, but sometimes suspect in terms of same-page interplay. Lowe’s own “Addiction Isn’t Fiction” is unsteady inception, but cements through a string of articulate solos starting with the composers’. Taken in sum this disc is a telling reminder of the Lowe’s occasional unevenness, but even with the prominent flaws it’s still largely a hit rather than a miss. If potential listeners are faced with an either-or option the collaboration with Bang wins out.
- Derek Taylor