This week In Jazz Legends 04/52

1 . Wes Montgomery . West Coast Blues

“West Coast Blues” from Wes Montgomery’s 1960 release, “The Incredible Jazz Guitar of Wes Montgomery,” strikes more than a few high notes in the jazz canon.

Recorded over two New York days in January 1960, the album pivots on Montgomery’s pioneering thumb-picked guitar technique and his inventive use of octaves, proof that innovation need not come at the cost of accessibility.

The track stands out for its unorthodox solo changes, which diverge fluidly from the melody’s architecture, adding layers that challenge even seasoned players navigating its score.

Orrin Keepnews’ production anchors the album, while Tommy Flanagan’s piano, Percy Heath’s bass, and Albert Heath’s drums give the recording a measured cohesion that reinforces Montgomery’s artistic silhouette.

Not just a standout for the era, the Library of Congress declared the album culturally significant in 2017, a rare distinction that nods both to its technical brilliance and mainstream resonance.

While “West Coast Blues” sounds polished on the surface, its intricate shifts reveal the work’s underlying complexities upon closer listening, reaffirming why it thrives as a standard in the jazz repertoire.

Lifted from : Wes Montgomery records his fourth album for Riverside . ‘The Incredible Jazz Guitar of Wes Montgomery’ (1960)

2 . Benny Golson . Take The A Train

Benny Golson’s take on “Take The A Train” emerges as a dynamic homage to Billy Strayhorn’s classic, originally immortalized by Duke Ellington’s orchestra.

Golson approaches the piece with a reverence that nods to the song’s roots, while injecting his own measured swing sensibility.

Far from being a mere carbon copy, his interpretation floats between tradition and subtle innovation, marked by warm, intricate phrasing that mirrors his vast experience alongside jazz greats like Clifford Brown and Art Farmer.

His live performances, such as the 2014 Bitonto Jazz Festival, showcase his seasoned quartet, crafting a dialogue of crisp melodic exchanges, most notably with Ettore Carucci on piano.

There’s an elasticity in his delivery—a balance of restraint and joyful improvisation—giving the familiar tune a fresh vitality without straying from its classic allure.

What’s striking is the song’s enduring cultural weight; first written in 1941, it retains an identity as both a transportive anthem and a jazzy love letter to Manhattan itself.

Golson’s renditions pay quiet tribute to this legacy, framing the piece less as his own and more as a cornerstone of a shared jazz history.

The lack of an accompanying album or major charting by Golson doesn’t diminish the song’s impact—it thrives in the ephemeral realm of live jazz, where tradition is both preserved and reshaped, night after night.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Benny Golson. ‘Along Came Benny’

3 . Freddie Hubbard . Red Clay (w/ Kenny Garrett)

Freddie Hubbard’s “Red Clay” thrives on a concoction of sharp improvisation and deep groove, stamped with the unmistakable flair of its 1970s zeitgeist.

The track slouches comfortably at the crossroads of hard bop and emerging jazz fusion, clocking in at an expansive 12 minutes—perfect for losing yourself or checking your watch, depending on your attention span.

Ron Carter’s bass line hums along with subtle authority, while Herbie Hancock’s electric piano crackles and shimmers like sunlight breaking through blinds on a hungover morning.

Joe Henderson wields his saxophone like a sly raconteur, weaving lines that challenge you to keep up without ever kicking you off the ride.

Lenny White’s drumming provides the connective tissue, a syncopated, loosely funky feel that anchors the tune yet somehow feels like it’s about to float into another dimension.

The DNA of Bobby Hebb’s “Sunny” provides the harmonic skeleton, but Hubbard’s trumpet adds fire and cheeky swagger, often riffing on “Sunny” mid-solo as if to wink at listeners hip to the reference.

It’s raw where it needs to be, polished where it counts, and endlessly listenable despite its length—proof that Hubbard and his crew understood not just how to play, but how to play with a listener’s attention.

Lifted from : Freddie Hubbard records ‘Red Clay’ with Joe Henderson and Herbie Hancock for CTI (1970)

4 . Rahsaan Roland Kirk . Seasons

“Seasons” by Rahsaan Roland Kirk operates as an intricate puzzle, stringing together fragmented thoughts that feel like seasons compressed into sound.

Featured on *Prepare Thyself to Deal With a Miracle* (1973), the track reflects Kirk’s penchant for bending jazz into something almost unrecognizable yet undeniably compelling.

The composition’s sprawling title—“Seasons (One Mind Winter, Summer, Ninth Ghost)”—hints at the layered moods within the piece, as Kirk switches seamlessly between reverie and urgency.

His simultaneous use of the tenor sax, manzello, stritch, and an inventory of custom-reed instruments is both audacious and borderline chaotic, yet it lands perfectly within his controlled cacophony.

You’ll hear Kirk’s knack for storytelling in sound, from pastoral calm to brash improvisations that flirt with dissonance without fully committing to disorder.

The album itself contains other fascinating detours, like the playful “Pedal Up” and the hauntingly personal “Anysha,” cutting a jagged path through the politically charged terrain of early ’70s jazz.

Contextually, Kirk uses irony and introspection as weapons, lacing moments of levity with pointed critiques of both jazz traditionalism and societal issues at large.

Rather than just existing in the groove, “Seasons” asks questions—uncomfortable ones about identity and legacy—while keeping you guessing where the transitions might lead.

Lifted from : Rahsaan Roland Kirk records ‘Prepare Thyself to Deal With . Miracle,’ an album for Atlantic (1973)

5 . Joe Lovano . Sounds Of Joy

“Sounds of Joy,” the titular track from Joe Lovano’s 1991 album, strikes an intriguing balance between meticulous musicianship and an almost playful unpredictability.

Recorded at Audioforce in New York with producer Horst Weber for Enja Records, this piece gathers Lovano’s tenor and soprano saxophones, alongside his less conventional alto clarinet, weaving them into an intimate conversation with Anthony Cox’s bass and Ed Blackwell’s deftly understated drumming.

The sound is laid-back yet complex, trading in nostalgia and innovation, a tightrope walk between tradition and free-form jazz exploration.

It’s worth noting that the track takes on a different hue in the context of Lovano’s live recordings, like “Quartets: Live at the Village Vanguard,” where the more expansive instrumentation veers its DNA further from the stripped-down purity of its original trio format.

Neither heady nor overly accessible, “Sounds of Joy” dances to its own rhythm—curious and meandering—yet never loses sight of its sincere intention to communicate.

Lifted from : Joe Lovano records ‘Quartets: Live at the Village Vanguard,’ . live album for Blue Note (1995)

6 . Archie Shepp . Blues For Brother G. Jackson (w/ Attica Blues Big Band)

Recorded over a few intense days in January 1972, Archie Shepp’s “Blues For Brother George Jackson” situates itself firmly within the politically charged landscape of its era.

The track, part of Shepp’s ambitious album “Attica Blues,” is both a mournful dedication to slain Black Panther George Jackson and a wider commentary on systemic oppression.

This isn’t your standard bop or free jazz workout; it’s a dense, electrified lament, built on layers of brass, strings, and rhythm that don’t so much harmonize as collide, producing a raw and stirring result.

Shepp’s tenor saxophone, ever abrasive and full of emotion, leads a sprawling ensemble that includes standouts like Clifford Thornton and Walter Davis Jr. working in sync yet somehow teetering on chaos.

The album functions as a protest symphony, marrying elements of jazz poetry, funk, and avant-garde big band arrangements to create something as unwieldy as it is unforgettable.

The critics zero in on its scope and significance: Pitchfork hands it a stellar 9.3, while other jazz guides showcase its staying power in essential catalogues.

It’s no surprise that the track, alongside this audacious album, hasn’t just been a recording but has continued to resonate in live settings, such as through the “Attica Blues Big Band” project.

For all its cultural weight, the music here sometimes risks being overshadowed by the political fire it’s stoking, though maybe that’s the point.

This is less an exercise in melody and more a demand for attention, with every sax bleat and bass rumble daring you to sit complacently.

Like the riots it references and the life it mourns, this track isn’t asking for your approval—it’s demanding you bear witness.

Lifted from : Archie Shepp begins the recording of ‘Attica Blues,’ an album for Impulse! (1972)

7 . Hugh Masekela . Jabu Nkosi & Ashiko

“Ashiko” by Hugh Masekela, featuring Orlando Julius Ekemode, is a conversation between African traditions and jazz experimentation, occupying a notable spot in Masekela’s 1998 album “Black to the Future.”

The track, co-credited to both artists, melds pulsating rhythms with brass that straddles precision and playful abandon, encapsulating Masekela’s knack for musical storytelling.

Like much of his oeuvre, “Ashiko” doesn’t shout its intentions but weaves them through layers of instrumentation that feel both celebratory and reflective.

The backdrop of Bop Recording Studios in South Africa lends the song a polished yet organic atmosphere, grounding it in a tangible sense of place without losing its cosmopolitan edge.

Masekela’s signature trumpet lines, alternately joyous and melancholic, thread through the composition without overpowering Ekemode’s imprint, a collaboration that feels less like a compromise and more like an extended handshake.

While the album’s title hints at futurism, “Ashiko” feels more like a bridge—a nod to the past while standing confidently in the present, unapologetic in its blending of influences.

This track is a gentle reminder that “fusion” isn’t just a genre label; it’s a dynamic process, revitalizing familiar elements without reducing them to clichés.

Masekela’s ability to resist the theatrics of overproduction ensures “Ashiko” retains its depth, leaving enough space for listeners to interpret its layers on their terms.

Sitting alongside the infectious instantaneity of hits like “Grazing in the Grass,” “Ashiko” requires a slightly more patient ear but rewards those who take the time with its sly intricacies.

It’s not a banger, nor does it pretend to be. Instead, it quietly asserts itself as something richer: a piece of music that feels lived-in, resonating long after it’s finished.

Lifted from : We remember Hugh Masekela. ‘Just Hugh’

8 . Sonny Rollins . Alfie’s Theme

“Alfie’s Theme” emerges as a complex piece from Sonny Rollins, a cornerstone of his 1966 album *Alfie*, initially crafted for the soundtrack of Lewis Gilbert’s film starring Michael Caine.

The track was recorded during a whirlwind late October 1965 session in London, showcasing Rollins alongside an ensemble of British jazz talent including Keith Christie’s trombone, Tubby Hayes and Ronnie Scott’s tenor sax work, Stan Tracey’s piano arrangements, and Phil Seaman’s crisp drumming.

The recording process wasn’t without intrigue; the bassist role hovers between Kenny Napper, Rick Laird, or Johnny Hawksworth, with Laird confirmed for certain sessions—an ambiguity that adds a layer of jazz-world charm.

Separately, the album arrangement, handled with finesse by Oliver Nelson, stretches the composition into a broader soundscape, blending the work of musicians like J.J. Johnson, Kenny Burrell, and Phil Woods into a tight production helmed by Bob Thiele.

Musically, “Alfie’s Theme” thrives on its bright, swaggering 4/4 swing, where Rollins’ saxophone commands attention, echoed cleverly by brass embellishments, creating an auditory duel that shifts in tone to mirror the evolving emotional palette of the film’s protagonist.

This thematic versatility, weaving buoyancy with underlying melancholy, makes it more than a mere soundtrack staple—it’s a narrative in itself.

Its post-release life affirms its resilience, gaining traction among eager jazz enthusiasts as *Sonny Plays Alfie,* before undergoing recycled iterations across international layers of vinyl and CD reissues, from the UK to Japan.

Decades later, Rollins resurrects the composition in 1973’s *Sonny Rollins in Japan,* evidencing the theme’s elasticity and power to echo long after its initial pressing.

The enduring charm lies in its refusal to feel static; *Alfie’s Theme* bridges cinematic ambition with enduring jazz intellect, capturing Rollins at a high-point where creativity and improvisation collide spectacularly.

Lifted from : Sonny Rollins records ‘Alfie,’ an album for Impulse! (1966)

9 . Lenny White . Wolfbane (w/ Foley . Victor Bailey, Bennie Maupin)

Lenny White’s “Wolfbane,” a centerpiece of his 1995 album *Present Tense,* threads together a medley of jazz fusion’s hallmarks, buoyed by collaborations with Foley, Victor Bailey, and Bennie Maupin.

The track doesn’t feel like it’s trying to break ground as much as it’s reveling in seasoned craftsmanship, each instrument carving its space without jostling for dominance.

White’s approach continues to echo the ethos of his *Bitches Brew* days with Miles Davis, though here it feels less like a revolution and more like a reflection—a groove-laden dialogue among virtuosos.

Like much of the jazz fusion genre post its ‘70s heyday, “Wolfbane” exudes a nostalgic energy, brimming with dense, intricate syncopation yet tinged with a contemporary polish characteristic of its mid-’90s context.

The song’s title may hint at something feral and untamed, but the execution suggests restraint; it’s more shadowy calm before the storm than full-blown chaos.

White stands firm in his ethos of collaboration—his fingerprints are everywhere, yet the graceful interplay between ensemble members avoids making this a one-man show.

*Present Tense,* as an album, is less an attempt to re-capture past glories and more a subdued rumination, confidently resting in the middle ground between retrospective and progressive.

It doesn’t aim to shake the foundations of jazz fusion, and maybe that’s its charm—it exists, unapologetically, as the work of a veteran fully at ease within his kaleidoscopic influences.

Lifted from : Lenny White goes to Hollywood (2014)

10 . Michael Brecker . Broadband (w/ Quindectet)

“Broadband,” the electrifying opener to Michael Brecker’s *Wide Angles*, lands with the precision of a mathematician solving a chaotic theorem under duress. It’s no ordinary jazz piece—it’s a labyrinthine construction of syncopation, harmonic layers, and razor-sharp execution. Clocking in at 6:46, it’s the sonic equivalent of a rollercoaster that engineers dreamed up after too much caffeine.

The ensemble, Brecker’s ambitious 15-piece Quindectet, acts as both co-conspirators and a counterbalance to his endlessly spiraling tenor saxophone lines. Adam Rogers’ guitar cuts through the brass and strings with occasional urgency, while John Patitucci’s bass lines settle into grooves only to abandon them just as quickly. Antonio Sánchez, a rhythm architect, practically builds a second foundation for the track with his drumming. Meanwhile, Daniel Sadownick sneaks in on percussion, offering moments of subtle textural upheaval.

There’s nothing small about this composition, either musically or conceptually. Brecker’s interplay with the orchestra, meticulously arranged and given further polish by Gil Goldstein, feels like a high-stakes negotiation where resolution is both demanding and inevitable. The piece doesn’t merely showcase Brecker’s prodigious talent as a player—it lays bare his daring as a composer who leaves no instrument off the table. Flutes, oboes, and even strings are used not as ornamentation but as equal contributors in a dialogue of organized chaos.

Recorded at the now-defunct Bennett Studios in New Jersey during January 2003, the track bears the polished sheen of a studio production without sacrificing the raw energy jazz thrives on. It’s hard to tell whether “Broadband” is a manifestation of Brecker’s inner musical psyche or an intentional act of defiance against jazz traditionalism. Regardless, by the time the piece ends, you’ve already forgotten where it began, and somehow, when you listen again, it happens all over. Brecker’s *Wide Angles*, which later clinched a Grammy, could be a textbook for how complexity doesn’t always have to sacrifice accessibility—or does it? That tension is exactly what makes this track worth the repeated plunge.

Lifted from : Michael Brecker records ‘Wide Angles,’ an album for Verve (2003)

11 . SFJazz Collective . Spain (w/ Chick Corea)

“Spain” by the SFJAZZ Collective is a reimagining of Chick Corea’s 1972 classic, originally penned for Return to Forever’s *Light as a Feather* album.

Corea’s composition is celebrated for its intricate interplay of jazz, Latin, and classical textures, propelled by a melody that’s both ornate and inviting.

The Collective’s interpretation, arranged by Edward Simon, leans into its archival significance, performed during a milestone event—the opening night of the SFJAZZ Center in 2013, with Corea himself joining the stage.

This rendition trades some of the original’s airy fluidity for a more measured and ensemble-driven dynamism, amplifying the composer’s visionary harmonic scaffolding while maintaining the piece’s lyrical momentum.

By anchoring the arrangement in their collective ethos, the SFJAZZ crew filters “Spain” through a modern lens without deconstructing its essence, demonstrating that even legacy tracks can benefit from pointed reinvention.

Included in the “20th Anniversary Retrospective,” it serves as both homage and proof of the band’s knack for refreshing the canon, an exercise in celebrating the old while slyly advancing the new.

Lifted from : Chick Corea sits in with SFJAZZ Collective (2013)

12 . Chick Corea & Gary Burton . Rhumbata

“Rhumbata” brings together the masterful interplay of Chick Corea and Gary Burton, two figures whose partnership straddles the fine line between spontaneity and precision.

The track hails from the 1972 album *Crystal Silence*, a project often hailed as a benchmark in jazz duo performances, recorded in a studio as tucked away in Oslo as it is filled with sonic clarity.

With Corea on piano and Burton on vibraphone, the duo doesn’t just play; they engage in a kind of unspoken dialogue—improvising with such cohesion that it feels like mind reading put to music.

Tracks like “Rhumbata” remind you why these two have managed to release seven albums together: their chemistry is a fusion of two distinct energies navigating mutual respect.

The NPR Tiny Desk concert appearance in 2016, where they effortlessly reconnected after a two-year hiatus, serves as proof that their blend of intuition and skill is as sharp as ever—even time doesn’t dull it.

And if you comb through old concert videos, including their charged 1988 performances at The Blue Note, you’ll only find further evidence of why their longevity feels earned rather than serendipitous.

The track’s structure demands attention without shouting for it, an understated yet firm instruction to *listen closely,* as the vibraphone lines ripple over Corea’s thoughtful phrasing, creating a landscape that’s at once intricate and approachable.

Both musicians carry resumes stacked with accolades like the NEA Jazz Masters fellowship—Corea in 2006, Burton a decade later—and “Rhumbata” encapsulates everything these honors stand for: innovation, craftsmanship, and a refusal to just coast on past successes.

Lifted from : Happy Birthday Gary Burton. ‘Vibrant’