Regathering the Storm

At what point does admiration become obsession? Jazz artists used to be known for woodsheddin’. Woodsheddin’ meant disappearing in the woods for months at a time, sometimes to kick a habit, but most often because the creative impulse drove these artists into isolation in order for them to master their art. Sonny Rollins spent nearly a year playing sax beneath the Brooklyn Bridge alone because there was an idea stuck inside him. What came out was eventually released as his album “The Bridge.” Jazz trumpeter Wallace Roney, seen here playing Miles Davis’s trumpet has a tone so clear and cold I get lost in such a kaleidoscope of memories when I hear it. One imagines that Roney spent quite a few hours woodsheddin' to reach that level of brilliance. He’s more of an extrovert on his instrument than Davis was, but only slightly so. His tone is reminiscent of Davis but with a few shades of darkness less. His timing is flawless and he’s able to hit the upper registers on par with the likes of Freddie Hubbard. When I saw him I was transported completely. His solos took me back to a trip to Greece I made a few years ago … I listened to him crank out those solos while watching the sunset on the island of Santorini and nothing could’ve been more sweet. He’s derivative in a completely positive way—if such a thing is possible. I’m no reactionary, but Roney’s melodic game forces the listener to listen even more closely because it’s so very obvious that he’s carrying forth the torch for future generations. Get some respect. That’s why Miles gave him “the horn.” This clip with Tony Williams on drums could almost be viewed as an attempt by Williams to regather the storm that was Miles Davis, but it's so much more than that. The history of jazz is the history of America. Williams in this clip is simply opening the book to another mysterious chapter.

This list of top sax greats is nearly right. Ornette should definitely be in the top ten, however. Ornette’s brand of innovation only comes once or twice with every generation. Stan Getz shouldn’t be on this list even. I’m glad to see Jackie McLean and Gary Bartz included, they’re routinely left off of lists of this type. And Paul Desmond, whose sound was once described as the sound of a very dry martini, is far too high up the hierarchy here. Although he was known for his sweet delivery, he never had enough down-home funk for this listener. Desmond was once awarded a prize for quietness. That seems to me to be the opposite of what a jazz sax player should strive for. If I want lyricism I’d rather get it from Joe Henderson or Cannonball Adderley.