My Fats Waller Obsession: Why Do We Collect Music?

The collector pauses to reflect.

As a young piano player back in high school in the 1970s, I fell into the theater crowd. We put on shows and we went to shows on Broadway. One of my favorites was Ain’t Misbehain’, the tribute to pianist-composer Fats Waller. I was enthralled. This was music with verve and personality, and it swung like crazy. I bought the soundtrack record and wore it out. I bought the music book and taught myself every song.

And then I sought out the original Fats Waller records. The man was prolific, and thanks to the hit show, the world was re-discovering Fats. Lucky me. Even luckier – the old RCA Bluebird label was reissuing everything from its vaults. I ate it up.

My plan was to collect everything – all of it. As each volume in the Complete Fats Waller series came out, I snatched it up. I loved the music – the virtuoso piano solos, the hokey singing, the clownish asides, the ensemble work of Waller’s band. But more than that, I loved having the records.  I wanted the complete set. And I wanted to display it. I wanted everyone who visited my house to see it and talk about it.

When RCA stopped the series short of completeness, I was devastated. I would never have it all. It wasn’t possible. The collector pouted.

And then came CDs. Praise the Lord! Suddenly, Fats was back and more abundant than ever. I started a new collection. This time, I was determined to get it all – and I partly succeeded. Not every Fats Waller song ever recorded; that’s just not possible. There’s too much of it and it’s scattered all over. But I did get all six volumes of the old RCA-Bluebird sets – all 15 CDs. I loved listening to the music, but once again, I loved having it even more.

My one complaint: Because the sets were issued over several years, the spines on the CD boxes don’t match. They sit on my desk, a cherished possession, displayed for the world to admire, but they don’t look great. The music is all there, but having it isn’t as pleasing as I had hoped it would be because it doesn’t look quite right.

And there’s the collector’s dilemma, and maybe a glimpse into the psychology of collecting.

I am a collector and my wife doesn’t understand. Maybe you do. I like sets – complete sets. When I buy a book or a record, I look for the next one and the next one after that. I want the whole thing, and preferably in a box, but if not, at least in a matching set.

When I was a boy, I collected Hardy Boy books. I started with three brown-cover books passed down from my older cousin. I liked reading the books, but I liked having them even better. I started buying more and quickly discovered the brown-covered books were out of style. Stores only sold the newer blue-covered books. I bought them all, one by one, the whole set, and read them all, and I proudly placed them on my bookshelf, in perfect order.

I collected stamps, too. Whenever possible, I wanted a complete set – flags or sports or space-themed stamps. My heart ached if I missed just one stamp from the set. Baseball cards, too. Every year, every set.

That was my obsession, and it is still my obsession. It is not enough to own and enjoy the sci-fi book Red Mars. I also had to have Blue Mars and Green Mars, and in the same matching covers. I read the classic sci-fi novel Dune, didn’t like it, but was determined to own and read the entire trilogy. Same with Lord of the Rings. If I didn’t like them, why did I want to own them? I don’t know. It was a compulsion.

Today, my work desk has 26 CD box sets alongside my computer and monitor. All my favorites are there: Duke Ellington, John Coltrane, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis and Clifford Brown sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Bruce Springsteen, Simon & Garfunkel, Jim Hendrix, Faces and Yes.

What is this obsession, this need to own it all? And why isn’t it enough to simply have it all on MP3 files, where I can listen whenever and wherever I like? Why must I have the physical thing – the box, the jewel case, the matching spines? Why do I insist on owning the entire Mark Twain collection of novels and short stories, in matching book-club covers? I don’t know.

Several years ago, I bought a book on the history of Impulse records. Maybe you’ve seen it. It’s called The House That Trane Built and the cover features John Coltrane, of course, but also a whole bunch of records – actual LPs – from Impulse lined up on a shelf. Every one of them has the classic orange-and-black spine. And I believe (I could be wrong about this), they are arranged in chronological order.

It’s beautiful. And as soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted it. Not those specific records, but probably something else. Maybe the classic Blue Note records from the 1950s and ‘60s that I enjoyed so much. Yeah, that would be great. That would be an amazing collection.

That’s where my Blue Note obsession came from. I have always loved the old Blue Note music, but that wasn’t enough. I wanted to have it, in physical form, and proudly show it off in a bookcase or a CD case, just like that gorgeous line of orange records from Impulse. I needed it.

That’s how this blog began, and that’s how it will end. I’m taking a break from Blue Note collecting and writing. Maybe I’ll come back to it. I have loved discovering new artists and finding new records from familiar names – some great albums, some not so much. Most of all, I have enjoyed collecting them. Whenever possible, I got the physical CDs.

I recently moved with my very understanding wife to an apartment where there is no room for huge CD racks. So the Blue Note collection (and many, many other CDs) sit in bins in a dark closet in the guest room. It means I can’t see them every day when I walk into the guest room and sit at my computer. But it makes me smile anyway, knowing they are there, knowing that I own them, that I can see them and touch them and play them whenever I want.

I will come back to my Blue Note obsession eventually. I always do. It’s the nature of obsession. It’s the nature of collecting.

What drives it? No idea, but it makes me happy. Someday, I may find a book that explains this silliness. Till then, I have Fats Waller and His Rhythm to keep my toes tapping and keep my poor fingers straining to imitate his music on the piano.

And maybe in some distant future, I’ll find the truly great complete set that satisfies my itch, though I doubt it will ever happen. One never knows, do one?

Ike Quebec: Blue & Sentimental – 1962

Everyone loves a good comeback – especially if the second act is better than the first. Think of Tina Turner, Marlon Brando and George Foreman.

Or tenor saxman Ike Quebec.

Quebec isn’t exactly a household name, but his seven Blue Note records are uniformly terrific, and Blue & Sentimental is among the best ever produced by the label. That it came after Quebec had already achieved success (if not fame) among the big bands of the 1940s, and after a musical hiatus in the 1950s, makes it all the more wonderful.

In the liner notes, Quebec says Coleman Hawkins, Ben Webster and Stan Getz are his favorite sax players, and that’s hardly surprising. It’s not just that Quebec was a product of the swing era that also produced Hawkins and Webster, it’s his absolute mastery of the ballad.

I’m not generally a ballad fan – I usually prefer fast and furious bop – but Blue & Sentimental is the kind of album that makes me melt. The title song, which opens the album, is among my very favorite ballads ever. It’s about the slowest song you’ll ever hear, which is not exactly a recommendation, but Quebec is all breathy and emotional. It’s enough to make a grown man swoon. It’s also the perfect showcase for guitarist Grant Green, playing his usual, tasteful single-note bluesy melodies. The Quebec-Green combo is sweetness personified.

And there are more ballads to savor, every one of them warm and sentimental. “Don’t Take Your Love From Me” is soft and casual, with more breathy beautifulness from Quebec. “Blues for Charlie” is Green’s tribute to Charlie Christian, and it’s magnificent. “Count Every Star” is a dreamy vehicle primarily for Green and his gorgeous guitar.

Blue & Sentimental also features a handful of uptempo numbers, including two very nice Quebec originals, “Minor Impulse” and “Like,” and the standards “That Old Black Magic” and “It’s All Right With Me.” They swing like crazy, but they’re not why I return to this album. For me and lots of Quebec fans, the highlights of Blue & Sentimental are, well, the tunes that are blue and sentimental.

I’m sure there are a bunch of perfectly good swing numbers from the ‘40s that feature Ike Quebec, but the 1960s comeback is where he really shined. It’s a shame he died of cancer at age 44 in 1963.

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Easy to find

Cost: $13 for a new CD, but $9 for the MP3 files and $6 used

Jack Wilson: Something Personal – 1966

Maybe I’m imagining it, but pianist Jack Wilson owes a great big thank-you to John Coltrane on Something Personal. At least that’s how I hear it on the opening track, “Most Unsoulful Woman,” one of two highlights on this 1966 album.

Coltrane, the legendary saxman, released his masterpiece A Love Supreme in 1965. It is as introspective and spiritual as any music ever recorded. That’s the part you know.

Here’s the part you don’t:  A year later, Wilson recorded Something Personal. The title sorta hints at an album of introspection and, well, personal music. It’s not really that – not all of it, anyway. But the opener sounds, to me, like a very honest, sincere attempt at the kind of spirituality that Coltrane mined for his classic. Or is it?

The title says no. The name “Most Unsoulful Woman” sounds like it could be something romantic, maybe even rueful. Maybe a she-done-him wrong song. The music is anything but. It’s modal, so maybe it owes something to Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue.

But “Most Unsoulful Woman” seems more than that. For starters, it seems very Eastern – as in Asian, not New York. The piano seems slightly out of tune, almost like a toy piano, with Wilson playing the strings directly in some sections, rather than the keys. The song’s opening 26-second section is tuneless, just a swirling of notes and feeling. A theme follows, played twice, with the piano and bass doubling up. Then more swirling – tuneless piano notes that rain a curtain of mysticism. It all feels vaguely Love Supreme-ish. The bass solo adds to the feel of misterioso. Roy Ayers adds more swimming and swirling on his vibes solo. And then the theme returns and the songs ends, 7 minutes after it begins.

Am I hearing more than Wilson intended? Is this just a pretty piece for a lady friend? I swear the resemblance to the previous year’s Coltrane is more than passing. And it is very impressive. After several consecutive listens, it left me in a seriously spacey mood.

“Harbor Freeway” is the other standout track. Again it begins with soft piano swirls – very tuneless and moody. It settles into an almost-but-not-quite-standard ballad. It is tuneful and less spiritual, but also far, far from the typical Blue Note hard bop or soul-jazz of the era. Combined, the two pieces – “Most Unsoulful Woman” and “Harbor Freeway” – feel like part of an ethereal, silky, impressionistic whole. If only the whole album were that way.

The rest of Something Personal is very, very good, but on a different level altogether. At times, the piano-vibes combo is reminiscent of the Modern Jazz Quartet. “The Sphinx” is very hard bop. “Shosh” is straight blues and swing. “Serenata” starts like 1930s ballad and segues into a boppish vibe. And “C.F.D.” – whatever that stands for – is a positively scorching romp that allow Wilson and Ayers to show off their chops and speed. The closer is Coltrane’s own “Mr. Day.”

Jack Wilson is a piano player I had never heard of before. I picked up Something Personal hoping to find something more than a clone of Horace Silver, Thelonious Monk or Bud Powell. And I did. Wilson is an unexpected original, and I plan to explore more of his back catalog. Bravo!

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Not hard to find, but not cheap either

Cost: $17 new, about the same used, but $9 for the MP3s

Ronnie Foster: Two Headed Freap – 1973

The critics hated Blue Note in the 1970s, and that might be an understatement. Me, I’m kind of intrigued.

Fans of good old hard bop, or even soul jazz, were largely left out in the cold. Blue Note in the ‘70s was a label struggling for its very existence, desperate to find a niche and snag some sales. All of which drove the critics and jazz purists nuts.

Richard Cook, in his 2001 book Blue Note Records: The Biography, is positively savage. “The music which the imprint recorded was full of noodling, posturing and modish idiocy. Scarcely any of the musicians who recorded for Blue Note during this period emerged with any real credit or credibility.”

Even Richard Havers, in his wonderful 2014 book Uncompromising Expression – a must-own coffee-table history of Blue Note – doesn’t ignore the critical consensus. He quotes Hugh Witt of Jazz Journal: “It is sad that a label with the reputation of Blue Note should be reduced to recording the casual meanderings of background pop music.”

Still, if you like soul, funk and R&B, you can’t help digging many 1970s Blue Note albums. Ronnie Foster’s Two Headed Freap may be the poster child for the genre, for better or worse.

I like it. Foster is an organ virtuoso and Freap is a cross between Sly & the Family Stone and Emerson, Lake & Palmer. In fact, the title track could be an outtake from ELP’s Tarkus. It’s that kind of keyboard-crazy funky weirdness.

Two Headed Freap is full of soul-funk deliciousness. In addition to the title track, check out the closer, “Kentucky Fried Chicken,” a heap of organ excursions – yes, noodling, if you insist – based on a catchy funk riff. Or the opener, “Chunky,” which is more of the same.

Unfortunately, Freap also includes a few soulless, funkless muzak tunes. “Summer Song” is soulful enough – it sounds like it could be an instrumental version of an old O’Jays tune – but it merely distracts from the catchier tunes. Ditto an instrumental take on Al Green’s “Let’s Stay Together.”

It’s true: By 1973, Blue Note had wandered very far from its hard bop roots. No need to mourn. If hard bop is your cup of tea, there’s plenty to feast on in Blue Note’s back catalogue. But if you’re cool with late ‘60s/early ‘70s funk, Two Headed Freap is a tasty buffet.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Not exactly a rarity

Cost: $11 used, $17 new, $9.50 for MP3 files

Bud Powell: The Scene Changes – 1958

The legend of the tortured, tragic jazz genius exists because of people like Charlie Parker and Bud Powell. Both are bebop legends, among the greatest of the greats, founding fathers of the genre. Both were brought down by drugs and mental illness – Parker at 34, Powell at 41.

Bird and Bud had a lot in common. Not only were they creators of the new sound of bebop, both were astonishingly fast players – Parker on sax, Powell on piano. Powell took the sheer speed of Art Tatum and added quirks and flourishes. But more than that, Powell wrote many of his own tunes, and they are mostly stunning and original.

Also like Parker, Powell created most of his best music early on, much of it for Blue Note in the 1950s. Two of his very best albums are the first pair for Blue Note, The Amazing Bud Powell, Volumes 1 and 2, recorded in 1949 to 1953. These are breathtakingly original tunes, many played at breakneck speed, sometimes in trios, sometimes quartets. They are among the best bebop of all time.

So what to make of Powell’s later records? The eccentric pianist grew crazier and crazier as he aged, literally, and many fans believe his music suffered for it. The Scene Changes is Powell’s last date for Blue Note, and while it’s not quite up to the level of Volumes 1 and 2, by almost anyone else’s standards, it’s awfully good.

At his best, Powell was the kind of pianist who made you want to stand up and yell, “Go, man, go!” There are flashes of that on The Scene Changes, but not as many as on earlier albums. “Crossin’ the Channel” is the standout, a breathless barn burner that harkens back to the early hyper-speedy days of bebop.

Another highlight is “Comin’ Up,” an eight-minute excursion with an odd Latin-ish rhythm. It starts with a catchy six-note theme, repeated over and over by the bass and drums. Powell explores the myriad possibilities, sometimes in rhythmic patterns, sometimes in heavy block chords, sometimes with vaguely Latin melodies. It’s a lot of fun.

Bud Powell was unquestionably a major talent. Sadly he was also unquestionably mad. After The Scene Changes, he went to France, stayed for several years, returned to the U.S. and died. His later records aren’t his best, but they all show flashes of brilliant exuberance. They’re all worth a good listen, and if you’re a piano fan, they’re worth owning.

A side note: Check out the adorable album cover, featuring Powell at the keyboard with his young son looking over his shoulder. Aww!

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Easy to find

Cost: $7 used

Walter Davis Jr.: Davis Cup – 1959

Every now and then, I hear a musician in a band and I think, “Damn, can we get rid of the other guys and just hear this one by himself?” That was my immediate thought after listening to Davis Cup, a hard bop cooker from 1959.

Walter Davis Jr. is a pianist with a slim discography. He recorded exactly one Blue Note CD as a leader – this one, his debut – and appeared mostly as a sideman on other people’s records. The mystery is why he didn’t achieve more with his considerable talents.

On Davis Cup, he sounds an awful lot like Thelonious Monk. No surprise there, since Monk was making some remarkable, groundbreaking stuff in the late 1950s. Lots of pianists wanted to be Monk in 1959, and it’s no slam on Davis that he clearly shows the influences.

Here we have Davis on piano surrounded by a pretty routine Blue Note bunch: trumpeter Donald Byrd, saxman Jackie McLean, bassist Sam Jones and drummer Art Taylor on drums. It’s a typical Blue Note affair, with five bluesy bop romps and a sweet ballad that sounds hauntingly like Monk’s “Reflections” or “Pannonica.”

While I love 1950s Blue Note hard bop, this one comes off as rather ordinary and predictable. What is not predictable is Davis himself. He wrote all six songs, and that by itself is intriguing. More tantalizing are his brief solos. I wish there were more. The horns are nice, and Byrd seems particularly inspired here, but it’s the piano that makes me yearn for more.

My personal favorite is “Rhumba Nhumba,” partly because of its punny title, but mainly because of its catchy tune. Honorable mention: “Minor Mind,” a toe-tapper with nice piano work and soulful playing from the horns.

Davis played for a short time with the Jazz Messengers, in two separate stints, and recorded a few albums for obscure European labels. Based on this debut, I’d like to hear them. Unfortunately, Davis seems to be one of those 1950s stories of the creative guy with chops who was simply lost amid a sea of similar musicians. A pity.

Rating: 3 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Easy to get

Cost: Weirdly expensive new on Amazon — $21 – but $7 used and just $5.34 for the MP3 files

Paul Chambers: Paul Chambers Quintet – 1957

From 1955 to 1965, Paul Chambers was probably the most prolific jazz bassist in the world. He appeared on scores of albums, including some of the best and most famous of all time. So it was not a huge surprise when, in 1957, he turned out a classic of the genre. Bass on Top literally turned jazz on its head, transforming the bass into the lead melody instrument. It was a novel idea, but difficult for some fans to digest.

A few months before recording that landmark album, Chambers led a more conventional band on a more conventional hard bop record, called simply Paul Chambers Quintet. It’s an enjoyable record, though not a groundbreaker.

Here, the horns – trumpeter Donald Byrd and tenor saxman Clifford Jordan – take the lead, along with delightful contributions from pianist Tommy Flanagan. And if you didn’t already know it was a band led by the bass player, well, just listen to the opener, Benny Golson’s “Minor Run-Down.” It’s a toe-tapper – a catchy, bluesy affair with long bass solos at the start. Then Byrd and Jordan take control and it turns into a bopper with soul to spare.

The album’s closer, a Chambers original called “Beauteous,” is another upbeat ensemble piece with generous room for solos and a mildly Latin beat. A fun piece, but nothing you haven’t heard before.

Quintet really perks up in two middle-of-the-album tunes with out-of-the-ordinary bass parts. “Softly, as in a Morning Sunrise” is the Oscar Hammerstein classic, but taken at a quicker pace and with melody stated on bass. It’s surprisingly catchy and moving, before moving on to piano and horn solos.

“Four Strings” is another Golson tune, and another fast-bopping pleaser that starts with a long bass statement – appropriately for a song titled “Four Strings.” The horns are terrific, and Flanagan is nimble and pleasing, but it’s Chambers’ bass that makes this is an unexpected standout.

Charles Mingus may have been the most famous and innovative jazz bassist of the ‘50s and ‘60s, and Bass on Top may be the most in-your-face bass-oriented album of the period. But Paul Chambers Quintet is a joyful, conventional slice of bop with wonderful sidemen that make this a happy slice of hard bop.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Easy to get, but not cheap

Cost: Weirdly expensive new on Amazon — $22 – but a cheap $5 for the MP3 files

Lee Morgan: The Sidewinder – 1964

What’s left to say about Lee Morgan’s most popular album, The Sidewinder? How about this: It is one FUN record. That’s capital F, capital U, capital N.

Anything wrong with that?

Sometimes it feels like all the fun has gone out of jazz. As if nothing can be Good unless it is Serious. As if muted Miles and spiritual Trane are the ultimate barometers of true jazz respectability. Hey, I love Miles and Trane and all the great, serious musicians who came before and since. But there is also room for music that simply makes you smile, tap your feet and shimmy your hips.

The Sidewinder is that record. In spades.

There’s the title cut, of course – 10 minutes of pure, unadulterated riff and groove. Who doesn’t love a great riff? The Beatles played great riffs. Jimi Hendrix played great riffs. Hell, Beethoven’s Fifth is arguably the greatest riff of all time. So to say “The Sidewinder” is just a lot of fun variations on a great soul-jazz riff is not to damn with faint praise. It’s a compliment.

The remaining four cuts (and one alternate take) are not quite as riffy, and definitely not in the same soul-jazz mode, but still a hell of a lot of fun.

Every track is upbeat and lively. Every track is clever and brash. And every track was written by Morgan himself – what a great composer! Morgan on trumpet and Joe Henderson on tenor are simply inspired. They can twist a tune every which way and make it sound original. Barry Harris on piano reminds me of Ramsey Lewis on “The In Crowd,” especially on the title cut. Not a huge surprise, since “The In Crowd” came out the same year, infected by the same Fun vibe.

Yes, Lee Morgan played Serious hard bop for many years before The Sidewinder. They are pretty great records, too, especially the ones with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. You can love Serious and Fun equally. I do. That dichotomy goes back as far as jazz itself. There was Serious Louis Armstrong and Fun Louis Armstrong – sometimes on the same record, and all of it sublime.

So yes, The Sidewinder is on the Fun side of jazz. But it is virtuoso fun, and head-nodding fun. It is the jazz equivalent of comfort food – but gourmet comfort food. Morgan spent years trying to recapture the magic and never quite got it. The Sidewinder is fun before it became mere formula. Get it.

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Oodles and oodles of copies out there

Cost:  $9 new, $4 used, $5 for just the MP3s

Sabu Martinez: Palo Congo – 1957

1957 was a banner year for hard bop and Blue Note. In one year, the label released 40 albums, including classics from John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, Horace Silver, Bud Powell, Lou Donaldson, Hank Mobley, Johnny Griffin and eight by Jimmy Smith alone.

In the midst of all that hard bop, Blue Note released two percussion-based albums that were way off the beaten path. Art Blakey’s Orgy in Rhythm was a drum-fest of epic proportions. Sabu Martinez’s Palo Congo was a conga lover’s dream. Both are acquired tastes.

Palo Congo is a tough listen, at least at first. There are no melodies. The album features five conga players, a bunch of chanters and one guitar.

To Western ears, guitarist Arsenio Rodriguez is the easiest to relate to. His “Rhapsodia del Maravilloso” is five amazing minutes of Latin guitar improvisation. Yes, the congas are there in the background, but it’s Rodriguez’s astounding guitar that fascinates. If your only experience with Latin-tinged guitar is Carlos Santana, you’re missing something truly impressive.

But it’s a mistake to focus on Rodriguez, wonderful as he is. Most of Palo Congo is filled with complex polyrhythms and Spanish chants reminiscent of gospel call-and-response. This is genuine Afro-Cuban music and I don’t pretend to understand it all.

For many jazz fans – including me – the traditional Afro-Cuban reference point is Dizzy Gillespie and Chano Pozo, especially their classic “Manteca,” also recorded in 1957. That tune is a real meld of American jazz and Afro-Cuban rhythms, while Palo Congo is more Cuban than American (though Martinez himself is from New York City).

At first, to my ears, most of the album seemed noisy and repetitive. After several listens, I was enjoying it more. It will never be a favorite, just as Blakey’s Orgy in Rhythm will never find its way onto my best-of list. Both are ideal for fans of the genre, for folks that dig unusual percussion. I need a melody, at least as a jumping-off point, so that’s my limitation, not Martinez’s.

Palo Congo is highly recommended for fans of genuine Cuban music. For jazz lovers dipping their toes into Latin beats, it’s less accessible.

Rating: 3 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Good luck finding a new copy, but used ones are not hard to find

Cost: It’ll cost you a bit — $9 for a used CD, $30 or more for a new CD, but $7 for the MP3 files

Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Orchestra: Consummation – 1970

Blue Note was never home to many big bands, but the Thad Jones-Mel Lewis Orchestra recorded four albums for the label from 1967-70, and one is a certified classic.

Consummation is the musical equivalent of Neapolitan ice cream – three flavors packed into one large container. The album contains three moods: soft and contemplative, sprightly and upbeat, and soulful and funky. Each gets two or three songs, and together they make a tasty treat.

The record begins with a fake-out. “Dedication” starts like an outtake from Miles Davis’ Sketches of Spain, all solemn and muted and gentle. Halfway through, the band bursts out into an exuberant spree and stays there for the next two songs, “It Only Happens Every Time” and “Tiptoe.” This is big band jazz the way you imagine it, with exciting unison passages and room for virtuoso solos by top-flight musicians.

And then the mood changes. “A Child is Born” is the debut of the Thad Jones classic. Contrary to the title – hey, a child is born! – the mood is quiet and lush, rather than celebratory. The gentle theme is played over and over — first by Roland Hanna’s piano, then by Jones’ flugelhorn, then by the whole band, and finally by just the flute. It is one of the sweetest pieces ever recorded.

And then – change moods again. “Us” and “Ahunk Ahunk” are soul-funk workouts that include an electric piano and electric guitar – quite unlike anything you’d imagine a big band playing. But then, soul-funk was king in 1970, and Thad Jones was obviously in its thrall. If you’re a fan of the genre – and I am – “Ahunk Ahunk” is the album’s highlight.

The record ends with two last pieces. First, there’s a hard-driving bop number, a Jones original called “Fingers” that sound like it could come from the Dizzy Gillespie-Charlie Parker canon. And finally, there’s the title song, another dreamy ballad featuring Jones’ horn. And so Consummation finishes as it began, with a tune to stir the emotions and remind us that Thad Jones and Mel Lewis were big band leaders whose band and tunes were anything but traditional.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Easy to find

Cost: Around $4 used, $12 new, $7 for MP3s