Javon Jackson: Pleasant Valley – 1999

If the iconic sound of Blue Note Records could be summed up in just one band, it would surely be Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. For 35 years – 1955 to 1990 – the Messengers were the heart and soul of hard bop, on Blue Note and other labels.

But what happened when Blakey died in 1990? Where did the music and the musicians go after that? For decades, Blakey trained a Who’s Who of young jazz royalty. Many became legends. Others were barely heard from again.

Tenor saxman Javon Jackson was in the very last Jazz Messengers band. He played with Blakey on a handful of records from 1987 to 1990.  A few years later, he signed on as a Blue Note leader for five albums of his own from 1994 to 1999.

Where did Blakey’s music go after his death? Listen to Javon Jackson. While carrying on some of the hard bop tradition, Jackson continues to blaze his own path. His last Blue Note album, Pleasant Valley in 1999, is a terrific place to catch Jackson trying out a variety of post-Jazz Messengers styles – funk, soul, fusion, tender ballads and even a touch of free jazz.

The album starts unexpectedly with a gentle ballad, Duke Ellington’s little-known “Sun Swept Sunday” from 1959’s Anatomy of a Murder. (The occasion was the 100^th anniversary of Ellington’s birth.) But just when you think the short, wistful tune is all daisies and sunshine, it breaks apart into a swirling, surrealistic ending verging on fusion.

It’s a good intro to the title tune, “Pleasant Valley,” a Jackson original that starts funky, then borrows heavily from Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew, with fusion stylings and a psychedelic guitar. The final tune, another Jackson original called “For One Who Knows,” uses the same fusion vibe, with guitarist Dave Stryker sounding very much like vintage John McLaughlin.

Most of Pleasant Valley has a soul-funk feel. There’s a pretty straight-ahead take on Stevie Wonder’s “Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing” and another on Al Green’s soul masterpiece “Love and Happiness,” a git-down, greasy 1960s homage to the days of Jimmy Smith’s great organ-guitar-sax combos.

There’s a gentle, sinuous blues original, “Brother G,” with a Spanish guitar bit, and a funky organ tune, “Jim Jam,” written and performed by Larry Goldings, who otherwise stays in the background on many of the album’s cuts.

All in all, Pleasant Valley is beyond pleasant. It’s an exhilarating exploration of styles and genres – something Jackson continues to this day. (I recently saw him in concert with a traditional bop band in Norfolk, Virginia. He was outstanding.) I can’t say what happened to all of Art Blakey’s alumni – who can? – but if you like variety in a post-bop sound, Pleasant Valley is a good place to start. And it’s a good place to begin listening to a modern-day saxman with a genuine claim to jazz history.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Easy to find

Cost: $3 used, $17 new

 

Leo Parker: Rollin’ With Leo – 1961

What if I told you there’s a saxman who was there at the birth of bebop – literally, he played on the very first bebop recording – and you’ve never heard of him? And what if I told you his life story is the very archetype of the tragic, drug-addicted jazz musician?

Would you still want to hear his music?

Listen anyway. Rollin’ With Leo by baritone saxman Leo Parker is an obscure pleasure. Lately, I’ve been listening to it a lot, during train rides to and from work. It feels like a warm, comfortable bath. The music washes over me and makes me feel happy and satisfied, despite the artist’s tortured history.

Here’s the back story: Leo Parker was essentially a swing master, with hints of R&B and bop. He played in big bands with folks like Billy Eckstine, Coleman Hawkins and Dizzy Gillespie. He’s got a fat, low, rumbling sound so typical of the baritone.

In February 1944, Parker – no relation to Charlie Parker – played in Hawkins’ band on a record that is considered the very first bebop recording. The tune is Gillespie’s “Woody ‘n You,” and Parker is one of nine horns. He’s just a background guy and doesn’t take a solo. Still, that record puts him in the realm of jazz royalty – kind of like the piano player and drummer behind Chuck Berry. A guy who was there at the birth, but not the essential ingredient.

For years after, Parker was the quintessential sideman, walking back and forth between jazz and R&B. And then, in 1961, Blue Note offered him the chance to lead his own band. He did it very well, for exactly two records. He seemed on the verge of a musical breakthrough. And then he died at age 36 after years of drug abuse. End of story.

Except for this: Blue Note never released those 1961 recordings. They sat in the vaults for nearly 20 years. In death, Leo Parker remained obscure. Finally, in 1980, Blue Note released Leo Parker’s only two albums as a leader.

And guess what? They’re really good.

Rollin’ With Leo is the better and bluesier record. To my ears, the centerpiece is a tune called “Talkin’ the Blues” – a slow, draggy, romantic tune, full of smoke and darkness and swirling, rolling sadness.  A lighter highlight: “Music Hall Beat” – a 5-minute piece of happy swing by Illinois Jacquet that could have been lifted intact from the Count Basie band.

Why did this excellent record molder unreleased for nearly 20 years? The liner notes don’t say, but I can guess. Leo Parker was dead and Blue Note had no incentive to promote him. Also, by the early ‘60s, swing was long gone and hard bop was on its way out. Rollin’ With Leo would have been a perfect record for the 1950s, especially with a living, breathing bandleader. In any event, it’s a terrific album – and a fitting epitaph for a forgotten saxman

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Availability: Easy to find

Cost: $4 used, $11 new