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This DVD's title is a bit misleading: it's actually a double-bill, taking three tunes from a live set by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers at NYC's Village Vanguard and pairing them with three tunes from another Vanguard set by tenor saxophonist Johnny Griffin's quartet. At just shy of an hour, it offers only a tantalizing glimpse of each group; I wish that the entire sets were including instead of these abbreviated portraits. That said, much about this film that will interest bebop fans.
Drummer Art Blakey led his Jazz Messengers from 1953 until his passing in 1990. During that time, the personnel changed often. Dozens of promising jazz musicians served an apprenticeship in the Messengers at the early part of their careers; many veteran musicians were also eager to be a part of Blakey's working band. A staunch traditionalist, Blakey influenced many of the "young lions" who passed through his group to initiate a revival of traditional jazz in the 1980s. Two of the musicians included in the incarnation of the Messengers seen here would go on to significant fame and fortune -- brothers Wynton and Branford Marsalis, both at early stages of their careers during this 1982 set. The group also includes bassist Charles Fambrough, tenor saxophonist Billy Pierce and pianist Donald Brown (who would shortly thereafter leave the Messengers due to a bout with arthritis).
It's interesting to see the Marsalis brothers at this journeyman phase of their development. Both are known today as confident advocates of their own music and their respective positions on the direction of modern jazz. Wynton, in particular, has been a vocal proponent of a return to traditional jazz styles. Wielding considerable influence as artistic director of Jazz at Lincoln Center and as a ubiquitous presence in the media, he has been stubbornly dismissive of virtually everything post-bop. Branford is a bit more catholic in his tastes, but no less formidable a personality.
As such, it's more than a little satisfying to see both players still finding their way on this Vanguard gig, clearly creative and talented musicians but not yet the smug personas who have all the answers. Wynton's solo on "Miz B.C." is an excellent case in point; it is heavily indebted to Dizzy Gillespie's manner of playing, but the trumpeter seems to get lost several times, falling back on stock scalar passages and missing a few attempts at stratospheric high notes. Branford's solo on the tune is far more inventive; starting out spacious phrasing and turning to tart utterances, its ends in a spirited duet with Brown, which leads into the pianist's own vigorous (but regrettably one-handed) solo.
In "My Ship", Branford and Billy Pierce leave the stage; this is a showcase for Wynton. His playing on this ballad has more of a sub-Miles Davis flavor, but once again he fails to delineate a significant narrative concept or shape to his extended solo. Blakey himself was well past his prime at this point in his career and his drumming lacks the vibrant physicality it possesses on so many other outings. That said, he retains an artful way of phrasing and a buoyant swing despite the economy of his playing.
The portion of the DVD devoted to Johnny Griffin is altogether more satisfying as a musical experience. The tenor saxophonist is in fine fettle, playing a vigorous solo on "Blues for Gonzi". Sometimes his performance turns playful -- he even inserts a quote from Gershwin's "American in Paris" in the midst of a long, florid run. A young Kenny Washington plays the drums with tremendous energy and drive.
It was pianist Ronnie Matthews, an artist I immediately cursed myself for not knowing better, who truly made my jaw drop. His solo on "Gonzi" begins in a spare chordal style, framing the melody in thick, richly varied harmonies. When his single line right-hand solo begins, it is by contrast blindingly quick, referencing myriad chordal substitutions and chromatic elaborations. Unlike Brown on "Miz B.C.", Matthews simultaneously comps a left hand part of equal interest. There is even more improvisational splendor from Griffin and Matthews on the Griffin-penned Thelonious Monk homage "A Monk's Dream". Matthews creates a luminous introduction that evokes Monk's style of voicing and arpeggiation; later, he fashions a stride-influenced solo of considerable appeal. Griffin, on the other hand, brings out the jarring dissonances and progressive aspect of Monk's playing in his own virtuosic solo. The set ends with the uptempo but all-too-brief "56", leaving me and, I imagine, many others wanting more!
-- Christian Carey
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