While it is common to take for granted the ease with which we find forever in our favorite tunes, the human experience dictates that the musicians creating those songs be regarded with equal parts admiration and immortality. Everyone expects to lose a grandparent, but people rarely anticipate the eventual loss of a musical hero. When people lose loved ones, they return to items and places specific enough to the deceased to placate their grief. Music is often employed as the great salve in everyday life, the creative medium employed as both memorial and marker of fond memory. What then, do musicians do with the loss of their forebears, mentors, teachers, and favorite players? While grief could be carefully woven into some magnum opus of influence and woe made to crest at a fever pitch, the more likely outcome is that the grieving pianist will do the same as the grieving rock enthusiast; electing to play the songs that initially made him a fan instead of observing that personal void with an equally empty moment of silence – one that would not be of service to the memory of anyone who has spent their life in tireless service to the idea of making a joyful noise. Returning to the legacies, fond memories, and teeming catalogs of recently deceased Philadelphia jazz legends, Charles Fambrough, Sid Simmons, and Trudy Pitts, Orrin Evans attempts to do the same.
Continuing up the mountain he has built from a multitude of projects, conceptual outfits, and critical acclaim, pianist Orrin Evans returns to front a trio including Dwayne Burno on bass, and Anwar Marshall and Byron Landham splitting time on drums, for the nine track Freedom. He opens with “One For Honor,” a tune by bassist Charles Fambrough, who died before Evans’ project was released. The track, much like many of the jazz tunes that have originated in Philadelphia, feels like it was born to score the city itself in movement and timing – the individual and very distinct voices of each musician providing a balance of grit and class that lend to the abundant charm of the piece. Every series of notes and chords seems well placed by Evans and expertly orchestrated by the band as a collective. If this piece were meant to honor Fambrough in life, it has given his sound and composition new life in light of his absence.
Saxophonist Larry McKenna guests on “Grays Ferry,” a song that is just close enough to the cigarettes, sex, and cool aesthetic of once-legendary Ortlieb’s Jazzhaus to accurately represent the rough hewn beauty of the Philadelphia neighborhood the title references. McKenna provides a very raw star power on the tune, which may be heightened immensely on the off chance his instrument was miked well enough that the sound of his fingers pressing the keys of the saxophone is as audible as the sound of his breath forcing energy through the brass.
The second track on the last release of Philadelphia pianist, Eddie Green, “Shades of Green” is strikingly beautiful. The synchronicity and peaceful force with which the bass and piano operate, is subtly impressive as the otherwise dulcet piano melds with the rich vibrato of the bass to bring a somber tone to an otherwise joyful but very soul stirring piece. The ultimate victory is found in the band’s ability to allow Burno to shine; the piano acting as the massive delicate landscape the bass has been charged to illuminate. It is a song that reaches back to reference the tone and thematic emotion present in Bill Evans’ interpretation of Miles Davis’ classic, “Nardis” – especially as it pertains to the relationship between the two foremost melodic voices, as the pianist and bassist share space.
“Dita” is Evans’ only original track on the release and is an interesting utilization of the bass, at a barely detectable whisper of an introduction, as piano draws upon the ethos of songs like “Blue In Green” and “Mood Indigo” to produce a short piece that is uniquely spare and overflowing with suggestions of pain against a fanfare of brushes and cymbals. This could be Evans’ way of saying goodbye or maybe even posing a very deliberate word of thanks, but whether his exact intent is ever made clear, Evans’ sentiment is absolutely obvious.
The album continues with several more up-tempo pieces, including “Time After Time” and “Hodge Podge”, both exercises in playful fingering and syncopation. The rhythmic execution on Evans’ cover of Herbie Hancock’s “Oasis” is not to be missed. It is not obnoxiously loud or overpopulated with textures, but it harbors a diversity of sound and movement that make it one of the standout pieces on the release. This may very well be Evans’ effort to give Hancock his flowers while he is still living. Obviously impressed and influenced by Herbie Hancock, as most modern pianists seem to be, Evans and company do a fantastic job of providing the musical traction that allows the entire band complete deference to the composition and each other.
By the last two tracks, Evans has managed to display a range of skill and technical knowledge without ever making his efforts seem even remotely self-serving. “As Is” is the type of crowd starter known to warm a jazz club up after a few somber numbers or remarkably slow hours. Playing trio for anyone who plays in or patronizes a working Jazz trio, the band make good use of the classic elements of group style and creative exchange, maneuvering in and out of a theme that quiets rather suddenly on the repetition of a very simple but memorable theme. “Just Enough” is solo piano working in its most overlooked capacity, as melody and rhythm section for itself – Evans playing on the sporadic virtuosity and dissonant chord changes that have come to typify much of fellow Philadelphian, McCoy Tyner’s style – an ode that is as beautiful and brash as it is an exercise in humility. A fitting end to an album concerned with preserving and honoring the works and careers of past musicians, by doing nothing more than continuing to play their songs with the same dedication to the music and passion for the art that they once did.
