Branford Marsalis
Random Abstract

I am about to review what can, without any exaggeration, be rightly considered a cornerstone in the production of the great New Orleans saxophonist; an excellent and epoch-making work with which the entire contemporary Mainstream Jazz had the duty to engage. Not before briefly retracing some significant moments of the first part of our subject's career (a necessary prelude to understanding the work in question).

After cutting his teeth with Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers, Branford Marsalis (born 1960) swiftly became a prominent figure in the artistic world within a few years: a rise that involved being part of his brother Wynton's group and the prestigious participation in Miles Davis' "Decoy," before making his solo debut with "Scenes In The City" in 1984. In 1985, he had the decisive meeting with Sting, who wanted him to embellish the refined atmospheres of the sensational "The Dream Of The Blue Turtles" (featuring alongside him on that album was the late Kenny Kirkland, later his regular collaborator, and 1980s Fusion greats like Darryl Jones and Omar Hakim). Continuing his collaboration with the ex-Police member until the late '90s, Marsalis enriched his artistic repertoire, developing a mindset far more open and versatile than that of other contemporary jazz musicians.

Many have ventured to outline (albeit approximately) the saxophonists who most significantly influenced him (it is inevitable, in this context, to mention personalities like John Coltrane and Wayne Shorter), a task perhaps expensive and unnecessary, considering the eclectic and varied training of our subject. While other instrumentalists have spent years in a frantic quest for their individual style, as well as a marked display of their distinct traits compared to their predecessors, Branford's main artistic goal was to assimilate the sounds and trends of Post Bop masters into an elegant, multifaceted form that encompasses the various influences the genre accumulated over the decades; influences still mediated by his unique sensitivity, a marked aptitude for an encyclopedic synthesis of styles, and an endless curiosity and spirit of research. Numerous criticisms have targeted this attitude, overlooking the usual purist crusade by certain old-guard members who still struggle to forgive him for compromising with Pop sounds and his collaboration with Sting: criticisms about the presumed modest originality of his musical proposal, his role as an ambassador of a Mainstream Jazz that is, in part, interesting but not very personal; criticisms from those who have not fully understood how Marsalis has focused on redefining his status as an artist, developing a creative awareness, and an overall vision of the Jazz panorama (and beyond) that few contemporaries can boast.

This becomes evident from the analysis of "Random Abstract," recorded in Tokyo in the summer of 1987 at the end of a tour, and with the contribution of seasoned and cohesive musicians: a pure virtuoso like pianist Kenny Kirkland, with dozens of prestigious sessions behind him, and the punctual rhythm section composed of Delbert Felix on bass and Lewis Nash on drums. That a turning point is in the air can also be understood from the fact that, for the first time in his (until then) short career, Branford decides to rely on a fixed trio for recording an entire album, without resorting to many different session players to best convey the "mood" of each piece. It's a work conceived as organic from its very inception, demonstrating a leader fully aware of his soloist role and, at the same time, of the composite musical discourse that he is intent on developing.

Listening to the work, one perceives the sensation of dealing with a musician for whom Jazz holds no secrets, whether considered a late exponent of Post Bop (or even a mere emulation of Coltrane, as has been inappropriately done), or placed within the Mainstream Jazz scene of our times. Such considerations hold little weight in the face of a soloist of rare taste and sensitivity, capable of engaging and impressing with his mastery of style and virtuosity: virtuosity never an end in itself, but measured and, so to speak, perfectly contextualized in an overall atmosphere of great charm and emotion. 

The pinnacle, and at the same time the ideal sum of this artistry, is the memorable, superlative reinterpretation of Ornette Coleman's "Lonely Woman"; compared to the original version by the Texan saxophonist, the duration of the piece is tripled, within the context of a powerful revisitation splendidly highlighting its more romantic, more languid, and more sensual accents; the main theme is expanded, reworked, emphasized in a perspective of pure collective empathy, with a group that perfectly supports the variety of shades and moods suggested by the soloist. Not a mere atmospheric piece, nor a juxtaposition of several isolated sequences in linear succession: what most surprises about the piece is its narrative processuality, which generates in the listener the sensation of a cohesive and coherent story, rather than a simple sum of parts. A superb page of contemporary music, of rare and astonishing intensity.

But the album doesn't live solely on its pinnacle, as the rest of the repertoire also manages to surprise with its solidity and cohesive ensemble: starting with the necessary homage to Wayne Shorter and his "Yes And No," a sumptuous and lively opening; passing through two fine compositions by Branford: the slow "Crescent City," a personal dedication to New Orleans, and the blues "Broadway Fools," also vaguely patterned after Ornette Coleman's style, with a nice opening dialogue between the sax and Lewis Nash's drums; and arriving at the album's certainly more experimental piece, "LonJellis," a sort of "free form" born from Kenny Kirkland's creativity, structured on scalar modulations without any tonal variation (the title is instead a homage by Branford to his father Ellis). Finally, there are the standard "I Thought About You" and the closing entrusted to the thirty-four seconds of "Steep's Theme."

A masterful album, emblematic of the art and entire career of a formidable musician, and a manifesto of uncommon technique and sensitivity.