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Rating: Let's take a trio of Bill Evans, but not the well-tested one with Scott LaFaro on bass and Paul Motian on drums, which have long been the ideal extension of this great pianist's refined keyboard. No, this time we want to do it "strange," and we bring in two quarters of Modern Jazz Quartet, namely Percy Heath (bass) and Connie Kay (drums). Finally, we add the most substantial ingredient: Cannonball Adderley's alto saxophone, and at this point the cassata is ready. Before someone calls Castelpulci, a well-known psychiatric hospital in my area, I hasten to explain what I have just stated. If I can't, I can always say my words have been misrepresented by journalists and that there's a conspiracy against me. That's how it's done, right?
So, some time ago, discussing "Somethin' else" I described our Cannonball's alto saxophone sound as creamy and "fat" in the good sense of the word, a sound whose very appearance conjured neither Spartan diets nor fitness centers. The effect is all the more remarkable because it was achieved through one of the sharpest members of the family conceived by Adolphe Sax: moving towards higher frequencies, we only find the soprano sax—which, just to be clear, is Jan Garbarek's piercing "siren." Strictly speaking, the encyclopedia of musical instruments swears by the existence of "sopranino" and "sopranissimo" saxophones, which are just a little more than whistles, but it seems their sightings belong to a select few, so let's move on.
From metaphor to metaphor, why not compare Bill Evans's piano's clear notes, which stand out colorful, light, and transparent but with well-defined edges, to colorful and sweet candied fruits gently nestled in this cream? Here’s the irresistible "cassata effect" I experience when listening to this excellent "Know What I Mean?" from 1961. At the time, both protagonists were at the height of their artistic splendor, having just participated in the historic "Kind Of Blue" by Miles Davis.
On paper, the fusion between Bill Evans's sober classical style and Cannonball Adderley's "post-bebop" fervor seems problematic, but judging by this album, it's absolutely possible, and the results are exceptional. However, it should be noted that the coolness of Evans's classicism is more apparent than real, and the habit of labeling someone as cold just because they play too well is widespread even in classical music (the great Sviatoslav Richter often fell victim to this); let alone in jazz, where a certain formal imperfection, somehow born of improvisation, is taken for granted. Here, Cannonball also seems willing to deny his better-known characteristics, alternating his typical energetic evolutions with an unusual song-like quality, thanks also to the prevalent presence of ballads. Naturally, all this without distorting any of his unmistakable sound, whose creamy virtues I've already expressed.
Let's not underestimate the role of the acclaimed rhythm section Percy Heath & Connie Kay, long accustomed in the Modern Jazz Quartet to backing vibraphonist Milt Jackson's showmanship alongside John Lewis's "serious" piano. Here, one instrument and the names of the two soloists change, but it’s essentially a home game for them.
Taking on the quintessential Evans standard, "Waltz For Debby," a cultured transposition of waltz into jazz, the two immediately start to shine in their respective ways. If Bill Evans enchants us with an introduction brimming with old-world grace (I hear some distant echoes of Chopin's waltzes), as soon as the rhythm gains momentum, it's Cannonball who takes the spotlight, first perfectly tracing the melody, then playing hide-and-seek with it through imaginative variations, never forgetting to leave precise gaps into which the delightful piano notes can sneak. About "Goodbye," it's said to be "led at a slower pace" compared to Benny Goodman's well-known version (which he didn't author; that credit goes to the lesser-known Gordon Jenkins). The quote is from Paolo Conte, and since we're talking about jazz, it fits well here. In this track, the energetic Cannonball, besides drawing velvety clarinet tones from his versatile instrument, manages to compete equally in sweetness with Bill Evans. The whole is simply sublime, and it doesn't end here.
"Venice," composed curiously by John Lewis, is introduced by Percy Heath's somber bass and offers more magical moments where the dialogue between the two soloists becomes increasingly like an intimate and complicit conversation. "Elsa" is another memorable slow piece, with ample initial space for Bill Evans's clear and refined notes, followed by a worthy response from Cannonball Adderley's sax. If there was still any need, "Nancy (With The Laughing Face)" is yet another exam of melodiousness passed with flying colors by the alto sax; the coda is exquisitely chamber-like, with Heath's bass taking on the semblance of a cello and enveloping the piano in a perfect "drone."
A little apart from this subdued tone is "Who Cares?", which is curious, given that the piece is by George Gershwin, perhaps the greatest author of melodic standards. The pace is brisk, a kind of modern swing, with Cannonball in his natural territory, but Evans's solo is a more than convincing demonstration of great versatility. Connie Kay's African drums introduce the most joyful episode, the raucous "Toy." "Know What I Mean?"" turns out to be a stunning and elaborate Bill Evans composition. The pianistic introduction promises yet another dream "ballad," but soon drums and bass break in, dragging the two soloists into a vigorous rhythm, vaguely Afro-Cuban, in the style of Dizzy Gillespie's golden years. Naturally, both get caught up enthusiastically, with Bill Evans especially abandoning all pretended aplomb, only to rediscover it in the languid, elegant coda.
And with this coda, apart from the usual "alternate takes" that have now almost become obligatory in every jazz CD, we must part ways with about forty minutes of pure musical syrup, capable of sweetening even those (if any) who simply can't stand cassata.
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