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Among the lesser-known elements of the jazz world, if we want to call them "cult" and yet not overused, or not sufficiently used, there is certainly the use of the guitar as the only member of the harmonic section. Usually, for instance, the classic jazz trio consists of piano, bass, and drums. This seems, for many reasons, to be more than natural. The piano is a fabulous instrument, whose infinite versatility is matched only by the boundless possibilities of exploring its solutions, songs, and harmonies. In short: the quintessential complete instrument. And drums and bass absolutely complete the rhythm section. Bass lines and drums, everything you need to tap your foot, to lay the tracks for the harmonic train.
Therefore, an album that features the guitar as the sole harmony, sax (and of course guitar again) as soloists, and bass as the only rhythmic/harmonic line is interesting in itself. If it is then signed by two great "old" men of Italian jazz like Gianni Basso and Franco Cerri, well, the result is almost certain.
We know Gianni Basso: his love, never denied, for Coleman Hawkins and especially for Lester Young comes through in this work in all its beauty and sincere, non-sycophantic honesty. A style that doesn't clone, but is an "act of love" toward the great, ancient masters.
Franco Cerri, whom we older folks irreverently remember as the man in soak, but who is, as he has always been, just a great guitarist, hasn't missed a beat for some time now. He too (and how could it not be?) has debts, above all Wes Montgomery. But this, as mentioned, does not matter, when the style, like the cover itself or the interpretation in a broader sense, can be considered nothing other than acts of love toward the originals. And in this beautiful album, there is no shame in one's inspirations, the great past that each good musician carries within, even in this small frontier country, a small colony today increasingly without art or part.
They, Franco and Gianni, are former lads who grew up with America in their blood, in their eyes and ears. Knowing that America is ours as it is everyone else's, and in certain fields, America is perhaps, more than anything, a category of the soul... And everything flows well, smoothly, and pleasantly in this "drumless & pianoless" trio album, which is as much a great listen as it is a delightful background.
Unfortunately, however, to remind us that we are in Italy, the global homeland of overreaching, in the third track of the album ("Marmo Molle"), a "Jobim-like" bossa composed (well, by the way) by Cerri, Basso takes (several times, so it cannot be considered a slip) a decidedly and annoyingly out of tune high note. It was a composition by one of the protagonists, not a standard. This could have been easily avoided.
But unfortunately we are in Italy, a country of half-geniuses and missed masterpieces.
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