Steve Lacy - School Days

Hatology 578

The fate of the fabled Hat (and subsidiaries) catalogue has seemed uncertain several times during the label’s illustrious history. In addition to their nurturing of younger players like Ellery Eskelin, the label has long been a patron of uminaries like Cecil Taylor, Joe McPhee, Anthony Braxton, and Steve Lacy. Now that this release – one of Lacy’s crucial early recordings – is back in circulation, one can almost hear sighs of relief coming from all corners of the world of improvised music (the sighs may one day be even louder if Hat reissues Mr. Braxton’s Seven (Trio) Compositions 1989). But when listening anew to this recording, I found myself wondering what I could really contribute to the critical reception of Lacy’s oeuvre. What is there really to be said of Lacy at this stage? Don’t we all know already that he has contributed a lasting body of compositions, recordings from solo to large ensemble, interpretations of masters like Thelonious Monk, and, perhaps most of all, a singular instrumentalism that practically defines musical focus, dedication, and commitment? Yes, we do all know these things and perhaps there is little more to be said. But this recording in particular helps clarify one edge of the frame that establishes the parameters of Lacy’s career.

Taken from a night during a March 1963 – can you believe it? 40 years ago! – stand at the Phase Two Coffeehouse, this date of all Monk tunes found Lacy sharing the front line with the rambunctious trombonist Roswell Rudd and backed by the killer tandem of Henry Grimes on bass (who missed out on the opening “Bye-Ya,” which is carried by a killer trio, but who makes his presence known with a killer solo during “Monk’s Mood”) and the snappy free patter of Denis Charles’ drums. No matter how many times you’ve heard Lacy play these tunes, and no matter how many bands you’ve heard him with, there’s no denying the freshness and vitality of these performances. The tricky, quirky “Brilliant Corners” just grooves along, belying its complex structure; the quartet slaps some wicked counterpoint onto “Monk’s Dream”; and the loose, freewheeling “Ba-Lue Bolivar Ba-Lues Are.” A key pleasure: Rudd is in fine surly form throughout, mischievously disrupting the music’s flow, sauntering through parallel lines with Charles, or blurting impatiently. Lacy’s tone has continued to transform slightly since this recording. And digging into this date, you also get the sense that his phrasing and the melodic content of his solos are more audibly rooted in jazz traditions than they are now. Lacy has owned these tunes since day one, but he never fails to invest them with new purpose or to reveal new facets in the music. For these and other readings, this recording is an essential one both historically and musically.

Jason Bivins