William Gagliardi Quintet - Nhlahla

Late bloomers are still a bit of a rare breed in jazz. The majority of players cut their teeth early, honing chops in school and or on the bandstand. Most don’t make the decision to devote a their lives to the dubious pursuit of improvised music at middle age. Bill Gagliardi is among the happy exceptions. He recorded Music is the Meditation, his debut, for CIMP at 54. Though to be true and fair, Gagliardi’s been at the game for far longer than his terse discography might suggest.

Gagliardi’s sophomore disc comes from the first of two CIMP sessions that spawned enough music for two whole albums (the other being Ernie Krivda’s project). Evidently, the summer of 2003 was an intensely fertile time for creative improvised music at The Spirit Room. On hand are some of his familiar compatriots. Hofstra leaves his tuba at home and turns attention solely to double bass. Grassi is the ideal sort of drummer for this sort of date. He joins muscle with dexterity in a stentorian style of sticking well suited to Gagliardi’s boisterous tenor.

Nhlahla borrows from a Zulu word for good fortune. As the title track it counters any assumptions toward bombast with a dreamy preface of thumb piano and diaphanous guitar. Hofstra and Grassi enter and lock down an organic groove that primes Gagliardi and Carlson for a energizing twining of horn lines. The tune reminds me of something from the Billy Harper songbook with its pliant rhythmic underpinning, African leanings and open-ended interplay. Wessel torques his strings, producing a tonal warble that wrestles with Gagliardi’s rowdy vocal chants. Hofstra’s bass interlude comes on a bit abrupt, but his measured lines contrast well with the earlier huffing and puffing.

“Henderson” is only identified by surname, but Gagliardi’s bold phrasing and the hardbop reminiscent head suggests shades of Joe. Carlson’s punchy salvos recalls a bit of Dorham too. Wessel plays it sparse at first, leaving Hofstra to lay down a turgid walking line in synch with Grassi’s choppy beats. Minutes later he’s trading plinking licks with the leader’s horn and soloing to fine effect. Gagliardi gives Thelonious the proper due with “The Loneliest Monk” and revisits the Chitlin circuit of yore with the surprisingly laconic “Walking the Bar.” Both are brief, but highly entertaining pieces; the former another feature for Wessel’s surly fretwork, the latter built on Hofstra’s elastic pizzicato. “Hearthstone Conference” returns the band to the long form with mixed results.

The end in sight, an old-fashioned blow out seems in order. Gagliardi obliges with “The Oracle of Pat Riot.” Divining Ayler, Trane, Wright and the rest he funnels a modest geyser of breath through his tenor. Wessel, Hofstra and Grassi respond in kind and weave a supportive web around him. In light of his recent recording activity, there’s the strong temptation to argue that Gagliardi is making up for lost time. Reality references the opposite side of the coin. It’s we listeners who are finally catching up with him.