Musical chemistry is a delicate science. Upset the equilibrium between elements and the entire concoction is rendered inert or worse. The death of a member can deal a deadly blow to the body politic of a band. Ernest Dawkins’ ensemble faced just such a crisis with the sudden passing of his longtime friend and colleague, trumpeter Ameen Muhammad. The crevasse left by his absence needed filling. With a home base of Chicago and close ties to the AACM a new recruit wasn’t too difficult to tap. The surprise arises in the caliber of candidate Dawkins was able to draft.
Maurice Brown’s first sizeable recording ripple came as a member of Fred Anderson’s Quartet on Back at the Velvet Lounge (also on Delmark). While I had misgivings about that album, the young trumpeter’s contributions to it weren’t among them. His phrasing felt a bit brash, his tone a shade too overwrought in places, but a liquid fire undercut these excesses and left an indelible mark. Here he retains that same spitfire intensity coupled with an even more advanced control of the spigot that regulates its release. His command of pitch is positively stunning and there are numerous spots where his gliding smears, jumbles of notes that congeal into a single gelid mass, sketch arching swathes across all registers of his horn. The degree of discipline balanced with flexing muscle reminds me of a young Freddie Hubbard with freer leanings. As a player still just in his early Twenties, Brown has the makings of an exemplary career ahead of him.
But enough of Ameen’s successor and secret weapon. Also on hand to realize this tribute to the dearly departed trumpeter is NHE linchpin Steve Berry on trombone, who provides his usual blend of nuanced brass. Bassist Darius Savage turns in his sophomore session with the band and his plump, Wilbur Ware-worthy lines are even better articulated this time out. Lastly, another new face by the name of Isaiah Spencer holds down the drum chair, replacing former percussion stalwart Avreeayl Ra. Dawkins’ directs the band on alto and tenor saxophones, delving deep into his formidable technique and coming up with bracing statements on both. Regular guitarist Jeff Parker has the day off, but receives representation by way of a through-composed ballad penned in his honor.
The album’s six tunes follow a fairly typical the NHE songbook. Four are long blowing vehicles that supply broad palettes for the soloists. Each one employs the somewhat counter-intuitive emphasis on individual improvisation that guides Dawkins’ philosophy for the ensemble. Malleable vamps are the frequent foundation with Savage carving out thick ostinato lines and the horns working off of punchy riffs. The title track rips along on solos from the leader and Brown, each man devouring his share. Berry’s first extended extemporization comes with “3-D” and it’s a beaut, voiced in a richly rounded dialect with the aid of well-lubricated slide work. Dawkins follows on tenor, blasting through a chain of choruses with a tone tensile enough to cleave down to the emotional quick. The sum of numerous rehearsals and gigs as a working band pays off directly through an enviably tight assemblage.
“The Messenger” shares striking similarities to a funky Bobby Timmons march piece, the unstated dedicatee being Buhaina Blakey. Once again the horns rip and snort leaving the sign-off to solos by Savage and Spencer. “Haiti,” a short tone poem for ‘little instruments’ and percussion of various stripes registers as the one piece where the band’s AACM’s roots feel a bit weathered and worn. Ameen will certainly be missed, but Maurice points to a promising future for the NHE. Here’s hoping Dawkins can persuade him to stay on the payroll.
~ Derek Taylor
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