Harry Connick, Jr. - Chanson du Vieux Carré

Marsalis Music

Confession time: when this new disc by Harry Connick, Jr. showed up in my mail slot, my first thoughts weren't on the pianist, but instead to the probable pleasures of hearing his sidemen Ned Goold and Neal Caine. Caine and Goold have made some serious small group waves of late on the Smalls and Steeplechase labels, trafficking in a cerebral and demanding style of music that upon first exposure seems contrary to their employer's more pop friendly proclivities. This album is the third in a series focusing on Connick's piano, this time in the company of a sixteen-piece orchestra. As such, Caine and Goold's contributions consist mostly of section work, their instruments commonly buried in the larger ensemble sound. Goold does solo on two of the dozen tracks, turning in agile if meteoric statements on alto, but Connick's baton is preferential to the brass, specifically the clarion trumpet of Leroy Jones and lubricious trombone from Lucien Barbarin, nephew of trad jazz legend Paul Barbarin.

Any disappointment from this pecking order is largely allayed by the pleasing freshness of the leader's orchestrations. Intentionally or not, Connick has cultivated something of a pretty boy dilettante persona and his forays into extra-musical media haven't helped his cause at being taken seriously as a jazz musician. He doesn't even merit mention in Cook and Morton's Penguin Guide and a URL to his fan club included in the CD booklet doesn't help the case. Weaned as he was on the music under the direct tutelage of Ellis Marsalis and James Booker that slight seems not entirely fair. With a mammoth band at his command, Connick's arrangements are surprisingly lithe and tasteful. He uses bombast sparingly, as with the punctuating horn blasts on the Armstrong opener "Someday You'll Be Sorry," and his own graceful piano fills slip right in with the larger action of populous horns. Predictable relics like "Bourbon Street Parade" and "Fidgety Feet" may carry a fair share of moss, but Connick succeeds in scraping them clean with a fresh sheen of swing. Originals, like the crime jazz opus "Ash Wednesday" expose his skills at devising vibrant polyphonic passages and the band digs into the numerous layered contours with audible relish.

The disc arrives under the banner of Marsalis Music, Branford's label, and that association brings up a handy Wynton comparison. Both men have steeped themselves in tradition and actively championed the preservation of pioneering jazz forms, but there's more of a familial feel and a sense of fun to Connick's projects. His explorations of the Crescent City canon eschew pious exclusionary impulses and encourage the aura of a party rather than a pedantic history lecture, where the only requisite for an invitation is a willingness to open one's ears.

~ Derek Taylor