Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis - Streetlights (Prestige)

This Prestige two-fer garners heavy rotation in the Taylor household with more spins spun than I can now comfortably count. It's arguably not Jaws best, byt there’s something about the package, most likely the vintage and band dynamic that earns it a top tier slot. Davis was at a bit of a crossroads when the two albums- I Only Have Eyes for You and Trackin’- were birthed at the Van Gelder compound on the single day in ’62. His once profitable partnership with Johnny Griffin was recently wrecked on the fiscal shoals and he had yet to fully immerse himself in the enterprise of earning an income as a booking agent. The gig revealed business acumen akin to his prowess on tenor and built on an earlier position held in Prestige A&R where he lobbied the signings of young hopefuls like the Curtis Peagler Jazz Disciples to the roster.

Opting to fall back on a format that he helped pioneer, Jaws put guitarist Paul Weeden’s trio (w/ organist Don Patterson and drummer Billy James) on the payroll, rehired his old confrere George Duvivier for the bass chair and wrangled up a modest songbook of standards. Both dates deliver a revealing bridge between Jaws in his nascency (the raw and ribald R&B rooted raconteur heard on early sides for Savoy and King) with the more mature and genteel stylist that emerged through his partnerships with Shirley Scott and Count Basie. As far as I know Davis never cut an album without a chordal instrument in tow. The section on “The Way You Look Tonight” where Patterson and Weeden lay out spoons a tantalizing taste of what might’ve been had he done so. Just a fast-walking Duvivier and churning James at his back.

Both guitarist and organist make responsive foils for the leader’s lone horn. Weeden’s delivery is textbook, but with all sorts of hand-written asides crammed in the margins. On “I Only Have Eyes for You” he mixes ringing Wes-style octave work with brass tack-sharp single note runs. Patterson is similarly all over his console, flipping the switches and mixing in equal parts church and speakeasy with a bit of roller rink as a garnish. Davis sounds both above and appreciatively attenuated to the prodding, riding the changes with his own logic and a mandible-dropping command of both tempo and key shifts. Check his sudden spur to emphatic double-time braying on the title-track.

Davis' toothsome tone slow-dissolves with the pleasing piquancy of a sugar-dusted lemon drop, though he’s never one to apply syrup or saccharine sentimentality in his robust voicing of a line. At other times, especially on ballads like “Sweet and Lovely,” his phrasing carries an amorous insouciance, spilling across bar lines like a feathered boa draped over the shoulders of a fine lady. But Jaws could also lock on and grind through reeds with the most edacious, akin in appetite to the identically-monikered Marvel comics canine that came much later, chewing off whinnying blurts and curt asides at idiosyncratic intervals.

Davis is one of the few artists whose work brings out the completist impulse in me (a nigh impossible pursuit given his proliferation of sideman appearances over a four decade-plus career). This set makes me pine for the long shot find of more of the same.