Jim Pepper & Flying Eagle – ‘Live’ at New Morning, Paris (Tutu)

At its historical core jazz is an African American art form. Today the link is widely regarded as axiomatic, despite fallacious claims to the contrary by such superannuated ensembles as the Original Dixieland Jazz Band. Still, these proprietary rights are far from inalienable. Nor have they precluded other ethnicities from shaping and adopting idiom to their own designs, enriching the music’s history while simultaneously ensuring its future. Saxophonist Jim Pepper was a lonely figure in the somewhat rarified region of Native American jazz. Don Cherry explicated on his own Choctaw origins through musical means on various occasions, but other jazz figures embracing American Indian culture part and parcel with creative endeavors are seemingly few and far between. This paucity makes Pepper’s extant recordings all the more enjoyable and enlightening.

One of the finest and most representative is this compilation gathering concert recordings from three European dates in 1989. Pepper fronts a rhythm section comprised of Mal Waldron, Ed Schuller and John Betsch, Mal’s working trio of the day. The program offers a pithy survey of Pepper tunes: four stand alone originals, plus a closing medley that includes the title track and three Native chant-inspired pieces, among them the saxophonist’s seminal “Witchi Tia To.” The band also ventures through an elegant reading of Waldron’s signature “Soul Mates,” a performance that shows off not only the composer’s impeccable touch, but Pepper’s premium prowess with a ballad. And so as not to completely don the dapper duds of genteel dinner combo, the latter isn’t averse to punctuating a lush phrase with a hard-bitten squeal. Schuller and the normally cocky Betsch supply support with supple delicacy and a whisper smooth attention to detail.

Pepper also indulges his romantic proclivities on a lengthy rendering of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” that opens with a gorgeous unaccompanied extemporization by the leader. It’s edifying to ponder his conception in contrast to that of another dues-paying Pepper who took this Ozian ode as his saxophonic calling card late in career. Here the optimism at the root of the song’s lyrics unfolds untempered and is positively palpable. There’s even room in the set for a cheeky salute to more gutbucket sources in Pepper’s own “Ski Jumping Blues,” a riff-based barrelhouse jam replete with quirky existentialist lyrics and a liberal dose of deep cerulean blowing. Pepper legacy is one often mentioned in the context of his cultural background. Dates like this one and others on the Enja-affiliate Tutu imprint demonstrate how seamless his blend of cultures could become.