When jazz fans think of liner notes the first things that are likely to come to mind are the sort of pretentious, ostentatious “I'm plugged in and you're not” type of stuff you would see on the back covers of Blue Note and Riverside LPs in the late fifties and early sixties. Often, when reading these kinds of self important “notes” it seemed to me that all that was going on was that the writer was trying to get his name attached to the much greater artist (the musician) in some way. Today, because of the impossibly expanding knowledge base we have, we’re hopefully way beyond such trivia. But with a nod to a mentor, Mingus, and with one eye rooted in the traditions and one eye cocked to the future, Malcolm Hunter offers us here a record that each listener can thrill to on their own terms. You might just like funky, catchy music, or you might be hip to the way the horns conjure up Haitian Fight Song—either way, the listening experience is in my view exceptional. The blessing of Sue Mingus and an enthusiastic recommendation from Charles Mingus IV lets us guess before doing any listening that the auditory treats will indeed be many.
"No Kissin’" tells the story of the narrator and a ‘cute little neighbor thing’— one among a few shady females who keep his mouth a prison (those of us familiar with Malcolm’s earlier work might connect some dots to his great song Model Prisoner, which appears in different forms on both of his previous efforts Wunderground Radio and Tryin’ to Sort It All Out with Core NYC). Under the keyboard shuffle and the revelation that “I don't get out much,” the whip-snapping hi-hat of John DiGiulio and the firm but funky wandering bass of Michael "Tiny" Lindsey anchor the song. Michael Leonhart on trumpet and vocalist Melissa Hamilton take solos. Leonhart is one of the most sought after trumpeters in New York, and comes from a prominent musical family; having had the pleasure of attending several Hamilton gigs at the Iridium, I can tell you that the lady has studied, but doesn’t copy, Ella. The song—in fact, most of the record—is notable in that Hunter doesn’t take a keyboard solo. Admirable restraint for a leader.
Guitarist Jamie Fox is featured on "Invisible Man" in the kind of organ and guitar format he excels in (he’s toured with Brother Jack Macduff). Invisible Man is a name with deep roots in Hunter’s biography—it was his moniker in downtown clubs in the 90s. The lyrics here capture a lifetime of experience and observation.
On "Hide n’ Sleep", a few members of The Makeshift Dream Orchestra get to stretch out a little bit. This tune, with its cautiously optimistic lyrics about keeping our dreams, slides along on the power of the now unleashed drumming of DiGiulio. The effortless transition from the ambidexterity of the keyboard solo into the guitar solo is so smooth you almost have to go back a couple of times to catch it. And dig the emphatic reinforcement of the main theme right after the guitar solo! The harmony vocals and guitar fills compliment and swirl around thought-provoking lyrics like “I can't grip this reality,” and “Talkin’ to a stranger makes sense.”
The next track, "Cross: The Street", is in the tradition of progressive jazz-rock fusion with a surreal atmosphere, gritty subject matter, melancholia, and a hard-rock-sounding guitar solo—but it steps back from the sort of mindless effluvia that usually populates song lyrics in that genre. These “stories from the curbside” have the character of a life that has been actually lived.
The original 1959 version of "Nostalgia in Times Square" by the Mingus quintet is a mid-tempo cutting contest between John Handy and Booker Ervin; this version is a slow blues. Tom Smith showcases a huge, fat, Ben Webster- type approach to the sax work here—you can practically hear his embouchure in your speakers. Backed by modern electric instruments that weren't available to Mingus, the song takes on an aura that is absolutely stunning. Lindsey’s electric bass, too, carries on the jazz tradition of the bass as an important solo instrument. And Hunter’s literary, imagistic, spoken-word introduction "5:30 Bounce" makes use of a Hemingway-esque minimalism to say so much.
Hunter next invites us to a supermarket of the mind in "Wreckage on Aisle 50" with the warm, inviting “Come on down to the Western store.” However, your suspicions may linger about the lettuce and peaches you’ll find there! Malcolm does beautiful work on electric piano here.
Noted guitarist Jon Herington guests on "Hangups", and the choir like call-and-response between the background singers and the organ provide a red-hot compliment for his gutsy soloing. Here too, the commentary by vocalist Meshach blends in perfectly—if unexpectedly—adding a dash of humor and panache. The lyrics tell of the insecurities of a “middle-aged old man”—what an exacting means of expression!
"Snow In Hades" does a lot—magisterial, romantic piano opens the song quietly before the rush , and then all the vocalists are cut loose, wild muted trumpet from Rob Henke roams the landscape, and great imagery in the lyrics takes our minds to heights of imagination with the angel Gabriel, vampires, and the title image itself.
This album is the work of a musician in command of his art—it deserves repeated careful listenings, and repays the effort many times over. I suggest you check it out as often as you can!