"Contemporary" is the key word, for this album reflects the strengths of modern jazz even as it exposes the cracks in its façade. Like classic small groups of years past, saxophonist Marsalis, pianist Joey Calderazzo, bassist Eric Revis, and drummer Jeff "Tain" Watts interact telepathically in relatively free settings. Where they differ from, say, the Coltrane quartet is in the tight rehearsed passages that frame or complement their improvisations. By blurring the line between these elements, as in the percussive 7/8 riff that seems to come out of nowhere in "Elysium," they suggest that, for lack of a better word, sleight-of-hand can substitute for real depth.
For depth is in short supply throughout today's jazz. Marsalis is an almost superhuman technician, with a bottomless reservoir of melodic inventiveness. What he lacks is that rough edge that makes other great instrumentalists so intriguing. When Coltrane overblew, it seemed to be because his technique couldn't contain his passion. When Marsalis does the same thing during his duet with Watts on "Tain Mutiny," it's because that feels like an appropriate effect to dust off at that point. Coleman Hawkins played with deep vibrato because that's who he was; Marsalis drops Bean-like moments into the lovely "Requiem" because of the contrast it brings to his smoother line.
In other words, earlier giants used their idiosyncrasies to achieve individuality; Marsalis uses his virtuosity to avoid idiosyncrasies, except where musical convention would make use of them.
Where a sense of the individual crops up, it's more often through a dash of humor -- the quote from "St. Thomas" in one Rollins-like improvisation during "Elysium," for instance. More often, attempts at a lighter touch don't feel credible; when we hear the guys in the band yelling along to the gospel beat of "Countronious Rex," it's apparently because the chart says "Band: Yell here." On the other hand, the melodic joke that anchors their arrangement of "Cheek to Cheek" works because it delivers a payoff: Boiling the first four bars of melody down to one note allows Marsalis to invert the process by doubling up the tune as he starts his solo and using that energy to unleash an improvisation of head-spinning intensity and invention.
Contemporary Jazz argues that Marsalis, a glib and brilliant player rather than a profound artist, does as good a job as anyone of representing what's great about today's players -- and what they need to do to take it to that next, elusive level.
