Ahmad Jamal l BALLADES
by Stuart Broomer
Pianist Ahmad Jamal, who turns 90 this month, has worked for most of the past 70 years as the leader of very distinctive trios, first with guitar and bass, then bass and drums, sometimes supplementing them with percussion or collaborating with a horn soloist.
His distinctive use of vamps and ostinatos has made him both influential (on musicians like Miles Davis, John Coltrane and Keith Jarrett) and a bête noire (literal meaning intended) for a certain kind of critic who can’t understand jazz that’s genuinely popular or genuinely original. Jamal may have also suffered for achieving a certain perfection in his ‘50s trio with bassist Israel Crosby and drummer Vernel Fournier.
This solo recording dates from 2017, when Jamal was already 87, but there’s nothing to suggest decline in his skills as he explores a program including personal standbys, enchanted ballads and scattered originals, occasionally with his regular bassist James Cammack joining in. The music can pass for sweetly decorative, but it’s also music by a man who would open a jazz club, in Chicago circa 1960, which didn’t serve alcohol and was called the Alhambra for that Andalusian encyclopedia of geometric pattern and infinite reflection, a temple of perfectly chiseled text. Sometimes the music doesn’t seem strong on shape or drama, but Jamal is a master of a dense chromaticism overlaid on beautiful tunes and he shapes adjoining, shifting segments by drawing from that chromatic wealth, moving from overlays of exotic modes suddenly to reveal the original composer’s particular and perfect harmonic sequence, as in “Poinciana”, a tune with which Jamal has undoubtedly spent vastly more time than its composer, Nat Simon, who jotted it down on a restaurant table cloth and seems to have adapted it from a Cuban folk song. The same gifts are applied to repertoire like “So Rare” (Jimmy Dorsey), “I Should Care” (Axel Stordahl-Paul Weston-Sammy Cahn), “What’s New” (Bob Haggart-Johnny Burke), “Spring Is Here” (Richard Rodgers-Lorenz Hart) and Johnny Mandel’s “Emily”, a song so beautiful that Jamal barely deigns to exploit its melody.
There’s a sense of reverie, of reflection, everywhere here. A well-known moment in Ken Burns’ Jazz is when Duke Ellington, being interviewed at a piano and playing sporadically, remarks, “This isn’t piano. This is dreaming.” That’s precisely what Jamal offers here.