Franco Ambrosetti: Lost Within You

The Franco Ambrosetti Band's Lost Within You is a supremely unassuming listening experience. An all-star band helps the trumpeter composer conjure a sensuous mood that only grows progressively engrossing over the course of the seventy-plus minutes playing time of the album.

The seductive sensation is an inexorable process that commences with the very first cut. The second-longest track on the record next to "Body and Soul," Horace Silver's "Peace" features drummer Jack DeJohnette at the piano and neatly bookends the LP with another choice (and appropriate) cover, McCoy Tyner's "You Taught My Heart to Sing." Each number in its own way illustrates how the high-profile names here never seem to chomp at the bit to move any faster than the prevailing atmosphere allows. Guitarist John Scofield, for instance, is at his most leisurely on that aforementioned opener.

But then neither of the pianists appearing here exhibit any impatience. On the contrary, Renee Rosnes is especially tender with her touch on the Miles Davis and {Bill Evans}}' "Flamenco Sketches;" the notes she strikes so gently float from the ivories to intermingle with the slow undulating lines from the bandleader's trumpet. Uri Caine's presence is equally elegant yet distinctly his own on three successive numbers, including Ambrosetti's original "Dreams of a Butterfly."

Greg Calbi's mastering expertise comes to mind by that mid-point of the nine tracks. The sound quality is so deep and clear that, sitting at his kit, DeJohnette is perfectly unobtrusive as is, per usual, bassist Scott Colley, playing in a muscular, insinuating style. As a result, the cohesion wrought by those two, in sync with the other musicians, forges a unity that renders fitting the artist designation of 'band' to both of the respective quintets;' as in evidence on another of the bandleader's own songs, "Still in the Sky," the rhythm section adds a personalized focus to tighten this LP into a fully-integrated piece of work.

Bill Mikowski's prose play-by-play of the selections that comprise this record is extensive to be sure, but decidedly less prosaic than most such writing. As a result, it is altogether tempting to become engrossed in his lengthy essay inside the colorful triple fold digipak. Still, the music compels full attention through the grace and articulation redolent on cuts including Benny Carter's "People Time:" this number that turns into a self-referential comment on the camaraderie that distinguishes this album.

If the Franco Ambrosetti doesn't exactly call attention to himself during the course of Lost Within You, it's because he doesn't have to. Instead, the warmth of his own trumpet and flugelhorn playing is the reciprocal echo of the sounds created by those who surround him.

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