Abel Mireles: Animo

The life stories of musicians raised along the Southern border of the United States tend to be compelling. The Juárez-El Paso conurbation is home to 2.7 million people. It is famous, not to say notorious, for many of its lurid stories of drugs, cartels, mayhem and violence. It is a pity that more of them are not like Abel Mireles' because where the news is sensational, the deeper substance of people's lives and culture often goes unnoticed. Lawlessness has, it is true, touched Mireles personally, ultimately taking his father. But Mireles' story is like so many otherwise ordinary ones both sides of a largely political border.

Mireles was raised in a musical family. His formal training was by way of the University of Texas at El Paso and William Paterson University in Wayne, New Jersey, just outside Manhattan. Mireles is a forceful player: there is nothing understated about him. He is straight-ahead, post-bop grit, and a lot of it. While Mexico may show up allusively in titles such as "Xochilpitzahuatl" (a Nahuatl word literally meaning a spray of flowers), a blindfold test would not likely lead one to think "Latin fusion" player. He blows hard and insistently and writes modally. Mireles is polished, but scarcely delicate.

From the first assertive quarter notes of "Heart Pain" where Mireles is accompanied by pianist Benito Gonzales, no one in messing around. The kinship of bop to the blues is on display as the tune's figures broaden out into ever-more swirling clusters of notes. "What To Do" strikes a montuno groove early, but then goes into a hard-swinging four with the assistance of Gonzáles, drummer E.J. Strickland, and bassist Myles Sloniker. "Xochipitzahuatl" is a modal vehicle in three for soprano sax, also moving into straight four with Gonzáles channeling Mulgrew Miller. "Ánimo," a darkly moving ballad, is a tribute to Mireles' late father. Want take no prisoners? "Listen" will compel just that as it chews up big hunks of space with Strickland pushing hard in the background. Candice Reyes, a vocalist and Mireles' wife, conjures up a kind of jazz-rock "Softly as In a Morning Sunrise," a late 1920s tune, that is one part Merry Clayton and much less one part Artie Shaw. There is plenty more to hear as well.

Inevitably, Mireles sort of modal writing can become formulaic and a bit predictable, but the raw energy and power of the playing and singing more than makes up for that. This is Mireles' first recording, and it is a fine one. Expect to hear more good things about him. If Abel Mireles is the future of jazz from Mexico, it is going to be very interesting indeed.

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