Art Blakey And His Jazz Messengers: Art Blakey And The Jazz Messengers Strasbourg 82

This album captures a special concert and a pivotal moment in the history of Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers. It documents the re—formation of the band following the departure of trumpet player Wynton Marsalisand saxophonist Branford Marsalis. The new recruits—trumpeter Terence Blanchard and alto saxophonist Donald Harrison—were eager to prove their abilities, injecting the band with palpable energy. As was his custom, Blakey, the veteran bandleader, played with the fire and intensity of a musician just starting out. The recording quality itself is exemplary, beautifully mastered to capture the vibrancy of the performance.

The lineup included two holdovers from the previous iteration: bassist Charles Fambrough and tenor saxophonist Billy Pierce, who also served as the band's musical director. Fambrough's aggressive playing style is a perfect fit for Blakey's dynamic drumming, particularly on his own composition, "Little Man."

The surprise highlight is the feature for pianist Johnny O'Neal on the ballad "Old Folks." He plays with an unusual blend of grace and fervor. O'Neal's solo is inventive and, unusually for that period in modern jazz, contains echoes of Teddy Wilson in the way he emphasizes the melody and enhances the inherent swing of the piece. While his primary influences were Oscar Peterson and Art Tatum (O'Neal later portrayed Tatum in the Ray Charles biopic, Ray 2004 Universal Pictures), this solo reveals a deep connection to the classic swing era. His percussive style on faster pieces, such as "Along Came Betty," suits the band's hard-driving nature, as he skillfully builds his solos.

The new frontline of Blanchard and Harrison breathed new life into the ensemble. Harrison, in particular, was steeped in the culture of New Orleans, having started in the city's second-line tradition at the age of two under his father, Big Chief Donald Harrison Sr. Harrison's searing alto sound became a key feature of this new Messengers lineup.

Trumpeter Terence Blanchard recounted his audition process: "We [Blanchard and Harrison] auditioned in the band at Fat Tuesday's. We would listen to tapes and learn the melodies and the changes and then come back and sit in. One night we played a whole set while Wynton and Branford sat in the back. And then Art said, 'You are a Jazz Messenger now.' And what was wild was that he said, 'I do not want you to give a shit about Freddie Hubbard Woody Shaw, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, none of them. I just want you to be in this band and work hard at being the best you can be.' He was naming all my heroes! He wanted me to understand that I could not be them. There was no sense for me to try. I just had to be myself."—Terence Blanchard, quoted by Michael Bourne in Down Beat, May 1994, p.18.

 The audience's roar of approval as the band launched into the opening bars of "Moanin'" clearly showed their appreciation for the reprise of a classic Blakey staple. Donald Harrison delivers an energetic and vital solo before Terence Blanchard soars.

"Along Came Betty" is another selection of a similar vintage. The band plays it with verve and swagger, with Harrison taking the honors. He seems to relish the spotlight, delivering a solo full of freshness and vivacity. Blanchard's approach, which is often more abstract than his predecessor, Wynton Marsalis, brings new concepts to the changes of the piece.

The track "Eighty-One," written by Wayne Shorter for Miles Davis's Second Great Quintet, provides a clear link to the broader jazz scene of the early 1980s and gives the music a modernist edge. This piece, being modal rather than having a conventional bop framework, gave the younger musicians space to explore. Blanchard and Harrison roam freely and get exploratory in their solos, while Fambrough's bass anchors the group in this modern milieu. Harrison's playing is harsh and astringent, while Pierce's solo is more wayward and forward-looking, gradually building intensity, spurred on by Blakey's fierce drumming and O'Neal's Tatum-esque runs.

This album stands as a vital document. The Jazz Messengers had a challenging period in the 1970s, with less frequent recordings and diminished public visibility until the arrival of the Marsalis brothers. The Harrison-Blanchard version of the Messengers provided a necessary transfusion, charting a path forward into the 1980s. This beautifully recorded and presented album represents a crucial moment for one of jazz's most important institutions.

Comments