Freddie Hubbard: On Fire--Live From The Blue Morocco

Freddie Hubbard is a conundrum. His style has varied significantly over the years, as though he were unsure of himself at a deep level. There were the Blue Note years, then the funk years, where he gained money and lost credibility. The all-encompassing technique was displayed in so many contexts, with Art Blakey, Ornette Coleman, John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy. Hubbard's casting around indicates an unresolved idea of what to do with his gifts. He was, after all, born at the wrong time, up against Miles Davis, Lee Morgan, Kenny Dorham, Donald Byrd and Woody Shaw. He did not dazzle them; he was dazzled by them.

The night at the Blue Morocco tells so much. Yes, he could lead a band, but unlike Miles Davis, he did not surround himself with those who could challenge him, push him hard, challenge his direction. The contrast with Miles Davis is instructive. In that same year, Davis was heading a group that was replete with new ideas, fresh approaches: Tony Williams was redefining drumming, Wayne Shorter was going beyond Coltrane. This Blue Morocco band was not a group that would make jazz history.

Freddie Hubbard, technically, was a better trumpeter than Miles. Hubbard was a virtuoso with an unquenchable rhythmic drive. There are moments on the album that Davis could not equal. Davis often seems as though he is holding much back in reserve. Freddie Hubbard did not do that: he went for broke, soaring, powerful and prolific.

Throughout the album, except for "Up Jumped Spring," this is Hubbard at his best. The clarity of his lines, even when he is at his most exuberant and wildest, is impressive. The lines flow with an ease and dexterity that is exciting. His vast, brassy sound dominates, his speed of thought and execution is uncanny. The insouciant phrases that he interpolates frequently add immeasurably to the music. Hubbard always demonstrates the essential power of the trumpet in all its golden essence and splendor.

Bennie Maupin has a very different way of playing compared to Hubbard. He is a foil to Hubbard and has a fey approach and a velvet tone for the most part. His attractive way with harmony suits his damped-down style. It is a pity that on this album he does not display his multi-instrumental gifts. Kenny Barron, throughout the album, has interesting ideas flowing from this keyboard. There is no drop in tension when he plays.

On "Crisis" Hubbard follows a strong, never strident, path through his own composition. His technique is spellbinding as he improvises with a bravura imagination on the theme. Furthermore, his ability to combine blistering speed and technical brilliance with a deep sense of lyricism and blues sensibility makes his playing both exciting and emotionally resonant. At the end of the piece, after Maupin's solo, there is a kind of Hubbard coda over the rhythm and eventually Hubbard plummets down the horn to a fierce growling. Spectacular!

"Summertime" has a repetitive bass figure backed by the rhythm. Hubbard ornaments the theme intent on showing his technique, decorating the theme with high notes and riffs. The technique is impressive as he embellishes the Gershwin melody. There is considerable pleasure in hearing the intense creativity. It is almost a relief when Maupin solos with less intensity.

"Bye Bye Blackbird" was in the book of the 1950s Miles Davis Quintet. Freddie Hubbard has a solo seething with ideas. He cannot wait to amaze and delight. Maupin, in contrast, is wayward and establishes his own rhythm.

The "Breaking Point" calypso at the end of the album shows the group at its best. Maybe it was the end of the night with everyone at ease. Maupin's solo is looser and the rhythm section is relaxed.

The whole album is a beautiful, typical Zev Feldman production. Feldman sets the album up with many comments that help to establish the context. The short-lived club was owned by singer Sylvia Robinson. Bernard Drayton did the recording after arranging with WIJB radio, which was broadcasting that evening. Drayton built up an archive of recordings from around that period and his notes are included as part of the package.

There are interviews with Bennie Maupin, Charles Tolliver, Kenny Barron, Eddie Henderson, Freddie Hubbard's daughter and Jeremy Pelt. The reminiscences from Jeremy Pelt are the saddest because he talks about the decline of Freddie Hubbard. He describes one occasion when he saw Hubbard and the once great trumpeter was unable to live up to his reputation.

Forget the bad years, the commercial years, ultimately, this album stands as a testament to Freddie Hubbard's genius—a reminder of his ability to proclaim his music with unmatched power and artistry.

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