Javon Jackson: Jackson Plays Dylan

Bob Dylan without the lyric? Javon Jackson's Jackson Plays Dylan makes a strong case. With two exquisite exceptions, the arrangements are purely instrumental, but Jackson manages to draw us in past the words (he knows we can hear most of them in our heads) to the emotional heart of each piece.

More than that, he turns the program into a sort of film score. Each song (scene) dissolves into the next via a snippet of its intro. Starting with a little blues of his own composition, he pulls us along, track by track. The head to "One for Bob Dylan," as well as each solo, ends with a whiff of the intro to "Blowin' in the Wind." You may hardly notice it until you get to track two...

Originally recorded on The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan (Columbia Records, 1963), "Blowin' in the Wind," with its stature in the Grammy Hall of Fame and as number 14 on Rolling Stone's "500 Greatest Songs of All Time" is such an American anthem that we—many of us—automatically hear the poetry behind the melody, sung or not, certainly in the chorus. You might even be inclined to hum (or strum) along. Understanding this frees Jackson to explore the piece on his own terms in his solo, reaching deeper into its spiritual center ala John Coltrane or Pharoah Sanders.  As the track concludes, Isaac Levien's bass moves us down into "Hurricane" country; Ryan Sands' drum hammers out a backbeat while Jeremy Manasia's Fender Rhodes slides into blues mode, laying the groundwork for track three...

The story of Rubin "Hurricane" Carter from Paterson, New Jersey, whose wrongful conviction(s) and incarceration(s) Dylan protested so powerfully in 1976 on Desire (Columbia Records), is glaringly relevant in 2026; the institutionalized racism that punishes a Black man for being "brave and gettin' braver," too potent ("coulda been the champion of the world"), and ultimately in the wrong place at the wrong time. We can still join Dylan in asking,

How can the life of such a man be in the palm of some fool's hand? To see him obviously framed couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land where justice is a game.

Maybe the lyric is too raw for radio, even 50 years later? But what we already know or can look up about Carter naturally connects his story in our minds with those of Ahmaud Arbery, Stephon Clark, Eric Garner, Alton Sterling, and so many others.

In Jackson's telling of "Hurricane," the bass speaks up first, followed by tenor, with Rhodes completing the tale. Their solo statements are not long, but each player deals with the full aspect, the entire ethos of the piece. That it should be retold in the language of jazz feels right. Jazz, as Dr. Billy Taylor said, is "America's classical music," our aesthetic high plain, and this is very much a quintessentially American story. How does it end? With a breath, before Levien leads the band into the insistent rhythmic drone that portends "Gotta Serve Somebody" (track four)...

Lisa Fischer's majestic voice leaps out of the speaker with a warning: "Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord, but you're gonna have to serve somebody." Suddenly, nothing is left to the imagination. We feel the full impact, biting words and throbbing music. And we are addressed directly. "You, yeah you," Fischer hisses and repeats, growing gentler only at the very end, as Levien's bass steps down, anticipating the sweet respite of "Lay, Lady, Lay" (track 5)...

Jackson Plays Dylan is an extraordinary album, the kind that calls you back. It is partly the excellence of the players, partly the empathetic way in which they interact with the material and with each other. Jackson's touch, both as arranger and lead voice is strong, yet tender. You may find yourself reaching for more Dylan, and more Jackson.