Denny Zeitlin: Odyssey

Listening to Denny Zeitlin has often felt like accepting an invitation to the unknown. Zeitlin has never been content to simply play a tune. He probes it, turns it inside out, and often uncovers possibilities most musicians overlook. Odyssey reinforces that reputation. Although much of the material spans different periods of his career, the album never feels like a nostalgic exercise. Instead, it captures an artist whose curiosity remains remarkably intact.

The trio's 2003 concert performances, featuring the late bassist Mel Graves and drummer George Marsh, remind us of what made this partnership so rewarding. There is complete trust among the three performers, allowing the music to unfold naturally rather than following a predetermined plan. Their reading of "It Could Happen To You" is anything but routine, moving comfortably through shifting meters and stretching rhythmic expectations before settling into a comfortable swing. The 1930 jazz standard "Body and Soul" by Johnny Green gradually emerges from Zeitlin's reflective, improvised introduction. By the time the familiar melody appears, it has already taken on a different emotional character, shaped as much by conversation as by arrangement.

The middle portion of this release of three solo-piano studio pieces devoted to Cole Porter may be the album's most revealing. Zeitlin approaches these songs without sentimentality or reverence. He seems content to let each piece find its own direction. "I Love You" flows over the keyboard with lively, effortless momentum before relaxing into spacious passages that shift its perspective. "Night and Day" unfolds as a slow rhumba, its understated pulse giving the familiar melody unexpected warmth. "It Was Just One of Those Things" becomes an extended musical narrative, shifting pace and mood with the ease of a gifted storyteller. Zeitlin's technique is, as always, beyond question, but what stays with you is his imagination.

The final section ventures into territory where labels such as jazz, electronic music, and free improvisation become almost meaningless. Zeitlin and Marsh have developed the sort of instinctive communication that only years of collaboration can produce. The seven spontaneous performances titled "Search," "Game On!," "Surveillance," "Conclave," "Armageddon," "Mutation," and "Call to Arms" feel less like individual compositions than like evolving sonic landscapes. Often they suggest suspense; at other times, quiet reflection and electronic colors expand without overwhelming the improvisation. Even if one does not know what inspired each title, the music's emotional arc is surprisingly vivid.

What ultimately connects these seemingly disparate worlds in Odyssey is Zeitlin's enduring fascination with discovery. Whether he draws fresh ideas from songs that have been part of the jazz repertoire for generations or steps into completely uncharted territory with electronics, the objective remains remarkably consistent. He listens first, reacts second, and lets each performance reveal its own direction. The familiar standards become vehicles for improvisation, while spontaneous electro-acoustic pieces remove the safety net altogether. In both settings, the destination matters far less than the journey. The willingness to embrace uncertainty has long been one of Zeitlin's defining artistic qualities.