Frank Kimbrough: The Call

Pianist Frank Kimbrough's untimely passing—on December 30, 2020—left a void in the world. Nothing can or ever will fill it, but his work and influence sound eternal, resonating and rippling across space and time. Kimbrough still has plenty to show us and teach us about the beauty inherent in the art of pianistic elocution, melodic variation, harmonic depth, human touch and reflective improvisation. And that's made evident on this previously unreleased solo session.

On July 19, 2010, Kimbrough made himself comfortable behind a Steinway B at his favorite recording studio—Maggie's Farm, in Buck's County, Pennsylvania—and engineer Matt Balitsaris rolled tape, capturing that afternoon's music for posterity. Now, some 15 years later, these recordings see the light of day and serve as another means of appreciating a tremendous artist and dearly departed soul. Opening on Duke Ellington's "Angelica" (a.k.a. "Purple Gazelle"), Kimbrough loosens the reins, allowing time to breathe and setting up a scenario that's unhurried and ripe for rhythmic flexing and expert mining of melody. When artists talk about getting "inside" the music, this is a prime example of what that really means.

Dizzy Gillespie's "Tin Tin Deo," taking up the second position in the running order, offers surprising pathos and poignancy. Stripped of its Latin underpinnings and given to stark distillation and uncluttered interpretation, it's blue-streaked and haunting in Kimbrough's patient hands. Taking a detour away from standards into his own book with the title track—a number the pianist would record again, several years after this session, for Quartet (Palmetto, 2014)—there's a clear and consistent flow between right-hand lines, left-hand markers and signs indicative of both arrivals and departures. George Gershwin's "I Loves You Porgy" follows, embracing purity in its cobalt calm and playing as a masterclass in tactile orientation.

Buffing away some corners and edges endemic to Andrew Hill's "From California with Love," Kimbrough carries a certain majesty and elegance to the surface of that legend's work. Then he returns to his personal portfolio with the moody "November." A prime example of saturnine seduction, its barometer clearly registers the autumnal atmosphere. Ellington's "Reflections in D," perhaps the dreamiest offering on the program, seems suspended in time with its midair musing. Gillespie's "Night in Tunisia" is hip and knobbly in its unfolding. And the Duke's "In a Sentimental Mood"—the longest number by far, clocking in at nearly 13 minutes—is even-handed gold. Some tend to play it too straight or, going the other way, overembellish with lush greenery. But not Kimbrough. He uses it as a means for honest expression and journeying.

Having worked through nine numbers that paint a fairly complete picture of his skills as an interpreter of standards and self-penned material(s), Kimbrough closes the program with a four-minute improvisation that demonstrates his total command of extemporaneous art. Split-brained lines and acts of friction move to the fore as tortuous constructs and logic meet, creating an uneasy pact in the process. Impossible to truly duplicate in manner and delivery, these thoughts and actions speak to the pianist's singularity.

Though better known for his trio triumphs than solo playing, Kimbrough's contributions to this format are prized and profoundly beautiful. Those who've encountered Air (Palmetto, 2007) or had the pleasure of hearing him play any number of extended intros live in the Maria Schneider Orchestra or elsewhere are already aware of that fact. But others who are only first experiencing Kimbrough sans band would do wise to embrace this initial brush as the gift that it is.

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