John Blum / David Murray / Chad Taylor: The Recursive Tree

Three equally potent partners combine in a spontaneous and intense outpouring on The Recursive Tree. Neither reedman David Murray or drummer Chad Taylor require much introduction. Murray has been a colossus on the scene ever since he first erupted onto the stages of lofts across Manhattan back in 1976. Taylor has become increasingly ubiquitous, recognized as one of the finest drummers of his generation, as evidenced by his tenure with saxophonist James Brandon Lewis, bassist Eric Revis and late trumpeter Jaimie Branch among many others.

That leaves pianist John Blum as the least well-known member of the threesome. Dspite appearances on disc with bassist William Parker, drummers Sunny Murray and Hamid Drake, trombonist Steve Swell and others, he remains an almost underground secret. That he studied with seminal masters such as Cecil Taylor (and even worked for him as a rehearsal pianist) and Borah Bergman, gives a clue to his style: percussive, high energy, predominantly atonal yet with connections back to bop and before. While some of his previous albums have suggested draughts from a continuous stream, the presence of form-seeking improvisers such as Murray and Taylor provides a satisfying showcase for the pianist's pyrotechnics.

It has been a while since Murray featured on a completely free date, but he dazzles on these nine collectively birthed cuts from a 2022 studio session, bringing all his experience to bear. He covers every part of his horn, fully in control from gutbucket punches to piercing altissimo, imbuing his careering runs with occasional hints of melody and the jazz vernacular. The way Taylor cannily accentuates particular components of his kit at certain times is a large part of what differentiates the discourse. Tonally savvy, in the lineage of the great Ed Blackwell, he resists the temptation to go flat out in response to the eruptive conflagrations, thus ensuring transparency and cohesion.

The default setting is dashing forward motion, piano and tenor in hot pursuit of one another, underpinned by a varied but compelling beat. Blum's left-hand facility means the absence of a bassist is never felt. He regularly deploys insistent rhythmic motifs which serve as launch pads, not only for his own glinting excursions, but also for Murray's flights of fancy. There is a lovely exchange between Blum's sparkling treble register and Murray's unbridled falsetto on "Monk's Door," but the fullest expression of their interaction comes on the lengthy concluding "Fractals" in a rampaging crescendo of overblown phrases and top-end flourishes.

Perhaps this exhilarating set with such blue-chip collaborators will be just what is needed to properly establish Blum's place in the pantheon.

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