When jazz was in the vibrant mainstream rather than in danger of draining into a permanently stagnant backwater, critics and fans discussed, argued and fought over whether the art form should be an advocate for more than the usual flux and progression, or a bastion of sparkling traditionalism.
Although Marquis Hill is a trumpeter, his artistic temperament puts him closer to a saxophonist like John Coltrane—who could stride forward into unified field theory free jazz, then pause and revisit his ballads-and-blues beginnings—than to Miles Davis. The Way We Play is basically Hill’s attempt to experiment and to play standards at the same time.
It is not always a balanced attempt: “My Foolish Heart,” the chestnut Billy Eckstine gave a very popular reading in 1950, is a model of traditionalist restraint epitomized by Christie Dashiell’s soothing vocals, while the adaptation of Gigi Gryce’s “Minority” into the title track allows too much space for Harold Green III’s (admittedly groovy) spoken-word proclamations.
Other tracks, however, swing both ways. The rhythm section is constantly in motion underneath the parallel trumpet and saxophone lines within a clear-headed rendition of Horace Silver’s “Moon Rays” and a fairly straight take of Thelonious Monk’s “Straight, No Chaser” is a reminder that, long before Hill, Monk had found adventure within conventional structures.
Even if he doesn’t always live up to the album’s ambition, Hill provides pleasure not just as a breathily skilled player but also as Blacktet bandleader—with excellent saxophonist Christopher McBride and vibraphonist Justin Thomas as particular standouts—and recruiter of guests like Vincent Gardner, whose trombone amps up the vamps on the Carmell Jones obscurity “Beep Durple” [sic].
Ultimately, The Way We Play sets Hill in a different balance from the one between tradition and experiment, and that’s between the promise he’s hinting at and the promise he’s already fulfilled.
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