New directions

Joshua Redman tries to achieve transcendence

by Jim Macnie

There was no lack of hubbub when Joshua Redman blasted onto the jazz scene five years ago. A tale came with the talent, and the combination placed the saxophonist in an extraordinary media spotlight. The then-24-year-old was a Harvard honor grad mulling over a stint at Yale Law School -- an unusual pedigree for jazz dudes. He was the comparatively pragmatic son of the wholly talented Dewey Redman, a sax player who earned his sizable rep in the prog jazz community during the 1960s. The pair grew up without each other, Josh's dancer mom raising her boy in Berkeley, California while the tenor-wielding dad pushed musical boundaries in New York. Redman was young, good-looking, smart, thoughtful, dapper and affable. He also played the bejesus out of his horn. Many critics swooned. So did the musicians who judged the prestigious Thelonious Monk Competition in Washington, D.C. In 1991 they voted him the cream of that year's crop. The designation led to a major label contract with Warner Bros. In a splashy Arts & Leisure piece, the New York Times wondered whether he was symbolic of a new jazz archetype. A strong start to an auspicious career, no?

Promises aren't always fulfilled, but Redman has lived up to his end of the bargain struck with fans and business associates. He's steadily improved upon the early excellence, creating an oft-fascinating and sometimes thrilling body of work that sells in splendid numbers. He's recorded with stars like Pat Metheny and Chick Corea, and surrounds himself with talents of his own generation. I prefer his live shows to his records, but both display the kind of discerning musical temperament and protean vitality necessary to be deemed one of the most deft improvisers on the scene. Those live shows are plentiful. Redman has a rep for a being a go-getter when it comes to touring. He and his zeitgeist have brought jazz to locales that have been without it for years. Once there, they dispense a professionalism that assures an impression will be made. Meaning, basically, he and his band kick ass.

There's a guilelessness to Redman's sound. No matter how elaborate or determined the interaction (and each is a hallmark of the leader's approach), it delivers an overt gregariousness void of showbiz contrivance. He can be exclamatory, blurting out ideas that capitalize on his ensemble's bounding energy. He can be soulful, languishing in the lap of a ballad until he figures out why he's so damned blue. With each approach, he's a stone convincer. And you know what? Jazz can always use convincers.

Q: Your Rhode Island gig is at a recently revitalized small town theatre. Have you noticed much of that kind of rejuvenation in your travels across America?

A: Yeah, there are a lot of arts centers that have sprung up around the country. The types of places available for jazz musicians to perform these days never ceases to amaze me. Once you tap into that arts center circuit, you find it's a community looking to sustain itself, and info within the community travels fast. In a way we count on it to augment the bigger gigs, and it's a great opportunity to get to places that otherwise wouldn't hear the music. Sometimes these smaller communities are much more supportive of the arts because they're less jaded. In some of the bigger cities there's an attitude of "We can see good music all the time, so we don't need to worry." But the irony is that because they don't support it, they actually can't see it as often. At least with a music like jazz.

Q: You're getting ready to cut a new record. Are you one to script exactly what you want the outcome to be?

A: I usually have a rough conception of what I'm trying to get across, but I never really know what it is until it's done. This is going to be the most conceptual record I've done. In the past we've shied away from anything that seemed overly conceptual. These days in the jazz industry there's a proliferation of so-called "concept records," but what they really mean is a marketing, not musical concept. On this album I'm presenting original arrangements of non-original tunes, choosing songs from a western pop tradition. Half are from the classic period of American popular music, which jazz has always drawn from. Gershwin, Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hammerstein -- the guys from the 1930s and '40s. The other half are from what people might consider a more modern pop era. We're considering tunes by Stevie Wonder, Lennon/McCartney, and Joni Mitchell.

Q: It's long been a part of your agenda to include modern pop.

A: "Agenda" is too strong a word. I think people have misinterpreted some of the things I've done as belonging to some kind of political or ideological agenda. Basically my only agenda as a musician is to play good music and express myself. There's no pretension past that point. I'm not trying to revolutionize or create a new jazz canon. But I've always felt comfortable drawing on all my influences; I've never thought I had to impose any artificial boundaries of purity. For me, purity in music is about expression, not style. So on one level this is a celebration of 20th-century pop songs, but it's not in any way about nostalgia. Hopefully we'll show that these songs are timeless, not by reproducing past versions but by showing how they can be integrated into a modern improvising conception. None of the pieces will sound like the classic takes, that's for sure. And people with not-so-good ears may not recognize them. We're doing "Love For Sale." I learned that by listening to Miles' version, and I love it. If my take sounds anything like that, what would be the point?

Q: Are you someone who can listen to an iconic piece and easily hear another way to go? Or is it a matter of time and craft to redesign a tune?

A: I don't know if "easy" is the right term, but I can naturally hear another way. And if I can't, I won't do the song. In other words, I won't ever force innovation on a piece of music. That to me is contrived. The creative inspiration for this record wasn't decided in a few weeks. I've thought of various ways of interpreting these songs over a period of time. A group of songs presented themselves, and I found I had enough for an album. Some have had the grooves, meters and time signatures changed. But if I'm going to play something in an odd meter, it's not for the sake of odd meters. The groove should have an organic quality, even if it is a bit off-center. It has to come from a real place.

Q: It's been five years since your somewhat splashy arrival on the scene. Has the sis-boom-bah finally subsided? Is it easier to work when you're not being touted as the next big thing?

A: I never really considered it hard with all that going on. That stuff was meaningful on an economic level; I've been fortunate enough to have a great career, and that sure played a part. But on an artistic level it never meant anything to me. The difference between the early days and now is that I can say "no" to things. I've learned how to create more of a balance between work and play, career and life. Things have died down a bit, so there's less of a breakneck pace. But I think I've applied the brakes from within. I've realized that in order to sustain myself as a musician, I've got to live a life outside my career that allows me to stay balanced and focused.

Q: I recently talked with Christian McBride about playing with the trio. What did you take away from that experience?

A: That situation pushed me musically in a way that I hadn't been pushed in a long time -- kind of like when I did the Bud Powell tribute with Chick Corea. But with [bassist] Christian and [drummer] Brian [Blade], because it was a collective endeavor, it was less about my vision and more about learning how to bond. I had to satisfy their needs, and their level of freedom really gave me a boost.

Q: When I saw you guys, there was lots of leeway for each player, and you really got to go off at one point. Is craft in your mind during a real aggressive solo, or can some kind of transcendence take over?

A: It should never be about craft. Which is not to say it never is. Sometimes I'll reach a point and inspiration won't be there. Or sometimes the inspiration's trying to get through, but I'm too conscious about a certain lack of craft. If I've been playing too much without a chance to reflect, I'm sometimes so sick of hearing myself play the same ideas that there can't be a lot of inspiration. But basically the idea of music is to achieve transcendence. Especially in jazz, an improvised music. Craft is a resource. If you overthink craft, you're placing the means where the end should be.

Q: Have you often reflected on the advantages of not going to music school? How did that impact your improv sense?

A: The only thing a music school can teach is craft. And it's great to learn, but the danger is that through a single-minded focus on that, you can lose sight of music's ultimate charge -- the transcendence. I would love to have had some of training that my peers have had, but use it with the attitude I have now.

Q: Can technique be a burden? I was speaking with Michael Brecker recently, and he wondered whether sometimes a reliance on a massive technique shortchanges emotional content.

A: Right, but what a luxury to be able to articulate exactly what you're thinking. Technique is important, but you think about it before you get on the bandstand. By the time you're up there, your direction should be innate.

Q: Can you possibly picture yourself being a lawyer now?

A: I can picture just about anything. But it's a pretty absurd picture.

The Joshua Redman Quartet will perform at the Greenwich Odeum on Wednesday, April 22 at 8 p.m. Call 885-9119.