Search - J.R. Monterose :: J.R. Monterose

Eponymous, no longer anonymous

Samuel Chell | Kenosha,, WI United States | 09/03/2009

(5 out of 5 stars)

"Like many collectors, I've cut down on CD purchases, but this eponymous recording by the near-anonymous tenor man J. R. Monterose (not to be confused with Jack Montrose, despite similarities beyond their names) is one I've had my eyes on for years, so it's gratifying to finally have my hands on it. In some respects, the audio is sub-par for a Van Gelder remaster (the drums of Philly Joe, bass of Wilber Ware, and piano of Silver are not as forward in the mix as is the norm on the sound canvases created by the former optometrist). But, more importantly, the remastering has returned to circulation a strong and valuable session that was out of print, at one point for a stretch of almost twenty years.



There's not a whole lot of Monterose on record, but his is certainly a distinctive, original voice. Hard-edged, definitive, as rough and occasionally ragged as it is tough and determined. On a later session ("The Messenger") he would sound fuller, more lyrical and melodic (partly, I suspect, because of the influence of hard bop's foremost "pianist-poet," Tommy Flanagan). Here he's frequently Monkish, punching and slashing like a musical street fighter, using a staccato attack, placing his notes in unexpected places, and at times ("The Third," "Bobbie Pin"), leaving enough space between notes to qualify as one of the music's more pointillistic improvisers.



Every bit as engaging as Monterose are the solos of Ira Sullivan. Some listeners will be disappointed to discover that the multi-instrumentalist refrains from picking up a tenor and going head to head with J. R., but if memory serves me right, this recording came out at approximately the same time as Ira's debut on ABC Paramount, "Billy Taylor Presents Ira Sullivan," on which the prodigious horn man (who would soon be hired by Art Blakey to play tenor sax with the Jazz Messengers) sticks to trumpet throughout the entire session. All the same, I've never heard him sound better than on the present date. Whether he's connecting his phrases in a legato manner or taking his cue from Monterose, as on the aforementioned "The Third," and demonstrating all of the ways a single note can be articulated, bent, and inflected, he's a well of creativity and inexhaustible ideas.



Silver is comparatively restrained throughout the date (I'm accustomed to hearing his rumbling, stabbing left hand in the lower register, but perhaps that was his first line of defense against Blakey's bombs-away accompaniment). Philly Joe is, as usual, a masterful bebop player, picking up on the melodic ideas of the others and either building on them or contributing his own. More than a swinger (always welcome by itself) or supplier of a Roach/Elvin polyrhythmic undercurrent, he's a drummer who can be counted on to join the conversation up front. Wilbur Ware is a bassist who repays the listener's close attention, which is important to know because initially he can sound simple, even plain. But his note choices and spare but unique rhythmic contributions, even during a primarily walking-bass solo, are distinctive and always identifiable, light and high-spirited yet never the least bit distracting from the main business at hand. If only there a few more bassists like him, especially now that the bass has become a marquee player, demanding as much solo space as the other players.



None of the tunes strikes me (not yet, anyway) as particularly memorable, though each is full of motifs and harmonies that serve up thematic ideas for the ensuing solos. Perhaps Monterose's own "Wee-Jay" (there's even an additional, alternate take) is the weakest of the bunch, since it's close enough to its inspiration, "Out of Nowhere," to make a listener question the need for a make-over. But upon closer inspection, it's what J. R. does with the rhythmic aspects of the melody, especially his use of repetition, that positions all hands to take a different approach to an otherwise overplayed, possibly played-out, standard and former Bird chestnut.



[Some of the other testimonials to the singular greatness of J. R. strike me as a tad hyperbolic (reminiscent of the deification of Tina Brooks) , though his, like Ornette's, is inarguably a distinctive voice. But so are those of, say, Harold Land or Hank Mobley or Sonny Stitt, all of whom, while perennially ignored in various "hall-of-fame" polls, are immediately identifiable while remaining firmly within a tradition that might be considered more conventional. Their individual greatness emerges because each comes close to attaining "perfection," time and time again. Unlike Ornette, and like Coltrane, J. R. demonstrates his ability to handle the Parker vocabulary, which makes his departures from it seem all the more valid. For a more deferential-sounding Monterose, check him out on the double album, "Kenny Dorham Live at the Cafe Bohemia."]"