Review of “The True Story of Bears and the Invention of the Battery” by Caleb Wheeler Curtis
A tradition in jazz that it’s nice to see come back is how record labels would bring together a coterie of musicians who would act as a kind of musical family. Blue Note, Prestige, Verve, Savoy, and others would mix and match their signed musicians for various recordings, jam sessions, and tours. Norman Granz was a master of the art, and he carried the tradition on to Pablo Records in the ’70s. As the musicians learned from one another and built upon one another’s styles, the label formed an organic identity.
Blue Note has continued to do this since its inception. But these days, it’s the small musician-run labels that are making their voices heard, finding their audiences through streaming and cooperative distribution deals. One of these labels is pianist Orrin Evans’ Imani Records, formed in 2001. “Our goal is to put out products that the artist really wants to stand by and not just what the label wants,” Evans says in a November 2024 Down Beat interview. “I’ve been on record labels for years, and it’s been about branding the label and not the artist. That’s one of the things I’ve been enjoying with Imani. Watching each artist come in with their vision, and I sit there and say, ‘OK.’” Evans, like a modern-day Norman Granz, has Imani hosting weekly jam sessions, a live-streamed concert series, a rotating Imani All-Star group, and a recurring outdoor jazz festival, all with his clan of like-minded musicians.
The latest from Imani is The True Story of Bears and the Invention of the Battery by saxophonist and trumpeter Caleb Wheeler Curtis. It’s really two albums in one: the first disc, titled “Bears and the Invention of the Battery,” features originals from Curtis (save “Odessa” by Arthur Blythe), with Sean Conly on bass and Michael Sarin on drums. The second disc, “Raise Four: Monk the Minimalist,” is all Thelonious Monk tunes, with Eric Revis on bass and Justin Faulkner on drums.
Already a late entry in many critics’ Best Jazz Records of 2024 lists, The True Story of Bears and the Invention of the Battery is substantive and inventive modern jazz. It’s grounded in the Ornette Coleman tradition, but it uses it as a starting point and not a limitation. The model here is clearly Coleman’s early quartets on Atlantic, but in the hands of these trios, it’s clear there’s much that’s still fresh and left to explore in this 65-year-old style.
I wouldn’t call this music especially harmolodic. That was Coleman’s loosely conceived philosophy of collective improvisation, where harmony/melody/rhythm are all one, and the lines between soloing and accompanying are erased. It worked better in theory than in practice, especially in the early days of Coleman’s quartets with Don Cherry, Charlie Haden, and Ed Blackwell. There’s nothing stopping Curtis from staying firmly in the leader’s spotlight on trumpet, tenor sax, and the unusual sopranino and stritch saxophones. He often overdubs on multiple horns (thereby precluding, of course, true collective improvisation), as done effectively on “A Feather is Not a Bird.” The group sounds much larger than it is.
Curtis has a good ear for the sound combinations available in this limited piano-less format. The trumpet sometimes sounds reedier than the saxophones, and together they often capture Coleman’s infamous sweet-and-tart sound on alto alone. Curtis tends to play in different styles on the instruments: his trumpet lines are usually slower, in the middle register, and with a warm tone. His sax work is usually faster, higher, uses more effects, and jumps intervals across scurrying scales and patterns. “This Cult Does Not Help” is a good place to hear them back-to-back.
“Bears and the Invention of the Battery” shows off Sean Conly on acoustic bass, alternately playing against the time and in syncopation with it. Michael Sarin has been studying Ed Blackwell; he keeps it terse but conversational on the drums. Together they set up Curtis to take off into the Coltrane zone in his solos. The mysteriously uncoiling melody brings to mind the compositions of Coleman’s colleague Ronald Shannon Jackson. It’s a standout track, whatever the hell the title means. Another fine track for the rhythm section is the ballad “Empires,” recorded well to capture the resonance of Conly’ bass and the subtleties of Sarin’s brushwork. It opens with two simultaneous solos on two different saxes, never getting in one another’s way. The sound of an eccentric violin on “A Feather is Not a Bird” had me double-checking the back cover, but sure enough it’s Conly overdubbing on bass in an extremely high register.
After a disc filled with the whirlwind of Curtis’ original and provocative melodies (ripe for covers by other bands), it’s inviting to hear how Curtis approaches someone else’s compositions. Conly and Sarin are replaced on the Monk disc by Eric Revis on bass and Justin Faulkner on drums. Orrin Evans replaces Ben Rubin in the production booth. Revis is the bassist with Evans’ long-standing trio Tarbaby, and Faulkner plays in the Mingus Big Band along with Evans. Both are outstanding musicians. Great as Conly and Sarin are, Curtis really gels with Revis and Faulkner. You can clearly hear how well they are listening to each other on “Light Blue.” On “Played Twice,” Revis helps deconstruct the song harmonically, while Faulker does so rhythmically, and Curtis does so melodically. It all somehow hangs together.
Revis in particular is one of our finest bassists, brave and inventive, with an earthy, Mingus-like sound (and, like Mingus, he can occasionally bellow out in concert). You can hear him walking on “Boo Boo’s Birthday,” unpredictably moving in and out of solo phrases, taking every advantage of not having a piano or guitar providing harmonic guardrails.
Curtis keeps the Monk tunes short and to the point. “Reflections” is played relatively straight on trumpet. Curtis also plays trumpet lead on “Jackie-ing” to capture the marching-band feel the melody invokes — the sax solo walks off into somewhere else entirely. As straightforward as Curtis’ trumpet playing can be on other tracks, it takes big leaps and reaches into a higher, more abstract range on the freest track on the album, “Raise Four.” Revis and Faulkner are right there along for the ride.
Whatever the bears have going on with those batteries, keep it coming. This is music with braun, energy, and an undercurrent of surrealistic mischief.
(Originally published on the Arts Fuse, Dec. 25, 2024)
