JAVON JACKSON QUARTET
Tourneau Time Building Atrium
June 20, 2000

I can’t help clinging to the cliche about “Bohemia After Dark.” I find it hard to get into a jazz head before the sun goes down. And so it was that I arrived 15 minutes late for the Javon Jackson Quartet’s free performance sponsored by Tourneau (a watch store) and local jazz station, WBGO.

In the first of many weird synchronicities that show, the band launched into “I Can’t Get Started,” as I raced into the concert area...thanks a lot. Plopping into a seat, I realized it could be a lot worse. Just to the right of the stage were four large clocks indicating the time in New York, Houston, Denver and LA. Realizing that it was nine in the morning elsewhere in the US, I settled in for the show, featuring Jackson on tenor, Dave Stryker on guitar, Sam Yahel on organ and Carl Allen on drums.

At the end of “I Can’t Get Started,” the band dropped out leaving Jackson’s tenor a capella. He pounced on the opportunity to “dexterously” tease out any melodic and rhythmic notions he couldn’t touch on with the band, a la Long Tall. But before any comparisons to Gordon had time to solidify, Jackson resolved the ballad on a long note that segued into “Giant Steps.”

Once the band kicked in, it was obvious that comparisons to Coltrane weren’t going to stick either. Where a lot of players use this piece as either a knees-bent homage or a chops-busting display of virtuosity, Jackson—showing some Swiss movement of his own—managed to navigate the tune’s fast runs while still playing is his own style.

And that wasn’t what I was expecting from a Javon Jackson show. As a graduate of the Jazz Messengers, Jackson has spent the first part of his career exploring the history of hard bop without attempting to add any major developments. The Jackson of 2000 has a big, clean, round tone and an endless supply of melodic ideas effortlessly flow from his horn. Maybe the weight of measuring up to the titans of hard bop has been lifted, allowing the real Javon Jackson to shine through. Jackson showed his mentor’s (Blakey) influence with a gregarious stage presence and a penchant for showing off his bandmates talents. He mugged and danced during their solos and air-guitared during Stryker’s solo and pointed to his temple with the this-cat’s-crazy gesticulation.

A few more tunes into the set, the band was loose, in-the-pocket and ready to tackle Al Green’s “Love and Happiness.” The song was a perfect vehicle for the band’s soul/jazz organ format and in that spirit, Jackson tossed the “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy” riff into the mix. At this point it became apparent where the band’s strength and unique character lay. Each player was capable of projecting an instrumental intensity while keeping a laid back group flow. By this point, the band also took into account the unforgiving acoustics of the cavernous glass and stone atrium by leaving a lot of space between phrases.

Having achieved all that in the first set, they kicked off the second with “Milestones.” Once again, cliche was avoided by using the jazz standard to highlight drummer Carl Allen. After the intro was played, Allen dove into a solo—and I don’t normally enthuse over drum solos—which not only swung, but played and improvised on the melody as well. If that wasn’t enough, Allen climaxed the solo by playing a press roll that lasted 30 or 40 seconds! One of Art Blakey’s trademarks was a quick press roll to introduce solos, but Allen stretched his out (way out), and toyed with the time and dynamics as a dramatic extro to his own solo. Clearly, Allen knew what time it was.

The band continued in a soulful mood with the title track to “Pleasant Valley.” The spin on this one was provided by Sam Yahel’s spacey/funky solo. He developed tension by taking the down-home groove into an outer space without losing focus, demonstrating a wisdom gained from both funk and fusion.

“Body and Soul” was launched into by Jackson, solo and unmiked. His ability to fill the enormous room—the ceiling was 50 feet high—with his unadorned horn was impressive, and inspired a lyrical, bluesy solo from Dave Stryker.

The set ended, as it had begun with a strange coincidence. As the band started into a playful, up-tempo workout on the standard, “You Belong To Me,” a panel van with the word “ROLLINS” in six foot high letters drove by...I kid you not. As if in on the pun, Jackson and Allen delighted in trading fours in the manner of Sonny Rollins and his drummers.

It was a great show, and although Jackson didn’t mention any forthcoming recordings, I eagerly await anything these guys put onto disc, live or studio. As the four clocks above the band’s heads seem to suggest, now’s the time.

Bill Furlonger