VON FREEMAN
The Great Divide
Premonition
Records
Read the Jazzitude review
of Von Freeman/The Improvisor
Von Freeman is from a breed of jazzmen that
they simply don’t make anymore. For him, the craft
and the journey truly are the whole point, which is just
one possible reason he has chosen to remain in Chicago,
where work for jazz musicians is much scarcer than in New
York City. Every note that Von plays rings with authenticity
and with truth. Notice that I didn’t say every note
is perfect. Von’s style and the sound he coaxes from
the tenor saxophone are truly unique, truly his, and admittedly
his playing isn’t for everyone. For some he’s
too rough-hewn, too close to the honkers and shouters, while
for others he’s a little too sophisticated, too far
into the modern jazz era to be trusted. I’m reminded
of the argument between the protagonist and his brother,
Hank, about saxophone styles in Ken Kesey’s novel
Sometimes A Great Notion. Hank plays some kind
of ballsy blues number with a barwalking tenor squawker
on it. The narrator considers it brutish, ungodly noise.
He counters with a recording that, from its description,
sounds like Coltrane, maybe Africa/Brass or even
something later, or maybe Dolphy. Predictably, Hank flies
into a rage at the anarchic sounds that, for him, cannot
be called music. Von Freeman is something like that—a
litmus test that you either ‘get’ or you don’t.
But, the really subversive thing about Freeman is that he
plays both sides of the coin. On the one hand he is a direct
link back to such tenor sax touchstones as Coleman Hawkins
and Lester Young. On the other, he has fully absorbed the
lessons of Charlie Parker and can play bebop in a spirited
and effective manner. On still another count, he can play
the kind of modal, one-chord post-bop that served as a platform
for such artists as John Coltrane, Eric Dolphy, and Miles
Davis. And, still further, he is capable of forays into
free jazz, and one must remember that he has worked with
such free jazz luminaries as Malachi Favors and Sun Ra.
So, what do you expect from a brand new Von
Freeman CD? The answer would be ‘everything.’
And here, scattered across ten tracks (eight if you don’t
count two interludes of Von speaking) are representations
of pretty much all of these styles brought together in a
way that ultimately creates something new rather than merely
providing a rehash of past styles. That’s an amazing
accomplishment, and one that Von seems to have developed
a knack for, as his last two CD’s, The Improvisor,
and Live At the Dakota (both also for Chicago-based
Premonition Records), were also perfect albums. It’s
great that Freeman, who has been underrecorded throughout
his career, is getting a chance to lay down some great tracks
now, and better still that he is playing as well as or better
than he ever has.
There’s nothing disappointing about
The Great Divide. Freeman, working with a trio
of musicians that includes drummer Jimmy Cobb, who worked
with Miles Davis and many others in a long career, and two
members of his Cobb’s Mob band, pianist Richard Wyans
and bassist John Webber. Wyans has the subtle swing and
panache of Red Garland, and Webber is affably supportive.
The familiarity between these rhythm section musicians sets
up an easy pocket for Freeman to slip into. The opening
number, a mid-swinging “Be My Love”, is perfect
jazz, and Freeman demonstrates his ability to move from
a balladeer’s tender tone to a more bop-oriented,
harder edged sound all the while swinging like Lester Young
in Kansas City. “Never Fear Jazz is Here” is
a breakneck version of the “I Got Rhythm” changes,
with Freeman negotiating the changes like Bird on tenor.
Actually, I had never quite realized how much Von can make
the tenor sound like Bird’s alto when he gets into
the instrument’s upper register. Wyands lends a good
solo as well, and Cobb is perfection at the drum kit, locking
in the rhythm and driving the piece forward without ever
rushing. It’s all over in three and a half minutes,
leaving the listener breathless and exhilarated. “This
Is Always” is the program’s first ballad, a
tune that Bird covered with singer Earl Coleman. Von presents
a robust reading of the melody, then leaves the field to
Wyands before returning for a solo that breaks into double-time,
allowing Freeman to play fast phrases a la Parker while
demonstrating an astonishing array of rhythmic variation
a la Pres.
“Chant Time” is anchored by a
single open chord, and the modal drone that is created allow
players to slip ‘inside’ and ‘outside’
the vaguely defined tonality. It is certainly a piece that
is influenced by Coltrane, as well as by other avant-garde
tenor men including Sam Rivers and Pharoah Saunders. Freeman
allows himself a few squawking cries as the piece builds
in intensity, with Webber keeping the drone going on bass
while Wyands plays delicate figures that interlace it and
Cobbs uses mallets to keep a splash cymbal rolling before
going to the floor toms heavily during his solo. Cobb and
Freeman surely must have had the Coltrane/Elvin Jones drum
duets of the latter half of Trane’s career in mind
while working on this.
“Blue Pres” is Young’s “Blue
Lester” revived, and both Von and Wyand bring a heavy
dose of blues to the proceedings. “Disorder at the
Border” is a more relaxed version of Coleman Hawkins’
1944 recording, and Freeman seems to have a lot of fun with
this particular vehicle. “Hard Hittin’”
is one of Freeman’s original compositions, blues based,
with a kind of funky quality that might best be represented
by Cannonball Adderley, who certainly took the bop espoused
by Charlie Parker and added a healthy dose of soul. Vonski
does the same here, and the results are as delicious as
good cornbread slathered with butter.
Von closes the album with a solo tenor rendition
of the ballad “Violets For Your Furs,” an early
Frank Sinatra vehicle that isn’t heard so often these
days. When Freeman plays unaccompanied it is a revelation,
as heard on the opening cut, “If I Should Lose You”
from The Improvisor. Here he is expansive and romantic,
keeps the changes always within his sight and our hearing,
and makes it sound easy to play a beautiful ballad on tenor
sax without a rhythm section. Needless to say, there is
nothing easy about it, and it speaks volumes about Freeman’s
willingness to challenge himself and to deliver. That’s
something a lot of musicians who’ve been on this planet
a third as long aren’t able or willing to do.
The Great Divide is yet another chapter
in a long, and glorious musical career. Long live Vonski!
