‘In Harmony’ Review: Modern Jazz Masters Gone Too Soon

[peekaboo]

A two-disc set from Resonance Records features previously unreleased live recordings that united trumpeter Roy Hargrove and pianist Mulgrew Miller.

Roy Hargrove

Photo: Wouter Hogendorp/Resonance Records

 

Twenty-four seconds into Cole Porter’s “What Is This Thing Called Love?” which opens the new two-disc release “In Harmony” (Resonance), trumpeter Roy Hargrove states the melody before setting off on unexpected but utterly logical improvised flights. We’re reminded of a sound—sweet, rounded, clear and bristling, supremely confident yet searching—that was Hargrove’s calling card when he arrived as a talked-about 20-year-old in New York, and which has been missing from that scene since his death in 2018, at 49, from cardiac arrest brought on by kidney disease.

As Hargrove digs into that opening song, pianist Mulgrew Miller swings a midtempo groove, having played an introduction that sounds like a question posed in harmonic terms (he answers, satisfyingly, minutes later, through a fleet-fingered solo). Miller’s casual grace, bold touch and resilient rhythm remind us of another lost piece of New York’s jazz puzzle; he died in 2013, at 57, following a stroke. 

That neither musician is still with us, that both died in their prime, lends drama to these 13 tracks, which were recorded at concerts in 2006, at Manhattan’s Merkin Hall, and 2007, at Lafayette College’s Williams Center for the Arts in Easton, Pa. Yet any sense of absence is soon overshadowed by this duo’s enthralling presence. Sadness gives way to the rush of sensations—ease, joy, comfort, challenge, humor—that took hold whenever these two musicians played together. 

Mulgrew Miller

Photo: Mark Sheldon/Resonance Records

When Hargrove died, the jazz world lost a beloved master who rose quickly to stardom at a moment of revived popular interest in jazz. He delivered on that early promise but defied the prevalent stylistic conservatism of that period, recording with equal skill and zeal alongside the Soulquarians, a loose confederation of musicians from the worlds of hip-hop and neo-soul (including Questlove, Erykah Badu and D’Angelo ), as with jazz standard-bearers such as Herbie Hancock.

Miller, who was 14 years older than Hargrove, was also less well-known, his inclinations not as wide-ranging. However, the pianist—who played on 273 recording sessions, according to Tom Lord’s authoritative jazz discography—was an elemental presence as a bandleader and in-demand sideman who synthesized several strands of jazz pianism into a distinctive, soulful whole.

The testimonials from fellow musicians in this album’s accompanying booklet frame Hargrove’s impact across generations. Trumpeter Ambrose Akinmusire, who was in high school when Hargrove came to lead a master class, calls him “our Art Blakey, ” for his importance to younger players seeking wisdom. Bassist Christian McBride, born three years after Hargrove, explains that Hargrove “made it hard to question the validity of what our generation was doing.” Bassist Ron Carter and saxophonist Sonny Rollins, elder jazz statesmen, praise the trumpeter’s knowing way with a ballad. Here, the best evidence of that last point, and of Miller’s similar ability, is “I Remember Clifford,” saxophonist Benny Golson’s tribute to trumpeter Clifford Brown, who was one of Hargrove’s musical heroes. Miller seasons his introduction with unexpected dissonance; in the middle, he blends stride-piano technique, bebop-piano harmony and church-piano feel to wondrous effect. The final minute, with Miller mostly laying out, is dominated by Hargrove’s majestic improvised cadenzas. On two other ballads, “This Is Always” and “Never Let Me Go,” Hargrove plays the trumpet’s mellower sibling, the flugelhorn, which he commanded with unusual clarity and force. 

Photo: Resonance Records

In some ways, Hargrove, who often exuded hiphop swagger in a tailored suit, Nike sneakers and bowler hat, and Miller, who Mr. McBride here calls “the most regular guy you could meet,” couldn’t have been more different. Yet the two shared qualities of restraint and taste that make for musical concision. Despite its fast pace, “Invitation” sounds spacious and patient, heightening the power of both Hargrove’s fiery solo and Miller’s ingenious countermelodies. Hargrove, who was born in Waco, Texas, and grew up mostly in Dallas, and Miller, who was born in Greenwood, Miss., and studied at Memphis State University, were also both steeped in Southern blues. In their hands, even “Monk’s Dream” and “Triste” end up assuming blues form (notably, without subverting the structural intents of composers Thelonious Monk and Antonio Carlos Jobim ). And Hargrove’s “Blues for Mr. Hill,” named for his grade-school music teacher Dean Hill, is a riveting showstopper. 

It’s impossible to guess where Hargrove’s career would have led had he lived longer, or what New York jazz might sound like now with Miller still at the piano. Yet we have this long glance back at moments of communion that still sound timely.