material since 2006, when she was a
student at the Manhattan School of
Music, and she precisely manages its
many moving parts. She also uses her
instrumentation to create unusual
textures, colors, and atmospheres. On
the title track, the hovering strings
are suspenseful and the voices evoke
mysteries.
The downside is that Oh’s compo-
sitions often sound like the work of a
student—a gifted student, one fasci-
nated by her skill at contrivance. “Lilac
Chaser,” as an intellectual exercise, is
representative. In four minutes, it pro-
ceeds from a metronomic bass anchor
to quivering, cycling string figures
to a clattering drum groove by Ches
Smith to an effusive piano abstraction
by Matt Mitchell. Contrast becomes an
end in itself. The piece never coheres
into something larger.
The upside is that Oh’s manipula-
tions of melody and harmony, and the
way she shapes ensemble form, can
create unfamiliar beauty. “Rest Your
Weary Head,” a simple canon, is first
expanded by strings and voices, then
opens for improvisation and becomes
a dramatic collective incantation. And
her two arrangements of jazz stan-
dards are bold acts. Charlie Parker’s
“Au Privave” is recognizable only in
flashes before alto saxophonist Greg
Ward is wildly unleashed. “Time
Remembered” is wholly reimagined
and turned darker. Oh takes Bill
Evans’ impressionism through myriad
iterations of subtle dissonance and
segmentation.
Biophilia releases are available only
as downloads from biopholio.com.
THOMAS CONRAD
JD ALLEN
Barracoon
Savant
The history of jazz is in JD Allen’s horn.
Barracoon, his 13th release, follows a
modest format: the tenor saxophonist
lays out a simple melody, which is then
cannibalized, regurgitated, and fired
by his new rhythm section of drummer
Nic Cacioppo and bassist Ian Kenselaar,
over which Allen further deconstructs
socially aware band Catharsis. “I am
the poor white, fooled and pushed
apart/I am the Negro bearing slavery’s
scars,” sings Camila Meza in “Tangled
in the Endless Chain,” a song about
the struggle to be free whose title and
lyrics (taken, as are those of several
songs here, from Langston Hughes’
1935 poem “Let America Be Amer-
ica Again”) seem to despair of ever
achieving freedom. Yet the music itself
is anything but disheartening—not just
Meza’s voice and guitar, but also Scott
Robinson’s lyric tenor sax, soaring over
the Latin-tinged 6/4 groove. This isn’t
invective against injustice, but the Zen-
like transcendence of seeing struggle as
merely part of an “endless chain.”
Likewise, the similarly Hughes-de-
rived “Despite the Dream” and “Amer-
ica Will Be” aren’t about contemporary
political America—that land of Twitter
fights and red/blue animosity—but
the symbolic America, that land of
freedom and tolerance promised by
the Statue of Liberty. “O, let Americahis initial message. It’s a traditional
approach with untraditional results. For
though Allen is a classic player in the
styles of Coleman Hawkins, Sonny Roll-
ins, and Ben Webster, he never settles on
that hallowed ground.
Slapped and cajoled, punched and
pulled by his new compadres, Allen
instead travels the spaceways, where
he engages Impressions-era Coltrane,
the more mellow molds of Frank Lowe,
and the softer underbelly of Archie
Shepp. Tune after tune, Allen and Co.
play it fast and loose, recalling the past
and the future more than jazz’s some-
times calculated present.
Named for a long-lost book by Zora
Neale Hurston (written in the ’30s,
published last year), Barracoon is
almost an all-Allen menu, unlike the
ballad bounty of his 2018 release, Love
Stone. Billowy melodies tumble out of
his horn like milk from a cow, equal
parts naturalness and ease infusing his
compositions.
Replacing Allen’s longtime side-
men Greg August and Rudy Royston,
Kenselaar and Cacioppo refuse to play
it safe, driving scattershot call-and-
response and gluey time-keeping.
The rhythm duo open “Communion,”
creating a walking line with a wobbly
yet intense feel, before Allen enters
playing a friendly, standard-worthy
melody. The title song stamps and
stutters, Allen chugging ballsy notes
while Cacioppo’s hi-hats flutter. “The
Goldilocks Zone” resembles some-
thing off Sonny Rollins on Impulse!, the
trio playing loose, the air charged with
summer heat. Closer “When You Wish
Upon a Star” recalls Love Stone, Allen
showing that at heart he’s a lover, not a
fighter. KEN MICALLEFRYAN KEBERLE &
CATHARSIS
The Hope I Hold
GreenleafIs it really protest music if the domi-
nant emotion within the songs is hope?
That’s one of the questions raised by
the sometimes reflective, sometimes
questioning, always uplifting music
on The Hope I Hold, the third album
by trombonist Ryan Keberle and his