Hard to believe, but writer, producer, and label head Orrin Keepnews has been actively involved in nearly every aspect of the development of American jazz for over 50 years now. Last year the Concord Music Group began a series of reissues to commemorate his legacy as producer, from his early beginnings as co-founder of Riverside Records with Bill Grauer through his own Milestone imprint in the late ‘60s and ‘70s. The label is releasing this “collector series” not only with a 24-bit mastering job on each, but new liners from Keepnews himself, which contain jewels of session recollections, random anecdotes about the players, and clarifications on dates and musicians.

For my money, there is no finer piano trio record than Bill Evans’ Portrait in Jazz (1959), although I’d agree wholeheartedly that the following Waltz for Debby (1961) is just as sublime. Few of the selections in this collection benefit more from the remastering than Portrait, the rich pastels of Evans’ voicings taking on a new life as the brittleness of the original recording is remedied, and bassist Scott LaFaro’s invaluable presence in the mix is increased tenfold. If you’re not completely swooned by “Spring Is Here” or the group’s interpretation of “Autumn Leaves,” you’re missing a lot more than just a pulse. Absolutely timeless and unequivocally essential. Wes Montgomery’s breakthrough The Incredible Jazz Guitar (1960) is another welcome rediscovery, arguably his finest hour and a far cry from his late-career schmaltz-with-strings sessions with producer Creed Taylor. The raw intensity between the quartet on opener “Airegin” is still incendiary and fresh, and Montgomery’s touch on the ballads like “In Your Own Sweet Way” is exquisite. Everything about what made the leader such a sensation and “the best thing to happen to the guitar since Charlie Christian” is here in spades: blocky piano-like chords, thumb-picked flights of 16th notes, his signature octave runs that sound almost inhuman. This is one of those “if you could only own one by such-and-such artist” records whose rewards must surpass a hundred listens.

“Mr. Walker” – Wes Montgomery 4:32 (The Incredible Jazz Guitar, Riverside 1960)

Montgomery’s meeting with vibraphonist Milt Jackson on Bags Meets Wes! (1961) has been repackaged enough times to the point of absurdity, but it remains a solid set and one of the highlights of the latter’s discography (his work with the Modern Jazz Quartet excluded, of course); Sam Jones’ bass is captured beautifully in the left channel on this edition. Montgomery also appears in fine form on Nat Adderley’s Work Song (1960), a record that has been on my wish list for years, and despite my generally tepid response to blues-based blowing sessions these days, it’s a pretty infectious listen. Not a ‘classic’ by any means, but certainly a worthy addition (though the analog distortion on “Pretty Memory” is curiously unnerving). Coleman Hawkins’ career-reviving The Hawk Flies High (1957) is also a first encounter for me, an immensely satisfying listen that offers further insight into Hawk’s ingenious adaptation to practically any setting, even one as odd as one that includes the presence of trumpeter Idrees Suliemann and trombonist J. J. Johnson.

“Laura” – Coleman Hawkins 4:34 (The Hawk Flies High, Riverside (1957)

Thelonious Monk was Riverside’s first major signing, so it’s hardly surprising that the pianist is represented in the Keepnews Collection again for a third time (proceeded by At Town Hall [1959] and Plays Duke Ellington [1955]). The stories behind the recording of Brilliant Corners (1956) are almost hilariously over-the-top – how the title track was virtually cursed from the start and meticulously assembled from 24 (!) takes, to a pissed-off Oscar Pettiford miming his bass playing to spite the leader, sending the engineer into a near-mental breakdown – and yet despite all of its flaws, it remains both fascinating and entertaining as ever. Keepnews’ liner notes in this new edition are indispensable and almost worth the purchase price of the disc alone. Also present during the Brilliant Corners fiasco was tenor giant Sonny Rollins, whose underrated Freedom Suite (1958) deserves more than its current footnote status in trajectory of his career. The twenty-minute tour-de-force of the title track tends to overshadow the brief afterthoughts of standards on side two, making for a rather lopsided listening experience, but if nothing else the record is important in the development of Rollins’ compositional talents, which tend to get overlooked in discussions of his oeuvre.

“Brilliant Corners” – Thelonius Monk 7:47 (Brilliant Corners, Riverside 1956)

I can think of a dozen records from pianist McCoy Tyner’s catalogue that deserve the 24-bit reissue treatment more than his bloated Fly with the Wind (1976) project (namely Sahara [1972] and Trident [1975]), but the remastering job here removes some of the original CD transfer’s chalkiness, helping to spotlight the impeccable air-tightness of a rhythm section like Ron Carter and Billy Cobham. Still, I’ve never been sold on the pairing of Tyner’s muscular, full-bodied playing with the dense sonorities of a string section, and the record mostly sinks under its own weight. Cannonball Adderley’s In New York (1962) is another head-scratcher, one of the lesser outings in a long series of platters for Capitol and OJC in the early ‘60s. Recorded with his working sextet at the time – which included brother Nat and Yusef Lateef on horns, plus a young Joe Zawinul – the session rarely rises above mere competency; this is the era when Adderley seemed stuck in an endless recycling of his own jollied-up licks and phrases, churning out album after album of good-time nightclub jazz in an assembly line fashion. Trumpeter Blue Mitchell’s Blue Soul (1959) fares better in the R&B-jazz category, a slick and soulful date with a band that can’t be faulted, and the electricity between the leader and Jimmy Heath’s tenor sax makes up for the rather run-of-the-mill material.

“Park Avenue Petite” – Blue Mitchell 3:58 (Blue Soul, Original Jazz Classics 1959)

As much as it pains me to admit, my longtime infatuation with Sweden prog-metal gods Opeth has appeared to have come to an end with the release of Watershed (2008), which dropped this past Tuesday. It’s the first time I’ve deviated from the now-standard new-album routine from the band: every two or three years Mikael Åkerfeldt & Co. release latest opus, critics and fans shit themselves silly with the amount of accolades they heap upon it, and I dutifully follow suit with my own variation on how phenomenal and important the group is. Not this time. Ghost Reveries (2005) was the first Opeth record in ten years that required some effort for me to muster enthusiasm about, and I still have difficulty sitting through parts of it . And I don’t want to place too much blame on the elephant in the room, but I’d be remiss to mention that I was hugely disappointed when I heard of the departures of drummer Martin Lopez and longtime guitarist Peter Lindgren in 2006 and 2007, respectively – especially Lopez, who could tap on the side of a champagne glass with a dinner fork for an entire album and I’d still be on the edge of my seat. So Åkerfeldt recruited Fredrik Åkesson (ex-Arch Enemy) and drummer Martin Axenrot as their replacements (clearly, the man has a penchant for Martins and short ‘a’s), toured the shit out of Ghost Reveries, and returned to the studio to prepare the next album.

Put simply, Watershed is a mess. Not a failure by any means, but easily the most unfocused and least engaging of the band’s “observations” to date.

For starters, you know something is awry on an Opeth record when you can count the number of furious, demonic, grab-you-by-the-balls riffs on one hand. Åkerfeldt, whose riff-writing abilities were once on par with the almighty Chuck Schuldiner – seriously, listen to “The Leper Affinity” again, or the entirety of Blackwater Park (2001) for that matter – now seems to favor standard power chords, open-chord strumming, and finger-picked arpeggios. Most of what constitute “riffs” here have been slowed down to sludgy, doom metal plods that have been done to death by the band and their stoner contemporaries countless times before. Those glorious riffs, whose grooves ran miles deep, could obliterate armies of guitarists, and trump the entire catalogs of most bands, are few and far between here. When a thundering, good old-fashioned palm-muted riff does finally appear, such as the 2:30 mark in “Heir Apparent” or during “Hessian Peel” at 6:31, it’s almost as if salvation has finally arrived. Sadly, it’s short-lived, as Åkerfeldt’s attention deficit disorder gets the best of him and the track shifts gears for the umpteenth time into some idyllic acoustic interlude.

Which brings me to my next complaint, the complete disregard of “flow” and linearity within the album that was one of Opeth’s most impressive characteristics. On past outings, such as My Arms Your Hearse (1998) and Deliverance (2002), the material was rife with sudden shifts in mood and dynamics, yet the transitions made sense, gravitating naturally and organically from one to the next. Watershed practically embodies the critical adage of complexity for complexity’s sake, throttling the listener through endless channels of seizure-inducing quick edits: pointless piano miniatures, power ballad strumming, masturbatory organ solos, grinding noise, or an excuse to dust off the old Mellotron. One can’t help but admire Åkerfeldt’s increasing interest in experimenting with various sounds, exotic instruments, and recording techniques over the years, but here they come across as bitty and far too self-conscious, as if he desperately wants the listener’s head to fucking explode upon hearing sudden Ligeti-like clusters of dissonance, the inexplicable chatter of restaurant patrons, or the pegs of a guitar being detuned – wait for it – while it’s being played. Yawn. Without an appropriate context, these “shocking left turns” carry the same ingenuity as a first-year composition student emptying his bag of tricks in a hopeless attempt to wow his instructors.

Considering the aforementioned loss of half of the band in recent years, my gut instinct tells me that this detour isn’t temporary. Åkerfeldt has been inching towards this sort of bombastic theatricality since the Deliverance and Damnation (2003) siblings, and honestly, it would hardly come as a surprise if the group released a purely symphonic or even opera record five years from now. Ultimately, this is about the age-old dichotomy of artistic growth vs. a fan’s selfish desire for uniformity; Opeth could release five more variations on Still Life (1999), throw in the towel, and I’d have no qualms claiming them as the finest metal act of the past century. Watershed is still better than a good 80% of the metal releases I’ve heard so far this year, but expectations are a bitch. To open a record with a quiet, almost tender acoustic duet between Åkerfelt and guest Nathalie Lorichs comes as a shock to someone intimately familiar with every note in the band’s cycle of five (arguably six) near-perfect albums of prog-metal of the highest order. I’ll always be rooting for Åkerfeldt and will continue praising his talents at every opportunity, but damned if he isn’t making me work for it, as his output becomes exponentially harder to digest with each passing album.

“Porcelain Heart” – Opeth 8:00 (Watershed, Roadrunner 2008)

Jazz tribute albums have always been notoriously riddled with subtexts: contract filler, creative slump, unabashed eye on the Grammys. So it was with a deep sigh of relief when I neared the end of pianist John Beasley’s latest Letter to Herbie (2008) and concluded that it was none of the above. Beasley’s résumé is far too extensive to detail here, but notables include film and television work, tours with everyone from Miles Davis to Queen Latifah, and recent musical director for American Idol. A set devoted to nothing but Herbie Hancock tunes would appear to have “bored in the studio one afternoon” written across it in capital letters, but what emerges here are ten exciting interpretations of an artist’s music whose influence is so far-reaching it simply cannot be measured. Wisely, Beasley eschews obvious run-throughs of “Chameleon” and “Cantaloupe Island” for overlooked gems like “The Naked Camera” (from Hancock’s underrated score for Blow Up [1967]) and “Vein Melter,” transformed here into a hazy, blunted-out dub. The one standard, “Maiden Voyage” is given a fresh and intriguing makeover through a clever reharmonization. Hardly essential, and docked a mark or two for its overproduced, digital atmosphere, but a fun listen regardless.

“The Naked Camera” – John Beasley 5:20 (Letter to Herbie, Resonance 2008)

Quick – name your top five favorite jazz bass clarinetists. If you’re struggling to come up with more than Eric Dolphy, Bennie Maupin, and maybe John Surman, you’re not alone. The raw, gutteral bass clarinet has always been something of an acquired taste among jazz aficionados, generally relegated to the third- or fourth-string lineup in the arsenal of your average horn player. Detroit-born Maupin was one of the instrument’s early pioneers, blending its dark colors into Miles’ Bitches Brew (1970) and Herbie Hancock’s Mwandishi and Headhunters collectives. While his solo output over the years has been sporadic at best, his recent association with the forward-looking Cryptogramophone label has spawned Penumbra (2006) and Early Reflections (2008), scheduled for release next month. Recorded in Warsaw, here Maupin finds himself in a quartet setting with some of Poland’s most talented up-and-coming improvisers, augmented by the wordless vocals of Hania Chowaniec-Rybka on two cuts. The undercurrent of intense spirituality that has characterized Maupin’s writing remains strong, as the bulk of the material was inspired by the folk musics of the Tatra mountain region on the southern border of Poland. The band also tackles the title track from his ECM debut The Jewel in the Lotus (1974) and displays some remarkable group interplay on “Prophet’s Motifs” and the slinky, Latin-flavored “Escondido.” While a desire to hear Maupin leading a larger ensemble is understandable, Early Reflections will suffice quite nicely, and signals a welcome resurgence in his long-dormant career.

“Escondido” – The Bennie Maupin Quartet 7:46 (Early Reflections, Cryptogramophone 2008)

Initially, it may be hard to believe that pianist Marian McPartland will be turning 90 in a few weeks until one steps back and inhales the sheer scope of her career. As the host of NPR’s Piano Jazz, McPartland is perhaps most famously known for her participation in the media organization’s longest-running cultural program (since 1978), yet since the days of her residency at New York’s famed Hickory House nightclub in the early ’50s, she has walked multiple paths as a pianist, songwriter, and broadcaster, all with high degrees of success. Twilight World (2008) drops tomorrow on Concord and it’s a pleasant if unchallenging set of cocktail jazz, the kind of stuff McPartland has been issuing effortlessly over the past decade or so. One couldn’t ask for a more sympathetic foil in the rhythm section of bassist Gary Mazzaroppi and drummer Glenn Davis, and the pianist’s touch remains as unfettered and elegant as ever. Twilight World mostly finds the trio running through a gamut of covers, from Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman” to Bacharach’s “Alfie,” peppered with a few McPartland originals. The pianist will be observing her birthday later this month with an engagement at The Lincoln Center in New York, with a who’s who from the jazz elite expected to sit in.

“Stranger in a Dream” – Marian McPartland 4:33 (Twilight World, Concord 2008)

Gonzalo Rubalcaba is arguably the most famous of contemporary Cuban-born jazz pianists, and has helped to put a modern face on Blue Note and salvage it from near-irrelevancy during his nearly two-decade stint with the label. When I first heard his Discovery: Live at Montreux (1990) disc with Paul Motion and Charlie Haden I thought dude was a revelation, and though the novelty of his unsubtle, occasionally jarring approach has worn off, the electricity in his playing remains a nice change of pace. The much-anticipated Avatar (2008) continues his string of typically unpredictable settings, this time with saxophonist Yosvany Terry, Mike Rodriguez on trumpet, Matt Brewer on bass, and Marcus Gilmore on drums. Terry contributes almost half of the material, and there is a restless, on-the-edge vigor to his writing that must have had the pianist chomping at the bit; Gilmore, in particular, sounds like a kid in a candy store on tracks like “Hip Side” and “This Is It.” Rubalcaba’s occasional overbearing presence remains his Achilles heel, and like much of his output, he can come across as merely expending excess energy (not entirely dissimilar to McCoy Tyner’s bloated mid-’70s catalogue on OJC). Still, there are plenty of sparks to be found, and longtime fans of Rubalcaba will find much to devour here.

“Hip Side” – Gonzalo Rubalcaba 8:34 (Avatar, Blue Note 2008)

These days it seems like one can’t truly be considered a jazz artist without releasing the requisite “personal growth” album, which happens to be the category which Awake (2008), Miguel Zenón’s latest entry on Branford Marsalis‘ label, falls into. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I can’t help but miss the days when a musician would leave the thematic interpretation to the listener without some sort of programmatic baggage to accompany every release. The majority of Awake finds Zenón leading a quartet through all-original material, which is supplemented by a string quartet on two selections and a brass trio on another; these happen to be some of the highlights of the disc, in fact. The tone of Zenón’s alto has always been a little too vanilla for my tastes and at times the rhythm section sounds like they’re sneaking glances at the studio clock, but the spicy “Penta” and the lovely tone poem of “Lamamilla” keep the record afloat, and “Cameron” sounds like it would slay in a club setting. Awake doesn’t quite achieve the heights of Zenón’s previous full-length Jibaro (2005), but it marks a significant step forward in his compositional talents.

“Penta” – Miguel Zenón 7:32 (Awake, Marsalis Music 2008)

Id: So over the past few days I’ve been spending a lot of time with Erykah Badu’s New Amerykah, Pt. 1: 4th World War (2008).

Ego: Yeah? God, what a pretentious title. How awful is it? I imagine it’s a train wreck as knotty as that fake Pam Grier ‘fro she’s often seen sporting. Come on, let’s don our First Impression Haiku hats and unleash some hating!

Id: Well, it’s… uh. (sigh) See, here’s the thing. It’s really good.

Ego: …

Id: …

Ego: You’re joking, right?

Id: (sheepishly) Afraid not.

Ego: We are talking about the same Erykah Badu, right? The “neo-Soul” queen who baby-dolled herself onto the chorus of every hip hop record for a solid five years around the turn of the millennium, exhausting herself creatively with the utterly wasteful Worldwide Underground (2003) before almost disappearing completely? The Badu notoriously responsible for destroying rappers’ careers and the inspiration behind OhWord.com’s most hilarious feature to date?

Id: The same.

Ego: Who fed you this nonsense? Have you been trolling around the Okayplayer message board again? Jesus, we talked about this.

Id: No, it was Dart Adams. I actually went out and purchased New Amerykah based on his recommendation. So, you know. Blogs stay winning.

Ego: Wait, let me guess: it’s got some killer guest spots, right? I mean, that’s the only thing that would make it redeemable.

Id: No, and that’s part of the reason why it’s so refreshing. Other than the producer credits – 9th Wonder, Madlib, the dudes from Sa-Ra, ?uestlove – and an appearance from Georgia Anne Muldrow, the spotlight is strictly on Erykah.

Ego: Yeah, but see, that’s exactly what would turn me off about it. Badu croaking over the same run-of-the-mill, Fender Rhodes-laced Roots backing tracks? No, thanks.

Id: But wait – the music is the best part! It’s got a weird, edgy, funky thing that veers from a lost Roy Ayers soundtrack to wildly experimental and, dare I say, almost avant-garde. And Badu doesn’t try to compete with it, or do that over-enunciating syllables thing that was mad annoying on Mama’s Gun (2000) and Worldwide Underground. Take a listen to “Me” and tell me you can’t nod your head uncontrollably to that shit.

Ego: It’s two chords. For nearly five minutes.

Id: But listen to what’s happening inside those two chords. First of all, there’s this subtle, wow-and-flutter pitch discrepancy going on that I love and wish more artists would do. Why does everything always have to be in perfect 440-hertz Western tuning? And that disjointed bassline – it sounds like Shafiq Husayn (the Sa-Ra member) chopped it up into microfragments on his MPC and deliberately reassembled the digital snippets haphazardly. The beat not only knocks, but it’s also got that latent Dilla shuffle where the hi-hats aren’t synched correctly with the tempo. Plus, those trumpets are gorgeous. Seriously, I probably listened to this track five times before I even realized that Badu was singing on it.

“Me” – Erykah Badu 5:36 (New Amerykah Pt. 1: 4th World War, Motown 2008)

Ego: I could see how you’d be all over this. But what about the rest of the album?

Id: Well, let’s dissect a bit. “Twinkle” is built upon this stuttering, collapsing rhythm with Morse-code keyboards and punctuating sheets of white noise. “My People” updates Eddie Kendricks‘ “My People… Hold On” as interpreted by Herbie Hancock’s Mwandishi collective. “Telephone” is the Dilla tribute and ?uestlove collaboration with a lush, spaced-out atmosphere that borders on transcendence. Then there’s “The Cell,” which I can’t even wrap my head around: an overcompressed Afrobeat groove, a distorted guitar, and a spidery, nervous bassline that sounds like Jaco Pastorius on crack. I’ve never heard anything like it.

“The Cell” – Erykah Badu 4:20 (New Amerykah Pt. 1: 4th World War, Motown 2008)

Ego: Funny, you just happened to gush all over the record without even mentioning Badu’s own contributions.

Id: Lyrically, she’s treading the same ground of social commentary peppered with a track or two about relationships and the (yawn) power of contemporary Black music. I’m not saying the record is impeccable; there are some between-song interludes with no replay value at all and some vain musical overindulgences on Badu’s part.

Ego: Does she still refer to herself as the “analog girl in a digital world”?

Id: No.

Ego: You may be swimming against a tidal wave here. I’ve read quite a few scathing reviews of this album, most of them from longtime fans.

Id: That’s because people want another Baduizm (1997). They want those same predictable, silky late-night grooves with swinging basslines and plenty of rim shots that don’t completely change course mid-song, blatantly flirt with abstraction, or end abruptly. Honestly, that’s what I was expecting, and I’m glad she did the opposite and experimented with her sound. In a way, it makes the listening experience more intimate and personal. She took a pretty big risk here, and at the very least you’ve got to give her credit for that, even if it doesn’t always pay off.

Ego: Speaking of risks, you’re gambling pretty big with this lame critic-arguing-with-himself format here. I didn’t know Pitchfork was looking for new writers.

Id: Why don’t you go somewhere and obsess about Enslaved or something?

Pete Rock “Best Believe (feat. Redman & LD)” NY’s Finest Nature Sounds 2008

I’m a devout follower of All Things Soul Brother as much as the next member of the Pete Rock Appreciation Society (just ask Dan Love), but half a dozen listens into the producer’s latest NY’s Finest (2008) and I still can’t lift the weight of disappointment off my shoulders. The issue lies not with his masterful manipulation of sounds and beats, which is always a wonder to behold, but rather with the C-list lineup of lyricists that, with a few meager exceptions, I really couldn’t give a rat’s about. Add to that a number of questionable detours into styles that clearly aren’t Pete’s foray as well as an overall lack of cohesiveness that the Soul Survivor installments were able to overcome, and what’s left is a haphazard mess of a record with little worth salvaging. Two of the tracks I genuinely never want to hear again: the ill-advised reggae tripe of “Ready Fe War,” and the sole guest production, Green Lantern’s “Don’t Be Mad,” which bears the distinction of having the most stupefyingly moronic hook I’ve heard in years. Even an appearance from Newark’s golden-agers Lords of the Underground can’t keep “The Best Secret” from deflating and falling flat. Tellingly, the record’s two (arguably) strongest selections dropped over a year ago on the “914″/”The PJ’s” 12″, the latter of which features stellar verses from Raekwon and Masta Killa. The rest, it seems, is just padding.

Still, this is Pete Rock we’re talking about, so the production rarely falters, each track radiating with the same warm, soulful bounce that’s characterized his work for nearly twenty years. It’s a detectable feel that’s difficult to place a finger on but is undeniably there, like the slick, velvety groove that makes up for the retarded garbling of Jim Jones and Max B on “We Roll” or the midnight paranoia that overshadows the dulling gun talk from Royal Flush on “Questions.” The always-entertaining Redman and weed carrier LD drop in to contribute to one of the few highlights on “Best Believe,” a mid-tempo cut laced with some juicy scratching and plenty of pimp swagger. Pete’s mic skills, which are more dominant on NY’s Finest than on past solo jaunts, remain tolerable and occasionally cringing, adhering to the usual “respect the game/longevity” content we’ve grown to expect from him. And while a somewhat clumsy 16 from Pete is certainly preferable to, say, a verse from Papoose, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the days when Puba regularly ghostwrote for the guy. My prediction is that I’ll likely shelve this disc by next week until the double-LP vinyl of NY’s Finest instrumentals is (hopefully) released, at which point I can enjoy the record free of all the verbal clutter.

“Best Believe” – Pete Rock feat. Redman & LD 4:38 (NY’s Finest, Nature Sounds 2008)