Andrew Hill's Refuge

The general school of modern players deals with ignoring chord changes just enough to craft a personal interpretation - the art of the "new". This either allows room for boldly reworking and varying the melody, or for jarring harmonic substitutions. A good example of the former is Brad Mehldau soloing with Joshua Redman in a live 1994 performance of "St. Thomas", while the latter can be heard in Logan Richardson's solo on "Moment's Notice" (with Hermon Mehari); Melissa Aldana's trio performing "Without A Song" has a little of both. This was anticipated in the 1990's, with players like Steve Coleman, Greg Osby, and Geri Allen who subscribed to the idea of M-BASE music - just listen to this live video of Osby playing "The End Of A Love Affair" (beginning at 1:31):

But where did it start? Everyone might have their own answer, but one name comes to mind when thinking of the "new".

The 1960's were a decade filled with upheaval, unrest, and subsequently newer and more interesting music, and Andrew Hill was a perfect example of such. While still perhaps under-discussed today, his playing and composing might very well be responsible (in part) for the "modern" sound we hear in jazz to this day. Ironically enough, rather than reworking standards as many players did from the 90's up until now, Hill chose only to concentrate on his own dates and compositions; as a result, his oblique and ambiguous piano playing, coupled with his oblique and ambiguous compositions, often fell on deaf ears among the public. However, he was highly championed by Blue Note founder Alfred Lion, who gave him more than enough chances to record to create some of the greatest, most complex, and most human music of any decade.

Look no further than his most acclaimed album, Point of Departure, for proof of Hill's singular voice. The sextet on the album lends itself to more interesting and varied textures than the average quartet/quintet album, allowing Hill to create a very specific and captivating musical world. Aside from simply this, all the personnel were willing to take everything one step further; Eric Dolphy, Joe Henderson, an 18-year-old Tony Williams, veteran Kenny Dorham, and Hill's right-hand man Richard Davis prove themselves capable of elevating the complicated pieces to platforms for their unique talents. Since Hill likely wrote much of the music on Point of Departure for this specific group, it seems he wasted no time in showing off their individual talents; the opening track, "Refuge", is a tour de force of individual voices blowing over a labyrinth of chord changes.

The melody/theme of "Refuge" is strong, and the harmonic progression is (at least by Hill's standards) quite simple; besides some extra harmonic color every few measures, the majority of the tune is obvious D-flat major. During the head, Hill throws in a few wrenches by adding a counterline in the two saxophones while the trumpet carries the melody. Once Hill starts soloing, he seems to be playing around the time, rather than in it or with it. Davis and Williams are adept foils, propelling the fast 6/8 forward while adjusting alongside Hill's melodic, flexible phrasing. Like Monk and Herbie Nichols before him, Hill often directly quotes his themes while soloing, but Hill's piano textures are much more engaging and unique than Nichols. As for Monk, Hill being an idiosyncratic pianist and composer meant comparisons to Thelonious right away; that being said, Hill proves what debt he does owe to Monk with a direct quotation of a Monkian phrase (used in bar 3 of "Trinkle, Tinkle"). Overall, the vibe of Hill's solo is that of a clean, introverted rebellion atop perfect order, which continues for the rest of the tune.

After some stabbing octaves on Hill's last chorus, Dolphy makes himself known instantly with some scintillating lines, perfectly in time. What makes Dolphy so great here is that even though his lines might not adhere directly to the changes, their virtuosity and energy is undeniable, and what harmonies he does play are wildly inventive and show a thorough knowledge of the tune. As someone who knew many different kinds of music, from Charlie Parker to serialism to literal bird calls, Dolphy, being sensitive to Hill's modernist jazz idiom, makes a personal canvas out of what would be played "normal" by almost any working band at the time. 

Andrew Hill

In this regard, it's worth noting that Hill's comping, like his soloing, isn't always rhythmically precise. Like his Blue Note contemporary Herbie Hancock, Hill doesn't see the need to fill all rhythmic space with playing; he only plays what is necessary to outline the form, sometimes leaving out chords entirely, contributing further to how open the tune feels. The stabbing octaves mentioned above are a rhythmic device used to signal the last four bars of the form, where the home key returns; D-flat with a lowered fifth is played, followed by this same color up a half step in D.

Conveniently enough, while Dolphy was steeped in Charlie Parker's music, the next soloist actually played with Bird: Kenny Dorham. The oldest member of the ensemble, Dorham was proving to be an important, yet under-discussed trumpet player during the 1960's; he took his bebop training one step further by playing (and even writing) some more advanced/idiomatic music, often performed in partnership with his protege, Joe Henderson. Hill's music on this date makes for a particular challenge for Dorham (he ends his solo six bars early on "New Monastery"), but it is one he is more than up to. His solo on "Refuge" is patient, understated, steeped in bebop, and constructed quite tightly. Despite his quiet persona, he proves himself to be a much more adventurous bebop player than he is given credit for.

Eric Dolphy and Kenny Dorham

Richard Davis' solo initiates the first real texture change of the piece: Hill drops out, leaving only bass and drums, until Williams slowly fades out. The bass solo is fairly straightforward, demonstrating an absolutely rock-solid sense of time and form. Pyrotechnics are ignored for essentially two choruses of unaccompanied walking bass, which, in the tempo and time signature of "Refuge", is honestly enough to carry an entire solo alone. It's a testament to the raw skill of someone who, in the 1960's alone, would play with the Thad Jones big band and Van Morrison, as well as symphony orchestras.

An odd, unexpected fanfare in the horns signals the most laser-focused introduction yet: an overblown note from Joe Henderson. This note alone demonstrates Henderson's genius; it's obvious the saxophone played a partial too high, and Henderson's treatment of this "mistake" creates an engaging introduction with tension between the "wrong" and "right" note for that fingering. It's not long before he, too, is off to the races. Still at such a young age, Henderson was already a startlingly original voice on the tenor, with a language adapted from Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, Charlie Parker, and his own idiosyncrasies. He was also quite exploratory, but in a less erratic way than Dolphy, as well as much more patient and deliberate; almost eccentric. Like everyone else thus far, Henderson plays essentially around the changes in a very individual and engaging way that still outlines the form. At one point, the furor of the proceedings pushes Henderson to a squawking split note in the altissimo, in a moment of peak musical energy; Davis and Williams eventually push so hard that Hill lays out for Henderson's last chorus. (Theory: perhaps Henderson received the added fanfare for his triumphant return to Hill's music, having played on his debut album Black Fire.)

Eric Dolphy and Joe Henderson

Finally, after about 9 1/2 minutes of bold, creative, and energetic solos, the last one at bat almost rewrites the tune entirely. While many drummers are in the running for most innovative or game-changing, Tony Williams has the distinction of reinventing the kit all together. Having been eighteen for only three months (notice his billing as "Anthony Williams"), Williams had already garnered a serious reputation for not just being a prodigy, but perhaps the most unusual and individual creative voice the instrument has ever seen. His solo on "Refuge" is interesting for how much it doesn't accentuate the form, unlike an Elvin Jones or a Max Roach. He instead takes advantage of playing unaccompanied, opting for the purely textural with a heavy focus on the snare. The overall vibe fluctuates between a broken march and something akin to waves of rhythmic gravity. Four bars of time to end, and the band comes back in for the head out.

"Refuge" is just one piece of the puzzle of how modern playing evolved, albeit a very important one. All of the players Hill recruited knew standards and bebop very intimately, but some - especially Dolphy, Henderson and Williams - were exploring the outer reaches, often looking to modern classical music for inspiration. The entirety of Point of Departure, especially this opening number, gave this band a chance to show a part of their skillset they wouldn't otherwise get to. All of the soloists play around the changes to some degree - not always fitting exactly into the organizational box - showing their own individual solutions to often very complex musical problems, and still making it sound effortless. 

Listen to the soloists from the beginning and compare them with the soloists on "Refuge" - listen for how Aldana and Henderson, or Logan and Dolphy line up, and especially how they differ from each other. So to speak, this album signals a musical and historical point of departure - it's now okay to divert from the tried-and-true, in search of your own voice.