Kelly Rossum - Party's Over / Begun Reviews

The image is classic: a woman of privilege leans on the piano, waiting for the music to move her. This is how jazz was sold fifty years ago – you’d look at the cover and buy the disc, hoping both would be equally beautiful. Kelly Rossum remembers, in wonderful detail: the program is split into two “sides” like an LP, and the sound is rich in echo. It’s also rich in nostalgia: drums slap madly on “Scatterlogic”, with the fire of an old Blue Note. The cymbals are large, and rain frequently: underneath is a quiet twang, snapped by the strings of Michael O’Brien. He also wrote the tune, an up-and-down pattern that slowly loops on itself – a lazy sort of turbulence. Beginning in unison, the horns slowly separate, for a rondo effect; then they split entirely, and the solos begin. The leader is first : his volume is low and his tone laced with gravel. Kelly Rossum sounds like a cornet, walking gingerly through the massed drums, he seems calm, but then erupts in a shimmering fanfare, high and pure. At his range he’s a bit like Lee Morgan; he then wanders downward, and the styles seem to converse with each other.

This leads to Woody Witt, who is single-minded- his lines evolve slowly, with more a buzz than a growl. The approach comes from the ‘Fifties, but not the sound: he clearly like the tough tenors, using their ideas to go his own way. Later on he yelps in overtones, which suggests something else- if Coltrane had used his ‘Sixties techniques while staying in the mainstream. Lines build, the intensity surges … and the rhythm goes on as it always has. Its structure is simple and it’s five minutes long, but it has a lot of substance. It’s rooted in the old style, but not wedded to it; no one is trying to copy the masters, but uses their model to craft their own mastery.

The album is full of moments like this, stunners in the mode of a past tradition. “Little Mary” is a child’s waltz, taking its little steps with a lot of charm. Kelly’s got a mute, and that soft edge Miles did so well; Witt ends each phrase in soft-focus, a calmer version of Clifford Jordan. The brushes are delicate, the piano is dreamy- and the bridge is a sculpted beauty, with horns together and Rossum leaping an octave. O’Brien’s solo is slightly acidic, with spiky notes and a good deal of wandering. It feels like a ‘Seventies bass solo, without the grandstanding sometimes heard in that era; Ellen Lease showers him in cloudy chords, which gives it more depth. Kelly returns in a wistful vein; shuffling gently, he doesn’t blow into his horn, he sighs. He pretty much sticks to the theme, giving it tiny – and lovely – variations. Woody’s turn goes upward, letting the notes hover … for a moment I heard Paul Desmond. The fadeout, with Kelly ruminating in a swath of echo, is a keeper.

The followup, “Toxic Fruit”, could not be more different: this is tart funk, straight from the late ‘Sixties. The beat is rock-hard, the sax looks to Turrentine, or maybe Eddie Harris – there’s a paraphrase of “Freedom Jazz Dance”, and a quote of the real thing. On his solo, Rossum drives fiercely, with whooping high notes – Freddie Hubbard with rasp. O’Brien’s solo, with its Gomez-style plucking, is similar [to] the one on “Little Mary”; on this tune it fits better. Hear the solos on the fadeout: one horn riffs as the other kicks and then they switch. “Sand Dunes” goes forward a few years, with slicing fanfares over Ellen’s angular ostinato. She slips into Tyner mode for the solos, and Kelly lays back: slow notes, lots of vibrato, and the spirit of a trombone. Gentility in restless surroundings; I love it. Woody’s solo has a hard, almost Arabian tinge; the resemblance to Harris is more pronounced, and there’s a burst of Coltrane. There everything goes silent and Ellen solos, blending mournful chords and Cecil Teylor runs. The rhythm soon joins her, and it ends as a hyperkinetic trio – this certainly should have split in two songs, as the halves seem too disparate to go together.

Side Two begins with Lease, as she walks quietly “Through the Fog.” Her notes are few and full of sustain; Witt joins her with a long, lonely vibrato. Rossum continues the feeling, trembling at the height of his range; where Woody’s cries were of resignation, his convey pain … or loss. The best solo comes from Michael, bowing with majesty; Woody’s also has merit, though it seems uneven. It’s more a mood piece than a composition, which [can] also be said of “Lowlands”: Ellen drops a frequent chord, and Rossum floats broad notes over it. The pace is fast and the textures smooth; Kelly’s solo will grow on you, turning complex at suprising moments. This is definitely the softer of the two halves, in the way some ‘Fifties albums had their “Dreamy Side” – these guys take their nostalgia seriously.

The next tune appears to be “A.M. Quiet”, judging from the description in the liner notes; the last two titles seem to be switched. Ellen plays a series of reflective chords framed by silence; there’s a weighty groan from O’Brien, and a silent, ethereal cymbal. Rossum returns to the mute, in the quietest of his solos; the notes rise like the early glow of dawn. Woody has a richer sound, like Ammons; his resonant lines cause the cymbals to erupt. It takes ten minutes to develop, and worth every moment – the silence is deafening. The last tune is a brash afterthought: “Rush Hour” has a Mingus-like theme and a big burst of Tayloresque fury. Kelly is fast as he spirals downward; this’ll wake you up! There’s even a reprise of “Majestic”, strutting before it desolves into chaos – pretty cute in this context. The whole album comes at you like this – assertive, confident, and they do what they do very well. I expect major things from these players … and I expect you to find a copy, play it, and let the music move you.



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