Press enter after choosing selection

Wendell Harrison Quartet

Wendell Harrison Quartet image
Parent Issue
Day
29
Month
July
Year
1976
OCR Text

Wendell Harrison Quartet

At the Blind Pig, June 25

The sleepy pace of Ann Amor in the summer was thrown out of whack by the scream- bop-slam of the Motor City, compliments of Wendell Harrison and his quartet .Yep, these big-city envoys came and shook up our rural Michigan ears something good at the Blind Pig last weekend.

For those Who were familiar with Wendell through his association with Tribe. it Was a nice opportunity to find him in a small combo setting. His tenor sound drove, smoked and seared over a rhythmic backing of great distinction: Harold McKinney, the pianist: Roderick Hicks. baas; and George Davidson on drums.

Their repertoire knew no barriers that smoky evening at the Pig. We heard it all: blues, ballads, and jazz so cool it left icicles hanging front your ears. Such breadth is owed to the diverse and learned backgrounds of the gentlemen: Professor Harold McKinney's backwards glance traverses the rich topography of black music ; Roderick Hicks' successful sojourn with Aretha Franklin and with the Butterfield Blues Band adds something relaxed and youthful;and drummer George Davidson, long a section-mate of Hicks', beat the skins behind one of Aretha's soulful aggregations for quite a while, Add it all up with Wendell out front and there's no area left unexplored.

The blues were in definite and abundant evidence in the hands of Rod Hicks. "Without blues there'd be no jazz," he mused, "And without jazz there'd be no America." I always wondered why Columbus came here but didn't understand 'til that evening: he came to hear some  be-bop down to the Five Spot.

Rod did "Born Under A Bad Sign," replete with a stream of consciousness monologue that would make Faulkner sound like Dr. Seuss . He followed that with his Nixon-era diatribe: "I Got a 1000 Ways To Be And You Tryin' To Make Me Feel Bad." Nuff said. The brother told it all and drove it into our skulls with those flatted sevenths.

Wendell carne up with a bit of James Brown staccato-funk on "Angry Young Man" that would force AWB and other imitators into an embarrassed retirement. Wendell ran those scales Coltiane-like into a furious tension and then eased them back down before the automatic  sprinkling system would have showered the audience from the heat generated there. As a bit of a refresher, the band did Antonio Carlos Jobim's "Waves." Harold McKinney took a beautiful and many sided solo-cadenza that could stand up with the best of them.

Showing himself a studied practitioner of a great tradition of tenor balladeers from Coleman Hawkins to John Coltrane, Wendell evoked a haze of veiled tenderness with Ellington's "Good Morning Heartache." His sound was long, deep  and mellow, with the richness and expression of  the human voice. It was hard not to recall Billie Holiday's definitive version while listening to Wendell's plaintive and sensitive sound.

Miles' "So What" gave room to all the soloists. This was straight arrow jazz at its cookin' best, fueled by the Rod Hicks bass. Not to mention the rhythmic sureness of drummer  Davidson, whose accuracy and pulse is bettered only in Greenwich, England.

And when everybody figured the fellows from Detroit had thrown their final jabs, they uncorked a long left hook with Grover Washington's "Mister Magic." Wendell pulled rabbits from his horn and pigeons seemed to fly from George's drums. The room was unified like the first moments in Hiroshima: walls became ceilings became floors and personality dissolved into a single human chorus of breathing and startled eyes. But here was there only joy and melody for a weapon: music to arouse the sleeping and hypnotic multitudes, played before a roomful of rocking initiates that blessed evening. Thank you, Wendell and co.

-David Weiss