The sadness is that John Taylor did not live to write more music of this quality and in this vein — to push further still at the boundaries of jazz and deepen his own remarkable compositional voice.
Jazz In Britain JIB-64-S-CD
John Taylor (piano); Stan Sulzmann (soprano saxophone); Dieter Glawischnig (conductor)
Rundfunkorchester Hannover des NDR, 1987
John Taylor’s music had always been tinged with Western classical influences. Over time, he pushed further into denser and more harmonically ambiguous territories, seeking connections between bebop, the avant-garde, and the classical tradition. His chamber group Azimuth — formed with Kenny Wheeler and Norma Winstone — was unique, with no real equivalent in the United States.That sensibility carried over naturally into “Quintessence””. Recorded with Rundfunkorchester Hannover des NDR
Until “Quintessence”, there was little evidence of Taylor writing for a large ensemble. Stan Sulzmann recalled that he did not believe John had ever studied with a composition teacher, that he learned instead by studying scores and listening deeply.
Liam Noble, normally a writer of admirable clarity, seems somewhat overwhelmed by the task of annotating “Quintessence”, reaching for references to Stravinsky and Bartók as his touchstones. One might reasonably ask why he did not also invoke Messiaen, Ligeti, or Elliott Carter, all of whom seem equally pertinent.
Noble is right that this is difficult music, some of it only tangentially related to jazz. The challenge of aligning jazz and twentieth-century compositional thinking is not a new one: William (Bill) Russo grappled with it productively in his sessions with Lee Konitz (An Image, Verve, 1958). It remains an elusive quest.
The title track uses woodwinds atmospherically, revealing a strange, gentle beauty. A piano interlude sets the scene for a lyrical Sulzmann soprano solo, followed by a Taylor–Sulzmann duet in which Sulzmann draws out the melodic, expressive qualities of the instrument. The brass builds in intensity, the melody acquiring an almost mesmerising quality before a change of pace brings another piano interlude.
Pure and Simple” is one of Taylor’s best-known pieces, and it shows a composer capable of distilling complex emotion into deceptively simple forms. Taylor’s playing is joyful, Sulzmann’s soprano leaping and buoyant, and the string accompaniment reinforces the lighthearted mood throughout.
In “Silver”, Sulzmann’s flute is set against the timpani, Taylor clearly relishing the extended palette of the orchestra — translating his habitual musical thinking onto a larger scale and allowing the ensemble to amplify and extend his ideas.
Sulzmann’s playing on “Windfall” is beautiful, the harshness removed from the soprano’s sound entirely. The piano set against descending strings is particularly effective, the two almost duetting with one another.
The cello that opens “The Longest Day” carries deep emotional weight. According to the album notes, the cellist requested additional rehearsal time to come to terms with the piece — and one can understand why. A shift in rhythm interrupts the solo, and Taylor introduces a looping figure beneath the orchestra’s restless pulse.
“Potion 2” is the most overtly classical track, an extended orchestral passage over rumbling timpani preparing the ground for a duet between Sulzmann and Taylor. Sulzmann soars over an increasingly powerful orchestra while Taylor plays against the dark, brooding strings. It is the most fully realised and satisfying of everything Taylor and Sulzmann created in Germany.
An album like this, rescued from obscurity by Jazz in Britain, will do much to extend the reputations of both men. The sadness is that Taylor did not live to write more music of this quality and in this vein — to push further still at the boundaries of jazz and deepen his own remarkable compositional voice.
