John Yao reminds us that big band jazz still has something to say—and that sometimes, the biggest statements come from the most personal places.
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John Yao – Trombone, Conductor, Composition, Arrangement; Saxes: Billy Drewes – Alto, Soprano Saxes; Hashem Assadulahi – Alto Sax; Rich Perry – Tenor Sax; Tim Armacost – Tenor Sax; Carl Maraghi – Baritone Sax; Trumpets & Flugels: Nick Marchione, John Lake, David Neves, David Smith; Trombones: Matt McDonald, Nick Vayenas, Sam Blakeslee, Max Seigel; Rhythm Section: Hyuna Park – Piano; Robert Sabin – Bass; Andy Watson – Drums
POINTS IN TIME, the new album from trombonist and composer John Yao and his 17-piece band, feels lived-in. It’s not just a display of bold voicings and tight arrangements—it’s a kind of musical scrapbook, tracing the people, places, and turning points that have shaped his life in music.
The album marks a long-awaited return for Yao’s big band, a decade after their debut, FLIP-FLOP. That first outing introduced him as a composer with range—structural smarts, a sense of humor, and a deep affection for the big band format. POINTS IN TIME doesn’t just pick up where that album left off. It expands the frame, reworking earlier tunes and premiering new ones, all shaded by the kind of perspective that only time—and real life—can bring.
Making a big band record isn’t easy—and Yao doesn’t pretend otherwise. In the liner notes, he jokes that “the funny thing about recording a big band album [is that] it makes you want to never do it again!” Every note may be worth it in the end, but after FLIP-FLOP, he admits he was “burned out from pushing that boulder uphill.” So he stepped back, focusing on more manageable groups like his co-led sextet with trumpeter Jimmy Smith and his three-horn band Triceratops. That makes POINTS IN TIME not just a return, but a recommitment—a reminder of what big band music can still offer when someone’s willing to do the heavy lifting.
This isn’t just a look back—it’s a vivid portrait of change, love, resilince, and joy. Take ‘Early Morning Walk,’ a gentle, elegant piece that captures both the fatigue and the quiet hopefulness that comes with caring for someone you love. Or ‘Song for Nolan,’ a burst of brightness written for Yao’s young son. Both pieces reflect the emotional core of this project—one shaped by Yao’s journey with his wife Natalie through cancer treatment and recovery, and the birth of their child.
Musically, the band is as tight and dynamic as you’d expect from a lineup built on long-standing relationships. Tenor saxophonist Tim Armacost is a former classmate from Yao’s Queens College days, while trombonist Matt McDonald goes back to Yao’s early years in Chicago. Saxophonists Billy Drewes and Rich Perry, trumpeter Nick Marchione, and drummer Andy Watson are veterans of the Vanguard Jazz Orchestra, where Yao subbed regularly. Drewes also plays in Yao’s three-horn quartet, Triceratops. Perry, McDonald, trumpeter David Smith, and bassist Robert Sabin are holdovers from FLIP-FLOP. That kind of history brings a sense of lived-in trust to the music. You can hear it in the way these charts breathe—whether trading tight unison passages or opening up space for a soloist to stretch out.
Yao’s writing is full of nods to tradition—just listen to the intro to ‘Not Even Close.’ It taps into the kind of brash, freewheeling spirit you hear on Charles Mingus’s Atlantic recordings. There’s that same push-and-pull between sharp horn stabs and loose, swaggering grooves. The writing is tight, but it feels wide open, with a shouting-from-the-street-corner intensity that recalls BLUES & ROOTS or OH YEAH.
‘The Other Way’ pushes into 12-tone territory—a clear signal that Yao isn’t afraid to challenge his audience or his band. Crisscrossing lines between brass and reeds keep the tension high. Andy Watson’s drumming isn’t just in the pocket—it’s all over the band, circling it, anchoring it, daring it to push harder. On this track, it feels like he’s got the whole thing in a bear hug.
Some big band records lean more on the writing than the playing. Not this one.Yao makes a 17-piece band feel more like a group of sharp, opinionated friends having a real conversation—tight, personal, but still packing all the punch and color you want from a big band. His solos don’t break from the writing—they grow out of it. On ‘The Other Way,’ the band stirs a boiling cauldron of sound—brass and reeds tossing lines back and forth—until a saxophone slides out of the heat with a fiery solo. A few moments later, the trombone does the same, riding that same wave of tension and release.
John Yao reminds us that big band jazz still has something to say—and that sometimes, the biggest statements come from the most personal places.
