Time Traveler Recordings
Kenny Barron — piano, electric piano; Bob Cranshaw — electric bass; Freddie Waits — drums; Richard Landrum — congas, percussion; Warren Smith — vibraphone, percussion
When Sunset to Dawn came out in 1973, Kenny Barron was 30 and already a seasoned sideman — he’d worked with Dizzy Gillespie, Yusef Lateef, and Freddie Hubbard — but this was his first album as a leader for the new Muse label. Hearing it now, with fifty years of hindsight and a fresh reissue that finally gives it the attention it deserves, you can feel Barron standing on the edge of two eras: the acoustic lyricism of post-bop and the plugged-in possibilities of early fusion.
Muse Records was a haven for artists like Barron — players who resisted being boxed in. Joe Fields ran the label like a club owner who trusted the musicians to handle the music. This reissue, part of the ongoing Time Traveler series, brings that legacy back into focus.
The opening track, “Sunset,” sets the mood right away. Barron’s electric piano has a reverberating shimmer, each note bouncing back and forth like waves rippling on water. You can almost pick out the vibraphone in the background, while the percussion adds all kinds of color — shakers, congas, cymbals that shimmer, and something that sounds like an angry rattlesnake’s tail. As the tune unfolds, Barron’s playing turns more melodic; he holds tones and lets them ring out. By the end, the energy lifts and the whole thing takes on a playful, almost game-show brightness.
Then comes “A Flower,” a solo acoustic piano piece that might be one of the loveliest things Barron ever wrote. It’s delicate — you can feel him thinking out loud, pausing, letting phrases bloom and fade like petals opening. His right and left hands move like two minds working toward the same idea — the left grounding the music with rich chords, the right darting off in little flurries. He doesn’t rush or repeat himself; every pause feels deliberate. By the end, you might find yourself wondering if this is as close to a perfect piano solo as he ever came.
“Swamp Demon” jolts things in another direction entirely. After the quiet reflection of “A Flower,” this one drops you straight into the jungle. The rhythm section digs in with a thick, humid groove — deep bass, rattling percussion, and drums that sound like they’re echoing through the trees. What sound like primate calls echo in the background. There’s that rattlesnake tail shaking from “Sunset.” The groove is pure funk — tight, hot, and a little menacing. Piano notes tumble up and down the keys, repeating, colliding, breaking loose.
The album’s second half maintains the energy: drummer Freddie Waits’ “Al-Kifha” is a post-bop burner with Barron’s lines cutting sharp and fast, while “Delores St. S.F.” shifts into an easier Latin groove, all light percussion and unhurried melody.
Barron once said he was never that enamored of the electric piano, but he sure made it work here. He treats it like a different instrument altogether — not trying to make it sound like an acoustic piano, just exploring what it could do. And it works because the band around him — bassist Bob Cranshaw, drummer Freddie Waits, vibraphonist Warren Smith, and percussionist Richard Landrum — all play with the same open spirit.
Sunset to Dawn is a fine Barron record and it’s a reminder of how creative jazz felt in the early ’70s, when lines blurred and musicians stretched without losing their roots. It still sounds fresh, a half-century later — the sun going down, the possibilities just beginning to glow.
