It’s complicated music, played by a band that won’t hold still inside it.
Summit Records
Ayn Inserto – Composer, Conductor; Trumpet: Sean Jones, Wim Both, Rob Bruynen, Andy Haderer, Ruud Breuls; Trombone: Ludwig Nuss, Raphael Klemm, Tim Hepburn, Mattis Cederberg; Saxophones/Reeds: Johan Hörlén, Pascal Bartoszak, Ben Fitzpatrick, Paul Heller, Jens Neufang; Piano – Billy Test; Bass – John Goldsby; Drums – Hans Dekker
The WDR Big Band can sound like a lot of people trying to talk at once, but the conversation always keeps moving. Ayn Inserto’s music splits into overlapping phrases — some horns staying up top, others swirling around them in the middle register — while rhythms keep pulling the music in different directions. The band can sound like it’s about to scatter, but the piano keeps tossing out its repeated phrases while the drums shuffle along underneath.
“Eshel Sketch” opens with piano and drums laying down a rhythm before the horns start filling in the space around them — piano, drums, and horns, three voices in conversation. Two sax lines swirl around each other, voices piling up until the horns step forward and blow hard, filling the room. The piano closes the piece alone — a quiet way out, answered by loud applause.
The horns seem to be scurrying around the floor, the drums are tight and propulsive, and the piano pounds away on “Down A Rabbit Hole.” Even the saxophone solos have a curious, slightly frantic feeling, as if somebody is trying to get away from something. Layers of sound pile up, horns swirling and circling to the end.
Sean Jones throws out a phrase on “Mr. Jones and Company,” and the band picks it up, tossing the line back and forth. Jones has a bright, crisp trumpet sound that can soar over the band without straining. When he returns to the upper register, he doesn’t just hit the notes; he lets them ring, squeal and vibrate. “BJ’s Tune” is Jones’s own composition, arranged by Inserto — his tune, her band behind it.
The four-part “Suite for Sean Jones” opens with “The Artist,” Jones stretching for the high notes while the band dances underneath him. On “The Educator,” the trumpet takes off like it wants to blow on its own, away from the band — then mellows, lets the band shine, and steps back out quieter, still sliding into the upper register. “The Husband and Father” turns softer, almost reverential, with sections entering, saying what they have to say and stepping aside. By “The Human Soul,” light bursts from the big band answer piano and percussion that sound like tap dancers having fun together.
It’s complicated music, played by a band that won’t hold still inside it. The soloists cut straight through the layers — Sean Jones out front, the rest of the band right behind him.
