JAZZ : Trumpeter Arturo Sandoval Steps Up to Jazz’s Upper Register

Arturo Sandoval, at 42, may not be a Young Turk, but he could very well be the trumpet player at the top of the jazz scene by the time this decade comes to an end.

Since the sudden rise to fame of Wynton Marsalis 10 years ago, there has been an upsurge in the number of trumpeters who are proving to be trailblazers in jazz.

Marsalis, at first seemingly a Miles Davis clone, has become a virtual one-man trumpet history class; Roy Hargrove at age 22 and Marlon Jordan at 20 have both been hailed as potential successors to Marsalis, and the brilliant Tom Harrell is another virtuoso, though perhaps better known as a fluegelhornist. Sandoval, unlike the rest, seems to have carved out a niche of his own without comparative references.

Certainly his origin has played a vital role. Latin rhythms, which were slowly absorbed into U.S. jazz culture in the 1940s, were second nature to the young man who grew up in the Havana suburb of Artemisa. There he heard European classical music, as well as the indigenous sounds of Cuba and American jazz--first Dizzy Gillespie, then Clifford Brown, the young genius who was killed in a car accident at 25.

Visiting Havana on a jazz cruise in 1977, Gillespie met Sandoval, who was then a member of the Cuban jazz orchestra Irakere. As their paths crossed--the pair happened to meet in Helsinki, Finland, in 1982 and made an album together--Sandoval displayed not only the impact of the be-bop pioneer, but also the degree to which he had incorporated Afro-Cuban rhythms into the lexicon of jazz.

As Gillespie’s protege, Sandoval graduated to Gillespie’s United Nation Orchestra. There he revealed his amazing command of the trumpet’s upper register while the band toured Europe--but the residual Cold War with Cuba prevented him from visiting the United States. In May, 1990, he defected; today he lives in Miami and leads his own group.

What now sets Sandoval apart is the incorporation into his style of other elements beyond the be-bop and the high-note bravura. He is capable of lyrical, introspective improvisation. He has displayed exceptional talent as a pianist and could easily make his living at the keyboard. He also has a sense of humor (notably lacking in Marsalis and many of the young lions) that expresses itself in a wildly funny style of scat singing.

The lyrical aspects are particularly evident in “I Remember Clifford,” his recent GRP Records album and a posthumous tribute to trumpeter Brown, who has been an even more central influence than Gillespie. On the collection, Sandoval did more than emulate Brown: On several cuts, he plays versions of Brown’s original solos that have been harmonized for four trumpets, overdubbing all the parts to become a one-man trumpet choir.

“This is my own way of expressing my admiration for Clifford,” Sandoval says. “You may hear little hints of him in my solos too, but today I think I have found my own way to go. I have my hero in Dizzy; I admire him and many others, but I imitate nobody.”

Sandoval now shows a new maturity. When he was younger, he acknowledges, “I was always running, running, as if I had to play it all, and every night was like my last. I believe I have become more lyrical--as you get a little older you evolve; you think a little more about the music, about everything.”

Clearly, along with the swaggering extroversion that once established him, Sandoval’s virtues have coalesced into a persona that is arguably one of a kind among the most discussed trumpeters of the ‘90s. As surely as he remembers Brown and evokes Gillespie while distilling his own sound, musicians years into the future will remember Sandoval.