It’s the Same Old Sanborn Sound

It seems that saxophonist David Sanborn always sounds the same, no matter what context he’s working in. Whether playing in a mainstream-inspired format with serious jazz musicians, as he did last year on his change-of-direction recording “Another Hand,” or working from the backbeat heavy, R&B-influenced; grooves that have been his meat-and-potatoes over the years, the alto player pretty much styles his lines, indeed his whole improvisations, the same way.

And so it was Saturday at the Celebrity Theatre as Sanborn, highlighting his recently released “Upfront” recording, returned to the funky formula that brought him fame. You could predict where he was going, and the methods he’d use to get there, as soon as he stepped into the solo spotlight. Each improvisation began climbing to its inevitable destination on blues-based lines countered with squawks or short, repeated phrases. Each ended with triumphant shouts from some distant peak. Never once did Sanborn take a chance and go over the edge.

It’s not as if the new material didn’t encourage chance-taking. Although accessible rhythmically, the tunes (penned mostly by longtime Sanborn contributor Marcus Miller) have all the heat and urban smarts that Miller put into the tunes he wrote for later editions of the Miles Davis band. And although they ranged from the twisted, somewhat sinister “Snakes” to a Latin-influenced romp called “Bang Bang,” Sanborn attacked them all with the same sensibilities, and unchanging volumes.

Not so guitarist Dean Brown, who brought a number of approaches and tonal qualities to his work, from a metallic spray of machine-gun lines during Miller’s “Run for Cover” to reserved, melodic expressions played in crystalline tones on “Alcazar.” Although Brown at times could be as heavy-handed as his boss, he injected needed diversity into the mostly damn-the-torpedoes onslaught.

Also adding character to the band’s sound was keyboardist Ricky Peterson, who used the venerable Hammond B-3 organ to give some soul and splash to the proceedings. Its rarefied tones were especially appropriate to King Curtis’ “Soul Serenade,” a tune that also saw Sanborn at his most inspired.

But it was percussionist Don Alias, a veteran of stints with everyone from Davis to Joni Mitchell, who brought the most color, using congas, bongos, timbales, cymbals, wood blocks and a table full of other noisemakers to shake and shade the rhythms.

Without Alias’s wily percussive tricks, matched with the inventive, to-the-beat drumming of Sonny Emory, Sanborn’s concert would have seemed much longer than it actually was. The most disappointing tune was Miller’s “Benny,” which Sanborn dedicated to “one of my inspirations, Benny Carter.” Whereupon he pursued his usual course, without any of the intelligence, expression or grace that Carter is known for. Our guess is that Carter would have been embarrassed by such a performance. We certainly were.