Fame Is Gaining on Don’t-Look-Back Saxman : Jazz: David Murray is arguably the most significant tenor saxophonist to have emerged in the post-Coltrane era.

FACT: David Murray doesn’t have a stereo. Well, he has one. But it comprises only a couple of speakers and a record player.(Records. Remember them? It wasn’t that long ago.) He doesn’t even have a tape player.

Once in a while, he thinks about getting a new sound system. Maybe even a CD player.

You would think that Murray, who, at 37, is arguably the most significant tenor saxophonist to have emerged in the quarter-century since John Coltrane died, would want to hear some of his stuff the way the rest of us hear it.

Think again. “I try to forget about the stuff after I mix it,” he says in his publicist’s penthouse office overlooking Lower Manhattan. “After it’s recorded and mixed, it’s as if it never existed. I never want to hear it again. If I do hear it, it’s because somebody brings it to my attention. But that’s it.”

That never-look-back impulse is an integral component of Murray’s artistic-propulsion system, which seems to have been locked in overdrive since he emerged on the New York jazz scene 17 years ago.

In that time, he has been recorded on 125 albums, many of which feature him as the leader of his quartet, octet and big band. Other albums have had him in duo, trio, septet, nonet and solo settings.

He has also recorded as a member of the celebrated World Saxophone Quartet and appeared on albums with drummer Jack DeJohnette, pianist Randy Weston, guitarist James Blood Ulmer and poet-satirist Ishmael Reed.

This year alone, five albums have been released under his name, among them “A Sanctuary Within” on Black Saint Records, which he recorded a year ago in Italy. Three of the other four albums, all on DIW/Columbia Records, encompass the full range of Murray’s activities and artistic interests. “David Murray Big Band” features him at the head of an 18-piece ensemble. On “David Murray Special Quartet,” he leads a group with Coltrane veterans McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones.

Possibly the best and certainly the most accessible of the DIW releases is the hard-driving “Shakill’s Warrior,” named for the karate school his 7-year-old son attends. It involves yet another quartet, featuring drummer Andrew Cyrille, a Murray fixture, and Don Pullen on Hammond organ.

Finally there is “MX” on Red Baron Records, the Malcolm X tribute album recorded just two months ago with Ravi Coltrane on tenor sax, Bobby Bradford on cornet, Victor Lewis on drums, John Hicks on piano and Fred Hopkins on bass.

The latter two are longtime Murray associates who recently joined him, Cyrille and the American Jazz Orchestra at a concert of Murray’s compositions in New York’s Cooper-Union auditorium.

After the concert, Murray heads--where else?--back to the recording studio, making a duo album with pianist Dave Burrell here, a quartet session there. There’s more. In the can, awaiting release are a session with flutist James Newton, another with “Tonight Show” bandleader and fellow tenor star Branford Marsalis and suites paying tribute to Pablo Picasso and composer John Carter.

The headlong intensity of Murray’s production is matched, if not exceeded, by his playing. He creates picaresque epics every time he blows into his tenor--or, for that matter, his bass clarinet, on which his preeminence is virtually unchallenged.

His warm, vibrato-laden tone draws you in at first--though the occasional dissonant tone shifts warn you to be prepared for adventure. And soon he starts careening with the hard-charging yet controlled manner of a championship slalom skier.

It has been frequently written that Murray’s playing encompasses the history of the tenor sax. And it is possible to hear in a Murray solo the swaggering luster of Ben Webster, the keening turbulence of Albert Ayler and the rich inventiveness of Sonny Rollins.

Other solos can summon similar comparisons. But whether he’s squealing, singing, sighing or squawking, Murray can jam more emotion in one phrase than just about any improviser around.

Not everyone has found Murray’s gusto to their liking. The late jazz critic Martin Williams, although he admired Murray’s work with the World Saxophone Quartet, wrote in 1989 that some of his work “could use a better pace, a better sense of structure--perhaps a kind of basic aesthetic patience.”

But jazz critic Gary Giddins, also the American Jazz Orchestra’s founder-director, said, “In the years since I first heard him, his sound has become a lot richer, more luxurious. He carries a whole range of colors with him, reminding me of Coleman Hawkins.”

Watching Murray play is almost as mesmerizing as listening to him. His eyes--bright, dark and vital in conversation--become half-closed and dreamy during a solo. In this state, his stocky frame, ramrod-straight at first, tends to sway and rock with the music, almost like the hard-swinging, rhythm-and-blues honker he used to be in Berkeley with the Notations of Soul band.

Swinging, Murray says, can get to the point where it’s almost like spirit possession: “It’s more than keeping time to the music. It’s getting to that high point, whatever the high point is for you.”

To produce as much music with as much compulsive vitality as Murray requires the kind of stamina and energy that would tax even a high-school halfback. But then, he was a high-school halfback.

“If you live to be on the stage, it’s fun even when you’re tired,” he says. “In fact, I like to be tired when I play because another energy takes over. Almost like when you carry the ball and . . . the more tired you get . . . the more you want to run over people, like Jim Brown did.”

Such heightened energy can rub off on those playing with Murray. “We get on stage, we’re out for blood,” says Hopkins with a characteristic laugh.

At the same time, says Burrell, Murray is a considerate and sensitive leader. “He knows if you’re not feeling well,” says Burrell. “. . . He has enough strength and energy to extend himself to each member of his aggregation.”