Sax Legend Rollins Can Still Wail

What becomes a legend most? In the case of Sonny Rollins, it’s more of what made him a legend in the first place. And Saturday night at the House of Blues, it was enough for a packed house, which cheered the veteran tenor saxophonist’s every number.

Rollins looked every inch the jazzman as individualist. Wearing his now-trademark white beard and dressed in a brightly flowered shirt and black basketball sneakers, he dominated the stage. With his four accompanists primarily providing a musical setting, he served up one lengthy solo after another, frequently lifting his saxophone toward the ceiling, occasionally assuming dance-like poses, his feet placed in balletic positions.

His listeners, many of them not yet born during Rollins’ salad years in the ‘50s and ‘60s, were entranced. At the close of his set, one young woman dashed to the stage to present him with--appropriately, given Rollins’ direct lineage from Charlie Parker--a single bird of paradise flower.

The program was largely dominated by blues numbers and Caribbean rhythms, with “In a Sentimental Mood” the sole ballad. The melodies were catchy and the rhythms compelling. And Rollins, as canny as he is gifted, soloed in a style that was both accessible and probing. There were times, for example, often in the blues pieces, in which he seemed on the verge of playing the kind of repetitious riffs that trigger audience fervor. Then, at the very instant when the repetition might have appeared overly calculated, he would turn the riff around, shift it, give it a different emphasis. The music had no less effect on listeners but was far more fulfilling.

Despite the resonance with his earlier work, however, this was not exactly the Rollins of yesteryear. His choice of material, for example, did not provide the kind of harmonic challenges he then posed for himself. Neither did his solos unfold with the bursts of sheer invention characteristic of his work from that earlier period.

But it was a fascinating Rollins, nonetheless, still arguably one of the most important, most instantly recognizable jazz artists in the world. He is a mature improviser (at 67), and his work now bears the consistency and continuity typical of artists who maintain their creative edge through their later years.

The only element missing from Rollins’ performance was his familiar rich, gutsy sound, which emerged only rarely and usually in his lower register. His higher notes, once clear and articulate, had a pinched, sometimes whiny quality. It was unclear, however, how much his tone may have been affected by the portable microphone placed over the bell of his instrument, which seemed to emphasize the low notes and minimize the upper register.

Still, this is a minor criticism about a first-rate performance that more than justified Rollins’ status as a legend.