Fanning the Flames of Bebop

From the opening notes of the first tune he played Sunday at Steamers Cafe in Fullerton, alto saxophonist Bud Shank seemed intent on destroying the cliche of the laid-back West Coast jazz musician. His quartet’s long, spirited first set had moments of undeniable cool, but the prevalent mood was a hot one, founded on the intense fires of bebop.

Kindled by strong support from pianist Mike Wofford, bassist Bob Magnusson and drummer Joe LaBarbera, Shank opened with an assertive “My Romance,” using searing phrases punctuated by brief bursts of notes to outline the song’s familiar melody.

His improvisation came in a cascade of short, circling lines that gained impact from well-timed silences in between. He hinted at bop themes without losing sight of the strong, emotional content. The effect was anything but cool.

Shank repeated this kind of attack on extended up-tempo versions of Arthur Schwartz’s “Alone Together,” Jimmy Van Heusen’s “Here’s That Rainy Day” and others. Wofford, Magnusson and LaBarbera significantly contributed to the intensity and, for the most part, worked hand-in-glove with the saxophonist. All three contributed stunning solos, with Wofford’s inventive harmonic attack and emphatic rhythmic sense making for especially moving statements.

Not everything came at breakneck tempos. Johnny Mandel’s “Emily,” played as a gentle waltz, became a showcase for the rhythm section’s interplay. Bill Evans’ “Peri-Scope” highlighted Shank’s melodic mind-set and Wofford’s astute left-hand figures.

Shank’s sense of cool surfaced during Benny Golson’s melancholy “I Remember Clifford,” as he introduced the number backed only by bass and again as he explored the melody with the trio.

Yet even this quiet number had its passion. In one of the night’s most magical moments, Shank’s delivery became increasingly spare and subdued as Wofford and Magnusson provided hushed accompaniment. Then, as the sound threatened to disappear, LaBarbera’s stirring brushwork pulled it back while Shank made a sweeping reentry. It’s the kind of drama jazz aficionados live for.

Shank may be one of the most visible figures remaining from the West Coast jazz scene that developed in the 1950s in Southern California. Still, as Sunday’s rare local performance proved, he has not let that laid-back typecasting define his style of play. Maybe the “cool” attached to the West Coast sound means playing hot bebop without breaking a sweat.