Beyond Coltrane, Back to Blue Note

McCoy Tyner is so firmly associated with the pioneering John Coltrane groups of the ‘60s that there is sometimes a tendency to overlook the immensely varied work he has done in the succeeding decades. It would not, in fact, be unreasonable to describe him as Mr. Versatility, given a sequence of recordings and performances ranging across a musical spectrum that includes Latin music, piano trios, standards, Coltrane-esque efforts and even an orchestral view of the music of Burt Bacharach.

“McCoy Tyner With Stanley Clarke and Al Foster” (*** 1/2, Telarc) is more conservative and gentle than one might expect from a trio in which Tyner works with electric bass whiz Clarke and the similarly versatile Foster (a former Miles Davis drummer). But Clarke spends much of the album playing acoustic bass, his crisp walking lines and solid harmonic support a reminder that he always has been far more than a fusion master. Interestingly, a Tyner original--”I Want to Tell You ‘Bout That”--is performed in two versions, the first with Clarke on electric bass, the second on acoustic. And the differences between the two--the electric version is powerfully bass-driven, the acoustic version a more unified trio effort--reveal the importance of Clarke’s contributions.

Tyner’s maturity and musical intelligence are present everywhere, his lines filled with his characteristic arpeggios, yet perfectly adaptive to the shifting styles of the music, from the lyricism of “Never Let Me Go” and the drive of “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes” to the rocking Latin pulse (propelled by Foster) of “Carriba.”

Some of the territory initially explored by Tyner with Coltrane is further examined in “New Directions” (***, Blue Note). The album is the result of a tour in the spring of 1999 by a group of young artists that included vibist Stefon Harris, pianist Jason Moran, alto saxophonist Greg Osby, tenor saxophonist Mark Shim, drummer Nasheet Watts and bassist Taurus Mateen. And, despite the occasionally avant-garde quality of the improvising (especially from Osby), the real reference point is the history of Blue Note, with most of the music drawn from the company’s earlier years--including tunes such as Lee Morgan’s “The Sidewinder,” Herbie Hancock’s theme from “Blow-Up,” Hank Mobley’s “No Room for Squares” and Horace Silver’s “Song for My Father.”

The appeal, obviously, is in hearing how a collection of talented younger players deals with these familiar items. And the interpretations are generally fascinating. Although the familiar groove of some of the material (“Sidewinder,” for example) is quickly abandoned in the soloing, this is, after all, a new generation of Blue Note artists, and they quickly stamp the material with edgy, contemporary originality.

Another musical overview turns up on “Organ-ized” (***, High Street), an all-star tribute to the Hammond B3 organ. Think of the classic Hammond organ trio--usually including guitar and drums, with bass lines (as well as melody and harmony) provided by the organist--and hard-grooving swing immediately comes to mind. Joey DeFrancesco confirms the classic view in the hard-swinging “Ashley Blue.” Foot-tapping tracks by veterans Jimmy Smith (“There Will Never Be Another You”) and Jack McDuff (“Misty”) underscore the persistence of the classic style.

But the album also displays the organ in settings reaching into far less familiar territory. John Medeski, for example, drives the instrument into the present on “Swamp Road” with the help of DJ Logic on turntables; Ricky Peterson (“Drop Shot”) enlivens the familiar trio sound with superheated percussion and a driving horn section; Reuben Wilson (“Yes Sir”) digs into soul and R&B; and Larry Goldings (“Moonbird”) explores a rich level of musical subtlety with the help of guitarist Peter Bernstein and drummer Bill Stewart. If the resourceful efforts on this collection are a guide, the Hammond B3 will continue to be a prominent jazz voice well into the 21st century.

It also appears that the connection between the name Coryell and the jazz guitar will also continue, as it has since Larry Coryell arrived on the scene in the ‘60s. “The Coryells” (** 1/2, Chesky) showcases Coryell with his two guitar-playing sons, Murali, 30, and Julian, 26. Although the siblings are both fine guitarists, their styles differ considerably from their father’s fusion-associated approach. Murali’s work has a consistent blues coloration, and his singing--notably on Charles Mingus’ “Goodbye Pork-Pie Hat”--appears to be an essential part of his artistic identity. Julian, on the other hand, seems more drawn to classical and Spanish guitar, his solo lines articulated with clean precision.

Larry Coryell assumes a supportive role for the most part, presumably proud to feature his offspring. But it is his rhythmic energy that holds many of the pieces together in this uneven album, and Murali and Julian--their individual talent aside--would do well to listen closely to their father’s multilayered skills.