These Pianists Explore the Heart of Their Craft

It’s time to check out the new piano recordings once again, which, given the number being released, we could probably do every week and never run out of appealing candidates.

As with other instrumental areas of jazz, however, there is no major, dominating figure in action these days. Yes, there are great veteran artists such as Oscar Peterson, Cecil Taylor, Hank Jones and others still plying their wares with considerable skill. But there is no Bud Powell, Thelonious Monk or Bill Evans around to serve as a powerful stylistic model.

Instead, there is an extremely high level of technical virtuosity. Today’s pianists--young and old, well-known and obscure--can execute with a dazzling arsenal of technique. Ripping off bebop licks, pounding out thick, two-handed chordal clusters, sliding melismatically through the blues, they are well-prepared, technical masters of their craft.

But craft is not necessarily art. And too often what we have been hearing lately is superbly constructed jazz, pieced together with sometimes astonishing precision, music that unfolds with the unerring accuracy of a computer program, but without the passionate, beating heart that must be present above all else in every form of artistic expression. But there are exceptions--efforts that manage to combine both. Here are a few recordings from veteran artists who attempt the difficult task by expressly stretching the jazz envelope.

It’s a pleasure to hear a recording such as Swedish pianist Bobo Stenson’s “Serenity” (*** 1/2, ECM Records), a two-disc release filled with stunning technique and subtle emotional undercurrents. Stenson’s ability to generate affecting layers of tone is a bit reminiscent at times of Keith Jarrett and Kenny Barron. But he is also very much a product of his own cultural milieu.

The Stenson trio includes bassist Anders Jormin and drummer Jon Christensen. Their interaction has an open, floating quality, with rhythms generally implied rather than stated, and the music--especially during a few spontaneously created numbers--allowing each to step to the forefront, take the background or rove freely in between.

Stenson’s program is also remarkably ambitious, with originals by the pianist and Jormin contrasting with Wayne Shorter’s “Sweet Pea” and trio renderings of pieces by Alban Berg (“Die Nachtigall”); Schoenberg student and film composer Hanns Eisler (“Der Pflaumenbaum” and “Rimbaud Gedicht”); and Charles Ives (the title track, from a song Ives based on a John Greenleaf Whittier hymnal text). Delivered in ECM’s characteristically superb sound, the tracks are gripping examples of what can happen when a gifted European artist combines technique and emotion with a desire to reflect his own culture rather than parrot American standards.

“Chick Corea: Solo Piano Standards, Part One” (***) and “Chick Corea: Solo Piano Originals, Part Two” (*** 1/2), both on Stretch Records, were assembled from 10 solo performances recorded on tour in Japan and Scandinavia in November 1999.

There is never any faulting of Corea’s piano technique. There are passages in the “Standards” album filled with beautifully played, rhapsodic qualities. Corea is too much of a composer to resist framing the songs in what really amounts to a kind of recomposition process (particularly interesting in the Thelonious Monk numbers that dominate the album--”Monk’s Dream,” “Blue Monk,” “Ask Me Now” and “ ‘Round Midnight”--as well as a pair of Bud Powell lines, “Dusk in Sands” and “Oblivion”). But there is a kind of emotional chilliness that tends to undercut the impact of the otherwise well-played pieces.

“Originals,” in contrast, benefits from Corea’s technically oriented performances. Most of the works--which include such relatively familiar items as “Armando’s Rhumba” and “Spain,” as well as a pair of preludes and three of his songs for children--have a distinctly classical orientation. In that context, Corea’s relatively cool approach works well. These are pieces that demand hearing with thoughtful, focused receptivity rather than casual emotionalism. And it may be the kind of music that Corea does best.

Lyle Mays has played an explicit creative role in the music of Pat Metheny for the past two decades. But “Solo Improvisations for Expanded Piano” (***, Warner Bros.) is only his fourth solo album. The title is self-descriptive of the album’s recording, done over 2 1/2 days in late 1998 on a Yamaha MIDI grand piano that allowed Mays to generate and overlay a rich range of musical textures.

Like the Stenson and Corea albums, it hails from an imagination that reaches well beyond traditional jazz. Much of it, with its often intensely dramatic passages, is reminiscent of film music--but stands easily on its own. A more accurate description might be one used by a number of composers--music for an imaginary film, one that varies according to the listener.