Alive at the Vanguard

Fred Hersch, one of the poet laureates of modern jazz piano, has also proven to be one of the most durable and forward-moving of any artist, on any arts scene. Near death and comatose for two months in 2008, Hersch not only recovered, but went on to compose, perform and record with a renewed creative energy, documented on his most recent recordings, in the studio with his trio (Whirl, 2009) and  live in solo (Alone at the Vanguard, 2011), which garnered 2 Grammy nominations for 2012. With his working trio of the past few years, featuring bassist John Hébert and drummer Eric McPherson, Hersch returned for a week-long run at the Vanguard last winter, yielding the new two-disc set, Alive at the Vanguard. And Hersch has never seemed more alive. 

“This may be my best trio playing on record,” notes Hersch, “in terms of range, sound, being in the moment, and the way we play together…And sonically I think it really captures the Vanguard…you feel like you’re there.”  Across the two discs, Fred presents seven new compositions and covers 11 more, including 3 tracks that merge two tunes each. And indeed, you feel like you are right there in the iconic living room of jazz.

Hersch’s “Havana” provides a somewhat ominous opening (Disc 1), like a melding of Granados and Chopin, often suggesting a much larger ensemble than a trio. McPherson and Hebert generate a relaxed Caribbean vibe while Hersch leads with a powerful, stormy joy as if the prelude to a romantic epic. His mournful “Tristesse” was written for the late Paul Motian who wrote” deceptively simple tunes with two voices outlining the harmony but not in rhythm.” The lines of piano and bass combine as if a 21st century Baroque toccata, while McPherson’s accents are subtle but assertive. “Dream of Monk” was originally part of Hersch’s multi-media project, My Coma Dreams, drawn from dreams he experienced and recalled following his health crisis.  Monk fragments and Monkish rhythms abound; Hébert’s solo filled with playful, raggedy lines while Hersch executes one delightfully twisted idea after another.  At ballad tempo, “Rising, Falling” salutes Wayne Shorter in one of Hersch’s most lyrical and harmonically engaging compositions.  

Disc Two features three more originals, starting with the multi-faceted “Opening” which Hersch composed for McPherson; the drummer’s solo builds patiently over a steady bass drum beat. The lumbering gait of “Jackalope” opens more opportunities for McPherson’s wide-ranging commentary, while “Sartorial” is an elegantly tipsy tribute to Ornette Coleman and his “snazzy” attire. 

Coleman is also represented in the merging of “Lonely Woman” with Miles Davis’ “Nardis,” which Fred first arranged together on Evanescence (1990). Here McPherson’s hollow solo yields to Fred’s Ornettish consideration of the Coleman melody and a haunting undercurrent from Hébert, who helps bridge the compositions with a dark, wandering solo. Other arrangements include a bouncing tumble through Charlie Parker’s “Segment,” an intriguingly oblique reading of “Softly As in a Morning Sunrise,” and a slow bluesy shuffle through Sonny Rollins’ “Doxy” on Disc One. The choices on Disc Two highlight the trio’s elegant empathy, from the achingly lovely “I Fall In Love Too Easily” (Hébert’s solo is simply exquisite) and swinging update of the Cole Porter standard, “From This Moment On,” to two more pairings, Russ Freeman’s “The Wind” woven onto Alec Wilder’s “Moon and Sand” (Fred’s multi-textured piano giving each component a luxurious wash of transparent color), and the extended closing, Hammerstein and Kern’s “The Song Is You” (transformed as a delicately slow ballad) followed by Monk’s seldom heard “Played Twice,” which suggests a songbook standard turned inside out. As a finale, this pairing reflects the essence of the recording, a perfect balancing of the elegant and the quirky, serious musings and playful energy.   

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