Bad Brad

As it turns out, Mehldau almost deserves this extended featuring. For one thing, he almost has a voice. This is no small near-achievement. True, there was a time when young musicians with distinctive voices proliferated. But during the past two decades the anxiety of influence has bred a generation (or two) who speak in a kind of generic idea-of-jazz language or else in a combination and/or diminution of the voices of past masters. So though Mehldau hasn't fully digested all his influences -- prime Herbie Hancock, in particular, comes across at times with a feeling close to mimicry -- the extent to which he sounds like himself, his combination of rather austere melodicism with juicy harmonies, the way his ideas flow and overlap, is pretty impressive.

Mehldau (who first raised eyebrows and cocked ears as part of Joshua Redman's quartet) aims to be a romantic, though not in the modern sense -- a fact he cues us to by calling his publishing company Werther (after Goethe's novel), by naming two of his originals "Young Werther" and "Angst," and by adorning the CD booklet with low-keyed black and white photos of the pianist pondering, drinking coffee, smoking (are the minor vices coming back in style? -- one can only hope). He has a background in classical music and holds Brahms, Schubert, et al. in the same high esteem as Tyner, Jarrett, and that bunch. Here's a guy who knows a thing or two about that old Teutonic tradition of melancholy self-regard. As poses go, you could do worse.

The disc is divided into two halves, each with different accompaniment, and it's on the first half, with bassist Larry Grenadier and drummer Jorge Rossy, that we're pointed in the classical-influence direction. "Young Werther" is Mehldau's most striking concoction, built on the very slight thematic material of four notes in different configurations, which are initially presented in a harmonically oblique manner reminiscent of Andrew Hill. Mehldau delivers the variations with exuberance and unremitting invention right up to a brief a cappella coda where all the implications of the piece are spelled out in the form of a little semi-stride contrapuntal dance.

"Angst" sounds more like "Wistful" and finds the pianist in a Bill Evans-ish mood but without Evans's transcendent lassitude (Evans, the junkie-artist, knew from angst). Also in that first half is a deconstructed cover of Coltrane's "Countdown," the inexorable forward momentum of the original replaced by a tricky, rubbery time sense. It's here that the Hancock impersonation is most obvious, with terse, spaced phrases that would have fit well on Miles Smiles.

The second half of the disc features Redman bandmates Christian McBride on bass and Brian Blade on drums. On the disc's promo sheet Mehldau speaks of having been at one time interested in "bridging" the styles of McCoy Tyner and Wynton Kelly, and here his original "London Blues" gives an idea of what that might sound like -- relentless, almost orchestral chording from the left hand, a spinning-out of sophisticated blues derivations from the right. Nice, but it sounds willed after hearing Mehldau the manic linear-ist for the greater part of the disc.

Less affected is a rapid-fire rip through Cole Porter's "From This Moment On" and some more Hancockiness on the original "Say Goodbye," which despite its slow opening (and title and nine-minute length) isn't the least bit lugubrious. McBride, meanwhile, wins the most valuable sideman award with his three solos: he combines a huge, authoritative sound with a looseness of conception. He's especially endearing on the Porter cover, taking an arco solo whose buzzing sound and droll, tart phrasing make it both literally and figuratively waspish.

On the downside, I could have done without 10 minutes of "Prelude to a Kiss," which mainly demonstrates that Mehldau can do "pretty" when he wants to. And "London Blues" could have been shortened. But the kid has chops, an incipient voice, and enough imagination to resist being merely brilliant in the manner of the times. Let's wait and see.