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Mystery man

Looking back at Sonny Rollins on RCA

by Ed Hazell

By general consensus, Sonny Rollins is one of the world's greatest living saxophonists, a jazz giant who has left an indelible mark on four generations of players. So why have albums by this master of the form -- discs whose best moments rank among the music's best -- so often disappointed fans and critics? It's one of the jazz world's enduring enigmas.

The Complete Sonny Rollins RCA Victor Recordings, a new six-CD set, may only deepen the mystery surrounding the saxist. It includes all the material available from one of the most controversial periods in Rollins's career -- the years 1962-'64, when, among other things, he flirted briefly with the free-jazz concepts of Ornette Coleman. It offers the six RCA albums as they originally appeared, enhanced with alternate and unissued takes. (For sequencing reasons, a couple of the original albums are spread across two CDs.) Most of the extra material was previously available only on long-out-of-print French albums and is appearing domestically for the first time.

The box may not settle any arguments about the consistency and quality of Rollins's records, but with some of his greatest successes and boldest experiments, it will give listeners plenty to think about and enjoy. Among the unqualified triumphs is his comeback album, 1962's The Bridge, which marked his return to jazz after a two-year absence during which he practiced and studied privately. Rollins is often faulted for assembling rhythm sections that were no more than serviceable, but this is one of his most satisfying band albums, thanks to the contributions of velvet-toned guitarist Jim Hall, who not only solos with his usual harmonic sophistication and introspective lyricism but also displays great rhythmic acuity comping for Rollins.

This period also generated some of Rollins's most puzzling miscalculations and frustrating failures. Both extremes seem a product of his attempts to mix the New Thing of Ornette Coleman and John Coltrane with the hard bop he'd mastered playing with Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, and Max Roach in the '50s. In this respect, these albums are prescient, anticipating the likes of David Murray and Arthur Blythe by nearly 20 years.

Unfortunately, Rollins doesn't enjoy the same chemistry with Coleman Hawkins on '63's Sonny Meets Hawk as with Hall on The Bridge. An aging veteran of swing-era cutting sessions and father of the jazz tenor saxophone, Hawkins was always ready to accept a challenge. And he turns in one of his very best late performances, surging with confidence throughout the encounter. Yet Rollins responds with some of his strangest playing, peppering his solo on "Yesterdays" with weird timbres and eerie trills and using soft, piping tones on "Lover Man." Was he trying to avoid comparisons with Hawk by going in the opposite direction? Was he taunting Hawk or trying to unsettle him? The questions remain unanswered. Although it is often dismissed as a failure, Sonny Meets Hawk is a fascinating, even satisfying, session because of the differences between the two primary soloists.

One thing that's not in dispute: this was an unsettled period for Rollins, during which he tried many sidemen and experimented with new techniques. None of his experiments or choice of sidemen was as dramatic, or as successful, as his decision to work with the Don Cherry and Billy Higgins -- half the Ornette Coleman quartet. Rollins's relationship with trumpeter Cherry lies somewhere between his chemistry with Hall and his wary circling around Hawkins. Both men are natural melodists, though quite different in character, and they gradually establish a rapport on Our Man in Jazz. But the album is most remarkable for the 25-minute workout on "Oleo," on which Rollins transforms the exuberant improvisation of his youth with the overtones, split notes, and other extended techniques of the avant-garde. It drifts a bit, but at its best moments it ranks among the most exciting Rollins performances on record.

There are more stunning trio explorations on Now's the Time and The Standard Sonny Rollins. There are also disappointments here -- chief among them Herbie Hancock's failure to get a handle on Rollins. And the calypsos from What's New and three short tracks with Cherry are slight. However, the additional material offers many gems. Two alternates of "Four," 15 minutes of majestic free association on "Now's the Time," and a 12-minute "Trav'lin' Light" featuring startling arco bass work from David Izenzon are valuable additions to the Rollins canon.

Rollins has always taken risks in his playing, and this was never truer than in the early '60s. There are indeed some missteps in the RCA Victor recordings, but they are surprisingly few. The temptation is to overreact to the occasional mediocre track and take the towering successes for granted. But perhaps the answer to the mystery of Sonny Rollins that his human fallibility and godlike gifts are inseparable -- one has always fueled the other.