Revisiting A&M Records No. 33
Nat Adderley: ‘You, Baby’ (late winter ’68)
Sometimes these CTI albums impress immediately, seizing our attention with intricate compositions, remarkable interplay and an enveloping warmth that offsets bracing coolness. Other times it takes multiple spins before arrangements click, distinctive solos sink in and subtler charms emerge.
And then there are those discs that don’t quite achieve any of the above while attempting to do it all and more.
Not that the younger Adderley’s ambitions are so outsized on this first of two LPs he cut at Rudy Van Gelder’s storied studio for CTI during that boutique’s brief but impactful tenure at A&M. This is ultimately a low-key work of modest proportions, his signature cornet more muted than movingly or moodily memorable.
That in itself isn’t a problem; most of these CTI excursions are transitory affairs: half-serious, half-groovy, and rarely both at the same time. Jazz in general was in flux as the fusion era dawned, hurtling the genre forward whether audiences enjoyed the ride or not. Albums such as this tried to fill the chasm, bridging the wide gap between light pop and heavy jazz with enticing doses of soul.
In so doing, however, Adderley’s set never quite coheres. He never determines whether the future will be truly progressive (‘Electric Eel,’ powered by Joe Zawinul’s keys work, hints at where Miles Davis will be a year later) or curiously regressive (sketches like ‘Early Chanson’ and ‘Early Minor’ rely on chamber orchestra backdrops more than rhythmic pulses to get their points across).
The experiments too often display formulae, not results; the standouts, like ‘New Orleans’ and ‘Denise’ and the title track, revert to established forms rather than break new ground; and the pop pieces, like a somnambulistic take on ‘By the Time I Get to Phoenix,’ are merely high-grade Muzak. An admirable failure.