Peter Kogan's The Green Album

The other day I mentioned that tango's going to be a big thing in 2019--at least in the world of contemporary jazz. Here's another trend that isn't slowing down one bit--the idea of a drummer leading a group, especially when that person also composes and arranges. Maybe I should write a book about this because I feel like I'm getting obsessed, but here's the thing. Am I the only one noticing and talking about this, or am I Captain Obvious and everyone else is rolling their eyes and saying yeah, we all knew that? What else you got? It might just be a matter of doing a little research into the subject, but I am intrigued with this sort-of genre of jazz.

Peter Kogan's new album is out, The Green Album, and it's very different than Weezer's The Green Album. It's far closer to the Charlie Dennard album I reviewed earlier today, strong and steady jazz that maintains an aura of calm. This doesn't challenge my drummer-as-leader thesis--drummers can insert of lot of emotion in those well-placed silences. Kogan as drummer, however, is a subtle enterprise. He's one of those drummers' drummers who avoids the loud and the fast in favor of setting the mood. Focus on him and you'll start to sense that energy he's giving to the others, through tiny details on the blocks and plenty of satisfying ride cymbal action. There's a lot of goodness hiding in that style, and you drummers will know exactly what I'm talking about when you zero in.

The Green Album's title seems to suggest an answer, believe it or not. The liner notes are a little vague, talking about the idea of green being tropical or fertile, and how global traditions in jazz have emerged in places such as Cuba and Africa and Brazil and New Orleans and deep into the heart of the US. Kogan's from Minnesota, as are many of his fifteen cohorts on this recording, and he tells a story of how jazz is "a towering oak with deep roots," which also suggest the fertile aspect of the color green. The Green Album, as far is I can tell, is ultimately about growth, the will we need to ensure jazz styles survive and endure.

That sounds almost melodramatic, but it isn't. Just recently I was eavesdropping on a couple of jazz musicians, and one of them mentioned that "everyone needs to keep playing the old stuff because we've already lost more than we'll ever know." The Green Album features eleven tracks, a mix of originals and classics such as "My Little Suede Shoes" and "The Mooche." That's when you discover Kogan's skill in the change-ups, and how he's staying authentic to the spirit of each piece of music. It also possesses a fun, casual spirit, more so than the fairly serious Deep Blue from earlier. Most importantly, it's a quiet and confidant example of a thrilling new trend, coming from an energy that only percussionists create.

Charlie Dennard's Deep Blue

It hasn't been a bad winter this year, but it's been a strange one. We've been dipping into sub-zero temps for the first time since I moved to New York, three years now, but then we'll have a couple of warm days and all the snow will melt and we'll be looking at our still green lawns and uncollected piles of dead leaves for at least a week. We had a White Thanksgiving--heck, we almost had a White Halloween, but Christmas was not white. Neither was the New Year. Then you wake up on a day like today, close to the middle of February and you wake up to a big snowstorm and suddenly everything seems to be chugging along like it should. So you stay indoors, and you listen to jazz, and the two forge together into one memory.

I think there's a strong bond between jazz and winter, and albums such as Charlie Dennard's Deep Blue prove that. Dennard is a pianist, based in New Orleans, and that seems a little odd since there isn't that much of New Orleans in these seven compositions. To me, there's the somber and reserved tone to everything, a measured calmness that feels all snowy New England to me. This is the same place, the same geographic region where the Vince Guaraldi Trio provided the legendary soundtrack for some animated TV show in the mid '60s. At least that's how I see it.

Deep Blue has all those subtleties down, knowing how to be whimsical without cracking a smile, coaxing you into floating by its side with just a shade of the hypnotic. This is impressive since most of the album is performed by a core trio that includes bassist Max Moran and drummer Doug Belote. Occasional guest appearances from a wide swath of musicians allows some of the songs to expand and contract into specific moods, but that same steady flow keeps moving forward, never veering and never looking down. That comes from the trio.

Dennard's been around for a while, spending the last 20 years playing the clubs in New Orleans with famous friends including his teacher, Ellis Marsalis. If I hear New Orleans anywhere in this album it's when there are more performers on the stage, or even a single electric guitar solo that strolls over to the blues for a song or two. Dennard's switch to organ on a couple of numbers also changes the mood significantly, one where the nights are a lot warmer. But the entire point here is that link this music has made to this day, and how this superb album will always remind me of a snowy, windy yet relatively peaceful morning.