Julian Lage makes a major statement by issuing his seventh solo album on Blue Note Records, perhaps the most hallowed label in the history of modern jazz. The very title of the record itself, Squint, bespeaks an effort to increase focus and, as such, it is that rare LP in which creative distillation is the means to progression.
It is, in fact, a combination of rediscovery and restart. The opening “Etude” is a decoy of sorts, a solo piece among the others here with a trio including bassist Jorge Roeder and drummer Dave King. Lage’s studious parsing of notes reflects his current academic status as a faculty member at the New England Conservatory of Music, yet the careful precision of his playing, as well as that of his bandmates, never turns clinical here or elsewhere during this LP. The warmth in the musicianship is one of Squint‘s greatest assets.
“Boo’s Blues” contains simple changes in rhythm and melody, the familiarity of which works in favor of the Lage/Roeder/King threesome as they play. It’s as easy to comprehend in its own way as the aforementioned opener, if not more so, evidence of the leader’s ongoing initiative to remain both accessible and provocative. Yet that’s not only an accurate capsule summary of the cut but might also apply to this album as a whole. If any further proof was necessary, it arrives in the form of the title cut, where Julian flicks off angular guitar notes before commencing a fast-paced walk with the rhythm section.
Their unified beast ground the somewhat dissonant guitar reminiscent of how Lage plays as a member of The Nels Cline 4. This might render the interval redundant if Roeder didn’t get a chance to explore the sonic potential of his instrument; would that King, he of Bad Plus fame, got a similar opportunity for a break on his kit. But this record is less a statement of pure logic than a collection of aural images, a la “Saint Rose,” and therein lies its fundamental spontaneity.
Not surprisingly, then, the latter track sounds like a somewhat off-the-cuff and only slightly structured composite of expressions. Intended to evoke Julian Lage’s California hometown, it demands to be played at a much higher volume than its more restrained and linear surroundings. Such three-to-five-minute cuts, as well as the more contemplative “Emily,” stand as a tribute to Lage’s craftsmanship as a composer and recording artist, not to mention the co-production expertise he shared with guitarist and longtime collaborator Armand Hirsch and singer-songwriter Margaret Glaspy.
Each cut works well on its own terms as a snapshot of the composition, while simultaneously leaving readily discernible hints of potential for expansion in a live setting. That said, Squint might well benefit from at least one track extended even more than the near seven minutes of the “Quiet Like A Fuse.” The roiling swirl of guitar, bass, and drums in “Familiar Flower”–dedicated to a recent collaborator of Julian’s, saxophonist Charles Lloyd–is open-ended by default, so that when this track ends (abruptly), just shy of the four-minute mark, it not only whets the appetite for more but also, unfortunately, sounds incomplete.
On “Day and Age,” Julian Lage is much more astute in his desire to emulate the classic records of his new affiliation’s history (to which the cover art also alludes). Reprised from his 2015 solo album World’s Fair, it is a cut wherein the material and musicianship remains in virtually ideal balance throughout, the result of which conjures an atmosphere that “Short Form” proceeds to amplify; in signaling the homestretch of the album, it is only appropriate the carefully-honed chemistry between the bandleader and his compatriots is in full flower.
Lest this all turn predictable though, Lage, Roeder, and King proceed on another bouncy vamp in the form of “Twilight Surfer.” Their instrumental parries sound as tongue-in-cheek as the song title seems, an effect unfortunately undermined ta bit when it concludes just as the trio generates some momentum. Yet its jollity gives way to “Call of the Canyon,” one of the two covers here, that serves as a quiet benediction to the record by hearkening to prior moments on this very effort. In much the same tantalizing fashion this particular selection works, Squint as a whole also recalls the best of Julian Lage’s previous discography and, in doing so, sets the stage for more dramatic advancement in the future.
