Trumpeter Scott Wendholt recorded a stack of discs as a leader for Criss Cross and Double-Time in the 1990s, but hasn’t been heard much from lately on CD. Live at Sono is a mere stopgap – a live gig from the sunbaked outdoor patio of a Connecticut seafood restaurant. The band is solid and professional, and just occasionally reaches a little beyond that, as on a reading of “Darn That Dream” which recalls Booker Little’s lorn balladry. The material is mostly an uncontroversial set of familiar standards, though it’s nice to see Thad Jones’ “Mean What You Say” make an appearance. But the disc is merely a potboiler, and presents some serious obstacles to enjoyment: it’s indifferently recorded, the audience chatters lustily throughout, Alan Simon is relegated to an electric keyboard, and the tape runs out before the end of “In Your Own Sweet Way,” necessitating a fade-out.

Singer Judy Bady has made a few appearances on other musicians’ recordings already – including an album of Christmas music recorded by Oliver Lake(!) – but Blackbird is her first album under her own name. It’s a strong debut, benefitting from Misha Piatigorsky’s excellent work at the piano and inventive arrangements – check out the nice use of stoptime on “Caravan,” for instance. Like a lot of debuts Blackbird touches on too many bases at once: the program includes straight jazz, gospel and soul, as well as a cheesy fusion take on “Dindi” and even a wacked-out race through “That’s All” by just vocalist and drummer (it ends with a weird burst of laughter – or coughing? – and Bady’s instruction to the engineer: “We should leave it!”). But Bady does well by “Bye Bye Blackbird,” “Caravan,” “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” and several other tunes, and her one original, “Je Me Souvien,” isn’t bad at all – its dark, soulful opening suggests that she’s learned a lot from her past work with Billy Harper. The disc even includes a cover of Harper’s “If One Could Only See,” though sadly it’s not one of the better tracks. If Blackbird’s not quite a success, it’s still a promising debut.

Jeff Shurdut is a New-York-based visual artist with a keen interest in free jazz. He often invites musicians into his studio for jams, releasing the results on CD-R under his jokily named imprint NoLabel, the covers adorned with reproductions of his own artworks. NoLabel is one of the most frustrating catalogs in contemporary jazz, starting with its lack of catalog numbers, recording dates, or reliable instrumentation listings. On paper, it looks like a terrific catalog – the lineups of past releases include Bern Nix, Joe McPhee, Daniel Carter and Sabir Mateen. But the lineups also invariably include Shurdut himself, who plays garage-band guitar of no discernable merit – and that’s enough to torpedo all four of the discs under review.

Hidden Perceptions features two duets with Sabir Mateen and Hill Greene. Mateen is credited with “saxophones, clarinets, flute,” though I only noticed a clarinet and a flute. He often stops playing for long stretches – who knows, maybe he’s gone to get a smoke or a cup of coffee – which leaves the listener to Shurdut’s tender mercies. This is a pretty feeble stuff, but it’s at least better than the completely useless duet with bassist Hill Greene that follows. Virtue is a duet with Daniel Carter, who wanders through his usual arsenal of alto and tenor saxes, clarinet, bass clarinet, and trumpet, even using the lot on one overdubbed track. The main advantages this disc has over the others are that (1) the tracks are short; (2) the recording quality is a bit less anaemic, and (3) there’s even a handful of passable performances, like the last track, “Incarnation.” Heaven and Earth is a duet between Shurdut and Kalaparush Maurice McIntyre. McIntyre doesn’t sound bad but seems to become progressively bewildered or frustrated as the album wears on: as with the Mateen duet, there are some long silences where McIntyre simply gives up (sometimes in mid-phrase) and lets Shurdut play with himself for a bit. On Women and Children Shurdut’s partner is alto saxophonist Rob Bramlett, a new name to me. He actually copes better with Shurdut than the more famous names here, managing to wrest some plausible music from the situation before succumbing to the inevitable. Let’s hope that Bramlett gets a chance to record a proper album before too long. Meanwhile, a plea to readers: if you go to Jeff Shurdut’s studio for a gander at his paintings, do the world a favour and don’t bring an instrument.

Nate Dorward

Cadence, April 2004