Ethan Philion: Meditations on Mingus
Sunnyside Records

In Chicago bassist Ethan Philion's estimation, Charles Mingus's music is revered yet underperformed, the Mingus Institute bands run by his widow Sue Mingus one noted exception. If he's correct (and the available evidence certainly suggests he is), there's a clear reason why: Mingus's own performances are so definitive, it makes the prospect of re-recording the pieces daunting. Why tackle “Haitian Fight Song” and “Pithecanthropus Erectus,” in other words, when the original versions are so seminal? So give credit to Philion for taking on the challenge; give him more for succeeding so credibly.

Mingus is an inspiration for jazz artists in general and bassists in particular, both for the authority of his attack and his writing. When he died from ALS in 1979 at only fifty-six, he left a collection of compositions so remarkable they're now considered jazz repertory. His heartfelt Lester Young tribute “Goodbye Porkpie Hat” has been covered most, but it's one Philion surprisingly chose not to include. Instead, he gravitated to pieces in Mingus's catalogue that speak to issues America (and elsewhere) is still grappling with: race, identity, political corruption, poverty, economic inequality—injustice in all its forms and guises. Meditations on Mingus celebrates the man a century after his birth with authentic performances that honour his memory.

Just as personnel was key to the success of Mingus's outfits, so too is it pivotal in Philion's case. He's smartly surrounded himself with a stellar cast of front-liners, trumpeters Russ Johnson and Victor Garcia, trombonists Brendan Whalen and Norman Palm, and saxophonists Geof Bradfield, Rajiv Halim, and Max Bessesen. To match the towering rhythm trio of Mingus, Jake Byard, and Dannie Richmond, Philion recruited pianist Alexis Lombre and drummer Dana Hall.

It hardly surprises that standouts include Philion's versions of “Pithecanthropus Erectus” and “Haitian Fight Song,” in large part because of their vitality as compositions; his arrangements for a ten-piece ensemble also give these already powerful pieces extra punch. The bassist didn't just replicate Mingus's arrangements either: “Remember Rockefeller at Attica” and “Self-Portrait in Three Colors” contain new material by Philion, and other pieces are composites created from an array of versions Mingus recorded. In applying such strategies, Philion pays tribute to the legend but also personalizes the project and individuates his versions from the originals.

As the album was recorded on September 27, 2021, a risk factor was in play that works in the music's favour. However prepared a collective is for a session, recording an entire album in a single day means spontaneity is built into the performances. That many push past ten minutes also increases that feeling that anything can happen and makes for exciting music.

After a majestic horn chorale introduces “Once Upon a Time, There Was a Holding Corporation Called Old America,” the band tackles material wholly emblematic of Mingus's writing style with robust swing and focused intensity. As in Mingus's own band performances, Philion's ensemble smoothly navigates between composed and improvised parts. The luscious textures of which this large ensemble's capable are used to good effect in “Self-Portrait in Three Colors.” Listening to “Haitian Fight Song” and “Better Git It In Your Soul,” one can't help but sense the joy Philion must have felt in igniting the performances with their signature bass patterns. To that end, the ensemble exhibits the same kind of commitment in its passionate rendering of the mighty “Pithecanthropus Erectus,” the saxophonists in particular taking flight.

Lombre elevates many a performance with pianisms rich in blues and gospel flavour, Hall drives the music with muscular thrust, and Philion operates at a high level throughout. Johnson distinguishes “Self-Portrait in Three Colors” with a poised solo, Halim's alto blows breezily through “Remember Rockefeller at Attica,” and Bradfield's bass clarinet adds colour to the fifteen-minute “Meditation on a Pair of Wire Cutters.” Singling out particular musicians risks doing a disservice to the others, however—suffice it to say, all acquit themselves honourably. Do the performances on Meditations on Mingus surpass the originals? Of course not, but that doesn't mean they're not credible in themselves. Further to that, a new recording of his compositions helps ensure they won't end up as museum pieces ripe for ossification.

September 2022