Mark Turner: Reflections on: The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man
Giant Step Arts

Tenor saxophonist Mark Turner has been heralded by both The New York Times, who crowned him "possibly jazz's premier player,” and Ravi Coltrane, who hailed him as “one of the most important players that has come along in the last twenty years.” If such accolades seem hyperbolic, the evidence presented on Reflections on: The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man justifies the praise. It's a deeply thoughtful statement that's in a different league from most jazz albums. While another tenor saxophonist might fashion a collection of standards and originals, Turner's done something far more ambitious in creating a ten-movement suite that couples instrumental episodes and provocative text recitations.

The spoken passages are from The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson, a Civil Rights activist, diplomat, and professor known for many things, including writing with his composer brother J. Rosamond Johnson “Lift Every Voice and Sing” (an allusion to the song by pianist David Virelles emerges near the work's conclusion). Having discovered the book, published in 1912, while visiting the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem, Turner was captivated by Johnson's semi-fictional account, which is set in post-Reconstruction America and explores the case of a biracial man capable of "passing" as white. Fascinating in itself, the content resonated all the more with Turner for the fact that passing was something that had been talked about in his own family when his mother could pass.

As spoken by Turner, the passages selected for the suite are compelling and at times, especially in the case of those that include the “n” word, jarring. Regardless of the specific content in play and the ideas being examined, the texts are often eloquent and riveting (two samples: “It's no disgrace to be black, but it's often very inconvenient”; “After all, racial supremacy is merely a matter of dates in history”). Turner brought the same kind of care and circumspection to his selections as he did the work as a whole. In his words, "I wanted to have music that was enhanced with words, not words that were enhanced by music.” Implicitly understanding that the words as written are already heavily charged, he smartly refrains from embellishing his delivery with overly dramatic readings and instead recites the words with a dry matter-of-factness.

Instrumentally, the performances are strong, starting with Turner himself, whose playing's marked by finesse and authority (see the striking cadenza with which he opens “Pulmonary Edema” and the duet with the pianist it grows into, and the rather Coltrane-esque solo he delivers in “Europe"). Joining him are pianist Virelles, trumpeter Jason Palmer, bassist Matt Brewer and drummer Nasheet Waits, their sound largely acoustic but for the synthesizers heard in "New York" and “Europe" (Turner's nod to Sun Ra, apparently) and Brewer's occasional substitution of electric for acoustic bass. The instrumental pieces blossom patiently but always with purpose and a clear sense of direction. Themes are voiced but atmosphere is a strong component too. While the leader and Palmer shoulder the melodic load, all five are integral to the musical identity created and wholly responsive to the music as it emerges in the moment. That said, there's no question Turner's the guiding light and the album his vision.

The opening title, “Anonymous,” highlights the fact that the protagonist is never referred to by name and thus draws attention immediately to the identity-related issue that's key to the project. Against a swirling, texturally rich backdrop, Turner's voice emerges to introduce the work's text dimension before shifting to an instrumental episode featuring a portentous theme. At times, the music brings relief when it follows a particularly powerful recitation (e.g., “Europe”), though it would be incorrect to suggest the instrumental component itself isn't as powerful. In fact, if the album was presented with the spoken parts removed, the quintet's playing would still command the listener's attention. The ear's certainly arrested by the ominous, organ-drenched intro to "New York” and the aggressive, funk-jazz music that follows, as well as by the coupling of Turner's recitation with Palmer (who distinguishes himself throughout) on “The Texan … The Soldier.” The saxophonist's romantic side comes to the fore for the peaceful ballad “Mother … Sister … Lover,” Virelles as gentle in his own contribution. A solemn saxophone-trumpet chorale dominates the penultimate movement, “Identity Politics,” until Turner's final spoken passage recounts the protagonist's regret over cowardly choosing a life of security over one that embraced his heritage with all the challenges that would entail. “Closure,” fittingly, ends the work with a re-statement of the theme from the opening movement.

October 2025