Wynton Marsalis: Citi Movement (Griot New York) : Music Reviews : Rolling Stone

Album Reviews

Ever since that precocious tadpole Wynton Marsalis emerged with Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers in the late Seventies, the notion of what is and is not serious has been an overriding concern for him – to the degree that the gifted young trumpeter once likened his musical crusade to Saint George's battle with the dragon. Marsalis could at once speak of history and respect for tradition by dipping into the innovations of Miles Davis (in his "serious period") with a formalism so didactic it was practically medicinal while dissing Miles as a musical traitor "who went over to the other side." Such star-chamber pronouncements tended to mitigate people's affection for a player so committed to pure jazz expression.

Well, if you're going to talk that talk, you'd better walk that walk, which Marsalis has done with exquisite grace on Citi Movement, as classy and elegant a work of acoustic jazz as this young decade has seen. In many ways, Citi Movement is Marsalis's Black, Brown and Beige. His command of a long form – with its multiple themes and variations, complex contrapuntal passages and contrasting narrative moods – is cinematic in scope. And every note dances – he conceived the album for choreographer Garth Fagan's ballet Griot New York.

Marsalis's three movements define a series of spiritual transformations: There's urban hustle-bustle (à la Jelly Roll Morton and George Gershwin); the "How long?" moan of the spirituals, leading to Creole, European and Coltraneish cotillions; and a brief history of jazz (along with a final gospel-tinged amen as a "Curtain Call"). In each phase, Marsalis effects a symbolic promenade of past, present and future, as when a free-jazz aside on "The End" gives way to one of Marsalis's most heartfelt, swinging arias, invoking "The Legend of Buddy Bolden." At that moment, and throughout Citi Movement's affectionate parodies of classical and folk elements (including the "Three Blind Mice" vamp that frames the conclusion of "Modern Vistas [As Far as the Eye Can See]"), Marsalis finally avails himself on disc of the one element most lacking in his music – a sense of humor. Now that's jazz.