The Hell’s Kitchen Funk Orchestra name suggests a bold swaggering band capable of taking on the Warriors, the Sharks and the Jets with one collective hand tied behind their backs. It comes as a surprise, therefore, to hear the delicate opening piano ballad on this album. Beneath The Stacks is a lovely solo piece, composed by Warfield but played by Albulescu. I was expecting something more explosive than this very contemplative, melancholy tune. Currents takes us towards the more expected; a loping, shuffling urban funk, its space allows for warm collective passages and Warfield’s muted trumpet.
It is not until Terrestis that we hear something that
sounds like it comes out of Hell’s Kitchen; it’s a big, bold, rumprolling slab
of Lee Morgan-esque Blue Note funk that sees Warfield’s trumpet hand onto
Bacher’s fat sound on baritone all while the band punches 1-2-3-4 behind them.
If you have to listen to this whilst stuck in traffic near Kingston Park, as I
did the first time I heard it, it will provide a sliver of a silver lining for
your journey. Gary Bartz’ alto provides an especially sweet spot. Cissy Strut is New Orleans by way of
Stax Records of Memphis, Tennessee as Paul Shaffer’s organ gives us a taste of
Booker T before Bacher punches holes in the walls with some mighty baritone
sax. Coleman’s piano swings us out over all sorts of escapades and shenanigans
from the rest of the orchestra behind her.
The Message is a Coleman composition but it’s the
organ and guitar pair of Shaffer and Chertkoff who power it through before
another fine solo from Bartz. Bartz’ Nusia’s
Poem provides a bit of a breather with Coleman’s piano providing the
backing as Warfield floats the horns in over the top; Bartz gives us another
fine solo. Woody Shaw’s Rosewood is
essayed as a swinging piece of 1970s’ soul funk and jollies along
inoffensively, whilst Warfield swings the horns well providing plenty of colour
and a broad effective front line for the saxes to fly over on their solos. It
conjures up images of bustling city streets and neon lights reflected in
puddles. By way of contrast Baltimore
Oriole takes us down the steps of a dark backstreet dive with a single
spotlight through the smoke barely illuminating a singer and stripped down band
on the stage. Jasia Ries caresses the lines, Coleman’s piano provides the
backing, and Chertkoff’s guitar the punctuation. Neumann brushes his drums.
Then we’re back in
the light for an energetic, stomping, joyful Wilpan’s Walk with the band raving behind Warfield and Marini’s
solos. It’s one to swing your flares to, with Wade’s closing solo discouraging
any relaxation before the song ends. Cecilia Coleman composed the title track, Chesapeake. It feels like a more modern
piece than much of the rest of the album, more of a suite than a single piece,
although it’s only 7:11 minutes long. Much of it is a frame for Bartz’ solo;
full of blues he floats, untethered, alternately sad and hopeful. It ends, with
the larger band’s support, on an optimistic upswing.
Light is the funkiest thing on the album
throwing us back to somewhere near Chaka Khan doing Once You Get Started. Warfield charges his horns back and forwards
across the picture and the extended rhythm section rolls and jostles behind
them. It breaks down for Riekenberg’s tenor solo but the rest creep up behind
him to smother him with wailing, punching brass.
Chesapeake is a strong entertaining album that, as
with many albums like this, you feel would go down a storm live. Strong
arrangements ensure that the energy level only drops when it should for the
ballads. Good liner notes, as well, by Bill Milkowski who has, over the years,
written a lot of good stuff about a lot of good people, notably his Pastorius
biography, Jaco, from 2005.
BTW, in this age of
Spotify and streaming generally, Warfield’s liner notes direct (twice) that ‘THIS ALBUM SHOULD BE EXPERIENCED
SEQUENTIALLY’ so that’s what I did. Dave
Sayer
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