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"...fervent, collective creativity—and it's only a beat or two from total fulfillment."
— DownBeat
"...a rising star on the tenor sax"
— All About Jazz (★★★★☆)
(Un)seaworthy by Kevin Sun
November 27, 2020
Available now on Bandcamp
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Kevin Sun – tenor saxophone
Walter Stinson – bass Matt Honor – drums Track Listing (all compositions by Kevin Sun)
Endectomorph Music Catalog No.
EMM-009 Recorded by Chris Benham at Big Orange Sheep, Brooklyn, NY on May 17-18, 2019 - Mixed by Juanma Trujillo - Mastered by Eivind Opsvik - Produced by Christian Li - Photography by MT Pankavee - Design by Knar Hovakimyan - Liner notes by Jacob Shulman - Total length: 35:23 |
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Liner notes
Abstraction is a force that has always pushed music forward. In the mathematical sense, abstraction refers to the process of intentionally “forgetting” certain structural elements in order to reveal a deeper core within a concept; the same force is at play in this album. The modernistic, dazzling performance exalts Kevin Sun’s musical ancestors (in particular, Lester Young) but does not copy specificities. Sun instead penetrates straight to the essence of his influences and reveals how loving abstraction can engender new worlds of musical possibility without disconnecting from what makes the past great.
On (Un)seaworthy, what is forgotten and what is revealed? For one, traditional rhythmic symmetries are broken down, so that phrase lengths and time signatures vary greatly; there is hardly a moment of standard 4/4 time. Chordal harmony cannot really exist in the saxophone trio format, so the narrative of harmony and voice leading is instead conveyed through the wet paint of just-played notes lingering on the sustain of memory. Imagine watching ripples interact in a pond after dropping in a few pebbles.
On the other hand, the voice (or perhaps the ghost) of Lester Young shines through the whole album. Young’s key attributes do not merely survive Sun’s abstractions; they are enhanced, transformed, and reframed by them. On full display: the essence of the blues; the miracle of the swung eighth note; and proof that the saxophone can be an instrument of beauty, not just power. Shadows of Charlie Parker’s soaring bebop are everywhere, too, and listening closely, one might get a whiff of the funky sentimentality of Horace Silver or the blue-flame modernism of Mark Turner.
Throughout the album, abstraction and reverence twist through and pull on each other, sparking the tension that is crucial to all good jazz. In fact, the ambivalence of the title puts it best: when one pushes off into the incalculable seas of improvised jazz, there can never be a guarantee that the vessel will survive the voyage. Mercifully, the spirits of the past guide us, showing well-worn routes through familiar challenges.
And yet, we cannot and must not follow those routes.
Where can an intrepid jazz adventurer seek such discoveries? It is in the realm of the abstract, where emotional and intellectual distances are unfixed, where the past and the present congeal. Sun is surely a 21st-century saxophonist, employing contemporary devices like split overtones and the altissimo register, and yet his tone, more than ever, embraces the old-school husk of the ’30s. The opening unison passage of “Bad Lady” refracts the first recorded meeting of Pres and Bird through a quintuplet prism. Twenty-two minutes into an album populated with density and virtuosity, and directly following an undulating passage of loose, cascading scales, Sun takes a deep breath and then hits us with a truly Youngian gesture straight out of the ’50s, which admittedly does not appear much in his prior work: a slow, throbbing, downright sentimental melody of whispers and long notes. This is the best moment on the album because it answers its fundamental question. Yes, this trio, this music, is seaworthy.
It is worth noting just how great Sun’s compatriots are, how effortlessly they sail through the manifold challenges he has concocted for them. Bassist Walter Stinson is the timbral core of the trio, a solid, resonant voice against which one can measure the shapeshifting of the other two players. Matt Honor understands that the primary function of jazz drums is texture, and his playing has a flowing, fractal quality, not totally smooth yet not discontinuous, like tree bark or the side of a mountain. These two consummate musicians support Sun — unison playing is unironically one of the group’s specialties — but they are also his foil, playing clean when he goes dirty and keeping cool when he heats up. It’s a complete trio full of surprise, swagger, and sentiment, seaworthy indeed but without taking for granted the risk, the pleasure, or the history of jazz.
—Jacob Shulman, September 2020
On (Un)seaworthy, what is forgotten and what is revealed? For one, traditional rhythmic symmetries are broken down, so that phrase lengths and time signatures vary greatly; there is hardly a moment of standard 4/4 time. Chordal harmony cannot really exist in the saxophone trio format, so the narrative of harmony and voice leading is instead conveyed through the wet paint of just-played notes lingering on the sustain of memory. Imagine watching ripples interact in a pond after dropping in a few pebbles.
On the other hand, the voice (or perhaps the ghost) of Lester Young shines through the whole album. Young’s key attributes do not merely survive Sun’s abstractions; they are enhanced, transformed, and reframed by them. On full display: the essence of the blues; the miracle of the swung eighth note; and proof that the saxophone can be an instrument of beauty, not just power. Shadows of Charlie Parker’s soaring bebop are everywhere, too, and listening closely, one might get a whiff of the funky sentimentality of Horace Silver or the blue-flame modernism of Mark Turner.
Throughout the album, abstraction and reverence twist through and pull on each other, sparking the tension that is crucial to all good jazz. In fact, the ambivalence of the title puts it best: when one pushes off into the incalculable seas of improvised jazz, there can never be a guarantee that the vessel will survive the voyage. Mercifully, the spirits of the past guide us, showing well-worn routes through familiar challenges.
And yet, we cannot and must not follow those routes.
Where can an intrepid jazz adventurer seek such discoveries? It is in the realm of the abstract, where emotional and intellectual distances are unfixed, where the past and the present congeal. Sun is surely a 21st-century saxophonist, employing contemporary devices like split overtones and the altissimo register, and yet his tone, more than ever, embraces the old-school husk of the ’30s. The opening unison passage of “Bad Lady” refracts the first recorded meeting of Pres and Bird through a quintuplet prism. Twenty-two minutes into an album populated with density and virtuosity, and directly following an undulating passage of loose, cascading scales, Sun takes a deep breath and then hits us with a truly Youngian gesture straight out of the ’50s, which admittedly does not appear much in his prior work: a slow, throbbing, downright sentimental melody of whispers and long notes. This is the best moment on the album because it answers its fundamental question. Yes, this trio, this music, is seaworthy.
It is worth noting just how great Sun’s compatriots are, how effortlessly they sail through the manifold challenges he has concocted for them. Bassist Walter Stinson is the timbral core of the trio, a solid, resonant voice against which one can measure the shapeshifting of the other two players. Matt Honor understands that the primary function of jazz drums is texture, and his playing has a flowing, fractal quality, not totally smooth yet not discontinuous, like tree bark or the side of a mountain. These two consummate musicians support Sun — unison playing is unironically one of the group’s specialties — but they are also his foil, playing clean when he goes dirty and keeping cool when he heats up. It’s a complete trio full of surprise, swagger, and sentiment, seaworthy indeed but without taking for granted the risk, the pleasure, or the history of jazz.
—Jacob Shulman, September 2020
Press
"(Un)seaworthy is both a glance back and a look forward, indicating the vast promise of Sun and his trio’s potent understanding of jazz forebears. Theirs is a fervent, collective creativity—and it’s only a beat or two from total fulfillment." — DownBeat
"Kevin Sun brings a fresh energy and and sense of adventure to the saxophone trio format ... This is the work of mature musicians who respect the lessons of their elders but still have the daring and curiosity to carve their own paths." — All About Jazz
- DownBeat (March 2021)
- All About Jazz (February 2021)
- Step Tempest (February 2021)
- Jazz Weekly (January 2021)
- Jazz, Ese Ruido (January 2021)
- One Man's Jazz (December 2020)
- Marlbank (December 2020)
- All About Jazz (November 2020)
- Tom Hull (November 2020)
- Midwest Record (November 2020)
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