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Miles Davis once said, when speaking of Louis Armstrong, that there wasn’t a note any trumpeter had played that Satch hadn’t played first. Listening to Earl Hines, I’m tempted to make the same pronouncement about pianists—there isn’t a lick, a run, a point-counterpoint, a frenzy of notes—that any keyboard artist hasn’t attempted—that Hines didn’t do first. It was, indeed, reasonable, for writer Albert McCarthy to opine that Hines "is the greatest of all jazz pianists."
Recorded at age 65 at a 1970 jam, Hines remained a relentless improviser as much as a pianist upon whom the cadence and enchantment of swing were indelibly printed. Although much of his accompanying sextet was nowhere near his caliber (the drummer is woodenly metronomic, the guitarist a pale shadow as improviser), the vibes are eloquent as co-lead instrument (and as an evocation of another swing giant, Lionel Hampton) and, most importantly, the musicians lay out enough to leave Hines in the spotlight.
Lines are dashed off, spun into fiber, woven into rich tapestries, played in single finger, two-finger or chord, held to the melody or crescendoed into sheets of sound, or worked one hand against the other, the left shooting off single step notes while the right bedazzles with flurries.
Hines was Armstrong’s peer, and he remained peerless at the piano. Thoroughly wedded to jazz history, he transcended time and genre to be ever fresh. I dig Earl Hines, and this is a lavish portrait of the artist.
— Jules Epstein, December 2001
Release Date: 13 November 2001
At The Party (Delmark)
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last update 5 December 2001