Orrin Evans and The Captain Black Big Band

The Intangible Between
(Smoke Sessions)

Helming The Captain Black Big Band is one of several identities Orrin Evans has juggled over the years. After about a decade, though, the ensemble has slimmed to a nonet, a word that still evokes the Monet-ish pastels of Miles Davis’ cool period. But there’s nothing pastel about this brass-plated juggernaut, whose brushstrokes are written with the broad blast of a Magic Marker. With fewer reeds here than in the past, the band’s power is more a metallic monochrome with fewer contrasts and dynamics. The compact lineup could be looser, but the group’s main strategy typically has favored a dense, coiled energy over easygoing swing.

The personnel is a mix-and-match of Captain Black regulars, with bassist Luques Curtis, trombonist David Gibson, and saxophonists Stacy Dillard and Todd Bashore still in their original chairs. Even at nine pieces, the ensemble delivers a big-band punch.

“Proclaim Liberty” begins with a fanfare before sliding into the main material. Evans’ swirling piano seems washed into a rut before Josh Lawrence’s trumpet pulls the piece to higher ground. “This Little Light Of Mine,” the familiar children’s gospel tune, gets a patiently oblique introduction, and then emerges in punchy little jabs, which gives drummer Jason Brown ample space to push back with flurries of percussive balance.

“That Too” is an original piece with an engaging theme. But the real interest is in the back-and-forth battle between Immanuel Wilkins’ soprano and Bashore’s alto. They finally collide in a bloody, close-quarter tangle that draws sparks. Evans bashes out plenty of percussive comps to roil the mix. But don’t be fooled by the false ending—a prankish red herring that heralds nothing but a farewell flourish. With four basses to mark time, “Off Minor” swings with quirky, asymmetric abstraction, amplifying its Monkisms, before finding a more comfortable groove with Sean Jones’ trumpet. Dillard takes it back to the outskirts, where it remains through Evans’ whirling flights. The frantic finale hunts for an exit line, but can’t find one.

Judging from its quarter-hour span, “Tough Love,” seems to be the magnum opus of The Intangible Between. If so, it’s the victim if its own expectations. Nicely propelled by a pair of walking basses throughout, various spoken digressions by Evans get in the way, leaving the whole piece torn in two directions.

Elsewhere, Jones has time to stretch out during a softly underplayed “A Time For Love.” The band is largely absent, and Evans is unusually restrained. Jones and Dillard lean in a bit harder on the other ballad, “Into Dawn.”



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January 2025
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