James Brandon Lewis: Abstract Core Memories
Read any bio of saxophonist James Brandon Lewis, and you'll likely see something mentioned about his versatility. Over even just the last few years, he's turned Mahalia Jackson's gospel classics into jazz and collaborated with Fugazi offshoot The Messthetics on a song and then a full album, finding common ideals among disparate sounds. Now, in the first half of 2025, Lewis has demonstrated his adaptable artistry within the confines of jazz--channeling subgenres like bebop, boom bap, jazz-funk, and free jazz--with two albums, February's Apple Cores (Anti-) and last Friday's Abstraction Is Deliverance (Intakt). The former's performed by his trio, the latter his quartet, each showcasing distant aspects of a shared language.
For Apple Cores, Lewis looked explicitly to specific forebears. The album takes its title from a series of columns written in the 60's by poet and jazz theorist Amiri Baraka for DownBeat, paeans to Black excellence. Throughout the record, Lewis references the creative life and albums of trumpeter Don Cherry and its intersection with saxophonist Ornette Coleman. There's "Remember Brooklyn & Moki", referring to Cherry's 1969 album Where Is Brooklyn? and wife Moki, as well as "Five Spots to Caravan", named after a venue where Cherry and Coleman played together and a performing arts center in Coleman's birthplace of Fort Worth, TX, respectively. Of course, Lewis, along with drummer Chad Taylor and bassist/guitarist Josh Werner cover Coleman's "Broken Shadows", the rhythm section transforming the vivid original into a rave-up. Importantly, though, Lewis has called Apple Cores a sort-of spiritual successor to his 2015 album Days of FreeMan, one that covered Cherry's "Bamako Love", a cut from Cherry's 1985 album Home Boy (Sister Out), a divisive rap and reggae-infused record. On Apple Cores, Lewis is clearly inspired by Cherry's adventurousness. His saxophone shakes and laughs like a virtuosic emcee on "Apple Cores #1" and screams on "Five Spots to Caravan".
At the same time, Lewis wears his influences like a notebook in his bag filled with other unrelated sketches rather than a visible patch on his sleeve; that is, you can listen to Apple Cores and simply marvel at the band's chemistry. The album was written by the trio over two improvised sessions, and the moments where they get in lockstep transcend time. "Prince Eugene" is an early highlight, sporting Werner's scratchy dub bass line, Taylor's mbira, and Lewis' soulful saxophone that could go on forever. "Don't Forget Jayne" starts free and coalesces into a form, while "Apple Cores #3" builds and then deconstructs. Guitarist Guilherme Monteiro and percussionist Stephane San Juan guest on four of the album's eleven songs, but for the most part, their contributions add mood more than concrete elements. It's the trio at the heart and soul of every song.
Abstraction Is Deliverance album art
The vibe-focused songs of Apple Cores are an appropriate precursor to Abstraction Is Deliverance, the fifth album attributed to Lewis' quartet of Taylor, pianist Aruán Ortiz, and bassist Brad Jones. While songs like "Ware" (dedicated to late saxophonist, composer, and bandleader David S. Ware) and "Remember Rosalind" are sonic journeys, the majority of the tunes here play as vignettes, despite their length. "Per 7" features a charming call and response between Lewis and Ortiz while the rhythm section lurks, off-kilter. "Even the Sparrow" seems to get quieter and calmer as it sways along. "Mr. Crick" and "Polaris" exemplify Lewis' lyrical playing, like he's narrating a prologue to the stories of Jones' bass solo and Ortiz's funk groove, respectively.
Abstraction Is Deliverance is also the more emotional of Lewis' two albums this year, with no small thanks to its centerpiece, a stunning version of Mal Waldron's "Left Alone". It's a fitting tribute not just to the composition but to Waldron's life itself. Waldron started out playing with legends Charles Mingus and John Coltrane, became Billie Holiday's regular accompanist until her death, overdosed and was left unable to remember music, and then gradually regained his skills. He would record, either as leader or sideman, hundreds of albums before his death in 2002 at 77. The quartet's "Left Alone" juxtaposes Ortiz's sprinkled piano with Jones' foreboding bowed bass and Taylor's trotting drums, ultimately giving way to Ortiz' dexterous piano solo. It's a 9-and-a-half minute piece whose sheer weight feels like it encompasses Waldron's story more than a biopic ever could. It's also, perhaps, the best manifestation so far of Lewis' ever-burgeoning ethos, one in constant conversation with the past while remaining firmly rooted in deep appreciation of the collaborative process.
