Terence Blanchard: Flow

There's nothing especially new about what trumpeter Terence Blanchard is doing with Flow. The blending of various cultural influences—in this case African, Spanish, and Brazilian, as well as urban rhythms—with open-ended improvisation, harmonically complex forms, and greater use of modern technology has been done before (and continues to be explored) by artists as diverse as guitarist Pat Metheny, fellow trumpeter Wallace Roney, and Norwegian keyboardist Jon Balke.

What makes each artist interesting and worth investigating, however—even as they all move jazz, step by step, towards a new kind of fusion that takes it further away from being a strictly American-centric form—is what they do with it. These artists may all be evolving on a parallel plane, but their own personalities and perspectives lend distinct complexions to common multidimensional goals.

Returning from Blanchard's last record, Bounce, are saxophonist Brice Winston, pianist Aaron Parks, and guitarist/vocalist Lionel Loueke, augmented this time with bassist Derrick Hodge and drummer Kendrick Scott. Loueke's greater role on this record suggests that Bounce was only beginning to explore where Blanchard ultimately wanted to go. While Loueke's acoustic guitar playing at times displays a folk-like innocence, he's equally capable of more advanced harmonic support, as he does on the three versions of the groove-inflected "Flow" that show up throughout the disc.

This is also the most democratic group Blanchard has ever assembled. Everyone contributes at least one song to the album, ranging from the Afro-centric rhythms of Loueke's "Wadagbe" to Scott's contrapuntal ballad "The Source" and Parks' Spanish-inflected closer, "Harvesting Dance." And while the majority of the writing lends to complexity, the music breathes and there's plenty of space for loose and spirited interplay, unlike saxophonist Miguel Zenon's latest disc, Jibaro.

Flow is arguably the most heavily-produced album in Blanchard's discography, but producer Herbie Hancock—who also plays on two tracks—manages to find the perfect consonance between orchestration and open-endedness. And Blanchard has never sounded better—sharp-toned, he's equally disposed towards gentle lyricism as he is stratospheric flights of imagination.

Flow may not be overtly innovative, but its distinct way of drawing from and combining its variety of sources makes it perhaps Blanchard's most fully-realized statement to date.

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