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or his 18th leader date since 1987, the 56-year-old trumpeter assembled a sextet consisting of four over-60 masters—Gary Bartz on alto and soprano saxophone, Patrice Rushen on piano, Buster Williams on bass and Lenny White on drums—and wunderkind Ben Solomon on tenor and soprano saxophone. Over the course of nine tunes, Roney and company improvise fluently and passionately on vocabulary and syntax postulated in the trailblazing 1960s recordings of John Coltrane, Miles Davis and such Davis alumni as Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock and Tony Williams, generating the go-for-broke attitude that defined the era. Roney’s intensely melodic solos have an architectural, inevitable quality, but close listening reveals the instant decisions he makes in mapping out his well-designed routes. “They were my band from 1998 to 2001, but we never recorded,” Roney said, referring to Bartz, Rushen, Williams and White. “That’s why we did this. We got together for two days, pulled out some tunes, reacted and responded to each other, and goaded each other to play better.” Roney reflected on the sessions for A Place In Time while seated in the dressing room of New York’s Blue Note on Oct. 26, before a soundcheck for night one of Chick Corea’s “For Miles” engagement with saxophonist Kenny Garrett, guitarist Mike Stern, bassist Marcus Miller and drummer Brian Blade. Regarding the title of the new album, Roney said, “It could mean a place in time when only innovation mattered and what was being said was more important than the instruments involved. All of them lived it. They play this thing nobody else can play, and can’t express it with anyone else because no one understands it. They are innovative musicians. Everybody brings something to the table, and we all shape everybody’s music. That’s what Miles did.” A Place In Time marks a point of departure from the last three of Roney’s six prior dates for HighNote, his label since 2004. On those albums, he emulated Art Blakey, his frequent ’80s employer, by hiring less experienced aspirants. “Sometimes younger guys aren’t as up on things as you’d like,” Roney said, without naming names. “You teach them, they play with other people, and when they come back, they forget instead of utilizing it when you start to go for it. You want the time to be more elastic. They’re playing licks they heard but don’t understand how to expand on. They don’t know different ways to play a chord, or reinvent or substitute that chord, or how to make something go a certain way melodically.” Despite such frustrations, Roney remains open to collaborating with younger players who have a strong work eithic and an open mind. “Sometimes you wish the music would go forward, not backward,” he said. “I want them to understand that music didn’t stop in 1960, and it isn’t beginning in 2016. Kamasi Washington is not Coltrane. Coltrane is 50 years ago. Who’s more advanced? You’ve got to learn the most innovative things. If you can’t do them, you’re not in the ballpark. Learn why Trane and Wayne were able to do what they did, and be able to do it. Understand what Ornette [Coleman] was playing, or Herbie and John McLaughlin and Tony and Elvin [Jones]. Those are the high-water marks. Then use your creativity, and see if you can add to it. Not just some pentatonics or false fingers, but the idea of that type of virtuosity and spirituality, the merging of mind and spirit, time and universe. This music is hard. People who want to play it on that level of communication and telepathy have to do a lot of studying. It’s a never-ending process.” Roney has practiced what he preaches. As a child in north Philadelphia during the ’60s, he associated jazz with his father’s social circle, who “were into social rights and civil rights and Nation of Islam—trying to enlighten and lift themselves. … Jazz was a music of intelligence.” He was already playing trumpet and listening to his father’s records at age 5 or 6 when Davis entered his consciousness. “I could hear Miles was reaching for something,” Roney said. “He was my idol.” He heard, dug and assimilated Lee Morgan, Blue Mitchell, Kenny Dorham and Clifford Brown. “My father would tell me he thought Clifford was better than Miles, and we’d argue. Matter of fact, I was so mad, I asked Clark Terry about it. Clark gave me the best answer. ‘It’s like apples and oranges: They’re both good.’” Roney had moved with his father to Washington, D.C., when he introduced himself to Terry after a set at FEBRUARY 2017 DOWNBEAT 41