Alone together

Rodney Whitaker is fine company ‘When We Find Ourselves Alone’

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There is a beautiful paradox in the title of bassist Rodney Whitaker´s new album, “When We Find Ourselves Review Alone.” Whitaker is a singular artist in a plural universe.

As a bassist, Whitaker is at the top of his art, but his instrument almost always puts him in harness to a group. As the director of jazz studies at MSU, teacher and mentor to a generation of young jazz artists, community builder in East Lansing and family man with seven children, he has chosen a path that is anything but lonely.

He´s such a point of pride for the university that his smiling head, some 30 feet high, is featured on the side of a campus building as part of the “Spartans Will” branding campaign.

As much time as he spends helping others sound good, Whitaker is a searching, lamenting soul, pushing hard for love in all its forms. “When We Find Ourselves Alone” is not a solo CD, but it’s imbued with Whitaker’s juicy sound and warm spirit. It’s also a reminder that even though Whitaker lives and works here, he belongs to a bigger world. The album is getting critical notice around the country, including a warm reception from the dean of American jazz critics, Ben Ratliff, in The New York Times.

To express what’s on his mind, Whitaker called on colleagues from fabled tours that predate his MSU days. Pianist Bruce Barth played with Whitaker when they both toured with trumpeter Terence Blanchard. Saxophonist Antonio Hart and drummer Gregory Hutchinson are bandmates from Whitaker’s stint with trumpeter Roy Hargrove.

The album starts with a light hint of nostalgia. “The World Falls Away” enters with a jaunty strut, sauced up by Hart’s insouciant tenor, that conjures up their touring days. A wistful, contrasting middle section seems to hum, “This won´t last forever.” An explicit nod to the past, “When You Played With Roy,” is a quiet corker, buoyed by Barth’s bluesy wbouncing.

Whitaker can play anything from blistering bebop to avant-garde, but, when left to his own devices, he gravitates to simple, tender melodies that appeal straight to the heart. “A Mother´s Cry” nestles at the center of Whitaker’s art, a simple, three-note unanswered question, eloquently posed and explored by Hart above Whitaker´s restless, rolling bass ostinato.

“Jamerson’s Lullaby,” dedicated to Whitaker’s youngest child, turns slowly like a mobile while Whitaker tells an absorbing bedtime story of a solo. (Hart sidles into the nursery, straight from Swingville, and almost wakes the kid up, but he gets with the soothing program by the end of the tune.) Bronislau Kaper’s mysterious “Invitation” suits the introspective mood well, with a contrastingly nimble and energetic solo from Whitaker.

The album isn’t all introspection. Two forms of collective interaction — politics and sex — get their due. Whitaker and the band — joined by Whitaker’s daughter Rockelle Fortin on vocals — hurl themselves with news-flash urgency into Max Roach’s “Freedom Day,” highlighted by a dense, energized solo from Barth.

As for the sex, local audiences have heard Whitaker and Fortin´s slow-burning take on smooth saxophonist Grover Washington´s “Mr. Magic” for years, and it’s great to hear the collaboration immortalized on CD. An older standard, “You Go to My Head,” gets a thick backbeat, like the kicker in a julep or two, with a sensuous and earthy vocal by Fortin.

The last track, “Lost Alone in You Again,” is a gospel-imbued recessional, meant to straighten your stride and train your eye on better horizons as you as you exit the warm church of Whitaker into a chilly, and lonely, world.

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