The Sideman’s Curse: a condition when one’s docket remains full of gigs supporting others, perpetually precluding a turn in the driver’s seat. Jay Anderson is certainly afflicted, but he also wouldn’t take umbrage. Deepscape marks his 92nd(!) session for Steeplechase. Somewhat astonishingly, it’s the first as a leader for the 63-year old bassist. He’s racked up an incredible resume in the service others over the past forty years, anchoring the outfits of bandleaders ranging from Woody Herman and Lee Konitz to Frank Zappa and Tom Waits. His venerated tenure at the Danish label also means a deep bench of colleagues eager to answer the sideman call when placed in the service of an Anderson (ad)venture.

Anderson makes the most of his much belated opportunity with a core trio of comrades: saxophonist Billy Drewes, cornetist Kirk Knuffke and drummer Matt Wilson. Percussionist Rogerio Boccato and Frank Kimbrough playing harmonium rather than usual piano also guest on a handful of cuts. Anderson casts his net wide in terms of compositions and a playful feeling of wanting to cover as many stylistic signposts pervades, particularly in the left field covers of Morton Feldman’s “Rothko Chapel” and Billy Joel’s “And So It Goes.” Anderson tends to the latter solo, pulling apart the pop melody in a plucked deconstruction that makes inspired use of natural tone decay.  

Arco and pizzicato exist simultaneously on the opening title piece through overdubbing, the other feature for Anderson sans accompaniment, in a braiding that is both palate-setting and meditative. A bright and brisk rendition of Keith Jarrett’s “Shade of Jazz” immediately follows with Knuffke, Drewes and Wilson plying a communal effervescence through sprinting ensemble and solo statements. Gil Evans’ “Time of the Barracudas” and Jim Pepper’s “Witchi-Tai-To” showcase the bassist’s mettle with evocative melodies. Drewes’ soprano shines on both and each piece benefits from the added rhythmic complexity supplied by Boccato’s Brazilian percussion.

Two more surprises in Branford Marsalis’ contrapuntally minded “The Mighty Sword” and Pee Wee King’s honkytonk staple “Tennessee Waltz” round out the set. Anderson fields the first in front of a horns-plus-rhythms quartet for another rousing freebop footrace. On the second it’s only Kimbrough’s keening harmonium coming on curiously like an Irish dirge version of the composer’s signature squeezebox. Anderson builds a delicate improvisation over the quavering drone that’s deep with beauty and pathos, and as original an interpretation of the Americana relic as practically any extant. A welcome deviation from the bassist’s usual bailiwick, this disc is compelling evidence that Anderson should assume the reins again, and soon.

Derek Taylor