The theory behind Herbie Hancock’s 1996 album The New Standard was sound: contemporary pop-rock songs can facilitate jazz improvisation in much the same way as older standards like “Night and Day” and “Body and Soul,” even if their harmonic makeup provides less to work with. But in practice Hancock’s bland renditions of the Beatles’ “Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown),” Prince’s “Thieves in the Temple,” and Babyface’s “When Can I See You Again” amounted to just another calculated attempt to attract a younger audience to jazz. And the laid-back soul-jazz vibe of his version of “All Apologies” suggested an utter inability to grasp the dark mood at the core of the Nirvana tune.
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None of the recent half-assed, self-conscious simulations of jazz–from Hancock’s flaccid covers of familiar R & B and rock songs to the marriage of jazz elements and club beats brokered by European acts such as St. Germain and Bugge Wesseltoft–has managed to increase the music’s paltry slice of the marketplace, and with good reason. From beboppers incorporating Afro-Caribbean rhythms to Miles Davis borrowing from psychedelic rock, jazz has absorbed new influences most successfully when it sets out to create something new and distinctive. Cassandra Wilson brought a sensual air of anticipation to the Monkees’ “Last Train to Clarksville,” but Ella Fitzgerald just sounded ridiculous stumbling through “Savoy Truffle” in an attempt to win over the kids.
The Bad Plus bills itself as a “power piano trio,” but most of its rock-style intensity comes from King’s pummeling. (Producer Tchad Blake, known for his work with the likes of Sheryl Crow, Pearl Jam, Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, and Los Lobos, gives King’s playing a chunky depth without letting it overwhelm the piano and bass.) “Big Eater,” an outsize stomper in 5/4 time, showcases the drummer in all his floor-rumbling glory, while the group’s cover of the Aphex Twin miniature “Flim” shows off his versatility and sense of nuance: as Iverson and Anderson play the tune’s music-box melody in unison, with no variations, King spends four minutes rapping out an ever-changing low-end stutter that hints at but never imitates the frantic drum ‘n’ bass programming of the original. Sometimes he comes off as heavy-handed–on the galloping deconstruction of Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” his assault seems to mock the trite melody–but these moments are rare.
