Over the last 18 years, saxophonist Walter Smith III has compiled an impressive resume. He has worked as a sideman with such luminaries as Kendrick Scott, Chief Xian aTunde Adjuah (back when he was known as Christian Scott), Terence Blanchard, and Ambrose Akinmusire. He has had several high-profile academic gigs, including his present position as the chair of the woodwind department at Berklee College of Music. As a bandleader, Smith has released ten increasingly sophisticated albums featuring outstanding collaborators in contemporary jazz. Well, here comes number 11.
Three of Us Are From Houston and Reuben Is Not is possibly Smith’s most fully realized work yet. Its tracks, casually sophisticated and deeply soulful simultaneously, are spurred by a genuine dream band celebrated by the title. Smith, pianist Jason Moran, and drummer Eric Harland all attended Kinder High School for the Performing Arts in Houston, giving them a regional telepathy rare in the often-scattered jazz landscape. (Bassist Reuben Rogers, who grew up in the Virgin Islands, locks into this Space City groove as if he had also gone to Kinder.)
Houston is very much on the mind of Walter Smith III throughout this set. Several of the tracks reference the city directly. “Montrose Nocturne” is a slow meander through one of Houston’s most diverse and artsy neighborhoods, with questing and tumbling solos from both Smith and Moran. “Cézanne”, the first single from the record, celebrates the Montrose-based jazz club of that name where a teenaged Smith absorbed new sounds; its stop-start rhythms and sprightly tone convey the sense of wonder he must have felt at the time. The brief “610 Loop” bubbles under with the nervous energy one feels while trying to negotiate Houston’s infamous highway traffic. (I still have PTSD from a visit more than a decade ago.)
Smith’s work on saxophone is interesting in that he never tries to overpower anything; the composition’s overall vibe always comes first. In the melancholic “Office Party Music”, his lead line is hushed, almost confidential, like a soul singer who knows he doesn’t need to do too much to make things sexy. This track is in sharp contrast to “A Brief Madness”, where he and Moran trade pointillist mumblings over the frenetic foundation laid down by Rogers and Harland. One of the slyest references here comes in “Gangsterism on Moranish”. The song’s name refers to Jason Moran’s series of “Gangsterism” tracks released on his records. Here, Smith’s opening solo sets the stage for Moran to flesh out a lovely and incisive solo of his own before the two come together at the end to hash things out between them.
Walter Smith III rarely tries to overpower the listener, nor is he content to disappear into the ether. Instead, he is like a chef who knows exactly where he wants the flower blossoms to be placed before the dish goes out to the table. (After all, this is a man with album titles such as “Still Casual” and “Return to Casual”.) But sometimes, this chef allows himself to really cook. Smith seems to be set free as a soloist on the LP’s only cover, the Sam Rivers song “Point of Many Returns”, with fiery phrasing that occasionally reaches beyond the composition’s bounds. He also allows himself some extra space on the closer, a straight-up Texas blues walk called “Lone Star”. With the rhythm section sitting out, Smith and Moran conjure the feel of a late-night jam session at Cézanne, simultaneously easy and edgy. It’s a great reminder that sometimes one CAN go home again, finding new inspiration in old haunts.