It would be churlish to expect one of the great pioneers of modern jazz to remain an inspirational source nearly thirty years after his greatest years. He has been playing the clubs and concert halls since that time and has inevitably lost his zest for involvement at a mind stretching level. We are left with a man who is technically without peer on his horn and a character that can still amuse with his patter.
Unfortunately, he now coasts almost as much as did Louis Armstrong, singing in his delightfully boppish way and generally filling in with pianistic and sundry rhythmic tasks. What saves the day is always his superb feeling for jazz. Like all the best boppers, his line is garlanded with flashing decorations and Gillespie still has the control of articulation to produce runs of sparkling brilliance.
He is aided by the always aggressive drumming of Mickey Roker and the felicitous guitar solos of Al Gafa. For a night’s relaxed and uncomplicated jazz listening, Gillespie’s four piece quintet can be highly recommended. It is only when he suddenly takes off on an odd half chorus of sheer inspirational genius that we wish he had more to motivate him. But then playing Manteca, Tunisia and Summertime as often as he has could kill the enthusiasm for anyone.