#light line

Chris Speed’s been around a good while as a bandleader, improviser and sideman. An early post in Tim Berne’s Blood Count and other projects demanded both chops and creativity that carried over into a dozen other contexts. Clarinet’s been an ongoing, if arguably secondary, concern across that through line. A pull quote from colleague Anthony Burr gracing the album tray copy distills the aegis behind the effort: “an undying commitment to melody in some elemental sense as the primary element in music.” Speed mostly eschews elaborate displays of technique, preferring instead to bask in the melodic properties of the meticulously chosen song list as filtered through the limpid aural idiosyncrasies of his instrument. The opening title piece is a bracing case in point and an endearing exercise in fluttering, flickering chiaroscuro.

Original pieces intersperse with the selections from Speed’s pantheon of influences. All adhere to modest temporal limits that make them worthy of jukebox consideration. Themes and associative variations dance by like colorful airborne acrobats. “Drifting” and “Sphasos Triem” borrowed from Speed’s colleagues Skuli Sverrisson and Andrew D’Angelo, respectively, display intervallic dexterity that’s by turns dizzying and grin-inducing. Eric Dolphy’s “Miss Ann” is similarly steeped in terpsichorean leaps, this time circling a more constricted tonal center. “Rites” by Julius Hemphill prefaces a four-tune succession of originals starting with the “Cat Heaven,” which harkens to Mingus’ “Canon” in its gently fibrillating theme. Speed arguably saves the best for last with the parting one-two punch of Coltrane’s seraphic “Sunship” and Paul Motian’s haunting ballad “It Should Have Happened a Long Time Ago.”