Idle Moments (1965)
Artist: Grant Green
Label: Blue Note
Format: Roon, FLAC (24/192)
Year: 1965
Equipment
- DAC
- PS Audio PerfectWave DirectStream
- Streamer
- PS Audio AirLens
- Amp
- Audio Research I/50
- Speakers
- DeVore Fidelity O/96
- Sub
- REL T/5x SE Powered Subwoofer
- Interconnects
- Morrow MA3
- Speaker Cables
- Tellurium Q Black II
By the time Idle Moments enters the December constellation, the pressure has eased. The horns have said their piece. The engines have revved. Now the music stretches out, unbuttons its collar, and leans back in the chair.
Once again: Rudy Van Gelder gold. The sound here is luxuriant. The soundstage is wide and calm, with Grant Green planted in pole position, stage-left, unhurried and assured. The rhythm section sits where it should — slightly recessed — while Bobby Hutcherson’s vibes hover dead center, a little forward, shimmering. Bob Cranshaw’s bass is almost perfectly miked, present without intrusion. Al Harewood’s drums arrive like mist: light, subtle, never demanding attention.
The record invites you.
“Idle Moments” sets the tone immediately: lazy, cool, and impossibly hip. The piano and vibes dance around each other with casual elegance. Green breaks the tune down gently, letting his lines unfurl in slick, understated noodling that never tips into indulgence. Duke Pearson’s piano matches him beautifully — supportive, conversational, offering contrast without friction.
And then there’s [Joe Henderson]{/artists/jo-henderson/}.
Yes, he’s here — but you have to wait for him. Nearly eight minutes in, Henderson finally inserts himself, stage-right, almost apologetically. He’s been present from the start, technically, but buried beneath guitar and vibes, as if he’s content to let the room settle before speaking. When he does, it’s a spell. Soft tone. Languid phrasing. He sounds like a man after a long day who can’t be bothered to raise his voice. Short answers. Audible sighs. Controlled dynamics so fine you can hear his breath, the click of the keys, the faint buzz of reed against mouthpiece.
It’s Henderson at his most intimate — the opposite of the provocateur we heard pushed into motion by Lee Morgan earlier in the month. This is the Joe who doesn’t need pressure to exist.
And then — at about eleven minutes — Bobby Hutcherson enters fully, unhurried, working mostly the lower keys of the vibes. The attack and decay are exquisite. That vibrato—it’s impossible not to think of Milt Jackson, especially on Cannonball’s Things Are Getting Better. The lineage is clear, but Hutcherson’s voice is his own. Dead center. No rush. No need.
All bands should have vibes or Hammond organ. I said what I said.
“Jean De Fleur” picks up the pace into something closer to a traditional bop chart — sprightly, alert, less cool. The piano shifts oddly to stage-right, which catches the ear, but the rhythm locks in quickly. Harewood sneaks in some syncopated goodness. Henderson takes over Green’s earlier position stage-left and delivers a more boisterous solo. Hutcherson’s vibes again steal the scene: the music of the spheres.
“Django” — for the guitarist, unchained — opens with an oddly long intro before Green finally steps in with a swinging solo, now stage-right. The staging shifts again: piano returns to stage-left-rear, Henderson and Cranshaw provide support, and Henderson’s own solo passes seamlessly to Hutcherson. Pearson’s piano tickles and pokes, playful and precise.
Green briefly slips into accompaniment, almost tricking the ear. Is that a bell? No — just restraint. And then, slyly, he takes the final solo. Always in control. Always watching the room.
“Nomad” mirrors “Idle Moments” in scope but not in temperament. It’s longer, faster, more outré. Piano levels feel higher here, sharing the spotlight with Henderson, whose solo kicks hard. Hutcherson darts in quickly, quirky and bright, but Green anchors the tune with an epic solo that recenters everything. When the band returns to the familiar staging of the opener, it raises a quiet question: different recording days? Different moods? Either way, the effect is subtle and effective.
The melody itself borders on frenetic, but listening to the trio of tenor, vibes, and guitar braid together is pure pleasure. Cheery, open, unforced.
A good album? No. A great one. I just have this thing for guitar jazz, I think.
Roon, bless it, served up a bonus: “Corcovado” from I Want to Hold Your Hand. Still Grant Green. Still Van Gelder. But now there’s Larry Young on Hammond organ — glorious — with Green centered, Young behind him, and Hank Mobley tearing it up in pole position. Is that electric bass? Maybe. The mid-sixties Latin influence is unmistakable.
And once again: vibes or Hammond make everything better. Case closed.
Within the constellation, Idle Moments is the release valve. After the tension of Moanin’, the rhythmic probing of Song for My Father, and the restrained self-definition of Page One, this album simply is. It doesn’t push. It doesn’t prove. It breathes.
If hard bop is often about assertion, Idle Moments is about permission.
