Undercurrent by Bill Evans & Jim Hall
A meditation on one of my favorite jazz records and the memories with it
I’ll admit it. I’m pretty new to the whole jazz scene. Not painfully new, to be sure, but I’ve really only had an interest at all in the last five years. Growing up, I was beholden to a view of jazz being the sort of thing you put on in the background. Cut to now, I find such to be a somewhat-validated thought, but in a wholly different way than I would have guessed.
I lied a few sentences ago. As I recollect, what really opened my mind was the film La La Land by Damien Chazelle in 2016. I’d regard it as an accident if it were one, though Chazelle baked in the mindset I had right into the script itself. Emma Stone’s character, Mia, effectively said what I was saying just a moment ago: Jazz was something for people to talk over. Kenny G, cocktail parties, “elevator music.” This was equally my brains association with jazz, which made it feel as though the film itself was speaking to me directly. Obviously, such is not the case, and this post is not about La La Land, that’ll be another day.
One of the first jazz records I discovered with this newfound appreciation was Undercurrent by Bill Evans and Jim Hall. An incredible record, it features just the two of them with the support of producer Alan Douglas. Evans, a pianist, and Hall, a guitarist, came together to create a soundscape mostly comprised of covers, apart from a Jim Hall number “Romain.” And what’s more, it was released on my birthday about 37 years before I joined the party.
I fondly remember finding this album during my time at SUNY New Paltz. A senior by then, I was still relatively new to town. I had transferred in from Ithaca College the previous fall, but during the spring to follow I moved out of town for a few months as COVID-19 saw in-person classes cease. When I came back in June of 2020, it was to move into an apartment unit with my close friend above the bus station and taxi center. It was in the heart of town.
It’s an important detail, that last bit. Being a townie in New Paltz means equidistance from the university, bars, nature, and groceries. This story involves nature more than anything else though.
Around this time I was feeling a bit depressed, though very meditative as well. It was the summer of 2020 after all, where despite the great weather, everyone was shuttered in for the most part. Winter came twice that year. With a great friend to share the apartment with, still, I couldn’t stay holed up for very long. Solitude had also been a friend to me, and I was keen on regular visits. This album provided the perfect score for such.
The record starts with a jazz classic, “My Funny Valentine,” an untraditional up-tempo style for the typical performance. Once the track ends though, things get much moodier. “I Hear a Rhapsody” offers smooth drippings of soft electric guitar, with Evans on keys either anticipating or echoing the emotion of Hall. This song is where I’ve tended to start the album, and it’s been that way since my time in New Paltz.
In those days, I often let the rest of the album cover me like a warm blanket. This is an appropriate description not only for the cozy guitar riff’s of Hall and stimulant keystrokes of Evans, but also because Catskill nights get quite cold. My routine, though not concrete, typically consisted of a cigarillo and a book. I wouldn’t read all that much, but to chip away at just a couple pages over the course of the just-shy-of an hour album felt nice as well. Really, my eyes would be fixed on the stars, as my tobacco smoke swirled up to meet them. The cosmic tones of Undercurrent strengthened the romance of this scene beautifully.
As the album goes on, so do the soft and reflective instrumentations. While walking around town, whether to the river near downtown or the pond on campus, nearly every step I took would be reflected by the spontaneous sounding interplay between guitar and piano. It’s a bit rare to see in music, but jazz specifically: as two string instruments, there’s a chance for things to mesh together a bit too much. Hall and Evans manage to play off each other, in an almost question and response manner. This too has proven to help a mind seeking direction, as if to say “take a backseat, things will all be sorted out, everything is as it should be.”
This sustained sound of question and response is what makes this album work so well. Each song bleeds into the other like a stimulating and deep conversation that just keeps going. I suppose that’s why I don’t have as much to say about the individual tracks on this record, I’ve not really thought about it or felt the need to. Everything here, save for the first track, is similarly slow and contemplative in nature. The pairing of it to a nighttime walk in a quiet town is begged, like red wine is to steak or a margarita is to tacos.
Another thing about the record that captures me though, is the title and cover-art. Undercurrent features a woman in a gown suspended horizontally under the surface of whatever water source it might be. My intuition tells me it’s at least one with an Undercurrent, of course. In any case, the image is melancholic and a bit dreary. I think the title can be taken this way too, but I’ve gathered a different view altogether. To me, an undercurrent could represent a busy mind that on the outside exhibits behaviors of calm. Maybe this busyness is conscious, and maybe it’s not, but either way these things channel in some way or another. Despite hiding underneath the surface, the tickling of it is encouraging. It says that although much is happening underneath, we can pop up and enjoy the calm from time to time. I can relate to that, as I’m sure we all could.
The album has followed me to this day. If I’m in need of peace of mind while journeying through New York City or wherever I find myself, this is a great go-to. It remains a reset button for my wandering mind, or simply as a way to align whatever feelings I’m having to a musical backdrop. The hustle and bustle of the city fits well with some of the elegant staccato put forth. And when things get quiet, I’m transported back to my memories of it in New Paltz instead.