“It’s nice not to have to worry about the details for once,” Mr. Potter said in an email.
And Mr. Martin turns out to be a surprisingly effective leader. His songs have bass lines that are often as haunting as the gorgeous melodies that float above them. He also knows how to bring them to life.
This he has learned from his countless gigs as a sideman—and not just the prestigious ones he lists on his Web site, joemartinbass.com. He has often played with leaders who try to script too much of what happens on the bandstand. The bassist feels this is unnecessary with musicians like the ones on Not by Chance. He leaves plenty of space so that his sidemen can add their own flourishes, not just in the solo passages, but in the themes of his tunes.
Mr. Potter goes even further than that on the track “Cache,” a spirited samba on which he and Mr. Mehldau exchange hunks of notes with the speed and precision of champion tennis players swatting a ball across the net in a critical match. At the end of their volley, Mr. Potter gets carried away and swoops into his horn’s upper register, where he plays much of the song’s melody.
The saxophonist, a brilliant technician, doesn’t execute it perfectly. There is even an instant where Mr. Potter sounds as if he will lose control of his instrument. But this Icarus-like event only makes the conclusion of “Cache” more satisfying. Mr. Martin confessed that he was as surprised as the rest of us when it happened in the studio.
He also believes in creating “openness” in his music. This can be heard best on the opening track, “Semente.” Mr. Martin begins the song himself with a hypnotic bass line that is clearly 5/4. However, once the rest of the band enters, it’s difficult to tell where one bar ends and another begins. The musicians know, but nobody is keeping the time. “Semente” floats along on its own. The effect is mesmerizing.
Mr. Martin sounded pleasantly surprised by the positive press that Not by Chance has earned. “If you are just doing sideman stuff all the time, you are always giving up a little bit of yourself to play someone else’s music,” he said. “I really enjoy that, wearing different hats. But there is also part of me that doesn’t get to express everything, especially as a composer.”
At the same time, the bassist didn’t entirely welcome the scrutiny that goes along with having his name at the top of the bill.
“I feel more vulnerable as a leader than as a sideman,” Mr. Martin admitted.
In a city of people who are dying for attention, jazz musicians have to watch themselves. There are so many players and so few gigs. It can be dangerous to the men and women who play this music to expect too much. And someone will always call Mr. Martin with a gig.
But some kind of New York magic is pushing him into the limelight. He’s not certain what it is. The only thing he can be sure of is that it’s there.
“Yeah, who knows?” Mr. Martin said with a smile. “I’m either forcing myself or allowing myself to be forced out from the back of the bandstand.”
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