“My responsibility as a bassist and band leader is using every opportunity to create spectacular music,” writes Ron Carter in his Instagram bio. It’s no surprise, then, that the legend spent his 88th birthday week performing with his Golden Striker Trio at NYC’s Blue Note, a jazz venue famous enough to attract polo-shirted tourists but intimate enough that musicians have to avoid bumping into the audience’s tables while getting on stage.

Ron Carter Background

Three-time Grammy winner Ron Carter has played on more recordings than any bassist in jazz history, with at least 2,221 releases to his name. He rose to prominence in the 1960s as a member of Miles Davis’ Second Great Quintet along with Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, and Tony Williams. He left Miles by the end of the decade when the latter’s pivot towards rock and funk fusion required him to play more electric bass guitar, and he has mostly stuck to upright bass since.

Carter is a jazz ambassador who’s remained relevant to younger generations without compromising his beliefs or playing style. He famously played bass on “Verses from the Abstract” by A Tribe Called Quest in 1991, only after the hip-hop group’s assurance that they wouldn’t use profanity and would address “real issues” on the record. Greenwich Village’s Blue Note, which increasingly books hip-hop acts alongside jazz legends, thus seemed a fitting venue for a musician with fans from both worlds. 

The Golden Striker’s Performance

Perched on a stool with his eyes closed in relaxed concentration, Carter established a bouncy Latin rhythm which the piano sustained for the remainder of the opening piece. Flanking him were pianist Donald Vega and alto saxophonist Donald Harrison, who reminded us that the name Donald can still be used for good.

Carter drew from a deep bag of tricks, sliding notes up and down the neck to make wistful groans on bluesy numbers, plucking two strings in harmony, or fluttering his right hand back and forth to lightly pitter-patter between high and low notes. 

The absence of drums allowed us to hear Carter’s supple tone clearly, but was otherwise forgettable thanks to Carter and Vega’s shared stewardship of the pulse. Vega’s right hand twinkled lyrical melodies as his left hand provided rhythmic stability, allowing Carter to pluck booming countermelodies off the downbeat. Harrison’s alto sax solos, which Carter jokingly referred to as “the Harrisburg Address,” often had a Texas moaning quality, dramatically gliding between sustained notes rather than blazing through a rapid series of shorter notes.

Old Classics and New Surprises

Most of the music performed was Carter’s own compositions, but the players quoted liberally from the pre-fusion jazz canon. A quotation in jazz is when a soloist includes a recognizable melody from another song in their improvisation as a tribute, a showcasing of their knowledge, or even a moment of comic relief. Among the quotations I recognized this evening were “Salt Peanuts” (Dizzy Gillespie), “Well You Needn’t” (Thelonious Monk), and “My Funny Valentine” (Rodgers & Hart).

The mostly gentle and slow tunes were ideal for visitors on romantic dates, but there was plenty of substance to hold serious listeners’ attention. The trio shared a seemingly telepathic connection in sections where they pecked a staccato unison across multi-second pauses. The slightest slip might’ve knocked down the whole Jenga tower as the three players stayed synchronized to a pin drop.

Improvisational jazz embraces serendipitous accidents, and the audience played an extra active role in that capacity. During a quiet passage of unaccompanied piano, the sound of saxophone began blaring from a ringing cell phone, seemingly in tune with the piano if not exactly in rhythm. All eyes landed on Donald Harrison, his horn still folded across his lap, before a wave of laughter swept through the club. Harrison cocked an eyebrow and bobbed his finger toward the source in a touché gesture.

From his onstage remarks to his generous knowledge-sharing on social media, Ron Carter is clearly invested in keeping jazz going long after he steps off the bandstand. But until then, he’s still keeping timeless music in motion by hand.

Happy 88th, Ron!