Yet there's a strain running through some of the new Brooklyn music that feels counterproductive: an attraction toward gimmicks rather than expressions. The Respect Sextet, a unit that has seriously good musicians and has recorded some seriously good music, turned me off a couple weeks ago with a surfeit of glibness. I can take titles like "Furry with the Syringe On Top," but when the music also feels like punny pastiche, I'm left wanting something harder and more honest. Jazz has a proud tradition of pranksters, but great clowns always give you a glimpse behind the mask that compromises easy chuckles.
Alto saxophonist Darius Jones has the kind of brash sound and furious purpose that don't lend themselves to clowning around. His debut album, Man'ish Boy, was a tightly realized cry. For the next three nights, he'll be setting up shop at Roulette in Soho, playing with his working trio tonight, with his new quartet on Tuesday, and with a quirky larger ensemble called the Elizabeth-Caroline Unit on Wednesday. It should be intense music with a pow punch.
