OUTSIDE THE UMBRELLA

When the legendary John Coltrane Quartet went through its final convulsions in 1966, music lovers the world over bemoaned the end of perhaps the greatest jazz rhythm section ever. Once drummer Elvin Jones and pianist McCoy Tyner left Coltrane's group to pursue solo careers, a nearly telepathic musical link was severed. But while the breakup of The Quartet may have been a lamentable occurrence for listeners, for both Jones and Tyner it offered the chance to distance themselves from saxophonist Coltrane's towering shadow and to enhance their own reputations as leaders.

After decades of experimentation with various groups and progressive styles, both Jones and Tyner have recently emerged, ironically enough, as two of today's most popular mainstream jazz musicians. The back-to-back appearances by Jones and Tyner this month at the Regattabar in Cambridge provided an excellent opportunity to evaluate the end-product of thirty years' works outside the Coltrane umbrella.

The Elvin Jones Jazz Machine graced Cambridge with its presence the first weekend in February. Following the example of the late drummers Art Blakey and Art Taylor, Jones has turned the drum stool, into a throne from which the imperiously leads a rotating band of young burners under the rubric of The Jazz Machine. While the roster of Jazz Machine veterans is not quite sostar-studded as that of Blakey's Jazz Messengers, Jones has cultivated a consistent level of intensity, swing and sheer volume in his various bands. Even though its members are not very well known, the current edition of The Jazz Machine (now together for two years) is as hot and tight as a high-voltage wire.

In concert, Jones has a powerful personal presence which demands attention. Sweating and grunting like a quarry worker, he mines exquisite cross-rhythm beats from his low toms and bass drum. This is not the only thing that attracts attention to him. Like the Mona Lisa, Elvin Jones has eyes that follow you around the room, creating the eerie sensation that, wherever you may be seated, Jones is playing directly at your candlelit table.

The first set on Saturday night featured two mysterious compositions by Elvin's Japanese wife, Keiko Jones. Starting with Keiko's misleadingly innocent Japanese folk melodies, The Jazz Machine used both pieces as vehicles for high drama, exploring every nuance of Elvin's protean grooves. Tenor saxophonist Greg Tardy has shown considerable development in the past two years. He movingly demonstrated his growing mastery of Coltrane's licks with chorus after chorus of blowing in a style hauntingly evocative of his idol. His exploratory forays entered into the area of choked cries, multiphonics, and ever-multiplying expansions of the harmonic structure laid down by pianist Willie Pickens and bassist Neal Caine. Unfortunately, trombonist Delfayo Marsalis (of Marsalis name and fame) let down the intensity level established by the saxophonist due to his overly precise lines and conventional phrases.

In the second set, the fiercely grinning Jones called for some ostensible crowd pleasers which did not add artistically to the first set's fine performances. One exception was the tune "Don't Rock the Jazz Boat," a staple of Jones's groups through the years. While Latin beats adapted to the jazz context often come across as trite and excessively happy, Jones metamorphosed the bossa nova of this chart into a menacing Amazonian thunderstorm. Distant rumblings on the toms grew louder and louder during Jones's solo, and as the storm came crashing down, lightning forked through the cymbals and snare.

Like Jones, McCoy Tyner has toured extensively with a stable group of his own in recent years. Unfortunately, recent performances suggest that Tyner's music is getting stale. The Valentine's Day weekend stint at the Regattabar featured legendary vibraphonist Bobby Hutcherson, bassist Avery Sharpe, and drummer Aaron Scott, but the long-lived group, seemed to be communicating less than ever. Hutcherson may very well be the greatest talent in the group, but even when soloing he was barely audible above Tyner's majestic accompaniment. Adding to the disjointed feel of the group were Sharpe and Scott, who both have solo styles that can best be described as over-the-top. There is no question that bassist Sharpe has strong fingers, but his rhythmically monotonous solos seem to be rather weak in melodic ideas. On the tune "May Fair," drummer Scott soloed a la John Bonham for almost ten minutes, beating the living daylights out of his set in a vain, stiff-armed attempt at rhythmic expression. Tyner himself rarely unleashed runs of the dramatic four-note patterns that have made his sound so instantly recognizable in recent years. The McCoy Tyner group was a big disappointment this time around.