Young And Old by Art Foxall: A Jazz Gem from 1982 That Still Hits Different
Alright, let’s talk about Young And Old by Art Foxall. This Dutch jazz album from 1982 isn’t your typical shiny, overproduced record—it’s raw, real, and full of soul. Released on the Audio Daddio label, it feels like a snapshot of a late-night jam session where everyone just clicked. The lineup? Pure magic. You’ve got Art Foxall blowing tenor sax like he’s spilling his heart out, Mark Lewis laying down alto sax and flute lines that float around you like smoke rings, and Jan Hartong tickling the ivories with this effortless cool. Oh, and shoutout to Peter Ypma on drums—his grooves are so tight they feel like home.
Now, I gotta say, two tracks stuck with me after listening to this thing on repeat: “Street Light” and “My Funny Valentine.”
“Street Light” kicks off the album like a warm hug from an old friend. It’s moody but not too heavy, kinda like those nights when you’re walking alone under yellow streetlights, thinking about life without really trying to solve anything. Art Foxall’s tenor sax takes center stage here, weaving these long, lyrical phrases that feel like conversations you never got to finish. There’s something about how James Long’s bass walks alongside it—steady, grounding, almost whispering, “Hey, we’re all figuring it out together.” By the time Mark Lewis jumps in with his alto solo, you’re already hooked. It’s not flashy; it’s honest. And honestly? That’s what makes it unforgettable.
Then there’s “My Funny Valentine,” which is… well, wow. If you think you’ve heard enough versions of this standard, trust me, this one will slap you awake. Mark Lewis (who also produced the album) plays the melody on flute instead of sax, and it’s SO smooth it practically melts in your ears. Like butter. Buttery jazz goodness. Jan Hartong’s piano comps behind him like he’s holding up the sky, letting Lewis shine but never overshadowing the mood. When Art Foxall comes in halfway through with his tenor, it’s like someone opened a window and let the breeze in. His tone is rich, lived-in, like he’s telling you a story only he knows the ending to. Honestly, it gave me goosebumps. Not the cheesy kind—the real ones.
What strikes me most about Young And Old is how human it feels. These guys weren’t chasing trends or trying to reinvent jazz—they were just playing music they loved, straight from the gut. Even the photo credits go to Anne van der Sloot, whose cover art has this grainy, vintage vibe that matches the sound perfectly. Hats off to René Van Broekhoven for capturing the recording so cleanly—you can hear every breath, every creak of the stool, every tiny moment that makes live jazz special.
So yeah, if you’re into jazz—or even if you’re not—I highly recommend giving Young And Old a spin. It’s one of those albums that sneaks up on you, creeping into your daydreams and late-night musings. Weirdly enough, while writing this review, I realized something: good music doesn’t need to try too hard. Sometimes, it just is. And maybe that’s why this album still resonates almost four decades later. Or maybe it’s because I’m secretly a hopeless romantic who cries during sax solos. Who knows? Either way, check it out.
