Flying Home by The Ebony Quartet: A Jazz Gem That Still Soars
Let’s cut to the chase—Flying Home isn’t just another jazz album. Released in 1985 under Merlin Records, this UK-born masterpiece from The Ebony Quartet feels like stumbling into a smoky club where everyone’s got something clever to say but no one’s showing off too hard. It’s got brains and soul, which is rare for any record, let alone one that came out when shoulder pads were still cool.
The lineup? Pure talent. Trevor Barlow handles clarinet and alto sax with finesse, while Rodney Smith brings some serious tenor swagger. Graeme Vinall on bass clarinet and Philip Turbett on bassoon add layers you don’t expect in jazz—they make it quirky yet grounded. And props to producer Alistair MacDonald for keeping things tight without losing the looseness that makes jazz tick.
Now, onto the tracks. There are six total, but two stand out so vividly they’ve been stuck in my head since I first heard them. First up is "Variations On A Theme Of Paganini." Yeah, yeah, classical vibes, right? But here’s the kicker—it doesn’t feel stuffy or pretentious. Instead, it’s like watching a game of musical chairs where nobody loses. Each instrument takes turns riffing off Paganini’s theme, passing ideas back and forth like old friends sharing secrets. When Trevor Barlow’s clarinet jumps in, it’s sharp and playful, almost teasing the rest of the band. You can practically hear him winking through his notes.
Then there’s "Benny Goodman Suite," an obvious nod to the legendary clarinetist himself. This track hits differently because it’s not trying to reinvent the wheel; it’s more like giving the wheel a fresh coat of paint and letting it roll smoother than ever. The interplay between Barlow and Rodney Smith here is electric—like they’re having a private conversation we’re lucky enough to overhear. By the time the bassoon chimes in (yes, bassoon in jazz!), it’s clear this suite isn’t just paying homage to Goodman; it’s saying, “Hey, we’ve got our own thing going on too.”
Fun fact: Tryggvi Tryggvason engineered this beauty, and whoever he is, he deserves a medal. The sound quality is crisp without being clinical, letting each note breathe naturally. Kudos also go to Bob Brand for the design—it’s simple, classy, and matches the vibe perfectly.
So why does Flying Home stick with me? Maybe it’s how unapologetically itself it is. In a world obsessed with trends, this album didn’t care about fitting in. It just wanted to play good music—and boy, did it deliver. Listening to it now feels like finding an old photograph tucked inside a book—you remember exactly where you were when you first saw it, even if you didn’t realize its significance at the time.
And honestly, isn’t that what great art should do? Not scream for attention but quietly linger in your mind until you find yourself humming along years later. Or maybe I’m overthinking it. Either way, Flying Home reminds me that sometimes, flying low and steady gets you further than shooting for the stars.
