Victor Wooten

I am a bassist. Let us say that from the get go. I will be biased when reviewing an album by one of the monsters of the trade.

That said, I have a complicated relationship with Wooten times, always have, and if Palmystery is any indication, I always will.

It is, flatly, a typical Victor Wooten album. Mr. Wooten is, plainly stated, an atypical bassist. Rather than dissect individual components of this album, it may be more enlightening for us all to examine his work as a whole at before we apply inferences to Palmystery; an evolution of a musician, if you will.

I must first plead Spock-eyebrow-raising puzzlement at the man’s approach. I cannot gather how someone so technically gifted could think that it is reasonable to adorn his compositions with liberal swathes of thick, cheesiness. I’m reminded of a track, some albums ago, of Victor stomping on a complicated tapping major melody, essentially playing the bass like a piano, but with much more style. It is a glorious track, but must be aborted before arriving at the denouement, where for some reason unknown to science, elected to fade in a passel of 3rd graders singing the melody “la-la-la” style. It is an abhorrent conclusion to a beautiful piece.

It was a measure of self indulgence on his part, and perhaps it stems from the ’70s fusion era – a time where hippies traded in their bongs and all inclusive-love-vibe for more immediately gratifying bumps of coke, huge lapels, and the blatantly sexual disco revolution; a movement so self absorbed that no one seemed to notice that the music sucked.

By no means am I implying that Mr. Wooten was in any way, shape, or form related to disco – only that this permeating “me” culture led even jazz musicians to feel OK about slapping their name, face, and various pseudo-spiritual images all over their album covers and liner notes and, even in the most arcane of musical genres, finds its way into the music.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, we see this all over Palmystery, cover art aside. Witness “I Saw God,” a pseudo-Caribbean rendering which is both fresh-from-the-cardboard-slip-exacto-knife-sharp in its technical prowess and rather drab and corny and sickly sweet, despite said attributes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not criticizing children or religion or any such notion, but please, if you need to throw it in there, at least make it palatable.

And still, I find myself being too critical too soon. We, perhaps also unsurprisingly, see the absolutely sick bass work of the Wooten Solo ability, just seconds later. He is far too talented to dismiss so flippantly, as evidenced by the next track, “The Lesson.” The throwdown is flawless, the artistry clearly marinated for decades.

And so, in most ways of life and music, we are left where we started. Consider the album as you would any other Wooten work – like most things, it has its own highs and lows, and, in a nutshell, evokes the same feelings as any other work by the guy. If you can tolerate a little cheese and friction kind of, it holds some gems. Worth looking into, but worth knowing a bit of corny is part and parcel of the deal.

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