Randy Napoleon, Waking Dream: The Music of Gregg Hill and Randy Napoleon Review

By Jeff Becker

There is a particular discipline required to write convincingly for a five-guitar frontline. It is not a question of density or volume, but of color, spacing, and register. On Waking Dream: The Music of Gregg Hill and Randy Napoleon, the five-guitar-fronted ensemble delivers a summit of virtuosity through a landscape of intriguing compositional moods. The result is an album that listens less like a guitar record and more like a thoughtfully voiced score, one that unfolds naturally, rewards close attention, and resists the temptation to impress at the expense of coherence.

The title Waking Dream proves apt. The music inhabits a liminal space: alert yet reflective, grounded in tradition while gently destabilizing expectations. Straight-ahead jazz language provides the foundation, but Hill’s writing consistently pushes beyond habitual forms, drawing on principles of development and thematic transformation rather than relying on familiar head–solo–head routines. This is music that interacts to generate meaning.

Napoleon and Hill demonstrate a keen awareness of what five guitars can, and cannot, do well together. Rather than stacking harmonic information indiscriminately, they distribute roles carefully: single-line figures offset chordal textures, registral spacing prevents congestion, and ensemble passages are voiced with a clarity more often associated with woodwind choirs than guitar sections. The guitars function as a collective organism, breathing together, articulating form through contrast rather than force.

“Super Moon” clearly establishes this approach. The piece’s central strength lies not in its melody alone, but in its harmonic flow and shifting feel, which create a sense of forward motion without urgency. A striking tutti passage gives way to a relaxed swing, setting an open, unhurried stage for the solos. Napoleon’s fluid, bop-inflected improvisation emerges naturally from the composition’s contours, followed by Jocelyn Gould’s effortless swing feel and Ben Turner’s warm, blues-tinged hues. Here, composition, orchestration, and solo narrative feel inseparable, each reinforcing the other.

Gregg Hill’s contributions underscore his reputation as a composer who views form as an active participant in improvisation. “The Speckled Frog” is emblematic. Its opening phrase, rhythmically jagged and syncopated, immediately unsettles the listener before resolving into a swinging conclusion. The B section sustains constant motion, creating a sense of propulsion that naturally builds and settles. These contrasts are not decorative; they actively shape the improvisations that follow.

Anthony Stanco’s trumpet solo navigates the shifting feels with clarity and purpose, accenting the structural turns rather than smoothing them over. Napoleon responds in kind, focusing on melodic shapes that adapt seamlessly to the alternation between straight-eighth and swing feels. Turner’s subsequent solo builds fluidly, supported by evolving guitar backgrounds that subtly reinforce the composition’s harmonic personality. Hill’s writing does not constrain the soloists; it inspires them, and in doing so, sharpens their responses.

The album’s title track, “Waking Dream,” offers perhaps the clearest expression of the project’s emotional and structural core. Developmental rather than cyclical, the piece unfolds through interconnected themes and rhythmic settings that gradually expand the musical mood. The guitar choir operates as a unified voice, while the rhythm section of Rick Roe on piano, Rodney Whitaker on bass, and Quincy Davis on drums provides a relaxed straight-eighth framework that supports the piece’s tone.

Chris Minami’s solo exemplifies the album’s values: time feels firmly in the pocket, and motivic ideas are developed patiently across varying levels of rhythmic activity. Roe follows with an elegant, unforced statement, his phrasing and touch reinforcing the composition’s quietly joyous character.

“Riverside Blossoms,” one of Napoleon’s compositions, opens with contrapuntal guitar writing that eventually signals a medium swing feel. The tonal matching across the guitars yields a warm, blended sound, creating a collection of voices that act as a single, well-tuned ensemble. Guest trombonist Michael Dease adds a solo that is lyrical and grounded, setting a narrative tone that Napoleon extends with remarkable economy. Saying more with less becomes a guiding principle.

Whitaker’s bass solo continues this thread, melodic and deeply musical, while Roe and Davis exemplify what it means to accompany through listening rather than assertion. The track serves as a reminder that improvising need not sacrifice accessibility, and that lyricism remains a powerful organizing force.

If much of Waking Dream is concerned with subtlety and development, “Boom Boom” provides a celebratory release. Built on a riff-based melody and propelled by up-tempo swing, the track affirms the project’s strong communal spirit. Each guitarist is given space to speak, culminating in quick phrase trading and moments where the guitars function as both accompaniment and frontline voices.

Walter Blanding’s tenor saxophone solo injects classic jazz energy, while Davis’s drum fills maintain momentum with clarity and musicality. Even here, in the album’s most overtly energetic moment, the emphasis remains on ensemble balance and form-driven expression rather than individual display.

Underlying Waking Dream is a pedagogical sensibility that never feels didactic. Napoleon’s identity as a teacher-artist is woven into the music itself: in the clarity of the writing, the generosity of space afforded to collaborators, and the trust placed in long-standing musical relationships. This is mentorship made audible, not through instruction, but through example.

Waking Dream: The Music of Gregg Hill and Randy Napoleon is an album attuned to the craft of composition as much as the thrill of improvisation; it offers a compelling model of jazz that honors tradition while remaining resolutely forward-looking to the spaces that allow it to become something more.