Nicholas Payton + Butcher Brown, A Supreme Blue Review

by Jeff Becker

Before Nicholas Payton takes his first solo on A Supreme Blue, his inspiration has already moved through the band.

It is a small detail, but it explains why this collaboration feels so different from many projects built around a marquee artist. The opening moments don’t ask the listener to follow a single musical director. Instead, drummer Corey Fonville, bassist Andrew “R4ND4ZZO” Randazzo, keyboardist DJ Harrison, guitarist Morgan Burrs, saxophonist Marcus “Tennishu” Tenney, and Payton continually hand important musical decisions to one another. Groove, harmony, texture, pacing, and momentum rarely belong to one player for long. The music succeeds because everyone is listening closely enough to recognize when it is their turn to lead, and when it is time to support someone else’s idea.

That approach becomes especially significant considering the material. Reimagining Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue and John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme could easily have become an exercise in individual interpretation, with one dominant voice reshaping two landmark recordings. Payton and Butcher Brown choose to center the project on the band’s collective listening to become the engine.

“So What” introduces this sound before the trumpet ever becomes the focal point. Fonville establishes a contemporary backbeat that immediately changes the music’s physical feel, while Randazzo’s syncopated bass figure serves as both groove and structural anchor. Harrison’s Rhodes opens the harmonic landscape with spacious fourth-based voicings, Burrs extends that language through understated guitar commentary, and only then does Payton step naturally into the conversation. Even as the arrangement moves toward the electric lineage of Miles Davis, no single player dominates the performance. Leadership keeps moving, with each musician adding the next necessary idea before handing the music forward again.

“Freddie Freeloader” makes that process even easier to hear. Twin guitar riffs establish the sixteenth-note funk pocket before the horns state the familiar blues melody. Burrs’ fusion-inspired solo grows from groove rather than display, Payton answers with a trumpet improvisation that climbs naturally out of the established texture, and a second guitar quietly reshapes the harmony underneath. When Tenney enters, the energy increases without disturbing the band’s balance. Electronic textures, Rhodes colors, and rhythmic support continue evolving around the solo until the performance expands into an ensemble passage where each musician joins the conversation. Rather than sounding like accompaniment, every entrance feels like another voice helping guide the music toward its next destination.

The same trust shapes “Resolution.” Harrison’s Rhodes outlines the harmonic movement, Fonville redirects the band’s energy through the pocket, Burrs fills structural spaces with economical phrases, and Tenney develops ideas already present within the arrangement instead of competing against it. The performance never settles into a hierarchy of soloist and accompaniment. Each player briefly assumes responsibility for moving the music forward before passing that responsibility along.

The closing track, “Psalm,” takes the approach to its emotional center. A steady pulse, tambourine, and contemporary gospel feel establish the atmosphere before layered vocals begin expressing gratitude through call-and-response exchanges between choir-like harmonies and vocoder-inflected lines. Piano and guitar add texture rather than interruption, allowing the vocal counterpoint to remain the heart of the performance. As the harmonies gradually deepen and contemporary soul influences blend with jazz language, the arrangement continues to evolve through shared listening. Instruments respond to voices, voices answer instruments, and no single element claims ownership of the moment. The band finishes the album exactly as it has performed throughout: as one musical conversation.

One of jazz’s oldest traditions is collective listening. Great improvisers have always understood that the next meaningful idea may come from anywhere within the bandstand. A Supreme Blue renews that tradition with today’s musical influences. Nicholas Payton and Butcher Brown allow leadership to circulate naturally through the group, trusting each musician to shape groove, harmony, texture, and form whenever the music calls, in each of the many musical settings.

That shared trust ultimately explains why bringing Kind of Blue and A Love Supreme together feels so convincing. It is honoring Miles Davis and John Coltrane’s compositions, but also embracing the collaborative spirit that made those recordings endure. Every groove, harmonic shift, instrumental color, and exchange grows from musicians listening as deeply as they play. In the end, A Supreme Blue is a bold reminder that the strongest ensembles share the responsibility of leading the music.