Kenny Barron Trio, So Many Lovely Things: Live in Brecon Review

By Jeff Becker

Every great piano trio faces the same challenge: how do three musicians create rhythmic freedom without sacrificing forward motion? On So Many Lovely Things: Live in Brecon (1995), pianist Kenny Barron, bassist Ray Drummond, and drummer Ben Riley answer that question collectively. Each member does timekeeping within the rhythm section. This allows elastic expression to the trio as it redistributes rhythmic responsibility, while other parts push and pull. Musical time does not belong to one player. It lives in the relationship among all three.

That shared responsibility helps explain the cohesion and the audible impact the trio’s ability to develop ideas collectively without losing unity has on the listener. It points to a telepathic rapport among the musicians. Those descriptions capture the result. The performances themselves reveal the process. Barron, Drummond, and Riley often operate at different rates of motion, yet each musician leaves enough space for the others to shape the pulse.

That process is audible from Barron’s opening notes on Freddie Hubbard’s “Up Jumped Spring.” He begins alone, letting the melody unfold over a steady undercurrent that is articulate, but the phrasing is never rigid. Notes breathe inside the meter. Small rhythmic cadences mark the ends of ideas, while inner movement in the harmony keeps the performance advancing even when the melody pauses. The jazz waltz is obvious.

Drummond and Riley enter near the end of the form, and the character of the time immediately deepens. Drummond settles into a clear pulse but does not remain locked into a purely supportive role. He moves between grounding quarter notes and brief melodic responses, giving the bass both direction and personality. Riley’s ride cymbal supplies another layer. His snare comments, cymbal accents, and phrase-ending colors do not merely decorate the beat; they change how the listener feels its momentum.

The three musicians rarely emphasize the same rhythmic information in the same way. Barron may be shaping a flexible melodic phrase while Drummond keeps the quarter note clear and Riley traces a lighter current around both of them. The groove remains unified because each player protects a different part of the rhythmic picture.

“Time Was” places that approach within the tune’s quick harmonic movement. This gives Barron room to alternate between flowing eighth-note lines, compact double-time ideas, and spacious chordal statements. His left hand keeps the harmony moving while the right hand changes rhythmic density from one phrase to the next. Fast lines do not feel hurried because another layer of the music remains grounded beneath them.

Drummond understands when not to match Barron’s activity. As the piano lines become denser, the bass often keeps the quarter-note foundation steady. At other moments, Drummond briefly steps forward with a melodic response before returning to the walk. Riley works around those choices with ride-cymbal placement, snare accents, and subtle dynamic shifts. No player fills every available space. The music gains intensity without becoming crowded.

“Ask Me Now” brings the trio’s communication into even sharper focus. Barron’s left hand maintains harmonic movement while the right hand shifts among the melody, compact fills, chordal responses, and longer flowing lines. These layers remain distinct. A quarter-note foundation can continue beneath a phrase moving in eighth notes or sixteenths, creating the sense that several rates of motion are unfolding at once.

Drummond adds another voice while holding the foundation. His lines sometimes settle beneath the piano and sometimes answer it, extending Thelonious Monk’s angular contours into the lower register. Riley’s brushwork changes the scale of the groove. A soft sweep can broaden the phrase, while a precisely placed cymbal or snare accent can pull the ear toward the next idea. He does not force the time forward. He reshapes it.

Rhythmic leadership passes naturally among the musicians. Barron may establish the direction of one passage, Drummond may redirect the next through the shape of his line, and Riley may define the arrival point with a cymbal accent or brush pattern. The transfers are so smooth that they can pass unnoticed, but they are central to the performance’s fluidity.

“The Very Thought of You” moves to a ballad tempo. Barron allows long melodic tones to rest over gently shifting harmony. His phrasing creates space without allowing the music to lose continuity. The song moves slowly, but it never becomes static.

Drummond’s bass lines carry their own lyrical pace. He occasionally steps into the foreground, then eases back into support without disturbing the ballad’s shape. Riley works primarily through brushes, defining the pulse with texture rather than volume. Long piano tones, bass responses, quiet harmonic motion, and brush sweeps all travel at different speeds, yet they meet naturally at the cadences.

That balance gives the ballad its calm. The trio understands that forward motion comes from layers of activity. Barron, Drummond, and Riley continually decide who will ground the pulse, who will move around it, and who will change its shape. Those roles remain flexible. The pianist does not control every transition. The bassist does not merely mark the harmony. The drummer does not simply keep the beat. Each musician participates in building the performance’s internal motion.

So Many Lovely Things: Live in Brecon (1995) ultimately reminds us that the finest piano trios do more than share time. They construct it together. Sometimes it lives in Barron’s steady left hand, sometimes in Drummond’s walking line, and sometimes in the lift of Riley’s cymbal pulse. Most often, it lives in the space where all three meet. That collaborative structure explains why this 1995 concert still sounds fresh. The trio never settles into a single rhythmic strategy. From one chorus to the next, the balance among pulse, movement, space, and accent keeps changing. Freedom and stability are not opposing forces here. Each makes the other possible.