Rick Roe, Wake Up Call: The Music of Gregg Hill Review

By Jeff Becker

One of the pleasures of listening to Wake Up Call: The Music of Gregg Hill is hearing how quickly this quartet recognizes an opportunity.

Gregg Hill’s compositions are full of them. A rhythmic cell appears and suddenly becomes the basis for a solo. A band hit changes the direction of a phrase. A harmonic turn opens a fresh pathway through the form. Again and again, pianist and arranger Rick Roe, saxophonist Marcus Elliot, bassist Robert Hurst, and drummer Nate Winn seize those opportunities together, transforming strong compositions into living musical conversations.

The opening track, “Inside Straight,” reveals this. Built around a catchy rhythmic figure and a series of well-placed ensemble punctuations, the tune draws from hard-bop and post-bop traditions while creating plenty of room for interaction. Elliot develops his solo clearly, beginning with concise melodic ideas before gradually widening his intervals and increasing his rhythmic activity. Behind him, Roe builds a harmonic environment that feels supportive without becoming passive. Hurst’s bass carries a woody, percussive authority, while Winn colors the performance with a swinging ride cymbal pulse and subtle snare commentary.

What makes the track memorable isn’t simply the quality of the improvising. It’s the way the musicians respond to one another.

Throughout the performance, Roe repeatedly anticipates phrase endings and arrives at cadences alongside Hurst. Winn catches rhythmic figures and quietly develops them. During the trading sequences, the conversation becomes even more apparent as musical ideas move naturally between players. By the end of the track, the distinction between soloist and accompanist feels increasingly irrelevant. Everyone is listening. Everyone is shaping the outcome.

One realization that kept returning during repeated listening was how often the time feel pulls your attention. Not tempo. Not technique. Time. Roe’s feel sits directly in the center of the beat, yet it swings with tremendous authority. Whether digging into the hard-bop language of “Inside Straight,” navigating the funky rhythmic landscape of the title track, or developing motives across the modal terrain of “Modal Yodel No. 2,” he combines crisp articulation with a strong sense of forward motion. Every note feels intentional.

Just as impressive is what Roe chooses not to do. He clearly possesses the technique to dominate these performances, but he rarely seems interested in claiming that role. Instead, he listens. He responds. He creates space. During “Wide River,” his sparse voicings function almost like landmarks, gently guiding the listener through the form while allowing Marcus Elliot’s warm tenor sound to remain the focal point. On “La Canción,” he balances fluid lines with clearly defined rhythmic cadences that immediately draw responses from the rhythm section. His leadership emerges through timing, placement, and an instinctive understanding of how to keep a conversation moving.

Hill’s compositions deserve equal credit for making those conversations possible. One reason these performances remain so engaging is that Hill’s writing continually generates new opportunities for interaction. His music is full of recurring rhythmic cells, strategically placed band hits, contrasting feels, and harmonic detours that refuse to settle into predictable patterns. On “Wake Up Call,” a staccato rhythmic idea becomes the foundation for an entire groove-oriented dialogue. On “The Ringer,” angular melodic figures and rhythmic twists keep both the listener and the players alert. “Hyperbarity” moves between modal straight-eighth passages and swinging sections, creating natural points of tension and release.

Hill’s gift is not simply writing memorable tunes. It is creating situations. Repeatedly, a rhythmic figure introduced in the melody resurfaces during a solo. A band hit becomes a point of collective arrival. An unexpected harmonic movement encourages a new direction. Rather than functioning as fixed blueprints, these compositions behave more like invitations, frameworks designed to reward curiosity, anticipation, and response.

The title track provides a clear examples of this process. Built on a funky soul-jazz groove and a memorable riff-based melody, the piece maintains its identity even as the improvisations become more adventurous. Elliot’s solo mixes legato and staccato phrasing, gradually increasing in rhythmic activity while Roe, Hurst, and Winn absorb and develop his ideas underneath him. The trio hears the rhythmic motives and responds almost immediately. The groove never disappears, but it continually evolves.

The rhythm section’s chemistry is one of the album’s greatest strengths. Robert Hurst emerges as the quartet’s center of gravity. His bass lines provide both direction and flexibility, whether walking through a hard-swinging section, supporting a ballad, or navigating one of Hill’s more contemporary harmonic environments. His tone remains consistently woody and resonant, but what stands out most is his ability to stabilize the music without restricting it. Again and again, transitions settle naturally into place because Hurst is already there, quietly guiding the flow.

Nate Winn proves equally essential. Throughout the record, his drumming demonstrates a remarkable awareness of the ensemble’s larger shape. During “Modal Yodel No. 2,” he catches and mirrors rhythmic figures from the soloists with almost conversational ease. As Roe develops motives across multiple registers, Winn gradually increases his activity, helping shape the dynamic arc of each phrase. The rhythmic cadences shared by the trio feel earned rather than rehearsed, the result of musicians paying close attention to one another in real time.

The ballad “Wide River” reveals another dimension of the quartet’s artistry. Winn’s brushes, Hurst’s spacious pulse, Roe’s economical voicings, and Elliot’s lyrical phrasing create an atmosphere built on patience and restraint. The performance unfolds gradually, allowing subtle dynamic shifts and harmonic colors to emerge naturally. It is a reminder that listening can be just as powerful in quiet moments as it is during energetic exchanges.

In “Double Play,” the quartet’s shared language feels fully established. Built around recurring rhythmic material and an infectious hard-bop spirit, the tune highlights many of the qualities that define the record as a whole. Hurst’s arco solo brings warmth and personality. Roe’s solo swings hard while balancing blues language with playful chromatic ideas. The vamp section invites collective exploration. Even here, the strongest moments arrive when individual contributions become part of a larger conversation. That may be the album’s greatest achievement.

Many jazz recordings feature excellent compositions. Many feature outstanding improvisers. What makes Wake Up Call: The Music of Gregg Hill  memorable is the way those elements continually feed one another. Hill’s writing encourages interaction. Roe’s leadership creates space for discovery. Elliot, Hurst, and Winn respond with imagination, trust, and deep musical awareness.

What remains after multiple listens to the album is the sound of musicians arriving at ideas together. The strongest moments on Wake Up Call: The Music of Gregg Hill  occur when composition, improvisation, and ensemble listening become impossible to separate. In those moments, the quartet achieves something increasingly rare: music that feels structured, spontaneous, and genuinely shared.