JAZZ : Songs in the Key of Phineas : Five disciples of the late, troubled piano genius gather for a celebratory summit recording and tour

In the last 20 years of his life, Phineas Newborn Jr. dropped in on the jazz world from time to time, but the image that prevails is of a man gone mad, one who sought refuge at the piano--or at the bar--from the voices in his head. It’s not the image that contemporary players like James Williams want to see sustained.

“He was such a complete player--he understood the whole range of tempos,” says Williams, a Memphis-born Newborn disciple. “What Count Basie was so good at--and not coincidentally, Phineas was found by Basie--was his ability to find the right tempo and all those nuances. (Phineas) creates different moods and atmospheres with a lot of charisma and charm without playing only the two tempos most piano players know--slow and fast.”

In many pianists’ circles, Newborn is the grand master--the one whose spectacular technical abilities were matched by his feeling for textures and colors, compositions and improvisations. Born in Memphis in 1931, his father was a drummer and bandleader; his brother, guitarist Calvin Newborn. In high school, Phineas Jr. played seven woodwinds and horns. One of the few major publications to take note of his talent, Esquire, ranked his 1956 performances up with the debuts of Louis Armstrong and Bix Beiderbecke in the ‘20s.

Before his 30th birthday, Newborn had toured the country, played Carnegie Hall, dueted regularly and scored a film with Charles Mingus and released nine albums. His pianist fans included Basie, Oscar Peterson and Teddy Wilson. Although jazz critics weren’t putting him in the league of Art Tatum and Bud Powell, his fellow musicians were.

“The word genius --I try not to use that--but he was in every sense of the word, two times over,” says pianist Harold Mabern, a fellow Memphian who knew Newborn as a teen-ager and remained a friend until his death.

“His ideas were flawless. He overwhelmed me. His right hand would be going one way and the left hand the other. Everything was so orchestrated as if he was accompanying himself. . . . He had all the elements--the skill of Bud Powell . . . the chording of Count Basie, the orchestral sweep of Erroll Garner and the classical sense of Ravel and Chopin. Even in his later years and even on his off nights.”

In the nearly five years since Newborn’s death in relative obscurity, his legacy is growing. Williams and Mabern will be spreading the Newborn gospel with one of the more novel jazz projects to arrive in years: five accomplished pianists--four with connections to Memphis, all with ties to drummer Art Blakey and an affinity for Newborn--gathering for a summit recording and monthlong tour.

“The Key Players” by the Contemporary Piano Ensemble, due in stores Tuesday on Columbia Records, features Williams, Mabern, Geoff Keezer, Mulgrew Miller and Donald Brown in quartet and solo settings backed by bassist Christian McBride and drummer Tony Reedus. The album features original compositions and standards that bring out the orchestral style that Newborn brought to modern jazz.

The root for the session was a “Four Pianos for Phineas” tribute concert two years ago at the Montreal Jazz Festival that was followed by an album featuring each of the four key players in standard trio settings doing Newborn-related songs. Williams refers to “The Key Players” disc as a “nod” to Newborn, using his orchestral style as an impetus for the arrangements.

“The idea,” says project coordinator Jonathan Poses, “is to bring Phineas’ work to the fore not by doing his repertoire but by saying, ‘These are his children.’ ”

In organizing the “Key Players” session, which was recorded last August, Williams asked each of the pianists to bring in material rather than rely on Newborn’s compositions and interpretations. Despite it being Williams’ baby, “I didn’t want the record to have just one direction. I wanted to utilize everybody’s skills as composers. That there be a mixture of moods and tempos was the only thing I asked for, along with thinking out a plan together to focus on improvisation.”

The disc has a spry and jubilant tone throughout. The soloing is consistently full of contrasts: The players make short and sweet reflective statements, flow serenely along the keyboard in grand exhortations, and in one improvisational explosion, the quartet boils over into a coherent confluence.

Of the 12 songs on the disc, Williams considers Ray Brown’s “Up There” the “most Phineas” of the pieces. “There’s an ensemble on the intro that we transcribed from the original record. We play it in octaves in unison. Just putting it together, I was amazed at how Phineas played this off the top of his head.”

Williams’ piano did a similar discourse on a recent night at the Bel Age Hotel, speaking the musical language of contemporary Southern churches, 1950s roadhouses, 1940s Manhattan be-bop and romantic swing that, if anything, suggested a walk on a rainy Parisian thoroughfare. Like his idol Newborn, Williams taps a deep well of sources at the base of which rests the blues.

Last year, New York Times critic Peter Watrous praised a Williams performance: “Everything he played was part of a blueprint, in which many of the distinct aspects of American musical culture were rounded up and put to use.”

Despite such critical acclaim, Williams, 42, has referred to himself as a member of the Lost Generation of jazz: too young to be connected to the birth of be-bop or swing; too old for the post-Marsalis Young Turk status that record companies adore. He has released only one album on a major jazz label as a leader. He taught at the Berklee School of Music; he introduced Wynton Marsalis to Art Blakey. (The esteemed band leader was the first artist to hire the trumpeter.) Too often he puts himself last.

“I was working with Milt Jackson,” Williams says, recalling the 1979 job offer that would change his professional life, “and I got recommended to join (Blakey’s) Jazz Messengers. I didn’t have the confidence in my playing to say ‘yes,’ but Milt encouraged me to do it. It was the best decision I’ve made musically because everything has come to me because of that association.

“My attitude, though, is typical of my generation--to make the statement that I’m not ready yet. There was a real attitude shift in the ‘80s where everybody decided they were ready for anything. People don’t say they’re not ready for an engagement anymore.”

Williams, whose production company, Fine As Production, is yet another tip of the hat to Newborn, has produced four albums for fellow key player Keezer. He said he intends to increase his visibility in the next two years through recordings with musicians such as Clark Terry and Lenny White, as well as his own sextet, the Intensive Care Unit.

First off, however, is the Contemporary Piano Ensemble’s 22-concert tour that starts in Binghamton, N.Y., on Feb. 2 and runs through March 5. Williams and Poses chose to bypass standard jazz venues and head for schools, museums and out-of-the-way towns such as Erie, Pa.; Fayetteville, Ark., and Beloit, Wis., with the intention of presenting master classes, lectures and demonstrations in addition to the concerts. The shows are a combination of solos, duos and the quartet, and the repertoire includes the songs from the disc, standards and a number of Newborn pieces. (There are no Southland shows on the schedule yet.)

Talks are under way to present the group at European and U.S. festivals, specifically, the Playboy Jazz Festival at the Hollywood Bowl and the Monterey Jazz Festival.

None of the musicians spoke much of Newborn’s later years other than to say his talent never left him.

In 1960, Newborn had the first of what were to be several nervous breakdowns and was hospitalized briefly in New York. He moved to Los Angeles soon after his release and recorded with virtually all the premier West Coast artists. But his health declined again and he spent 1967-69 in and out of the Brentwood Veterans Administration hospital before returning to Memphis in 1970. His health didn’t improve in Memphis and he had lengthy stays in the hospital in 1972 and 1974.

On the day he was released from a hospital to a halfway house in 1975, he was beaten in an altercation that still remains mysterious and suffered severe injuries to his face, hands and arms. But soon after surgery, he recorded one of the fastest songs in his repertoire, “Out of This World,” for his “Solo Piano” record.

By the late ‘70s, Newborn was recording and doing concerts again, returning to New York and Montreux where he received raves for his performances. Performances became sporadic the last nine years of his life until his death from cancer on May 26, 1989.

Williams never emphasizes notoriety, perhaps a lesson learned from Newborn’s adverse reaction to the accolades that preceded him early in his career. Instead, Williams is grateful for opportunity.

“As a producer, I’m doing some esoteric projects--and I’m still composing and working in other musicians’ groups,” he says. “I’m very fortunate that I’m able to make a living. And also, I’m able to say I’ve been associated with a few geniuses like Phineas and Dizzy Gillespie. How many people get to say they even knew one innovator in their lifetime?”