Thad Jones's orchestration elevates what might have been routine into something genuinely worth hearing.
Thad Jones arranged the strings on Always Something There, and that choice defined everything that works about this record. Turrentine was a tenor saxophonist who could swing hard in a small group, but orchestral sessions were a different animal—easy to bury the soloist under strings, easy to sand down the edges until nothing interesting remains. Jones, a trumpet player and arranger working at the height of his powers, understood how to write for strings without drowning out what made Turrentine worth listening to. The arrangements breathe. The orchestra doesn't swallow the horn; it surrounds it, gives it room to improvise, and actually responds to what the saxophonist plays.
The session brought together strong musicians: Herbie Hancock on piano, Hank Jones on piano, Jerome Richardson and Jerry Dodgion on reeds, Jimmy Cleveland on trombone, and Bob Cranshaw on bass. The band is capable and professional. But the album feels like a commercial date, the kind of record Blue Note made to reach a wider audience. Turrentine's playing is competent but not particularly inspired. The ballads drag. The faster pieces don't swing with any real fire. This is where Harvey Pekar's contemporary DownBeat review found its target: the performance is dull, a paycheck session where everyone does their job and nothing catches fire. Michael Erlewine's two-star AllMusic review arrived at the same conclusion.
What saves this record from being forgettable is Jones's writing. His arrangements are the only thing here with personality. If you want to hear Turrentine at his best, look elsewhere. If you want to study how a smart arranger can carry a weak session on his shoulders, Always Something There has something to teach.