A Pianist's Honest Conversation with Himself
Walton recorded these blues on his own terms, swinging hard without apology or pretense.
By 1985, Cedar Walton had been playing piano in jazz for decades—he'd worked with Art Blakey, Dexter Gordon, and plenty of other bandleaders who knew what they wanted. Blues for Myself feels like the record he made when he decided to stop answering to anyone else's vision. The album is straightforward: a pianist and his instrument, working through blues changes with the kind of focus that only comes from knowing exactly what you're after. Walton doesn't oversell anything here. The playing is clean and direct, the kind of swinging that happens when a musician stops thinking and starts feeling.
What makes this session work is Walton's refusal to complicate things. He plays the blues the way someone speaks—no flourish where it isn't needed, but plenty of personality in how he phrases a line or pushes behind the beat. The recording has that slightly rough quality of a working session, which suits the material. This isn't a showcase for technique, though the technique is obviously there. It's a showcase for character, for someone who's heard enough jazz to know what matters and what doesn't. The Italian Red label release captures Walton doing something essential: making music for its own sake, without commercial calculation or artistic posturing.
In Walton's catalog, this sits among his later work—not his earliest records, not the ones that got him noticed, but the ones that show what a lifetime in jazz actually sounds like. It's the kind of album seasoned listeners will appreciate more than newcomers. If you know Walton's earlier dates and want to hear him in a quieter, more reflective mode, this delivers. If you're new to him entirely, start with his work in Blakey's band first. But once you're ready to hear a master pianist having a conversation with himself, Blues for Myself is right there waiting.
Who's playing
Cedar Waltonpiano
Where next?
More by Cedar Walton
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