Peacock's virtuosity and sterling tone shine through the album's sparse, contemplative landscape.
By 1977, Gary Peacock had spent years establishing himself as one of jazz's most thoughtful and technically accomplished bassists. December Poems arrived as a solo statement — just Peacock and his instrument, with Norwegian saxophonist Jan Garbarek joining for two duets. There's a risk in solo bass albums: the format can expose weakness as easily as it reveals mastery. Here, it serves Peacock well. The record has a quiet, deliberate quality that matches its title. These aren't showpieces designed to dazzle. Instead, they're meditations, pieces that give you room to hear every note, every harmonic choice, every breath.
The sparse production and somewhat austere feel of the album initially might seem off-putting — there's no warmth here in the conventional sense, no lush accompaniment to cushion the listener. But that's partly the point. AllMusic reviewer David R. Adler noted that despite this sparse quality, Peacock's virtuosity and sterling tone are well-served by the solo format. DownBeat's Art Lange called it a gem. What comes through is precision without coldness: a musician in complete control of his instrument and his ideas, choosing restraint as a form of honesty.
The two duets with Garbarek provide necessary texture and conversation, though the solo pieces remain the album's core. This is a record that sits comfortably in Peacock's catalog as a moment of artistic clarity — not a departure, but a deepening. It's the work of someone secure enough in his abilities to step away from busier settings and trust that less really can be more. For listeners, it's best approached as a committed listen rather than background music, the kind of album that rewards your full attention.