Two Masters Finding New Ground Together
Lloyd and Moran demonstrate the kind of empathy that only comes from considerable time spent together.
By 2013, Charles Lloyd had spent decades exploring the outer edges of jazz—free playing, spiritual searching, world music fusion. Jason Moran, meanwhile, had already established himself as one of the finest pianists of his generation, equally comfortable in standards and contemporary work. Hagar's Song marked a rare meeting of equals: two musicians at the height of their powers choosing to play duets with nothing between them. There's risk in that exposure. No rhythm section to hide behind, no arrangements to lean on. Just saxophone and piano, and the trust between them.
What makes this recording special is how unselfconscious it feels. They move from Gershwin and Ellington to Dylan and Brian Wilson without fanfare, treating each standard and contemporary song with the same curiosity. The All About Jazz reviewer John Kelman caught something crucial: "There's little that's predictable about either player, but with Hagar's Song—imbued, as it is, with constants of surprise, simpatico and stellar performances—both Lloyd and Moran have made the leap to a new plateau." The phrasing matters. Not a return to form, not a refinement of what came before, but a leap. Lloyd, approaching his mid-seventies, sounds present and unhurried. Moran listens with real attention instead of just responding.
The album's title references Lloyd's great-great-grandmother, enslaved and now honored through the music itself. That's not decoration. It anchors the whole project in something real—memory, ancestry, the weight of time—without ever becoming heavy-handed about it. The playing breathes around that center.
