A typically flawless trio set from the tasteful and swinging bop-based pianist Tommy Flanagan.
When Something Borrowed, Something Blue arrived in late 1978, critics caught it immediately. Jazz Journal International named it a Pick of the Month, and Mike Hennessey's review called it almost certainly the best album Flanagan had ever recorded—rare praise for a musician who had spent two decades building an impeccable discography. AllMusic's Scott Yanow acknowledged the quality while also noting the problem: Flanagan had recorded so many equally rewarding sets that this fine one couldn't quite stand alone as his masterpiece. It was a backhanded compliment born of consistency.
The album is a trio session with Keter Betts on bass and Jimmie Smith on drums, stripped down to the essentials. Flanagan plays bop-rooted standards with the kind of precise touch and swing that never announce themselves—the piano sits comfortably in the pocket, never rushing, never dragging. There's no flash or virtuosic display for its own sake, just clean melodic thinking and genuine conversation between the three players. Betts and Smith lock in tightly, giving Flanagan room to explore the changes without ever feeling loose or uncertain.
The real issue, then and now, is that Flanagan's consistency worked against him. He was so reliably good—every recording worthwhile, every session swinging—that even a genuinely excellent album could disappear into a catalog that offered no obvious entry point or standout moment. Something Borrowed, Something Blue deserved the attention Hennessey gave it. The question is whether any single Flanagan trio date could ever feel essential when the pianist had already proven his mastery dozens of times over.