A restless, searching record where Hamilton refuses to settle into one sound or one groove.
Chico Hamilton recorded The Dealer (1966) during a period of creative ferment, after establishing himself as a bandleader but before the definitive trio records that would cement his reputation. This is not a peak or a turning point — it's a record caught between identities, and that restlessness is precisely what makes it worth hearing.
The band here is unusually stacked: Richard Davis on bass, Archie Shepp on piano, Larry Coryell on guitar, Arnie Lawrence on alto sax, and Ernest Hayes on organ. That's a lot of voices, and Hamilton doesn't always weld them into obvious unity. Tracks move between soul-jazz grooves and something closer to hard bop, sometimes within the same tune. Coryell's guitar playing has a young sharpness to it, Davis locks in deep with the drums, and Shepp's piano work — this was early for him too — has something edgy and unresolved. The organ gives things a church-like warmth, which sits uneasily against the modern harmonies and the ensemble's appetite for dissonance.
Penguin Guide gave it 3.5 out of 4 stars, and that's about right. The Dealer doesn't announce itself as essential, but it rewards attention. It's the sound of Hamilton at work in the studio, taking risks with a strong ensemble, not yet sure which direction his music should travel. That uncertainty is the album's honest core.