Makaya McCraven: Off the Record Album Review

Makaya McCraven’s music is a process of transmutation: In his hands, improvisation turns into composition and then back again. Like most brilliant ideas, it’s simple to explain and devilishly difficult to pull off. McCraven plays live with one of his groups, usually consisting of some of the best musicians of his generation. Then, he meticulously edits recordings of those performances into new songs, bringing a dexterous hip-hop production technique into the world of jazz. When he tours, McCraven arranges that material for the band to develop further. None of the constituent parts of this model are particularly novel—Teo Macero pioneered the studio-as-jazz-instrument in the 1960s, with Miles Davis—but it’s only possible with McCraven’s inimitable combination of a jazz drummer’s soul and a hip-hop producer’s mind.

Off the Record, a collection of four new EPs that have also been released separately, is a useful introduction to McCraven’s evolution since his landmark 2015 album In the Moment, when he began his experiment in jazz/hip-hop hybridization. Rather than a chronological narrative of the growth of the artist, the new set presents a composite portrait: Turn from one EP to the other and you see a wholly different facet of McCraven’s identity, from deft percussionist to bold beatmaker. Much of the variety comes from his choice of collaborators, who range from veteran guitarist Jeff Parker to eclectic folklorist Ben LaMar Gay. The shared characteristic that unites all four releases, though, is McCraven’s uncanny ability to alchemize hip-hop from jazz, structure from freedom, a collective effort into a singular vision.

The first words on PopUp Shop, which is drawn from a 2015 concert in Venice, California, come from McCraven: “We’re about to be makin’ some stuff up right here on the spot. This is improvised music. Spontaneous composition.” That’s true for his audience that night, but not for us. The next track, “Venice,” is obviously spliced and reworked, with tight loops built from McCraven’s drums and Benjamin Shepherd’s bass. This Dilla-inspired beat doesn’t change much, serving mainly to highlight a blistering Parker guitar solo. Elsewhere on the four-song set, as on album highlight “Imafan,” McCraven retains the live feel by allowing Justin Thomas’ vibraphone free rein—until sections suddenly begin repeating, revealing his subtle manipulations. The liberatory lift at the end of this song, like a sunflower unfolding, comes from Thomas’ melodic sensibility. McCraven, though, extends the moment for as long as possible after the fact. These edits were made quickly on the day after the show, but they show off the fundamentals of McCraven’s process, demonstrating that In the Moment was not a one-off success but the proof of concept for a generative mode of composition.