At Jazz Kitchen, Rob Dixon writes memoir in the form of notes and rhythms

Guest Serrato solos, flanked by Dixon and Floyd

Rob Dixon has long led  "Triology," a band name sometimes wrongly rendered as "Trilogy." But aside from that, he has accustomed any audience attracted by his marquee name to appear with a trio, "plus 1" attached to allow for guests. 

On Friday night at the Jazz Kitchen, the bandstand held six musicians under Dixon's leadership and affable hosting of a full house. There were engaging anecdotes and reminiscences from the tenor saxophonist and Jazz Mayor of Indianapolis, speaking to the variety of his personal connections with music he has both played and loved as a listener.

Hia special guest in the front line was alto saxophonist J. Serrato of Austin, Texas. The roster was filled out by local musicians Reggie Bishop, keyboards; Brandon Meeks, bass; Richard "Sleepy" Floyd, drums, and Joe Harrison, guitar. Meeks and Floyd are longtime Triology regulars.

Serrato proved to be an excellent guest. Deferential to the right degree, he was amply capable of representing himself as well as Texas' "music city." In contrast to Dixon's practice of painting the whole canvas and blending details of figuration and principal points, Serrato spread his mastery around judiciously, sometimes entering into a kind of dialogue with himself. His intensity was consistent, yet varied in how it was laid out. It was an invitation to be his traveling companion.

I found his solos captivating, and he caught up the rest of the audience in them too. He told a story, in the time-honored terms of Lester Young. Moreover, his stories had the immediacy of the kind of lay-it-on-the-line sax solos often derided as "bar-walking." That's the practice of reed players in less elegant environs of climbing up on the bar and traversing its length as their soloing generates raves from rambunctious patrons. There is often some honking involved.

Rest of the band: Bishop's hands, then Meeks and Harrison

This was evident in his solo on Dixon's "Throwback," which the composer introduced as a tribute to the funk bands of yore. Serrato's  bar-walking vibe later struck me in "The 80s," a tribute to that musical decade of flash-in-the-pan acts. The piece opened with solos from Harrison and Meeks; Serrato followed in the expansive spirit of that two-man guitar army. Dixon switched to alto to open up direct comparisons with Serrato that were not to the disadvantage of either.

As a composer and reliable inspiration to his colleagues, Dixon presents short-form statements for the ensemble that allow room for "spreadin' rhythm around" by the soloists and the underlying patterns supporting them. Several notes are sufficient to define the framework, as you can hear, for example, in "Yo," the opening cut of his extraordinary 2018 CD "Coast to Crossroads," whose funk credentials get the authoritative contributions of guitarist Charlie Hunter and drummer Mike Clark. 

Four well-chosen notes set up "White River, Black Sky," Dixon's chant-like tribute to Native American culture, as well as "Four One," the leader's quasi-professorial salute to the basis of so much American music in the blues. (Dixon came close to apologizing for weaving academic threads into his remarks to the audience, but it was a charming touch that spoke to his faculty positions at Northwestern University and the former IUPUI.) 

Bishop's solo set the right atmosphere for "White River, Black Sky," just as he had capped his "Throwback" solo with appropriate trills and treble squeals. That proved to be the right prelude to an episode of riveting short Floyd solos that were punctuated by the horns at regular intervals. The reaching out well beyond usual jazz confines was cemented by the set's concluding number, this time a tribute to Monday night jam sessions at the Mousetrap on Keystone. 

The piece's title "Skywalker OG" (a powerful cannabis variety) told it all: Dixon encouraged the crowd to sing a wordless four-note riff that turned out to be both support for and competition with the ensemble. That's the way it is at many nightspots, probably, where collaboration takes root both on stage and off. Dixon may well be the mayor of that kind of scene, too.