Herbie Hancock’s August 14 performance of “Head Hunters” at the Hollywood Bowl marks the first time in 50 years that the jazz keyboardist and composer reunited with the collaborators that became the album’s namesake.
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Given its success and legacy — the first ever jazz album to go platinum, and one of the all-time most famous in the genre — that claim seems improbable, even if drummer Harvey Mason confirmed as much recently. (How could they not have played in some combination, at least a few times, in the intervening decades?) But if they’re just a bit slower-moving than they were in 1973, the group plays just as well half a century later, delivering an adventuresome two and a half hours of music (aided by Hancock’s current bandmates ) that reiterates the enduring power of the Headhunters’ compositions.
Judging by lines to the merchandise booth that snaked deep into the Hollywood Bowl a good hour before showtime, attendees recognized what a special and unique night the concert would be. No less than Kareem Abdul-Jabbar introduced the band, leading to some light comedy when Hancock had to stand on tiptoe to retrieve his microphone afterward. Tenor saxophonist Bennie Maupin, percussionist Bill Summers, Mason and Marcus Miller — standing in for late bassist Paul Jackson — joined the bandleader, and after Summers offered a sort of spiritual blessing, they wasted no time jumping into the album.
Just as on the original recording, Summers used a beer bottle to imitate the sound of a Zairean hindewho flute as he led his collaborators into “Watermelon Man,” Hancock’s languid reinvention of the track he first composed in 1962 for his debut album “Takin’ Off.” The entire “Head Hunters” record runs only 41 minutes, so it wasn’t unrealistic to expect the group to draw out these live versions, but they somewhat surprisingly trimmed more fat than they chewed, knocking out a dynamite midtempo rendition before immediately moving onto “Sly.” Where its predecessor was a bit faster than the original, this performance slowed things down just a bit as Maupin made a meal out of his sax solo, and Hancock showcased his singular mastery of the keys.
It’s hard to overstate (much less explain to a lay person) how influential Hancock was on the piano when he was rising through the genre’s ranks in the 1960s and ‘70s, but at 84 he makes it all look effortless. As the other players worked in unison, his creation of synthetic textures — more ambience than, say, a replacement for strings — complemented both their performances and second one he gave at the same time, as his lithe fingerwork played across the keys of the Rhodes electric piano in front of him. Aided unobtrusively by keyboardist Julian Pollack, they made mischief through the track, reversing melodies and vacillating between busy and relaxed rhythms.
He was far from the only musician on stage to showcase his virtuosity. As much as Summers’ work seems like a bit of background tinkering once the rest of the band kicks in, his parade of instruments created melodic sequences that it’s hard to imagine the songs without. While Mason kept time on “Vein Melter,” he detoured into boogaloo rhythms; and as Hancock tinkled on his clavinet, Summers tapped out a symphony of idiosyncratic but sublime sounds. His conga drum subsequently provided the soothing backbone of “Butterfly,” a track from the group’s 1974 follow-up “Thrust,” by turning the historically unhurried composition into a positively luxuriant experience.
Hancock next donned an over-the-shoulder Roland Keytar for “Chameleon,” the first track on “Head Hunters” that the group here played last before taking a break. Not unlike “Watermelon Man,” it’s a song that the people who know its little twists and turns likely wanted to thrill at an expansive rendition, even a reinvention on stage, but he and the band paused only briefly for a jam session at center stage, and otherwise approached with whatever qualifies as workmanlike precision for a group of indisputable jazz luminaries.
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“Actual Proof,” another track from “Thrust,” opened the second half of the show as Hancock brought out a handful of ringers to jam with the Head Hunters before letting the rest of them get a brief rest. Though Summers lingered at stage right, peppering the next few tracks with more flourishes from his library of instruments, the other band members were temporarily replaced (if only on stage) by trumpetist Terence Blanchard, as acclaimed as Hancock despite being part of a younger generation; bassist James Genus; guitarist Lionel Loueke; and drummer Jaylen Petinaud, who Hancock later revealed was just 25 years old.
Petinaud quickly established his versatility, almost losing his Yankees baseball cap while hustling through “Actual Proof.” Hancock joked that his current band was a bit quicker than his previous one, but what the Head Hunters sacrificed in urgency they made up for with authority. That said, “Head Hunters” signaled Hancock’s excursion into melodic (and Abdul-Jabbar underscored, “danceable”) r&b and funk, but he himself was steeped in hard bop, modal, fusion and free jazz, and his bandmates’ younger counterparts kept up admirably on “Overture,” shuffling through each of those subgenres to keep up with their bandleader as he alternated between his Kronos and an acoustic piano.
The risk with venturing off into compositions with less instantly recognizable melodies was that an audience primed to hear “Head Hunters” — again, one of the best-known recordings in jazz history — was that a near-capacity crowd was likely not uniformly knowledgeable about (or eager to hear) the genre’s more discordant forms, especially so late in the evening. (Especially on a sweltering summer night, the lure of a few glasses of can derail even the most dedicated concertgoer at the Bowl.) But Hancock paid tribute to his late friend Wayne Shorter with a version of Shorter’s “Footprints,” and when the music risked venturing too far afield of expectations, guitarist Loueke squeezed out a few bars of “Rockit” to keep everyone engaged.
“Footprints” further evidenced Hancock’s innate understanding of how to combine the acoustic and electronic as he again moved back and forth between the piano and his enclave of electronic keyboards. But as he added synthesized vocals for “Secret Sauce,” Hancock yielded lead performance duties to his bandmates for them to explore — an act of generosity they were all more than capable of capitalizing upon, but one that risked derailing the momentum they’d developed over the previous two hours. Even so, Blanchard’s trumpet seemed to be mic’ed in the same way as Maupin’s saxophones on “Head Hunters,” with an echo and reverberation that made it feel like an extraterrestrial signal. Then in succession, Loueke, Genus and Petinaud took solos; all three performed beautifully as time wound down to the end of the evening, which at the Bowl usually happens promptly at 10:30pm.
Hancock, however, is such a regular there that when he brought out his grandchild, who’s a toddler, he noted that it marked the third or fourth time he’d been on stage — which perhaps explains the leeway he received to bring the o.g. Head Hunters back out on stage for a final kitchen-sink rendition of “Chameleon.” Admittedly, that makes it sound like a free-for-all, but we’re talking about multiple generations of the best jazz musicians in history, and collectively they closed the show with a masterful, exuberant performance.
Whether or not the show truly was the first or only time the Head Hunters reunited in more than 50 years, it lived up to — and exceeded — the promise of that billing. Did Hancock exceed his marching orders, particularly at a venue better designed for boozy socialites than hardcore jazz fans? Probably. But after 62 years and countless recordings (far more than just “Head Hunters”) that have been firmly installed in listeners’ collective consciousness, he’s earned it.
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