Discography

Leaving Los Angeles

Release Date: August 9th, 2019

Liner Notes:

July 2, 2019— In Leaving Los Angeles Christopher Wilson reminds us once again why we need music. He offers us new compositions and standards in a mature voice that we instantly trust... What is voice? We know whether we are listening to Oscar Peterson or Thelonious Monk, whether we are reading James Baldwin or Alice Munro. We can name craft elements that make one work different from another, but voice remains ineffable. As writers and musicians, we know the importance of voice early on, having found it and trusted it in those we admire. Then we set off to do something new and wonderful, and go to great extremes trying to make ourselves distinct—and often blunder into imitation and appropriation. I can’t picture Monk imitating anyone, or worrying over whether he was sufficiently distinct. And I’m fairly sure that my mother did absolutely nothing to develop an individual voice, except for smoking a pack of cigarettes a day—and telling the truth. Some of us are lucky that way. Others are lucky enough to find a mentor who reminds us that the artform is bigger than our egos. Christopher Wilson lives in a beautiful house. I haven’t gotten out to the coast to visit Christopher and his family, but I’ve entered his house while he played Baker’s in Detroit. Where there might be walls, there are giants—Ellington, Basie—holding up a roof. Fortunately for us, this roof serves also as a bandshell. Wilson’s voice, crisp and mellifluous, moves through the great rooms like sunlight where curtains have parted... In “Eloise’s Blues” and “Trilingual,” Christopher has composed bright, crisp tunes that allow him to explore the range of a trio. Wilson brings standards to life—” Speak Low,” “Softly as a Morning Sunrise”—channeling some of the voicings of Ella Fitzgerald and Wynton Marsalis and making them new. Wilson’s unhurried elegance allows “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face” to escape from cliche and carry forward the sober vulnerability of actual love. Like all the great versions, Christopher lets the stunning melodies and cadences perform their magic. He plays the damn songs. He lets them sing...

—Michael Lauchlan, author of Trumbull Ave., Wayne State University Press, 2015 

Feelin' Better

Release Date: October 4th, 2014

Liner Notes:

"Your songs, when you sing them with your two eyes closed, as you always do, are like a local road we've known every turn of in the past." From 'At the Wellhead' by Seamus Heaney—Before the lyric came the lyre with its incantatory power to lead the dance, to link all for a few measures of breathlessness and to regulate dancing, singing, and breathing itself. Reaching wordlessly across the rift separating human from human, music is the balm of Gilead, the history of Gilead, and all that's left of Gilead. During a recent Detroit Jazz Fest, I heard the octogenarian Barry Harris hold a crowd in thrall with a set of trio classics. When he finished, I heard the deep silence that undergirds music. An inner voice spoke up, saying, that's what music is, what we hope, at our very best, to be. When the time capsule is loaded into our last departing spaceship, that's the human residue we'll want to offer to sentient, and hopefully wiser, beings...Hearing Christopher Wilson's fine recording, I had a similar moment of recognition. This is what music can do and must do. Chris reaches across to an audience with a cadence that slides below language, that arrives early in our heart's dark chambers and flips on a light to guide whatever language might follow. Listen to "Polda Dots and Moonbeams" and "Stars Fell on Alabama" and hear him shape cadences as though Ella and Sarah were whispering in his ears. In light of Wilson's compassionate work for homeless teens, we hear, "Feeling Better," a song "safe-space," a minor chorded bulwark against ugly forces which objectify and violate the young and vulnerable. ..There are players who skate more, players with more driving rhythms and more 'original' versions. With drummer Harry McKenzie and bassist Blake White, Wilson has sought a qualify more nuanced and more essential. For listeners thirsty for 'notes...like hoisted water/ravelling of a bucket,' for the generous lyricism that left the planet with Hank Jones and Tommy Flanagan, Chris Wilson is a reminder that our musical well is deep and fresh, that a new generation of players can still lead us to it.

—Michael Lauclan, auth of Trumbull Ave, Wayne State University Press