Jaleel Shaw, Painter of the Invisible Review

Painter of the Invisible: Jaleel Shaw’s Tapestry of Rhythmic Movement

By Nolan DeBuke

Across Painter of the Invisible, Jaleel Shaw breathes sonic life into the unseen, unspoken, and unforgettable for those whose influence endures beyond their names being spoken aloud. In his first album in thirteen years, Shaw curates a collective set of compositions with a common thread. This music is improvisation through harmony, but importantly, it is a testimony of rhythmic texture as a tribute. Backed by an outstanding ensemble of Lawrence Fields (piano), Ben Street (bass), Joe Dyson (drums), and guests Sasha Berliner (vibraphone) and Lage Lund (guitar). Shaw offers a collection of performances that are satisfying, as it is emotionally resonant.

The album opens with “Good Morning,” a gentle modal invocation set in rubato. The harmonic language signals the coming mood. Shaw’s alto voice carries the listener into a soundworld where lyricism and lineage are always in dialogue. “Contemplation” deepens this meditation, setting bass and saxophone in contrapuntal motion. Dyson’s layered rhythmic entrance and Fields’ responsive piano create a mosaic of movement, highlighting Shaw’s rhythmic poise and harmonic clarity. His solo flows through the architecture of the composition with an ear for melodies forming around modal nodes and cadential shifts, never overstated, always coming from clarity.

On “Beantown,” Shaw’s years at Berklee are remembered through rhythm. The bass ostinato anchors a groove that nods to Afro-Cuban forms while integrating march and modern jazz phrasing. The rhythmic interplay here is remarkable as saxophone and piano trade rhythmic ideas, overlapping like contrapuntal voices in a contemporary fugue. Fields’ solo is strong in thematic development and harmonic navigation, built from bluesy gestures into a modal sprint.

“Distant Images” follows as a contemporary jazz ballad with guitar and piano colorings. A folk-like theme settles into a joyous Afro-Caribbean groove. The sense of cyclical rhythm and radiant harmonic movement reflects the memory of Shaw’s grandmother not through nostalgia, but through musical clarity and grace.

“Baldwin’s Blues” is a triumph in playing with rhythmic tension. The ensemble toggles between swing and straight eighths, each player interpreting feel and phrase from a personal angle. Shaw’s turn in the form is especially vivid, his articulation and motivic logic expressing blues language refracted through modern chromaticism. The result is at once conversational and pulls from the post-bop roots.

The two-part “Gina’s Ascent” (intro and main) gives us Berliner’s vibes as a shimmering counterpart to Shaw’s lyricism. In the intro, their rubato pairing feels like suspended breath; then, in the main body, the groove lands with confidence. The rhythm section unfurls layer by layer, with vibes and bass staring in tutti, while Fields and Dyson widen the groove’s dimensions. Berliner’s solo is a study in vertical improvisation, touching on rhythmic motifs, harmonic clusters, and melodic arcs that rise like the piece’s namesake.

“Tamir” opens with Dyson’s evocative drumming, the form blending Afro-Caribbean traditions with modal jazz and protest music lineage. Shaw’s solo is a wail and a whisper, his upper-register cries and scalar flurries. Fields responds with a piano solo that unfolds in waves—quarter-note motifs growing into expansive right-hand motion and the rich resonance of quartal clusters, and open fifths. The ensemble’s unified energy elevates the piece beyond tribute—it becomes a form of testimony.

“Meghan,” dedicated to Revive Music’s Meghan Stabile, is an open, folk-tinged ballad where soprano sax glides above a lush harmonic field. Shaw’s tone is feathered and round, evoking Stabile’s spirit not through overt dramatics but through melodic purity and harmonic air.

On “The Invisible Man,” Lage Lund returns to spark an up-tempo, rhythmically diverse narrative. During his solo, his guitar lines are marked by wide intervallic leaps and percussive urgency, invigorating the quartet’s texture. Fields builds a piano solo that responds in kind, moving from pointillism to crescendo.

The closer, “Until We Meet Again,” blends gospel melodic tones with contemporary jazz’s elasticity. Shaw’s tone here is particularly poignant, rounded, and centered, his phrases shaped with patience. Fields’ use of Fender Rhodes adds warmth, blending with the acoustic trio to create a sound that is grounded and forms a fitting ending to our listening experience.

Throughout Painter of the Invisible, Shaw shows his greatest strength: elevating a rhythm into something universally resonant. The album functions as a contemporary jazz suite, with interlocking narratives, consistent thematic variation, and a rhythmic language that draws from the African diaspora’s richest traditions. There is much to enjoy here, modular forms, counterpoint, polyrhythms, and modal harmony done with precision.