Art Blakey - 1982 - Keystone 3

Art Blakey

1982

Keystone 3

01. In Walked Bud 8:12

02. In A Sentimental Mood 7:01

03. Fuller Love 8:43

04. Waterfalls 11:12

05. A La Mode 10:22

Alto Saxophone – Branford Marsalis (tracks: 1, 3 to 5)

Bass – Charles Fambrough

Drums – Art Blakey

Piano – Donald Brown

Tenor Saxophone – Bill Pierce

Trumpet – Wynton Marsalis

Recorded live at Keystone Korner, San Francisco, California, January 1982

Remixed at PER, San Francisco, California

The Night Papa Blakey Turned Two Cocky New Orleans Kids Into Jazz Immortals (And Nobody Got Grounded)

Let’s set the scene: January 1982. Art Blakey is 62 years old—ancient by jazz standards, basically the Crypt Keeper with a better hi-hat. Hard bop is supposedly on life support, fusion is hogging all the synthesizers, and the Keystone Korner in San Francisco is one of the last true jazz shrines on the West Coast. Into this smoky temple walks Blakey with the hottest, most hyped young front line since the Lee Morgan/Wayne Shorter days: 20-year-old trumpet prodigy Wynton Marsalis (already acting like he invented the valves), his big brother Branford (fresh out of Berklee and still figuring out which sax to blow), and the grown-up in the room, tenor beast Bill Pierce. The result? Keystone 3—a live album so ferocious it makes you wonder why anyone ever bothered recording in a studio again. This is hard bop on steroids, Red Bull, and whatever legal substance Blakey was on that kept him swinging like a 25-year-old until he was 71.

Buhaina the Eternal: The Man Who Never Retired (Because Retirement Is for Mortals)

Born Abdullah Ibn Buhaina in Pittsburgh, 1919, Art Blakey was already a legend before most of us were born. Piano player as a teen → forced at gunpoint to switch to drums (true story) → sideman for Billy Eckstine, Miles, Monk, and basically everyone who mattered → co-founded the original Jazz Messengers in the ’50s with Horace Silver → turned it into his personal jazz university for the next 35 years.

The list of Messengers alumni reads like the Jazz Hall of Fame guest list: Lee Morgan, Benny Golson, Wayne Shorter, Freddie Hubbard, Curtis Fuller, Jackie McLean, Keith Jarrett, Chuck Mangione, Woody Shaw, Cedar Walton… and that’s just the first 20 years. Blakey’s formula was simple: find the hungriest young lions, pay them peanuts, work them like mules, teach them how to swing till their ancestors felt it, then boot them out to become leaders. He called it “passing the torch.” Critics called it the greatest talent incubator in jazz history. By 1982 he’d already buried half his peers, outlived multiple jazz eras, and was still kicking harder than anyone half his age. The man didn’t age—he just accumulated more press rolls.

The Class of ’82: The Band That Made Jazz Critics Spit Out Their Martinis

This lineup was together barely six months, but sweet Jesus did they cook:

Art Blakey – drums, press rolls that could wake the dead, and the greatest “Bu-Bu-Buuuuu!” shout in jazz history.

Wynton Marsalis – trumpet (age 20, already playing like Miles and Clifford Brown had a love child who practiced 23 hours a day).

Branford Marsalis – alto sax (mostly—sources argue about tenor/soprano, but on this gig he’s primarily alto, bringing that wild, searching edge).

Bill Pierce – tenor saxophone (the veteran anchor, the guy who actually knew all the Messengers repertoire and kept the kids from falling off the stage).

Donald Brown – piano (subtle, tasteful, the perfect foil for the horn pyrotechnics).

Charles Fambrough – bass (deep in the pocket, walking like his rent depended on it—which it probably did).

Recorded live over a few nights at Keystone Korner, engineered by the great Phil Edwards (who somehow captured Blakey’s drums sounding like artillery without drowning everyone else). Concord Jazz released it later that year—Blakey’s first for the label after decades on Blue Note, Roulette, and every indie that would have him.

Five Tracks of Pure, Unfiltered Hard Bop Mayhem

Original LP clocks in at a lean 46 minutes, but every second is a knockout punch:

In Walked Bud (Thelonious Monk) – Swinging opener. Wynton tries a little growl plunger (cute, kid), then rips a solo that announces “I’m here to save jazz, y’all.” Branford follows with pure fire. Blakey just laughs and drops bombs.

In a Sentimental Mood (Duke Ellington) – Branford’s heartbreaking alto feature. Slow, lush, gorgeous. The one moment the Marsalis brothers shut up and play pretty. You’ll forgive them everything after this.

Fuller Love (Bobby Watson) – 6/8 modal burner dedicated to Curtis Fuller. Horns stab like assassins, Blakey pushes like a freight train. Peak Messengers energy.

Waterfalls (Donald Brown) – The 11-minute masterpiece. Ascending/descending horn lines that feel like the band is literally falling down stairs in the most elegant way possible. Wynton doubles time and tries to melt faces. Succeeds.

A La Mode (Curtis Fuller) – Classic Messengers closer. Hushed unison lines, Blakey building tension like a horror movie, then BAM—full explosion. Ends the set on a high that makes you want to flip the record and start again.

The sound? Crystal clear. You can hear every cymbal ping, every bass note thump, every time Blakey yells “Yeah!” like a proud dad watching his kids set the house on fire (in a controlled, artistic way).

The Album That Launched the Young Lions Revolution (And Gave Wynton His Superhero Origin Story)

In 1982, jazz was supposedly dying. Fusion had stolen the kids, smooth jazz was lurking, and free jazz had scared off the squares. Then comes Keystone 3—a straight-ahead hard bop album by a bunch of sharp-dressed twentysomethings led by a grandfather—and suddenly the future looked bright again.

This record is Patient Zero for the entire “Young Lions” movement of the ’80s and ’90s. Wynton and Branford left Blakey literally weeks after this gig to sign with Columbia, drag jazz back into suits and ties, and spark the whole neo-traditionalist wave. Love it or hate it (and plenty hate it—Branford included, later), the Marsalis Effect brought jazz back to Lincoln Center, PBS specials, and Grammy speeches about “preserving the tradition.” Without Keystone 3, no Wynton Marsalis Quintet debut, no Ken Burns Jazz doc with Wynton as narrator-in-chief, no endless debates about whether jazz should wear sneakers or wingtips.

It’s also one of the very best live Blakey documents—up there with A Night at Birdland, Moanin’, and Free for All. Critics routinely rank it in the top tier of the 200+ Messengers albums (yes, there are that many). The 2005 red-vinyl reissue and the ongoing digital availability keep introducing new generations to the night two New Orleans brothers got baptized in Blakey’s fire—and came out ready to rule the world.

So yeah, Keystone 3 isn’t just a great album. It’s the moment jazz said, “Hold my pocket square—we’re coming back.” And Art Blakey? He just smiled, counted off the next tune, and kept swinging till the day he dropped the sticks in 1990.

Put this on loud, pour something strong, and thank Buhaina for never retiring. The man didn’t just keep the flame alive—he turned it into a blowtorch and handed it to the kids. Legend. Absolute legend.