An unbearable hour of 'Magic'

Everyone knows that kid who tries too hard to be cool. He wears a beret and dresses in black, as if he were a beatnik out of the '50s. But in truth, he isn't cool at all. Cool is something that people are born with; it cannot be learned.

That kid, who only dreams he could be as "cool" as jazz greats like Miles Davis, has grown up and now plays trumpet for Blue Note Records. Ladies and Gentleman, Wynton Marsalis.

Wynton's debut album for Blue Note, "The Magic Hour," is little more than an hour of yawns. This album features a classic Jazz ensemble of piano, drums, trumpet, and bass. However, the music is far more clich?© than classic. The musical arrangements are uninspired and the lyrics are cheesy. Even worse, the musicians are so absorbed in their jazzy perfection that they sound arrogant and sterile. Simply put, this album lacks the soul that makes jazz truly jazz.

Wynton Marsalis is not new to the jazz scene though. He has produced 33 jazz and 11 classical records. Three of these albums are certified gold records. In addition to this, Marsalis is the Artistic Director of the prestigious Jazz Institute at Lincoln Center. Kofi Annan, the secretary general of the U.N., proclaimed him an international ambassador of goodwill and appointed him a U.N. messenger of peace. This track record does not speak to his talent, but rather illuminates Kofi Annan's poor taste in jazz.

"The Magic Hour" is Marsalis' first jazz ensemble studio recording since 1999, and it shows. The album is all too formulaic. There's the smooth, female singer going on and on about jazzy this and jazzy that. There's the sexy cooing trumpet. And when the band wants to go "out," there's garbled, trite nonsense. The album sounds like it should be played in the Lincoln Center's elevators rather than on its stage.

Marsalis seems so enamored with the idea of "jazz," that he cannot explore its complexities with his soul. His rendition of this timeless art is superficial and cerebral. He lacks the depth of the true jazz greats like Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Herbie Hancock, and Bill Evans. Compare the works of these jazz gods to "The Magic Hour" and you'll see that music is an art of the soul, not the just of the mind.

Wynton's cheesiness is apparent in the incoherent way he talks about the album. In the press packet provided to this reviewer, Marsalis felt the album was for both parents and kids. "From the perspective of the kids, you've got the 4/4 time of them running around and acting crazy, then you put the blues on them to calm them down," he said. "For the parents, it's that burst of activity right after the kids go down, then the blues where there's mutual recognition, the groove when there's realization and then the ballad for reflection."

Recognition, realization and reflection? How pleasant sounding, but what about the music itself? Wynton sounds more like a salesman selling cheap charm necklaces on QVC than a musician who feels the music with his soul. The jazz greats showed their appreciation of the music with their songs, not with superficial adjectives. If Wynton was truly great, he would do the same.

There are, however, some good things to say about "The Magic Hour." The musicians are professional, and as a result, the sound quality of the actual instruments is first-rate. Also, the song "baby, I love you" is above average, due to the vocal ability of Bobby McFerrin, a talented modern singer. Finally, the production of the album is well done, allowing for crisp, clear tracks.

Still, this album is a big flop. Wynton seems to have nothing to offer in the way of creativity or soul. Instead "The Magic Hour" sounds uninspired and corny -- a deadly mixture. For those interested in real jazz, forget about Wynton Marsalis and pick up any album by Miles Davis or Herbie Hancock. It's there that you'll find the real soul of jazz that Wynton Marsalis so desperately lacks.