David Murray turned 70 in February. That feels wrong somehow, not because I’m unaware that time only moves in one direction but because Murray doesn’t fit the mold of an elder statesman. Since his arrival in New York in the mid-’70s, he’s been on a unique creative path, releasing a torrent of material — his Discogs page lists close to 300 credits — in contexts ranging from solo recitals to big bands to collaborations with musicians from all corners of the globe. He never seems to stop moving, and he’s never stayed on a single path for any length of time. Typically, when a jazz musician gets this far into their career, they settle down. Even fire-breathing radicals get predictable. But Murray is still taking chances, as his new album Birdly Serenade proves.
