Louis Hayes at Jazz Alley

By Paul Rauch

June 26, 2026

Courtesy Lisa Hagen Glynn

June 23, 2026

At eighty-nine years old, the fact that drummer Louis Hayes is still touring as a bandleader is remarkable in itself. The fact that he is still playing so well, and playing with great energy is downright inspiring. With the sun burning bright, and the city of Seattle alit with international visitors gathering for the World Cup of soccer, the importance of gathering to see Hayes or any of the valued elders of the international jazz community perform seemed to carry equal importance.

Hayes strode into town, carrying the weight of a band any leader would be satisfied to have in tow. He was joined in the rhythm section by versatile bassist Jason Clotter and pianist David Hazeltine, for whom he has played with in the pianist's own trio. Tenor saxophonist Abraham Burton is half of a unique front line headed by the remarkable Steve Nelson on vibraphone. The two mallet master is legendary in his modernist approach to improvisation, and his unique take on harmonic invention. Burton had the support of his wife's family in the house, all arriving from her home community in Kirkland, WA, outside of Seattle. The stage was set for an evening of musical adventurism, with a band that blurred all generational and stylistic lines in favor of a healthy dose of artistic collectivism—a cohesion of artistic spirit as opposed to an expression of individual autonomy.

In seeing an artist of Hayes' pedigree, it is difficult to shake off the dust of history and focus on the essence of the moment as it transpires. The drummer has been such a prominent part of recordings consumed over decades of time by any serious jazz aficionado. In the studio and on the road, he has been a major cog in the touring and recording ensembles of Horace Silver and Cannonball Adderley, and one third of the historic Oscar Peterson Trio. He is yet another legend of the city of Detroit, launching his career with fellow Detroiters Yusef Lateef and Curtis Fuller. The NEA Jazz Master joined Silver's band at the tender age of 19 in 1956, the same year segregated buses were ruled unconstitutional by the Supreme Court. It was the year the Soviets rejected Stalin, that the US decided "In God We Trust" was a suitable motto for a nation that allegedly honors the separation of church and state. It was the year Mickey Mantle won baseball's triple crown en route to the World Series and rock and roll was purported to have "taken over" popular music. Yet here he was with us in the summer of 2026, in the storied confines of Seattle's Jazz Alley, relating to and expanding upon the hard bop principles so ardently professed to him by Silver, Adderley and a host of historic luminaries.

Nelson drew attention right from the start, soloing out of the chute in his typically angular fashion, running through Duke Pearson's "Is That So?" in lightning quick, two mallet figures. Hayes and Douglas held down the groove, swinging in forward motion gently, with Hayes' signature, never overplay style intact, characterized wholly by the ride pattern extending from his unshakeable right hand to cymbal. It took a chorus or two for the band to sound completely in sync, likely assisted by the sound engineer, who scrambled to create balance in the sound filling the four hundred seat room.

By the time the band had transitioned to "If You Could See Me Now," the musicians and the house had everything in order, with tenorist Burton working his way through the melody with a large, round sound that captured all of the melancholy the standard could muster. The master Hayes displayed the sublime brush work that has been a trademark since he burst upon the scene some seventy years ago. Nelson played a long intro to begin the classic ballad, somehow fitting his explosive, almost impulsive approach into the raw beauty of the melody. Between choruses, he stared intently into the audience, as if he were seeking answers to questions asked time and time again.The highly original vibraphonist was brilliant for all one hundred minutes of the set, a true highlight for the sizable Seattle crowd.

From one piece to the next, Hayes demonstrated expertly the attributes of his playing that has brought him accolades his entire career—the intricate snare work, blissful cadence of his cymbal work, and solo figures that can only be described as highly original. Launching into the Dizzy Gillespie classic, "Con Alma," Hayes demonstrated how different his style is compared to another highly acclaimed Detroit drumming legend in Elvin Jones. Ten years his senior, Jones practically defined the music that rose from the Motor City during the Great Migration of the 1940s and 50s. He took that unrelenting, soulful style forward into the 1960s and beyond, a mirror image of Detroit's Paradise Valley jazz culture and the sound's transition to the west side of town. That grinding, hard-working sound that Hayes seemed to take and refine into poetic fragments of prose expressed freely without inhibition. He blended so perfectly with bassist Clotter, who seemed to fly under the radar until needed, injecting his woody, percussive sound to support and embellish Hayes' subtle genius. The audience was delightfully appreciative and supportive, truly an enlightened crowd that understood perfectly what they were witnessing.

The second ballad of the evening arrived with the classic, "You've Changed," with Burton introducing the melody like the faint whispers of those mourning lost love and the vacuity it leaves in the most melancholic way. Hazeltine, while comping ever so lightly with reverence for the sound around him, still managed to somewhat magically guide the melody through that scant harmonic framework. Hayes played at one point with a brush in his right hand, exacting faint echoes from his ride cymbal, while offering intricate work with his left, grasping the drum stick as to strike his snare with the barrel end. The sizzle and pop conjured memories of his hard bop years when his approach was literally the standard, a more nuanced and finely tuned version of the masterful innovations of Art Blakey.

The quintet's adaptation of Cedar Walton's "Bolivia" was a case in point. Hayes performed a solo in the middle of the tune that was maddeningly original, a polyrhythmic insertion that left the audience in essence, stunned. As Nelson delivered a stunning recital of his own, breaking down chorus after chorus in an intrepid, explorative way, Hayes delivered his most eruptive playing of the evening as the clock stuck nine-ninety minutes into the set. Suddenly the lower tones of the kit were utilized strongly, building up to the remarkable, aforementioned solo. The audience was left to realize that what they had experienced over the course of the performance wasn't just the thrill of seeing a jazz titan who still had the wherewithal to play—they were witnessing brilliance, not just a historic trailblaze of the same. Somehow, the master had delivered his sermon on no uncertain terms. There was no pounding of the fist on the pulpit, or cymbal-driven ranting of a historic narrative. There was just a fine, genius practitioner of the jazz tradition delivering his message as he always has. Many came to pay their respects to a legend, and rightfully so. In the end, they had to pay their respects to the moment at hand, and wishful thoughts on what is to come.