Ben Monder’s Understated Appeal

Ben Monder is not a showy guitarist, and perhaps that accounts for his low profile among the jazz public. When you listen to his work—whether his original compositions on his earlier solo albums, his treatment of pop standards on his new album Day by Day, or his backing of bandleaders ranging from Paul Motian and Guillermo Klein to David Bowie—the first thing you notice is his sheer lyricism. His melodic inventions are rarely predictable, but they often seem inevitable and immensely pleasurable.

These qualities are not in vogue with listeners craving speed, novelty, edge, and complexity. And his stoic stage presence—soft-spoken and stationary with monkish salt-and-pepper hair topping a long, lanky frame—is unlikely to demand notice. But the intricacy at least is there in Monder’s music, tucked away in the elegant counterpoint and altered voicings underneath the tunefulness. The more you ask yourself, “What are those harmonies and how did he create them?” the more you recognize the ingenious concepts in his invention and the consummate technique in his playing. Other musicians get it.

“I’d heard little bits of his playing here and there,” remembers Bill Frisell, “and he’s always sounded good. But then one night, I went down to the Cornelia Street Café to see my friend Kermit Driscoll play bass with Ben and Ted Poor on drums. They knocked me out. That was the night I thought, ‘Uh oh, wait a minute, this is serious.’ I realized he wasn’t fooling around; he already had his own sound, his own architecture. He was taking things further than