"Celestial is an ode to the divine inspiration I felt while composing the music for this project," says Alison. "The song plays with superimposed time signatures, and the jagged rhythmic edges evoke an almost kaleidoscopic feel. Simple melody lines are passed around between instruments, and the whole song has a lightness to it that is refreshing. This was my favorite tune to compose on the album and it came to me in a flood of inspiration over a period of about 48 hours. Magic!"
Alison Shearer’s debut album makes a statement. A statement about loss, and struggle, and the restorative power of music. Written soon after the passing of her father, famed photojournalist John Shearer, View From Above transports the listener to that liminal space between sky and earth, where the light shimmers and mundane matters seem small and far away.
In crafting the 10 compositions for this album, Alison drew on her uncommon experiences as a young jazz musician, as well as her solid technical training in classical music. Her love of flute and saxophone as a child had led her to the prestigious Manhattan School of Music, where she studied with Dick Oatts, Steve Wilson, and Vincent Herring—all masters of jazz saxophone. Despite this promising introduction to professional musicianship, upon graduation Alison felt unsure about her chosen career and, searching, began to toy with the idea of abandoning music altogether. She just wasn’t hearing it. Yet.
But in a serendipitous turn of events, she was invited to perform as a founding member with the PitchBlak Brass Band, a smart, rambunctious, hip-hop-based brass ensemble. The group’s rapid success—packed shows at the Blue Note, Kennedy Center, Lincoln Center, Brooklyn Bowl, National Sawdust, Merkin Concert Hall, and Summerstage—grew out of its members’ enthusiasm for breaking musical boundaries and creating fresh combinations of sound.
“PitchBlak made me love playing again,” Alison recalled. “The rush of playing to sold-out crowds, the infectious energy—they reminded me why I was in music in the first place.”
Alison’s innate leaning toward individualistic expression derives in part from the artistic legacy that she inherited. Her grandfather, Ted Shearer, was the trailblazing artist behind Quincy, one of the first popular comic strips to feature an African-American protagonist. And her father had rocketed to fame as a precocious teenage photographer whose images graced the covers and pages of Look and Life magazines: He was there, camera in hand, at some of the most memorable events of the civil rights era in the U.S.—President Kennedy’s funeral, Woodstock, the Attica prison riots, the Muhammad Ali-Joe Frazier fight.
“My father had a burning passion for art. That’s where he and I really connected,” Alison says. “He urged me to make a voice for myself.”
In keeping with this admonition, in 2015 Alison decided to leave PitchBlak and start her own group—a fusion quartet featuring her own compositions, performance, and leadership. Four years in—after refining her sound through key gigs with the quartet (Joe’s Pub) and as a side musician with artists as disparate as rappers Big Daddy Kane and Pharoahe Monch, indie songwriter Ana Egge, jazz trumpeter Wayne Tucker (Dizzy’s), and drummer Sunny Jain (with his bhangra band, Red Baraat)—Alison knew it was time to step out as a recording artist under her own name. The death of her father to cancer in 2019 only heightened her desire to create—as a musician with a striking, distinctive voice.
“Losing my dad almost killed me,” Alison admits. “But out of that pain came this beautiful album.”
View From Above is beautiful, yes. At most times, it’s melodic and sweeping and bright. But alongside all of this gorgeousness lies energetic displacements and rhythmic friction—hints of Alison’s personal tumult that, ultimately, found resolution in the act of writing.
Take the first moments of the record—the meditative intro of “On Awakening.” This soothing sequence sets a musical expectation soon upended, as the tune continues and contrapuntal percussive lines (by drummer Horace Phillips) scrape against the soaring riffs in Alison’s reverberating alto. Likewise, note the jagged edges of “Celestial,” with its odd meters moving in and out of synchronicity underneath the preternaturally inspired, effects-driven bass solo (by bassist Marty Kenney). Or the spare, propulsive intro that establishes the forward thrust of the third track, “Cycles,” with its major-key sonority and melodic horn interplay (between Shearer and guest artist Tucker). Caught up in the lyricism of these tracks, the listener senses their underlying conflicts without being overwhelmed by them—an admirable compositional feat.
As the album progresses, its moods shift. The smoldering R&B vocals and inspiring lyrics (by vocalist Miranda Joan) of “Breathe Again” provide a smooth setting for Alison’s voice-like sax interpolations. And “Toni’s Tune,” with its fluctuating, deep-funk groove and spoken word samples—Toni Morrison asserting that “art is dangerous”—not only pay homage to the Nobel Prize-winning author, but speak to Alison’s belief in the power of art to invoke change.
With “Three Flights Up,” Alison cycles back to the album’s earlier horn-led excitement, providing a chance for Alison and Tucker to align for a second time. This seamless segue sets up “Big Kids,” an ode to Alison’s father for the role he played in the civil rights movement and perhaps the most stirring tune on the record.
On this track, a funereal vamp underscores an echoing sample of Malcolm X’s words about police brutality—words that remain, sadly, still relevant today. But a resplendent acoustic piano solo (by pianist Kevin Bernstein) pushes the tension of the piece toward a triumphal catharsis, as a ringing gospel choir moves from grief to elation on Alison’s well-written vocal parts. (Vocalist/lyricist Jonathan Hoard led the choral section, with singers Chauncey Matthews and Vuyo Sotashe, and Susan Mandel on cello).
In contrast with the previous vocal pieces, Alison wrote “Purple Flowers” (vocals and lyrics by Hattie Simon), a delicate ballad that holds the regret of lost love ever so lightly. Then, on the penultimate track, the gritty “Dawn to Dusk,” she works deftly in five, the seeming simplicity of the composition obscuring its intriguing melodic and rhythmic intricacy.
Alison closes out the album with “Gentle Traveler,” a sweetly rueful composition that contains one of her longest solos on the record. In finessing the tune’s soft contours and metric modulations, the saxophonist manages to isolate the sounds that land most affectingly in the ear and on the heart. Not surprisingly: If John Shearer’s talent was to capture rare human moments on film, his daughter’s talent is to do the same with sound.
