On a cool October night in Philadelphia, jazz lovers flooded Zellerbach Theater and hummed with anticipation for Joshua Redman’s long–awaited return. The sound of Redman’s saxophone last enraptured the city more than a decade ago, and the crowd performed as a hive, buzzing with eagerness. As the lights dimmed and the Joshua Redman Group took the stage, a voice from the darkness hollered from the gallery off of stage right, “Come’on Josh, I’ve been waiting a long time!” and without skipping a beat, Redman burst into sheets of sound, commencing that evening’s journey. It was as if Redman acted as a conductor, yelling ‘all aboard!’ before the train pulled out of its station—the audience, or travelers—clamoring for a window seat. As we settled in and examined the passing scenery, one could imagine the collaboration between piano, bass, sax, and drums as different gears of a freight, chuggin’ over the Schuylkill River Viaduct on its way to the first stop: Chicago.
This is where our journey began: with a sound that expectantly could only be found among streets, alleys, and bridges charting the CTA. The group began with an arrangement combining Count Basie’s “Goin' to Chicago” with Sufjan Stevens’ “Chicago.” The collaboration between Philip Norris on bass and Nazir Ebo on drums was a standout—steady, soulful, and full of heart, grounding the adventurous melodies that unfolded.
Next, the Redman group took us to the “Streets of Philadelphia” where even after a devastating Phillies elimination that evening, the harmonious music restored a sense of Philadelphia pride. Redman’s saxophone soared alongside Gabrielle Cavassa’s haunting vocals, capturing the sense of loss and resilience that so deeply resonates in this city. Especially after a 4–1 loss, the performance lifted the audience with its tender homage to Philly’s gritty, unbreakable spirit. In a written interview before the show, and during the setbreak, Redman reiterated: “Without Philly there would be no jazz as we know it!” It’s clear that the audience’s appreciation of Redman was reciprocated by the maestro.
But Philadelphia is not the only location that inspired Redman’s newest studio album where are we. In response to his newest album being described as “a musical journey through America,” Josh Redman clarified that he wouldn’t describe it as such. Although each track on the album represented a new location—a new city, state, or general geographic area—he emphasized that he “really want[s] the music to stand on its own, to speak for itself. Content over Form,” and distanced where are we away from being minimized to a concept record. Ultimately, he contends, this album is an endeavor “to at least try to represent different aspects or perspectives on the American (and the human) experience—the joys and the sorrows, the triumphs and the failures, the ideals and the realities.” Redman’s album is an homage to the American experience from Minneapolis to Alabama, which he admits is “a tall order.”
However, the Joshua Redman Group exceeded expectations during their Oct. 5th performance. The detail and energy given to the content of each song was evidently appreciated by the rowdiness of the audience. Through the group’s engagement with each note and measure and stanza, one could not help but apply meaning and form and depth to the music.
The journey across America may be unintentional from Redman, but each tune of the set introduced a new mode of transportation to explore. A mesmerizing interpretation of "Hotel California" delivered audience members to the passenger seat of a 1970s Cadillac Eldorado convertible, windows down, cruising up to the Beverly Hills Hotel as Cavassa’s voice and Norris’s bass lulled us into a state of hypnotic calm. But beneath the cool veneer, Redman’s spinning sax and Ebo’s abounding drums transported listeners to life in the fast lane, speeding along the precipice between command and out of control, like the rockstars of "Hotel California." Paul Cornish’s spinning piano solo added that extra layer of intoxicating danger.
The concert was also a love letter to Redman’s band, with each member bringing their own artistry to the stage. Nazir Ebo, a Philadelphia native, shone brightly on the drums, his rhythms weaving in and out of Redman’s sax with effortless precision. Redman’s respect for his bandmates was palpable as he introduced them, making sure to highlight their individual contributions to the evening’s magic.
The evening continued its journey with stops in New England and Alabama. Redman’s original rendition of Bettie Carter’s "New England" carried the audience through the quiet, scenic landscapes of the Northeast: an Amtrak ride across autumnal forests to Providence. In contrast, the juxtaposition of “Stars Fell on Alabama” and John Coltrane’s “Alabama” was particularly moving. The former, a dreamy ballad about a meteor shower, felt like a drive–in movie scene with wheels and boots caked in red clay and listeners watched stars fall from the heavens. But then came Coltrane’s stormy meditation on the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing—a sharp reminder of the darkness in our collective past, and a mémoire of the sorrows and realities of the American experience.
As the final notes of the set echoed through the theater, it was clear that the magic of the evening had been in the fusion of each musician’s unique artistry. Every song was a celebration of the group’s chemistry—Redman’s saxophone dancing with Cornish’s vibrant piano, Cavassa’s voice caressing audience ears, Ebo’s driving rhythms propelling the journey forward, and Norris’ soulful bass anchoring it all in place. Together, they created something far greater than the sum of their parts, weaving a sonic tapestry that transported the audience across time and space. The Joshua Redman Group didn’t just perform—they invited the crowd into their shared musical experience, making every listener feel like an integral part of the journey.
By the time the encore rolled into the station, the Zellerbach Theater was a riot of applause. The standing ovation had stretched on so long that even those who had crept toward the exits—undoubtedly rushing to beat a parking ticket—found themselves irresistibly drawn back inside. The risk of missing one final song outweighed a confrontation with the Philadelphia Parking Authority later on. The aisles filled with eager listeners who simply couldn’t leave, their desire for another station, another location, or one more song palpable. And Redman delivered, serenading us with Barry Manilow’s “Could It Be Magic,” a tender and fitting farewell that made parting just a bit easier. As the final refrain of “Baby, I love you” lingered in the air, one thought hung heavy in every heart: “Come’on Josh, don’t make us wait so long next time.” After a performance like this, another decade without Joshua Redman in Philadelphia would simply be too much to bear.
