Eternal Rhythm: Joe Henderson's Tetragon
By the time Tetragon dropped in 1968 on Milestone Records, Joe Henderson was already one of the sharpest tenor voices in modern jazz—an improviser who could slide between the hard-bop precision of Horace Silver and the modal experiments of Andrew Hill without breaking a sweat. But Tetragon marked a new phase: not just a pivot from Blue Note to Milestone, but a conceptual and rhythmic expansion, showing Henderson stretching his language into more open and unpredictable shapes.
The album is built on two quartet lineups, each a mirror image of the other. Kenny Barron and Ron Carter handle piano and bass duties on one half, with Louis Hayes on drums; on the other, Don Friedman and Chuck Israels step in, with Jack DeJohnette behind the kit. That duality is more than a personnel quirk, it’s structural. Tetragon plays like a four-sided object constantly in rotation, each track refracting Henderson’s ideas through different rhythmic geometries.
The opener “Invitation” is a statement of purpose: a cinematic standard turned into a launchpad for chromatic detours. Henderson’s tone is wiry and flexible, gliding over Barron’s elegant comping. On “R.J.,” the interplay becomes sharper, bluesier, a nod to his earlier roots with Kenny Dorham and Horace Silver. But it’s the title track that cracks the album open. Built on an angular melody and rhythmically fractured phrasing, it’s a study in balance—melodic abstraction offset by Carter’s steady pulse and Hayes’ nimble swing.
What sets Henderson apart here is his sense of control. Even in the freer moments, there’s architecture to his solos. He doesn’t blow for the sake of it, he constructs, twists, rephrases. In “First Trip” (written by Ron Carter), you hear Henderson in pure conversation with space and momentum, letting silences speak as much as notes.
By the end - particularly on “I've Got You Under My Skin” - the album circles back to standards, but nothing feels standard. Like Coltrane’s Ballads or Rollins' Way Out West, it’s less about the tune and more about the terrain it opens up. Henderson doesn’t play songs; he navigates structures.
Tetragon didn’t receive the same historic weight as Henderson’s Page One or Mode for Joe, but it’s arguably more revealing. It’s the sound of a master technician operating without strict boundaries, balancing abstraction and groove, tradition and geometry. A four-sided mirror, reflecting a player forever chasing the next shape.
Buy a UK first pressing of Tetragon here