Between 1982 and 1985, whenever Horace Tapscott felt ready, Tom Albach would hire an engineer, a crew, and a mobile sound truck to record him at the Lobero Theatre in Santa Barbara. Sessions typically ran between 2 and 4 a.m., when auto traffic fell quiet and the room's natural acoustic could breathe. Albach believed these solo recordings represented his greatest accomplishment as a producer - a conviction some found puzzling given its commercial futility. Solo piano albums by unknown pianists playing mostly original material? Financial suicide. But Albach wasn't interested in profit. He was documenting a master.

The Tapscott Sessions Vol. 9 captures one such midnight session from 1983, though the music didn't surface until 2001. A note in the original release explains why: the recording was rescued from eighteen-year-old cassettes after Albach couldn't locate an original JVC Digital Recorder compatible with the source tape. The sonic archaeology was worth the effort.

Nine tracks. Four Tapscott originals including "It Never Happened Before," "Love In Bloom," "Strollin'," and "Anwar" - pieces that find the pianist in a more restrained, contemplative mode than some of his volcanic ensemble work. The remaining five are standards, each filtered through Tapscott's angular sensibility: Duke Ellington's "Fleurette Africaine," Mongo Santamaría's "Afro-Blue," Benny Golson's "Whisper Not," and the Romberg-Hammerstein classic "Softly, As In A Morning Sunrise."

This is spare, thoughtful Tapscott - readings more economical than the extended improvisations on other volumes, yet played with the pride and power of his larger group recordings. The recording quality is exceptionally beautiful. Notes echo with poise and grace. Even when Tapscott plays sparsely, each phrase rings out with presence.

For listeners seeking the fire-breathing Arkestra conductor, Vol. 9 may feel like a different artist. That's precisely the point. Tapscott's pianistic technique - hard, percussive, likened by critics to Thelonious Monk and Herbie Nichols - was equally capable of this kind of intimate rumination. One piece of a larger portrait.