If you ever have the pleasure of meeting Joshua Paxton, you will realize that he is a very pleasant, easy-going fellow. However, just wait until he gets behind a keyboard, and Mr. Franken Hyde comes out. He gets fast and furious. Paxton is extensively studied in most of the jazz traditions, and he has analyzed and transcribed Dr. John and Professor Longhair. Besides that, he is a fellow member in the ashram of James Booker. In addition, he is one of the most versatile piano plunkers in town, playing with Leigh Harris, the Wild Magnolias, Michael Ray and the Cosmic Krewe, and soul-grungers the Afghan Whigs. When he has had some spare time, he recorded a terrific jazz record called Q’s Blues. The record is full of great jazz tunes that sound like they could come from almost any era, and there are a couple of surprises.

The album starts off with “The Birmingham Blues.” It’s a blues with a melody that sounds like something Ornette Coleman might come up with. The piano playing is strong, and Matt Perrine, bassist and sousaphonist throughout the album, comes up with a good bass solo. The next composition, “Darwin’s Last Stand” (also written by Paxton) would not be out of place on a late 1960s/early 1970s McCoy Tyner record. Ringing piano chords lead into slight comping behind Brent Rose’s saxophone melody and solo. Rose’s solo stays inside most of the time, but during several measures he breaks into serious high-speed Coltrane multiphonics. Drummer Doug Belote contributes some excellent fills at the end using his entire drum kit, confirming Paxton’s opinion of him when he said in an interview, “I like Doug Belote because he listens and reacts. He doesn’t just keep time.” The album switches gears for the title track next. Fellow keyboardist and Paxton’s doppelganger Dave Ellington replaces the bass with organ on one of Ellington’s tunes, “Q’s Blues.” Ellington and Paxton play together all around town, and musically they can complete each other’s thoughts. This song is reminiscent of Miles Davis’ “All Blues,” but with a couple fonky New Orleans licks thrown in. For the next song, Paxton adds vocalist extraordinaire Leigh Harris. Harris, whom Paxton calls “his favorite singer on the planet,” contributes a beautiful lilt to the slow ballad “Somewhere Else in Time.” The music complements the wistful lyrics beautifully.

The next tune, “Sweet Georgia Brown,” is a solo piano tornado. After starting with the standard make-you-want-to-dribble-behind-your-back-like-Marques-Haynes opening, Paxton takes this standard all over the map. His left hand is full of Booker, and his right hand hits the solos hard, and then he suddenly switches to single fingers on each hand to break this song down to its basic form. He takes it left, right, out, in, and ooops upside the head. At the end, just for a laugh, he tosses in the first line to “Big Chief.” It’s hard to play such an overworked and overplayed warhorse like “Sweet Georgia Brown” so that a listener pays attention, but Paxton pulls it off.

You would think that this would be the climax of the record, but after the tune “Jocosity,” an upbeat happy song with Brent Rose not sounding like Coltrane (even though Coltrane is a god) and sounding great on soprano sax, and Chick Corea’s “Spain” done as a waltz, the real jewel of this record appears. This jewel is Harold Battiste’s “Minuet in F(unk).” This is a song Battiste wrote for James Booker, but never got to him. Paxton is the first person to record it. This song is so street and so New Orleans that the smells of the river were wafting out of the speakers. Matt Perrine should be given an award for best use of sousaphone outside a brass band. It is funky in a jazzy way and jazzy in a funky way. Doug Belote’s rhythm is relaxed and full of that elusive beat that forces dancers to do the slow hip shake. Paxton’s Bookerisms here are put to excellent effect.

The record finishes out a “Thursday through Saturday,” a swing ballad with great interplay between the bass and piano, and “Shuckin’ and Jivin’,” a burner where the listener can picture Paxton’s hands blurring over the keys. It would have been good to hear Paxton do another solo tune (his versions of Booker’s “Gonzo,” “Classified,” or “Papa Was a Rascal” are great) or play something a little more avant-garde to reflect his time spent powering the Cosmic Krewe around the spaceways in the Sun Ra chair, but this is self-assured and confident, especially for a first record. He can save the out compositions for the next record. This record, like Peanuts’ Lucy sitting behind her psychiatrist booth, is waaaaaaaaay in, and waaaaaaaaaay good.