The Hat with the Grin and the Chuckle

Not quite an accordion, nor exactly an oversized harmonica, coming off somewhere between a blown reed instrument and a bowed string, the indelible, somewhat nasally bandoneon — the melodic mainstay of traditional tango music — is frequently a clarion call to the dancefloor.

But not always! On The Hat with the Grin and the Chuckle, the newest album from the Ben Thomas Tango Project, the bandoneon functions as the most outspoken member of a surprisingly experimental chamber sextet. Progressive tango fans, rejoice! But really: this is a profoundly evocative album worthy of our full attention.

Around Seattle, Thomas is seen most often on the vibraphone, playing either in his own groups (there are many) or in the Jovino Santos Neto Quinteto. Many of those projects lean in the direction of jazz — granted, a loose term — and while there are certainly jazzy, improvisational elements here, the album is a testament to Thomas's serious skill as a songwriter and arranger.

This reviewer admits to limited experience with tango; the dance steps would leave him horizontal. But this record feels far more somber, or maybe emotionally varied, than your typical dancefloor accompaniment — the early winner "Sonia's Mask" is almost dirge-like. Instrumental motifs eddy into each other like rounds only to be interrupted by the wonderfully percussive, appropriately dissonant piano bridges of Gabe Hall-Rodrigues. Laura Coronel and Elizabeth Phelps take on some fascinating minor violin harmonies.

Steve Schermer holds things, mainly tempo and chordal movement, down on the bass. Eric Likkel flies in from left and right field on clarinet.

The lack of a drum kit allows Schermer and Hall-Rodrigues to play a bit more freely throughout. There are even some full-on tempo shenanigans, as in the title track, where a plodding intro rears into some diminished stomping, which gives way to an unaccompanied piano flourish and then starts all over again.

It's interesting. It's darn interesting. And if jazz evokes the smoke-stained teal walls of New York's subterranean Village Vanguard, Thomas's work brings to mind some sort of neoclassical Argentine plaza disclaimer: never been). A contemporary parallel might be something on the order of Brad Mehldau's excellent Highway Rider, a 2010 double album of indiscernible genre and lasting appeal. Thomas's contemplative "Valley Shroud," which begins with some moody piano work and a kind of rainstick effect, would fit right in on that album.

Mehldau made a name for himself as a player but has become increasingly associated with the strength and variety of his compositions. One wonders if Thomas, who many around Seattle know as a terrific sideman, might be due for a similar reappraisal. The Hat with the Grin and Chuckle makes his case, and if it hasn't been made clear, the case is a good one.