Bud Shank should be at least familiar in name to passing jazz aficionados. I can’t readily explain why, but if I’ve heard a name before, you have as well. Regardless of that fact, Shank’s progression over time points to an endless fascination with the medium, if not always falling into the most listenable jazz caveats. Beginning as a West Coaster, after his time in school in North Carolina, Shank worked with all the cool jazzbos that white dudes now decry. Recording with everyone from Stan Kenton and Chet Baker to Sergio Mendes, Shank solidified his talents in the studio during the ‘60s. And as ‘cool’ as a style slowly disintegrated, Shank kept moving. While he was able to move past some of those trappings, Shank’s playing always bore its markings.

But the ‘60s were the time for Shank – in circles completely removed from the ‘new thing’ that was going on everywhere else. He led well over ten dates during the decade in addition to the time that he put in as a side man and session player. But Shank always had some sort of latent creativity not always aptly expressed in his music. And during the late ‘60s the alto player was proffered an opportunity to rework a number of film music.

On Windmills of Your Mind, which seems more than lightly tied to Don Quixote, Shank collaborates with Michel Legrand to reexamine some of the latter’s compositions. Having around a hundred discs as well as a few hundred film and television scores to his name allowed Shank to pick and choose the selections for inclusion on Windmills. Even with that pretty free hand, the results aren’t always as vivid as the films from which these works come. It’s not through the fault of any single individual – Shank works to better affect elsewhere, while Legrand’s compositions fit the settings from which they come.

What ends up contributing greatly to the dour mood of the session is the background from which Shank is coming from. All that laid back, cool jargon flows from Shank’s alto effortlessly. And with all of the overly sentimental fare represented on the album, his playing at times comes off as a bit underwhelming – “One Day” being a pretty decent example of the disc’s ability to inspire yawning.

There are a few upbeat numbers, “Chanson Des Jumelles” for example. But as the post-bop extension is worn ever thin, Shank’s contributions, while not totally lackluster, seem at least avidly telegraphed. It’s not hard for any listener to guess at what’s coming next. And even with that faster tempo, which crops up on “Chanson De Solange” as well, there’s just not too much present to keep listener’s attention.

Fans of the films that this music comes from would probably be the only current beneficiaries of the album. And while they might exist here and there – my grandparents, perhaps – the album doesn’t hold water even compared to some lesser West Coast post-bop fare of the era. It’s an interesting concept, but that’s about all it is.