The opening dates as a sideman for folks like Eddie Harris and Sonny Stitt should point to the chops that Bunky Green possesses. But during those bop sessions one should suppose that Green has his inclinations reigned in by the respective date leaders. That being said, Green wouldn’t always have folks around him to point towards some of his lesser efforts – a sort of editor and companion. Even with that glaring problem dogging his discography as a date leader, Green has gone on to work in higher education for the better part of the last few decades. That shouldn’t be seen as some sort of cop out – but after taking a listen to some of Green’s output from the latter ‘70s, jazzbos might not be displeased by his lack of recording.

Two of the most enjoyable things in life – to me at least – are listening to funk and listening to jazz. So when a performer – this time Green - ostensibly figures that he does both on a single album, I’ve nothing more to ask for. Of course, if both the jazz and the funk are of the cheese variety, there’s a problem. And unfortunately for Bunky Green, his 1977 album entitled Transformations should be listened to only when paired with a fine, fine wine and some assorted, sliced fruit in the company of bedecked liberals determined to discuss the plight of the lower classes and health care reform.

The disc is a step removed from an album recorded with Elvin Jones from around the same time on which Green provided most of the compositions. But on that album – Time Capsule – Green had that censor that he so desperately needed. The Elvin Jones disc moved out past charted territory a few times, but nothing too avant-crazy. Pulling it in even closer to the vest, this disc, Transformations, Green and his corralled group of no-names work out enough ballads to make your parent’s dinner party sound like a raucous, warehouse rave.

Part of the problem here might be the fact that Green, while contributing a great deal of compositional work to that Elvin Jones disc, only gives listeners a scant three minute tune here amidst the other five tracks. Of course, the fact that “The Lady from Ancona” sports a bit of early synthesizer noise as well as some licks that should be reserved for Kenny G makes Green’s one original as distasteful as the rest of the album. There is a bit of funk here and there – although it’s usually subverted by the album’s production. “Chillon” has a back beat as dirty as need be, but again the track finds Green in some uselessly flaccid territory.

Transformations, comprising the earliest third of Green’s late ‘70s run with Vanguard, might have pointed towards the end of the sax players recording career for a bit. Not returning to the fold after his date from ’79 as a leader, Green shelled out some mid to late ‘80s fair that was a bit better received than this swill here, but probably not worth the time to hunt down.