Any thought that the Harlem memorial service for Dr. Billy Taylor last night would be a somber, mournful affair was dispelled after the opening prayers at Riverside Church of New York. First, Reverend Calvin O. Butts (from the nearby Abyssinian Baptist Church) delivered the evening's gathering prayer; then, he said, "One of the things I never got to do in this church or for this great man, Billy Taylor, was to ask the whole congregation to stand up and give this man the ovation he deserves." The cheers and thunderous applause from the packed house set the tone for the proceedings: This would be a celebration of Taylor's warmth, his humor, and his music.

It was the warmth and humor that shone through in the tributes and memories that Taylor's friends and colleagues shared. Loren Schoenberg, director of the National Jazz Museum and Taylor's longtime neighbor ("Our relationship took on a different cast when we shared a wall," he joked), spoke of him as "truly the indomitable jazz man," the bringer of overwhelming positivity. "Negative viewpoints didn't interest him in the least," Schoenberg said. "His vision encompassed...above all, the conviction that jazz is good for you." Kevin Struthers, the director of jazz programming at the Kennedy Center, called Taylor "the gentle giant of jazz" and reminded the crowd of the man's overwhelming willingness to share the music, whether in his educational efforts or as a broadcaster. "Via the radio, I learned so much about the music at the feet of the master," he said. "So, too, did millions around the world." Pianist Ramsey Lewis and Rev. Butts also added charming personal reminiscences.

It was Taylor's daughter Kim Taylor-Thompson, however, who evoked the ever-present twinkle in Taylor's eye with her funny stories. "He absolutely loved to tell a joke—but he couldn't tell a joke to save his life," she beamed. "He'd ratchet up the anticipation with the set-up, then forget the punchline, go back and say 'No, no, that's not how it goes," and ruin it. That was Dad." She even regaled the crowd with the story of how Taylor wrote his signature anthem, "I Wish I Knew How It Feels to Be Free"—created in 15 minutes—for her after hearing her incorrectly sing an old spiritual she'd heard in Catholic school. "I actually told him that white nuns knew more about Negro spirituals than he did," she chuckled. "I was seven." (She added that Martin Luther King had loved the civil-rights song but could never remember the name of it, always asking for "the Baptist-sounding song.")

And rest assured, there was music. Taylor's final working trio, bassist Chip Jackson and drummer Winard Harper, combined with longtime Taylor associates Jimmy Owens (trumpet) and Frank Wess (tenor saxophone, who grew up with Taylor in D.C.) plus pianists Geri Allen and young Christian Sands. They performed crystalline interpretations of Taylor's most famous compositions, including "Theodora" and "It's A Grand Night for Swinging." Sands also provided the closest thing to a tear-jerker with a sweeping, tempestuous solo version of Taylor's "A Bientot". The most sublime moment of the night, however, came when vocal great Cassandra Wilson joined the quintet (with Allen at the piano) for a glorious, epic rendition of "I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free." It brought the house down.

This, surely, was precisely the sort of memorial that Taylor himself would have hoped for.

Photo: Tom Marcello

The sad part: this was another woefully underattended concert. The Atlas is a good venue, comparatively intimate for an auditorium setting, but Saturday night went beyond intimate. "Small crowd, huh?" Harper laughed. "Let's hope y'all know how to clap loud and fast."

Still, the sub-50-percent capacity did little to dampen the spirits of the group. Harper is luminous in a trio—his accompaniment hard and tight, his brushwork impressionistic and masterful—but thoroughly unleashed once the full sextet is onstage. With fireworks on the tom-toms, he punctuates his players' solos in all the right places, challenging them to match him flourish for flourish, and in his hands, a standard like Bobby Timmons' "Moanin'" becomes something else entirely—as he barrels through the four-beat swing, his hands blurring before your eyes, you can't help but feel that the song will never be the same.

On tenor sax, Dayna Stevens has the hoarse smokiness of a low-range Paul Desmond, and his interchange with Bruce Harris (trumpet) is funky, sensitive, and graceful. The other players—Jon Notar on piano, D.C. native Ameen Saleem on bass, and Jean-Marie Collatin on assorted percussion—form a tight unit with a slick, easy response to the histrionic virtuosity of their leader. Also nice: the full dynamic range, even when down-tempo (cf. "I've Never Been in Love Before").

They wound down the set with "All Praise Is to God" (a Harper original), "Tamisha" (a Saleem original), a piano-led "Amazing Grace," Ruben Brown's "Float Like a Butterfly" (not a bad tagline for this combo, come to think of it), and a few others that escape the memory.  There wasn't a doubter in the house. But the house, after all, was small.