Jazz

Miles Davis “On The Corner” (Columbia, 1972)

We recently lost the phenomenal jazz-fusion drummer Jack DeJohnette, and tribute must be paid. The man released many great solo LPs, engaged in countless interesting collabs, and sat in on many crucial sessions, but there may be no better way to honor him than to review Miles Davis’ On The Corner. It’s Miles’ peak and, by the way, my second favorite album of all time. (Rest assured, I will likely review one of Jack’s solo or group records in the near future.)

DeJohnette was one of three drummers playing on these sessions (all of which have been collected in a lavish, essential six-CD box set), including Billy Hart and Don Alias. Jack and his cohorts behind the kit—along with an array of percussionists, featuring tabla master Badal Roy and conga supremo Mtume—helped to make On The Corner a tornado of innovative rhythm. But it’s so much more than that, as well.

With On The Corner, Davis strove to appeal to the young Black Americans who dug Jimi Hendrix, James Brown, and Sly & the Family Stone. Yeah, that didn’t pan out. Insult to injury, the establishment jazz critics couldn’t handle it, either. They were vexed by one of the most rhythmically complex, atmospherically ominous, and brutally psychedelic works ever to get classified as “jazz.” In hindsight, you have to wonder how they blew it so badly.

The funny thing is, Davis was in the midst of a heavy Karlheinz Stockhausen phase before heading up the On The Corner sessions. How he thought that the German avant-garde composer’s abstruse electronic experiments would inspire him to construct accessible songs remains a mystery. Whereas earlier milestones such as In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew deftly blended jazz, rock, and funk, On The Corner alchemized those genres until they combusted into something otherworldly and unprecedented.

On The Corner‘s first four tracks bleed into one another, an infernal medley, of which every second is loaded with portent. The record starts in media res, just as the band’s reaching a boiling point of panther-stealthy funk. Sax and trumpet dart and flow over Roy’s humid tabla patter and an OCD-groove bass line by Michael Henderson that would put a perma-grin on Holger Czukay’s mug. John McLaughlin creates utterly filthy wah-wah guitar parts, hiccuping and growling with brute eloquence, and Miles matches that with his own wah’d counterpunches. This shit is too XXX-rated for blaxploitation-flick soundtracks. There’s a Cubist aspect to the way the instruments abut one another, a disorienting legerdemain with arrangements that attest to producer Teo Macero’s mastery in the editing suite—with counsel from Mr. Davis, of course. Even when the intensity slightly diminishes, the vibe remains tense, exuding a looming danger that’s downright thrilling, thanks in part to Khalil Balakrishna and Collin Walcott’s glowering sitar drones.

“Black Satin” is the standalone standout, a blazing precursor to the drum & bass genre about 20 years before the fact. The rhythm makes it feel as if the ground is shifting beneath your feet and the Earth is spinning off its axis, as the sound whirls in five dimensions. Trust me, you’ve never heard a more disorienting use of bell tree and handclaps in your life. Listen to “Black Satin” on headphones while tripping and journey to the mountains of madness. Sly & Robbie bravely covered this on Language Barrier, but even those geniuses couldn’t match the sorcery happening here.

On the second side, “One And One” finds Henderson producing one of the illest bass tones ever, like a duck quacking after swallowing a bullfrog. Roy’s tabla and Mtume’s conga madly percolate under Miles’ poignantly undulating trumpet, and those urgent bells tickle your medulla oblongata. Toss in some of DeJohnette’s demonic cymbal work and lethal snare slaps and revel in a band cooking some of the spiciest fusion stew your ears have ever tasted.

Smashed together at album’s end, “Helen Butte” and “Mr. Freedom X” are essentially vibrant mutations of the “One And One” and “Black Satin” themes. The torque on these rhythms generates crazy sparks, with Jack and Hart’s beats hitting like sweetest revenge. These tracks tilt beyond funk into a futuristic, alien music for unfathomable rituals and contortionist sexual encounters, played by musicians with superhuman reflexes and instincts. Either that or it’s all studio magic… Either way, Miles, Jack, and company—in fact, every single person who contributed to On The Corner—became immortals for manifesting this masterpiece. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Passport “Cross-Collateral” (ATCO, 1975)

German saxophonist/clarinetist/composer Klaus Doldinger—who passed away in October at age 89—is best known (and likely best paid) for his soundtracks to Das Boot and The NeverEnding Story (with Giorgio Moroder). But true heads dig Doldinger more for his run of albums during the ’70s as leader of jazz-rock dynamos Passport. Basically, if you see any Passport LP whose cover was designed by Wandrey’s Studio, grab it. You can tell them by the frequent use of majority blue backgrounds and surrealist, Magritte-like illustrations.

Honestly, I could’ve chosen any of the six action-packed studio albums that Passport released between 1971 and 1976 to review, but I’m going with Cross-Collateral because it boasts my favorite cover by the band. Bonus: The music’s scorching jazz-rock that’ll have your head spinning at all the Teutonic virtuosity on display. Doldinger, of course, is a demon on sax, clarinet, Mellotron, Moog, and electric piano, but his band deserves respect, too: drummer/percussionist Curt Cress, bassist/guitarist Wolfgang Schmid, and Fender pianist/organist Kristian Schultze.

Cross-Collateral begins auspiciously with “Homunculus,” a rhythmically mercurial and intricate cut with a memorably soaring melody. “Homunculus” can hold its own with the greatest American fusion groups and would slot nicely in a DJ set between Return To Forever and Weather Report. The 13:32 title track is an absolute burner from start to finish, rumbling into a turbulent start-stop attack, with Doldinger blowing frantic, fluid gold and Cress going mad with eight-limbed fury. There’s a strutting funk passage—bolstered by Cress’ inventive fills and Schmid’s tensile, buoyant bass lines—that reminds you of how often hip-hop producers sampled Passport. J Dilla, Company Flow, the Pharcyde, Ultramagnetic MCs, and Boogie Down Productions are the most notable to do so.

The relatively concise “Jadoo” also bears sample-worthy traits—plus, it’s so funky and kinetic, it could be a sports-highlight jam from the KPM music library. The gripping, corkscrewing jazz-funk of “Will-O’The-Wisp” would make mid-’70s Herbie Hancock nod in approval, while “Albatross Song” channels the chill, groovy vibes of Miles Davis’ In A Silent Way. The only misstep is the smooth-jazz snoozer “Damals.”

From today’s perspective, it’s crazy to realize that a major label championed music as complicated and un-radio-friendly as Passport’s. And that unlikely scenario has led to the group’s albums being fairly affordable in used bins (the most I’ve ever paid for a Passport LP is $5.99). It’s never too late—nor too expensive—to get into Klaus Doldinger’s bag. May he rest in power. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Assagai “Assagai” (Vertigo, 1971)

If my research is accurate, Assagai were the lone majority Black group on the storied Vertigo label. (The great Marsha Hunt also released a single on the imprint.) Composed of South African and Nigerian musicians, with some backing help from British prog-folk greats Jade Warrior (apparently arranged by Vertigo, unbeknownst to the latter), Assagai only released two albums, but they’re very good specimens of the early-’70s Afro-rock movement.

Assagai’s self-titled debut album features Dudu Pukwana (alto sax), Charles Ononogbo (bass), Louis Moholo (drums), Fred Coker (guitar), Mongezi Feza (cornet), and Bizo Mnnggikana (tenor sax). Some of these cats went on to have long, distinguished careers in the jazz world. Jade Warrior went on to cut some fantastic prog opuses, which I hope to get around to reviewing here eventually.

Written by Jade Warrior, “Telephone Girl” first appeared on their own 1971 self-titled album. Assagai’s version starts with Moholo’s incredibly orotund funky break and then bursts to a higher level of vibrancy with lascivious sax riffs, Coker’s flamboyant wah-wah guitar, Ononogbo’s suave bass line, and warm, African-dude vocals about how well he’s going to treat the titular sex worker. Unbelievably, Assagai earned a slot on Top Of The Pops with this fantastic, raunchy song. This fistful of DJ dynamite is Assagai‘s peak, but other treasures appear. “Akasa” is simmering Afrobeat with mellifluously triumphant sax charts and an extended drum break that would make the late Tony Allen smile. Coker gets off a crispy, complex guitar solo that has a similar timbre to Howard Roberts’ on the Electric Prunes‘ “General Confessional”—a very good thing.

The stealthy “Cocoa” is a slinky psych-rock chiller while the rolling, humid, and chant-heavy Afrobeat cut “Irin Ajolawa” thrills with another elongated drum break. “Ayieo” provides breezy, swaying funk with South African jazz brass enhancements and the bustling, joyous jazz of “Beka” will make you want to jump like NBA Slam Dunk champ Mac McClung. The album’s low point comes on “Hey Jude,” which all groups were legally obligated to cover during the Nixon administration. (Go look it up.) It pains me to say that this is one of the worst Beatles interpretations I’ve heard—and I’ve heard a lot. Assagai turn the beloved power ballad into a saccharine highlife cringefest. That being said, they do a nice, albeit truncated, job with the transcendent, arm-waving coda.

In 2016, Prog Temple did the last legit reissue of Assagai, though a label called Cosmic Rock issued an unofficial one in 2022. Overall, it shouldn’t be too hard to track down a vinyl copy. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Okay Temiz “Drummer Of Two Worlds” (WEA, 1980)

Besides having one of the coolest names in music, Okay Temiz has been a key rhythmic force in the zone where jazz meets “world” music. The Turkish drummer/percussionist has worked with deep musicians such as Don Cherry, Björn J:son Lindh, Johnny Dyani and Mongezi Feza (in the group Xaba), Tony Scott, and others while maintaining a long, fruitful solo career. Unlike many jazz musicians of a certain vintage (Okay was born in 1939 and is still living), Temiz has released excellent LPs well into the 1990s. But for my money, the standout in his catalog is 1980’s Drummer Of Two Worlds.

On this nine-track stunner, Temiz composed, arranged, and played a long list of percussion instruments, including sheep bells, thavil, cuíca, berimbau, Jew’s harp, Indian tuned sticks, and goblet drum (aka darbuka)—some of which he constructed himself. On Two Worlds, he received crucial help from Arif Sag (saz), Ziya Aytekin (woodwinds), and Attila Özdemiroğlu (synth). It turns out, when you make your own instruments as well as possess otherworldly skills and unique ideas, amazing, hard-to-categorize music ensues.

Temiz may be Turkish, but his sound diverges even from that Middle Eastern country’s distinctive output. It’s hard to imagine a more arresting start to an album than “East Breeze.” An utterly gripping berimbau intro leads into a dance-floor banger full of weird tones (what is producing that wild low frequency?!), a sinuous earworm whistle, rococo berimbau motif, an oddly metered groove (9/8?), and amphetamine bongos. “Galaxy Nine” defies all logic and classification, its tensile Jew’s harp wowows, rapid-fire drum triplets, metallic and wooden percussive accents building to a hectic cacophony.

With its insane monkey chatter and laughter, vibrant birdsong, and mercurial metallic percussion, “Ocean Roller” would stop you dead in your tracks if you heard it in public. Lest you think Temiz couldn’t get funky, “Penguin” offers solid, in-the-pocket funk with a woodwind that sounds like frog hiccups and harp-like strings (gopijantra, I think) adding distinctive texture. It may surprise some that Geto Boys’ Scarface sampled this track. “Drummer Of Two Worlds” brings god-like fusion motion—a magnum opus of funky disorientation. Let’s call it “whirled music for twirling dervishes.” The album closes with “Fantasia Drive,” a percussion orgy with crazy berimbau fibrillations rippling through it. An imaginary soundtrack for the most exciting car-chase scene ever, the song boasts timbres seldom heard anywhere. “Fantasia Drive” seems to be mutating and dispersing with each passing minute, as if in a science-lab experiment. Temiz’s peak record exists in its own unprecedented, psychedelic world.

CAZ PLAK reissued Drummer Of Two Worlds in 2024, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. DO NOT SLEEP. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

David T. Walker “Plum Happy” (Zea, 1970)

David T. Walker is one of the planet’s smoothest, mellowest guitarists. His feathery touch and melodic gracefulness made the Tulsa, Oklahoma-born musician one of the 20th century’s most in-demand session players. He’s recorded and performed with dozens of big names, including Marvin Gaye, Stevie Wonder, Jackson 5, Marlena Shaw, Bobbi Humphrey, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, and Quincy Jones. Walker also played in the short-lived supergroup Afrique, whose lone LP, 1973’s Soul Makossa, is a serious funk bomb, and in Paul Humphrey & His Cool Aid Chemists. So, even if you’ve never checked one of Walker’s 15 solo albums, you’ve undoubtedly heard his delicious licks somewhere.

I’ve only heard four of DTW’s LPs, but of those, Plum Happy hits the sweetest spot. My curiosity in Walker was piqued via the main sample in hip-hop group People Under The Stairs’ 2002 classic, “Acid Raindrops”: i.e., his unbelievably chill cover of Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.” Incidentally, I’d love to know if Bob ever heard Walker’s transformation of his moody 1969 hit ballad into paradisiacal instrumental bliss, blessed by brisk congas and DTW’s liquid-gold guitar filigrees. It’s become my go-to walking-in-summer-sunshine jam, and it’s yet more proof that Walker is a master of interpreting other musicians’ compositions.

But that doesn’t mean the man can’t write his own tunes. Plum Happy boasts five originals, and they reveal the sharp skills that come standard with a first-call studio wiz. Right from jump, “Doo Doo” offers a splurge of extroverted funk, like a wired Dennis Coffey joint, but with less fuzz and distortion. The title track is a busy, complex jazz number that recalls Phil Upchurch‘s contemporaneous work for Cadet and Blue Thumb Records. “Blues For My Father” brings solid electric blues showcasing Walker’s fluid, rhythmic style while “Listen To The Sun”‘s jaunty, ornate soul jazz evokes the magnificent Gábor Szabó.

As for the remaining covers, DTW secularizes the Edwin Hawkins Singers’ 1969 gospel-pop hit into a buoyant blues mood-elevator, as he extravagantly ladles on the wah-wah. For “Come Together,” John Lennon’s groovy surrealism gets some gilded adornment with fuzz-tone guitar conspiring with Walker’s crystalline timbre and frilly ornamentation. You can tell the band—John Barnes (piano), Al Edmond (drums), Richard Waters (timbales), Buzz Cooper (tambourine, percussion), Tracy Wright (bass)—really dig extemporizing on the Beatles’ funkiest song. The album ends with “Love Vibrations,” speedy funk rock that’ll get your pulse pounding, stat. The vivacious female backing vocals really send this hippy-friendly heater over the top. It’s one helluva climax.

Scandalously out of print on vinyl since 1970, Plum Happy deserves a reissue. Get to work on that, music industry! -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

George Duke “Feel” (MPS/BASF, 1974)

Feel lands smack dab in the middle of master fusion keyboardist/composer George Duke’s blue-hot run of albums in the ’70s, when the man could do very little wrong and a helluva lot right(eous). With stints in the Mothers Of Invention, as well as in Frank Zappa’s post-MOI group and Cannonball Adderley’s band, Duke had ample soul-jazz and prog-rock bona fides. On his own, though, he let his funky freak flag fly high. After all, it was the ’70s, the funkiest decade ever, so… George had to put his distinctive stamp on that genre, too, and I, for one, am grateful that he did.

You can hear that aesthetic right out of the gate with “Funny Funk,” an utterly filthy manifestation of the title. I love it when a master musician channels their skills to absurd ends. Duke has his keyboards and synth bass speaking in loony tongues while Ndugu and Airto slap out a libidinous groove. (Those Miles Davis alumni are so dope, they only need one name.) This is Feel‘s peak, but there are many highlights to follow.

The first of two songs on which Frank Zappa guests under the alias Obdewl’l X, “Love” is a slinky, Steely Dan-ish ballad whose smoothness FZ disrupts with fiery, distortion-laden guitar solos. They’re welcome intrusions of grit amid the oleaginous suavity—which is not to disparage Duke’s falsetto singing, which is surprisingly solid and blends well with wonderful guest vocalist Flora Purim’s. On the second one, “Old Slippers,” Zappa is slightly more restrained than he was on “Love,” but he still unleashes fluid pyrotechnics over this coiled, cop-show funk—which also boasts what sounds like a clavinet run through a wah-wah pedal. Awesome.

The only track here not written by Duke, the Ndugu composition “The Once Over” features a fantastic extended Latin percussion break by the composer and Airto on this lush fusion charmer. Bonus: Bassist John Heard gets off a sinuous, Jaco Pastorius-like solo. Duke busts out his falsetto again on the title track, a momentous love ballad. The lyrics seem to equate the creative process with sex: “touch my mind/see what is in me/feel life in you/touch your mind/we come almost as one.” Duke’s rococo synth solo spirals to the stars in a gratuitous display of virtuosity—of which I fully approve. And so does the contemporary artist Thundercat, who owes Duke a huge debt for his own substantial popularity.

Elsewhere, Duke shows an affinity for prog-rockers such as Gentle Giant (the intricate and manic “Cora Joberge”) and mid-’70s King Crimson (“Tzina”), while Flora Purim shines again on the breezy Brazilian jazz bauble “Yana Aminah,” topped off with a fragrant Duke keyboard solo. Similarly, Duke flexes a serpentine keyboard freakout on the strutting jazz-funk cut “Rashid.”

George’s music gradually became slicker and more pop-/R&B-oriented and he even scored some hits, but his most compelling work occurred in the first half of the ’70s. Feel ranks among his best. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Bobbi Humphrey “Flute-In” (Blue Note, 1971)

Imagine being a 21-year-old female flautist and signing with Blue Note for your debut album. On top of that honor, you also have the good fortune to enlist a studio band consisting of trumpeter Lee Morgan, drummer Idris Muhammad, and saxophonist Billy Harper, among other badasses. That’s some impressive mojo. So, Bobbi Humphrey burst into the American jazz scene with much pressure, but she met the moment with poise and skills to burn.

Now, Humphrey at this point was not writing her own songs, but she had great taste in material, and would later work with the amazing composer/arrangers Larry and Fonce Mizell on a grip of soul-jazz classics in the ’70s. For Flute-In, Humphrey and company tackle soul, funk, and jazz gems with a light, suave touch. Here I would like to announce my bias for the flute—I fucking love it and wish it appeared more in most musical genres. It’s one of the most effective conduits for sonic calm and beauty, and nothing haters can say about the instrument will sway me.

Anyway, back to Humphrey’s album. It was wise to start with “Ain’t No Sunshine.” Humphrey really brings out the desolate allure of the melody from Bill Withers’ poignant 1971 hit. Bobbi keeps it to a tight 2:30, which suggests that Blue Note also was going for major radio play. Same applies to the rendition of Carole King and Toni Stern’s “It’s Too Late.” Thankfully, Humphrey makes this breezy pop staple exponentially cooler by dint of her mellifluous and deceptively melancholy flute flights. George Devens’ vibes add spine-tingling enticement to this 1971 romantic melodrama, which my sainted late mother loved whenever it came on the radio; for a while, that was every 20 minutes.

Lee Morgan’s 1964 hard bop classic “The Sidewinder” soars into ebullience here, with the man himself playing trumpet, while Humphrey’s gravitas shines brilliantly on the tender, tear-inducing ballad “Sad Bag.” As you can guess, Phil Spector/Jerry Leiber’s “Spanish Harlem” blossoms into a paragon of Latin pop effervescence, an instant mood-elevator, in Humphrey and company’s hands. My favorite cut on Flute-In, “Don’t Knock My Funk” is a slinky, understated funk workout that unexpectedly bears traces of Frank Zappa’s mid-’70s output (thanks especially to vibraphonist Devens), albeit in a less manic manner than the Mothers Of Invention leader’s groups. The LP concludes with “Journey To Morocco,” gracefully undulating jazz hinting at tropical paradise, and the elegant joy-bringer “Set Us Free,” a funky soul jazz number written by the always provocative Eddie Harris, from 1971’s Second Movement LP with Les McCann.

In Jazz Times, critic Michael J. West wrote, “Even more than Hubert Laws, Bobbi Humphrey did for the flute what Roy Ayers did for the vibraphone. That is, she made it a vehicle for dark and dirty funk-soul jazz.” True, but she also brought a delightful lightness to these styles, as Flute-In definitively proves. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Kool And The Gang “Spirit Of The Boogie” (De-Lite, 1975)

Kool And The Gang’s sixth studio album was the last one before they smoothed out their sound and exponentially increased their popularity (no cause to “Celebrate” from an aesthetic standpoint, if you ask me). They’d had hits with funk classics “Jungle Boogie” and “Hollywood Swinging” off of 1973’s Wild And Peaceful, and 1974’s Light Of Worlds yielded sterling radio staples “Summer Madness” and “Higher Plane,” so KATG were riding a serious creative and commercial high when they cut Spirit Of The Boogie.

That’s apparent from the opening title track, with its spring-legged funk embellished by gruff rapping, rousing “yeah yeah yeah”s, boisterous horns, and “pew-pew” synth sounds. “Spirit Of The Boogie” reached #35 in the Billboard Hot 100 chart and Public Enemy sampled it in “Fear Of A Black Planet.” “Ride The Rhythm” exemplifies the group’s A-game party funk with flamboyant horn charts; and the vocals about the power of music to take your mind to higher planes is a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you want large-ensemble, afro-centric funk done with elegance and soul, check out “Ancestral Ceremony.” It’s analogous to Earth, Wind & Fire’s pre-fame approach, right down to the multi-talented Ronald Bell’s use of kalimba. Nineties hip-hop crew 3rd Bass had the good sense to sample “Mother Earth” for “Steppin’ To The A.M.” and with all the swagger that this funk jam sports, it’s totally understandable.

“Caribbean Festival” peddles West Indian funk with mucho cowbell and one of the most suave and charismatic bass lines ever laid down, thanks to Robert “Kool” Bell. (Hear it sampled in Ice Cube’s “The Bomb.”) The oft-sampled “Winter Sadness” is the lush, hushed sequel to the equally much-sampled “Summer Madness,” and, hey, bonus—it would segue well into the late Roy Ayers’ “Everybody Loves The Sunshine.” KATG are nothing if not resourceful recyclers of their own good ideas. Speaking of which, “Jungle Jazz” is simply a jazzier, instrumental remake of “Jungle Boogie.” After a muted fanfare and a cymbal splash, one of the funkiest (and frequently sampled) breakbeats ever barges into earshot, accompanied by Dennis “D.T.” Thomas’ madly groovy flute. Yes, it is my go-to KATG cut for DJ gigs—thanks for asking.

The only real dud here is “Sunshine And Love,” a maudlin trifle that confirms my theory that 99% of all ballads by funk bands should hit the cutting-room floor. Unfortunately, Kool And The Gang would rely every more heavily on such syrupy fare as they pushed on through the ’80s and beyond. Best, then, to savor these gifted musicians at their peak on Spirit Of The Boogie. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Cedar Walton “Mobius” (RCA, 1975)

Look at that cover. Now look more closely. If you’re not intrigued enough by Lee Rosenblatt’s cosmic-comic illustration of Cedar Walton’s head Mobius stripping to reveal stars, then you need stronger curiosity muscles.

When I first encountered Mobius, I didn’t know anything about Mr. Walton, but I knew that I had to buy this album; having Steve Gadd on drums and Ryo Kawasaki on guitar didn’t hurt the cause, either. And, man, did that hunch pay dividends.

The Dallas-born hard-bop pianist Walton (1934-2013) rose to a fusion-y peak on Mobius. He had the cajones to open the LP with a bold jazz-funk cover of John Coltrane’s “Blue Trane,” with Kawasaki’s broiling, wah-wah guitar leads and Walton’s Fender Rhodes filigrees inflating your sense of well-being, as bassist Gordon Edwards and Gadd get filthily funky. The horn section of saxophonist Frank Foster, trombonist Wayne Andre, and trumpeter/flugelhorn player Roy Burrowes adds robust heat. I think John would love it supremely.

Things get urgently Latin-jazzy on the Walton composition “Soho.” Mercurial percussion by Omar Clay and Ray Mantilla powers a bravura slab of cop-show theme funk—set in Loisaida, of course. The track’s 10-minute-plus running time allows for all sorts of virtuoso displays by the musicians. What Walton and company do with Thelonious Monk’s tightly composed “Off Minor” isn’t very faithful to the original, and it’s all the better for it. Instead, for nearly eight minutes, they launch it to a far-off galaxy of interstellar funk. You can hear some of that early-’70s Deodato strut in this cover, and Walton gets off an incredible Rhodes solo that’s part Return To Forever-era Chick Corea, part ’70s Terry Riley.

A smooth-jazz odyssey featuring the dulcet vocals of Lani Groves and Adrienne Albert, “The Maestro” is a relative letdown compared to the high-flying feats elsewhere. But Walton and crew rebound with “Road Island Red,” whose sly, Headhunters-like funk seductively leads you to the exits.

And here’s some good news: The excellent and prolific Be With Records reissued Mobius on vinyl last year, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Pharoah Sanders “Jewels Of Thought” (Impulse!/ABC, 1970)

For the late jazz legend Pharoah Sanders, sidelong tracks—indeed, even album-long tracks, as the stunning Black Unity proves—served him very well. In this way, the American saxophonist was something like astral jazz’s Fela Kuti; both musicians thrived in epic frameworks.

Coming off the 1969 blockbuster Karma and its soul-inflating, 33-minute anthem “The Creator Has A Master Plan,” Jewels Of Thought continues Sanders’ journey into transcendental sonic exploration. His band for this important mission is stellar: Lonnie Liston Smith (piano, African flute, kalimba, percussion), Richard Davis and Cecil McBee (bass, percussion), Idris Muhammad and Roy Haynes (drums, percussion), and Leon Thomas (vocals, percussion). In addition to playing his powerful tenor sax, Pharoah contributes reed flute, contrabass clarinet, kalimba, chimes, and percussion. (Jeez, that’s a lot of percussion.)

The 15-minute opener, “Hum-Allah-Hum-Allah-Hum-Allah,” possesses one of Pharoah’s most sublimely beautiful melodies. It’s marked by Smith’s subliminally rolling piano, which could easily be pitched up and interpolated into a killer house-music track. Near the beginning, Thomas instructs us, “We want you to join us this evening in this universal prayer for peace. All you got to do is clap your hands—1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3,” (if only it were that simple), before singing and yodeling his ass off in his trademark manner. There are few more emotive singers in all of jazz than Leon Thomas, even as he’s groaning like a wounded water buffalo (in perfect pitch, to boot).

The lyrics are concise and consoling: “Prince of peace/Won’t you hear our plea/Bring your bells of peace/Let loving never cease.” Smith’s piano becomes a shimmering beacon of hope while Sanders’ sax is a conduit to some of the most extreme emotions in human history, ranging from absolute tenderness to shrieking ecstasy/agony. Rarely is catharsis this artful. The bell- and gourd-shaking, kalimba-plucking, and tub-thumping keep things vibrating on a higher plane. Unfettered joy alternates with scalding vitriol, giving your psyche whiplash.

The nearly 28-minute “Sun In Aquarius” begins with a strange fanfare of flute, contrabass clarinet, chimes, gong splats, and shakers, all of which wouldn’t sound out of place on The Holy Mountain soundtrack—a high compliment, to be sure. Following this odd intro, Smith’s pounding piano clusters lead the portentous rumble the band generates, recalling avant-garde improvers such as MEV or Gruppo Di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza more than any jazz artist of the time. That is, until Sanders’ sax enters the fray with some emergency-warning bleats.

Unexpectedly, the piece shifts into an exuberant, jaunty paraphrase of “Creator,” with Thomas yodeling “yeah”s and “oh”s in his lovable way. Leon really set the bar high with his ecstatic, utterly moving glossolalia. A bass duet at around 17 minutes grounds “Sun In Aquarius” with lithe pizzicati follows, accompanied by emphatic bell-tree tintinnabulation and fragrant kalimba arpeggios. Then Sanders delivers his most fiery blasts yet, setting off drum explosions. This is the sort of infernal free jazz that separates true heads from dilettantes. The last three minutes find Thomas returning with his heart-healing ululations and Pharoah blowing righteous, raspy soulfulness. Talk about an emotional roller coaster…

Jewels Of Thought will leave you exhausted yet paradoxically stimulated to the max. It’s one of Sanders’ greatest achievements. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Half Japanese “Music To Strip By” (50 Skidillion Watts, 1987)

After beginning their career with noisier, more inaccessible albums such as 1/2 Gentlemen/Not Beasts, Loud, and Our Solar System, Maryland group Half Japanese eventually became more proficient on their instruments, wrote more structured songs, and enlisted pro producers such as Shimmy-Disc boss Kramer to oversee their recordings. All of these changes led to their greatest LP, Music To Strip By.

Half Japanese’s wild sixth album rambles all over the musical spectrum like a sugared-up toddler. Led by guitarist/vocalist Jad Fair, Half Japanese animated their blues, jazz, speedcore, R&B, and No Wave with a wrongheaded, primitive minimalism that threw a new light on these styles.

Throughout the record, Fair seems like the kind of guy who got taunted throughout his school years and for revenge later channeled his pent-up venom into music. He possesses the ultimate nerd whine (Fair’s influence manifested in Violent Femmes’ Gordon Gano); on Music To Strip By, he uses it with devastating effect on his quirky songs about a mother who needs to strip to support her family, hot dogs, intellectually slothful teens, demonic ouija boards, prehistoric animals, and FBI gigolos, among many other things.

The album starts with the amazing “Stripping For Cash,” a euphoric gush of high-energy rock that extrapolates upon the peak parts of the Velvet Underground’s “What Goes On.” The rock-ribbed blues of “Thick And Thin” won’t make anyone forget Howlin’ Wolf or Muddy Waters, but for a bunch of geeky Caucasians, it’s pretty tough. “Hot Dog And Hot Damn” sounds like Ornette Coleman’s Prime Time, as interpreted by riled-up 5th-graders. “Sex At Your Parents’ House” channels the Contortions, albeit without the reckless rage of their late frontman, James Chance. This piece broke new ground for Half Japanese.

A shocking departure, “The Price Was Right But The Door Was Wrong” is a J.J. Cale-style speed boogie. Similarly, “US Teens Are Spoiled Bums” manically rambles like something off Meat Puppets II. “Silver And Katherine” is another shocker—a tender, sincere ballad with the feathery gravitas of the Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes,” but augmented by blissful sax ripples. The relatively straightforward cover of “La Bamba,” a Mexican folk song that Ritchie Valens made famous with his 1958 hit, is somewhat out of place here, but charming nonetheless. My favorite cut on the album is “Diary,” on which Fair’s voice seethes with what seems like a lifetime of bitterness over the leanest white-boy blues ever: “I’ll write in my diary/What you did to me/And leave it on the table/For all the world to see/… I might even make it into a movie.” Damn.

On much of Music To Strip By, Half Japanese sound like a twisted pop band working on a miniaturist scale. Ex-Butthole Surfer bassist Kramer’s sparse production is ideal for this approach. In this case, less really is more. These tunes will leave you laughing, crying, and disbelieving in gasps. It’s quite possibly the greatest 22-song album ever. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

A.R. Kane “69” (Rough Trade, 1988)

To appreciate 69, the debut album by the UK’s A.R. Kane, you have to shed your rock expectations and simply drift in the alien aura that Alex Ayuli and Rudy Tambala summoned from Buddha knows where. While early singles like “When You’re Sad” and “Lollita” relied on noisy surfeit (critics of the time somewhat accurately described them as “the black Jesus And Mary Chain”), most of 69 is downright spare, yet strangely moving. But does it rock? Not really.

That A.R. Kane subsequently were classified as “shoegaze” is not totally on point, either, although they did have elements of that genre. Actually, the duo were more diverse than their shoegaze contemporaries, delving into dub, Miles Davis’ late-’60s/early-/’70s jazz fusion, acid house, and sampladelic dance music (cf. M|A|R|R|S’ Pump Up The Volume).

As for 69, there’s a watery disorientation to much of it, an exploratory restlessness that recalls Tim Buckley’s Starsailor and Can’s Future Days. (Simon Dupree And The Big Sound/Gentle Giant member Ray Shulman produced and contributed bass; his role in this sonic triumph should not be underestimated.) Singer Ayuli’s voice here is a small, unmoored presence buffeted by breezes and gales of sound. It’s a voice deflated of all tension—a pure embodiment of bliss.

69‘s opening cut, “Crazy Blue,” catches you off-balance right away. A feather-light, quasi-jazz romp embroidered with shimmery halos of guitar, it totally goes against the grain of A.R. Kane’s previous recordings. “Suicide Kiss” starts almost funkily before it quickly dissolves in billows of guitar haze, while still maintaining a semblance of song structure. “Baby Milk Snatcher”—which originally appeared on 1988’s brilliant Up Home! EP—sounds like a meticulously carved masterpiece in the context of 69‘s general amorphousness.

“Dizzy,” “Sulliday,” “Spermwhale Trip Over,” and “The Sun Falls Into The Sea” are unprecedented (from a late-’80s perspective) sketches of souls in various states of exaltation. One must conjure ludicrous metaphors to describe these songs, and honestly, it’s too hot right now for me to do that. Go through moldering issues of British mag Melody Maker for examples.

Ultimately, 69 doesn’t douse me in the icy ecstasy that Up Home! does. However, in its own enigmatic way, 69 is a weird trip worth taking. A.R. Kane’s intentions were baffling, and that’s always a positive, in my book. Every foray they made surprised in rewarding ways. Thirty-six years after its release, 69 is still flummoxing heads and revealing new, fascinating facets. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.