Jazz

Like a lot of early 70’s fusion, this is highly indebted to Miles Davis’ In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew-era work, combining elements of funk, jazz, and avant-garde with Herbie’s own love of electronic keyboards and primitive synthesizers, low on melodic content but high on atmosphere. His work would get progressively funkier as the years went on, but Mwandishi’s three lengthy tracks are concerned more with creating an otherworldy vibe aimed at your head more than your feet. “Ostinato” emerges out of a spacey haze and rides a funky bass riff for much of its duration, a vehicle for a lengthy electric piano solo and propelled by some exotic percussion. A mellow, sleepy backdrop with washes of echoed electric piano and trumpet flourishes carries “You Know When You’ll Get There,” maintaining a quiet mood, though the band occasionally comes together to play a brief melodic figure, while “Wandering Spirit Song” tempers a similar vibe with frequent bursts of free-form noise. Mwandishi comes recommended to anyone with a love of fusion in the days before it largely morphed into a funk/rock showcase for virtuoso soloing. –Ben

Without a doubt, one of the greatest albums of them all, a double set only comparable to the likes of the Stooges’ “Funhouse” in its darkness, intensity and raw, funky sexuality. Now for starters let’s get something straight: I loathe “fusion”, and to even CONSIDER putting Miles’ music of the ’70s in that category – a genre filled with lilly-livered chumps like Return To Forever and the Yellow Jackets – is a great disservice to Miles and his music. From 1969 to ’75, Mr. Davis pioneered and created his own unique sounds, a mixture of hard funk, psychedelic rock, avant-garde electronics and free jazz, that has never been equalled in regards to its sonics or its “vibe”. There is NOTHING that can touch the raised-middle-finger jab in the guts felt when one puts on discs like “Dark Magus”, “Live Evil”, “Agharta”, “Big Fun” or “On The Corner”. The feelings of utter loathing and despair, the overwhelming EMOTION of these discs can be too much, yet nothing can prepare you for 1974’s “Get Up With It”, a disc of such wildness and total lack of any commercial forethought (and thank the heavens for that) that it was granted pretty much instant deletion upon release and has mainly only been available from Japan for the last 25 years.

Start with the cover: a big, slightly unflattering, grainy photo of The Man. It’s the sight of a man against the world, battling for his own identity. Hit the first track, “He Loved Him Madly” (a tribute to Duke Ellington), a 32-minute ambient piece only broken up occasionally by Peter Cosey’s mumbling guitar lines. It’s one of the saddest damn songs you’ll ever hear, and you can bet yer booty that if it was made by a bunch of white guys in Berlin ca. ’71, every Krautrock freak in town would be hailing it as a classic. Next track “Maiysha” is a schizophrenic one. For ten minutes in merely putters along like a lite Latin number, interrupted sporadically by Miles’ Sun Ra-like organ, then it stops, gets into a hard groove and proceeds to move along to Peter Cosey’s awesome guitar screeches for another five minutes. Hot. “Honky Tonk” is up next, a brief interlude of stop-start rhythms and noisy organ crunch. It prepares you for the next track the unstoppable “Rated X”, THE peak of Miles’ – or maybe anyone’s – sonic capabilities. Part hyperdive breakbeat rhthyms, part uber-funk, and nine parts pure noise, there is no other sound on earth as MOVING as this song. Get up with it. Disc two starts with “Calypso Frelimo”, another 32-minute piece that starts where “Rated X” finishes off. Ecstatic peaks of dark psychedelic jamming, aided by Miles’ wah-wah’d trumpet, gel and compete. “Red China Blues” is a brief number that kicks it in a Chess-Records-meets-Ornette way, and the 15-minute+ “Mtume” once again takes you for a ride with its collision of Cosey’s guitar (a highly under-rated player in a field with the likes of Sonny Sharrock) and about half a dozen percussionists. Finishing is “Billy Preston”, more chilling mid-range avant-funk to close the set. “Get Up With It” is the perfect summation of what was filling Miles’ head at the time: the avant electronics of Stockhausen, the cyclical funk of James Brown, the wailing psych guitar of Hendrix, the improvised freeness of Ornette Coleman and as The Man himself put it, “a deep African thing”. Many words have been written on Miles’ music of this period, but to really GET it, you have to LISTEN to it. Not a word is spoken on GUWI, yet it speaks volumes on its creator’s alienation and sense of despair. As far as so-called “out-rock” goes, this is about as “out” as you could get, and certainly about as purely “psychedelic” as music has ever gotten, so do the done thing and get with it. –Dave

Never has there been such a perfect example of the difference between what we might call the Apollonian and Dionysian (if we were utterly pretentious). In February 1964, Miles Davis and his then band — Tony Williams on drums, Ron Carter on bass, Herbie Hancock on piano and George Coleman on sax — played a concert at New York’s Philharmonic Hall that was subsequently split for release on two LPs. The fast numbers went on Four and More, a fun little album but no great shakes; there’s plenty of power, but not much else. The ballads, though, wound up here, and the end result is one of the most beautiful and moving jazz records I own. It’s stunningly delicate; the five musicians play with almost ESP-like sensitivity to each other. Listen, though, to Miles; he has rarely played with such lyricism, such emotion. “Stella by Starlight” in particular sounds like a direct connection to a place far deeper than any he has gone before. Naked, and necessary. –Brad

Think of the work of the following artists in the early seventies: Tonto’s Expanding Head Band, The Mizell Brothers, Lonnie Liston Smith, Stevie Wonder, George Duke, Herbie Hancock, Miles Davis. If you like their work, you’ll like – love – this album. Aside from an electric bass and three percussionists, this is the epitome of a keyboard album. By overdubbing (this was the first album recorded in 32-track format), McCann employs ARP synths, clavinet, Fender-Rhodes e-piano, and piano to simulate horns, woodwinds, and whatnot. On the basis of funky grooves, he creates a reflective atmosphere that’s both nostalgic and futuristic. The album is structured like a suite, with the tunes fading into each other. The result is something that could be called Prog-Jazz. McCann created a visionary sound when he recorded this album in ’72. Layers is a groundbreaking Fusion album from the early seventies when fusion was not yet something to be ashamed of. The record belongs to the best of that genre. –Yofriend

This is hardly a typical recording, but I have to say that this is my favorite jazz album ever recorded. It’s the only recording to have Thelonious Monk playing together with Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, which in itself is pretty amazing. Although their styles are so distinct, they do play quite well together. Hearing them playing together is almost surreal. It’s hard for me to describe how and why I like this album. I think the main reason that I like it is that it’s so strange and so normal at the same time. The tunes exemplify this…two catchy blues (Bloomdido and Mohawk), a laid-back song to the same chord changes as “Stompin at the Savoy” (Relaxin’ with Lee), a slowish and rather bizarre rhythm-changes tune (An Oscar for Treadwell), leap frog which is just ridiculously fast, and rather cheerful…and then…my melancholy baby. And of course…bizarre stuff happens to the harmonies and rhythms when you put these musicians together. One moment it sounds so old-fashioned, the next moment totally modern. I love it all the way! –Alex

It was over 30 years ago that I bought my first Ornette Coleman album, Free Jazz, from the second-hand record shop: it was love at first sight (first hear?). Love is inexplicable, at least to those in love, but the sound of Coleman’s alto had an immediate effect on me, an emotional connection, that continues until today. It is the early Atlantic recordings that remain at the heart of my love for Coleman. I have only been listening to This Is Our Music for the past couple of months (I feel no need to rush a love affair), but, other than Free jazz, it has become my favorite of the Coleman-Atlantic albums (but I don’t feel I have to be bound by that judgement in the future). I have heard it said that compared to other figures of the 1960s jazz avant garde Coleman now seems very tame: I think that is true, at least as far as he doesn’t howl and shout in way that threatened to blow away all our assumptions of what music should be, but then the other avant garde sax players tended to fall in behind Coltrane, in their stance of difference they tended to sound the same, while Coleman remains unique. He has created his own musical world, one I find as vivid and friendly as an Impressionist painting, and it is a world that has no successful copies. The one musician who shared this vision was Don Cherry and he is the Engels to Coleman’s Marx, the Watson to his Holmes, the Robin to his Batman – he is the lesser figure, the one who takes his imaginative world from his dominating companion, but maybe he brings Coleman closer, creating a bridge between him and us. Charlie Haden is the anchor for this music, for most of this album playing an idiosyncratic hard bop bass, it has the lines that stabilize the music. The exception is Beauty Is a Strange Thing where, playing with a bow, he allows the music to drift away like a cloud without any edges. Ed Blackwell is a unique drummer (and I much prefer him to Billy Higgins’ work on the earlier Atlantic-Coleman albums) – he is the gentlest of drummers, not giving the music the rhythmic propulsion we expect a drummer to provide, but rather a rhythmic voice responding to and answering the horns. Writing about other Coleman-Atlantic albums I have said that their great limitation is that all the tracks tend to be a bit the same – here there are two numbers that stand out for their difference: the slow and hovering Beauty Is a Rare Thing and the reinvention of Embraceable You. The latter is the only Ornette Coleman version of a standard I know – it is as though Gershwin’s melody has been replanted in a totally alien soil and it has grown in an unforeseeable way, still recognisably having the same shape, but also disturbingly different. –Nick

Producer Manfred Eicher’s ECM label has been a mixed bag over the years. Much of the output has been criticized for being homogenized, self-indulgent & dull as well as being praised for genius production, adventurous artists making groundbreaking recordings, with an inner fire underneath the slick recordings. Love it or hate it, there is a definite sound environment that Eicher has created, it’s simply known as the “ECM sound”. The use of space in music, as loud as silence, free improv without a million notes, composed chaos that whispers screams. When it works it is timeless & innovative, when it doesn’t, it can sound like elevator music that was thrown aside because it sounded too much like, well, elevator music.

Odyssey is guitarist Terje Rypdal’s fourth record for ECM & it works. A double album of low-fi fusion intertwined with progressive rock string interludes, distorted organs, hissy snare fills, groovy bass lines , ethereal horns, & of course, Rypdal’s guitar playing, which sounds like a cross between Jimi Hendrix & an avant garde cello player. The melodies are dark, cold & funky as hell. Rypdal was definitely channeling Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew” on this record but only softer, all the groove & dissonance, but less crowded, like someone whispering a hurricane in your ear. The record opens with “Darkness Falls”. Rypdal’s guitar screeching like an injured space bird along side organ stabs & chattering drums with the bass searching for a cohesive rhythm: a gentle panic within the group forms but slowly subsides as the sound fades & flows right into the second track, “Midnite”. Warm, pulsating bass & drums lock into each other & they begin to groove with Rypdal’s wah pedal over the top of moaning trombones & snaky organ lines in the background, holding it all together; quietly. Odyssey has it’s heavier moments as well- “Rolling Stone” a twenty-five minute rock-funk gem that sounds as if Sly Stone & crew ran into the boys from Black Sabbath & said, “Let’s jam”. “Over Birkerot” would be perfectly comfortable on a mid- seventies King Crimson record. It does bog down a bit with a couple of almost contemporary classical string/synthesizer drone marathons that can get a little sleepy, but there’s just enough smolder in there to keep the listener curious. The tracks heard on Odyssey still sound relevant. Manfred Eicher’s production stamp make these tunes sound as if they could be on any modern down-tempo electronic record from today. –ECM Tim