Soul, Funk and Disco

Joe Tex “I Gotcha” (Dial, 1972)

Joe Tex (1935-1982) was a Texas-born soul singer/songwriter who branched out into funk, country, gospel, and lord have mercy, disco. No less a keen judge of talent than Little Richard claimed that in the early ’60s, James Brown imitated Tex’s dance moves and microphone machinations. JB proceeded to take them to the bank, and Brown and Tex became rivals, with the former obviously outshining the latter commercially. (Brown even covered a Tex composition, “ Baby You’re Right,” and scored a hit with it in 1962, so real recognized real.)

While Tex had his own chart successes, he seems not to have had a lasting presence in the public consciousness. Nevertheless, director Quentin Tarantino had the sharp instincts to place Tex’s unforgettable “I Gotcha” in his 1992 film, Reservoir Dogs. It’s the lead-off track from Tex’s LP of the same name, and gotdamn, it is one of the lustiest and gruffest R&B/funk tunes ever to storm a chart. No wonder it’s been sampled 107 times… One caveat: Heard with 21st-century ears, the song’s lyrics come across as kind of creepy, even verging on threatening toward the singer’s inamorata. But the bobbing bass line, cat-wail guitar riffs, and soaring horns mitigate such concerns.

Almost as outrageously sexy as “I Gotcha,” the funk gem “Give The Baby Anything The Baby Wants” is stealthier—and as filthy as anything Mr. Brown was releasing in the early ’70s. So it’s a shock when the orchestral, gospel-tinged ballad “Takin’ A Chance” eases in, starting out sounding like “A Whiter Shade Of Pale,” before burgeoning into widescreen grandiosity. “Baby Let Me Steal You” is a slightly more restrained version of “I Gotcha,” and consequently more seductive, yet it still generates plenty of funky friction. The first of a couple of simmering, Al Green-esque soul numbers, “God Of Love” will inflate your heart and put a pep in your step. (the consoling, warm “The Woman Cares” is the other one.) On “Bad Feet,” Tex writes a quirky, catchy soul tune while in poised crooner mode.

“You Said A Bad Word” is almost a carbon copy of “I Gotcha,” but I’m not complaining. If a template is as satisfying as Tex’s demanding, libidinous funk, you might as well milk it. So Tex does it again on “Love Me Right Girl,” appealingly halting rhythm and all. Closing the LP, “You’re In Too Deep” is a low-key funk nugget with a fantastic, descending bass line.

Peaking at #5 on the R&B chart and #17 on the pop chart, I Gotcha is a pretty typical romance-/sex-obsessed record from the early ’70s, but Tex’s outsized personality, robust pipes, and ability to recycle memorable themes make it a keeper. Tarantino would agree. -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.

Minnie Riperton “Come To My Garden” (GRT, 1970)

Blessed with a five-octave vocal range, singer-songwriter Minnie Riperton (1947-1979) was one of the most distinctive American soul/R&B vocalists. She got her start singing back-up for Etta James, Chuck Berry, Bo Diddley, Muddy Waters, and Ramsey Lewis, before joining the excellent psychedelic-soul group Rotary Connection as lead singer. She also had a stint singing with Stevie Wonder’s bands in the first half of the ’70s. You’ve probably heard her stunning voice, whether you realize it or not.

Riperton’s debut album had the good fortune to be produced and written by Chicago studio legends Charles Stepney and Minnie’s husband, Richard Rudolph. Both titans had contributed mightily to Rotary Connection‘s unique psychedelic-soul sound, but for Come To My Garden, they toned down the bombastic sonics and Riperton mostly eschewed the Theremin-like, high-pitched operatics. Pianist Ramsey Lewis’ band—Earth, Wind & Fire leader Maurice White (drums), Cleveland Eaton (bass), Phil Upchurch (guitar), and backing vocalists Elsa Harris and Kitty Hayward—provide the stellar backing.

The LP’s peak is opening track “Les Fleurs,” simply one of the most majestic and gorgeous songs ever penned. It’s an orchestral-soul tune so grandiosely salubrious, it nearly nullifies all of the evil humanity’s done over the millennia. Call this hyperbole if you must, but the proof is in the grooves. Riperton sings from the perspective of a flower, and her voice is as smoothly soft and gloriously beautiful as its petals. That moment when the song gathers its energy for the chorus and then soars to a higher plane is the most lip-smacking chef’s kiss, god damn. Rotary Connection and Ramsey Lewis also recorded this song, and, honestly, you need every version of this classic in your collection. It might be Stepney and Rudolph’s crowning achievement. No wonder “Les Fleurs” has appeared on the soundtracks to at least seven films and TV shows.

The rest of Come To My Garden doesn’t reach those heights, but it does feature plenty of sophisticated love ballads with grand orchestrations, excellent dynamics, and bravura vocals. On the title track, Riperton ululates in her upper register in a hushed ballad that periodically blooms into intoxicating epiphanies, boosted by deeply soulful female backing vocals. It’s ineffably beautiful. The feather Latin jazz reverie “Memory Band” (also recorded by Rotary Connection on 1968’s The Rotary Connection) is lovely, while the lush, sweeping “Rainy Day In Centerville” recalls David Axelrod at his most romantic. Riperton’s voice is sheerest silk, sweetest honey, most radiant passion. “Expecting” might be the music you hear while you’re ascending to heaven—if there is such a place; the jury is still out. Throughout the record, Minnie’s voice makes Diana Ross’ sound like Joe Tex’s.

Riperton did some more good work in the ’70s, including 1974’s #1 hit “Lovin’ You” and 1975’s Adventures In Paradise, but her premature death robbed us of a major talent.

(Come To My Garden has been reissued thrice in this decade, including by Janus Records in 2024, so it should be relatively easy to find and affordable.) -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.

John Lennon “Walls And Bridges” (Apple, 1974)

How did we reach 2026 with not a single review of a John Lennon album on this blog?! Time to remedy that oversight.

While all of the Beatles guitarist/vocalist’s solo joints are uneven, they all include some stunners that prove the flawed genius never totally rested on his substantial laurels. For me, Lennon’s fourth LP, Walls And Bridges, boasts the highest number of essential cuts, although nothing here surpasses “I Found Out” and “Working Class Hero” from his 1970 debut solo full-length, Plastic Ono Band. (I’ll get around to reviewing that someday, Jah willing.)

Walls And Bridges reflects Lennon’s mind state during his 18-month separation from Yoko Ono—colloquially referred to as his “Lost Weekend.” After John and Yoko decided to split, Lennon—with his wife’s blessing—moved to LA with Ono’s assistant, May Pang. During this time, he was boozing heavily and engaged in some tabloid-worthy shenanigans. Realizing that this chaos wasn’t conducive to producing quality recordings, Lennon and Pang returned to New York in the spring of 1974 and he began rehearsing new songs with some excellent musicians. They included the elite rhythm section of bassist Klaus Voormann and drummer Jim Keltner (Ringo must’ve been busy), Ken Ascher (keyboards, piano), Arthur Jenkins (percussion), Nicky Hopkins (piano), Jesse Ed Davis (guitar), and Eddie Mottau (acoustic guitar). John proceeded to write some of his most enduring and interesting tunes, making WAB a return to form after the mushy blahs of 1973’s Mind Games. Maybe estrangement from the love of his life was just the creative boost that the former Beatle needed.

WAB gets off to a brilliant start with “Going Down On Love,” highlighted by Jenkins’ seductive congas. The captivating intro leads into one of John’s slinkiest grooves (aided by Voormann’s fathoms-deep bass line), as John bemoans that he’s “drowning in a sea of hatred” while “something precious and rare/disappears in thin air/and it seems so unfair.” The only Lennon solo song to top the charts, “Whatever Gets You Thru The Night” is so exuberant, horn-blasted, and desperate to vanquish sadness that it should’ve become Saturday Night Live‘s theme. I’m not a big saxophone-in-rock fan, but Bobby Keys’ tenor steals the show, and the whole thing—including guest Elton John’s piano—rollicks like a motherfucker.

Continuing in this vein, “What You Got” delivers exceptionally tough funk rock, with Lennon ruefully snarling while the band members party their ass off behind him; Jenkins’ metallic percussion taps particularly elevate the track. Lyrically, it sounds as if John’s expressing a (May) pang of regret over the Yoko hiatus. “It’s Saturday night I just gotta rip it up/Sunday morning, I just gotta give it up/come Monday, mama, I just gotta run away/you know it’s such a drag to face another day.” The near instrumental “Beef Jerky” starts like an enigmatic sci-fi-flick soundtrack, then swerves into thrusting, forward-thinking rock that foreshadows post-punk. Fun fact: One recurring guitar part recalls Paul McCartney And Wings’ “Let Me Roll It.”

A sequel of sorts to “How Do You Sleep?” from 1971’s Imagine, “Steel And Glass” is a slow-building magnum opus that blossoms into a tower of vengeful rock. Some allege that the song’s ire is directed at former Beatles manager Allen Klein, but Lennon said that that jagoff didn’t have an LA tan, as the lyrics state; so it’s more of a composite portrayal of assholes who’d wronged John. Good to know! Perhaps best of all is “#9 Dream,” a pinnacle of blissed-out, celestial rock. It sounds as if Lennon’s singing from the clouds that populated the Imagine LP cover, all of his angst dissipating in billowy strings and studio fairy dust. The jibberish lyrics in the chorus (“ah! böwakawa poussé poussé) came to Lennon in a dream, according to Pang’s autobiography, and they add a je ne sais quoi to the oneiric swirl of “#9 Dream.”

Peaking at #1 on the US albums chart, Walls And Bridges was Lennon’s last great album before his murder in 1980—a tragedy over which many (including your blogger) are still mourning. -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.

Black Merda “Black Merda” (Chess, 1970)

Jimi Hendrix disciples proliferated in the late ’60s and early ’70s—and understandably so. In the same time period, psychedelic soul and lysergic funk were also burgeoning, thanks to Funkadelic, Chambers Brothers, Sly & The Family Stone, Charles Stepney/Rotary Connection, and the Motown writing/production team of Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong, among others. The Detroit group Black Merda were right in the thick of that febrile activity, adding their own special sounds to the mix.

The members—Veesee L. Veasey (bass), Anthony Hawkins (lead guitar), Charles Hawkins (guitar), Tyrone Hite (drums); they all sang, too—got their start in the mid-’60s as session musicians who also played in the Soul Agents. They backed up luminaries such as Edwin Starr, Wilson Pickett, Joe Tex, the Temptations, and the Spinners. You can hear the Soul Agents on Starr’s towering hits “Twenty Five Miles” and “War” and on Fugi’s fantastic psych-funk jam “Mary Don’t Take Me On No Bad Trip.” In 1967, the Soul Agents also did the first Jimi Hendrix Experience cover: “Foxy Lady.” It smokes.

So, by the time Black Merda cut their first album in Chicago for Chess, they were tight as hell and hungry to put out something over which they had total creative control. However, if you thought that Black Merda was going to simply offer freaky rock and funk of the sort heard on the Chains And Black Exhaust and If There’s Hell Below… comps, you’d be wrong. “Think Of Me” is basically folk-blues played on acoustic guitar while “Windsong” peddles mellow, morose blues, like a less ominous “She’s So Heavy.” The contemplative psychedelic blues “Over And Over” could’ve fit well on Muddy Waters’ Electric Mud. “I Don’t Want To Die” is a mournful, tear-jerking ballad. The solid, melancholy rock of “That’s The Way It Goes” rolls a bit like Jimi Hendrix Experience‘s cover of “All Along The Watchtower.” The sweet, midtempo soul tune “Reality” sounds like a hit, but alas, it was a miss.

All of those tunes are fine, but Black Merda really excel when they get more out there. For example, the wah-wah-fueled, psych-rock slow-burner “Good Luck,” with its powerful unison singing, is as soulfully inspirational as anything on Funkadelic’s self-titled LP. The bruising rocker “Ashamed” castigates people who mistreat the less fortunate and ignore injustices, but makes it a righteous party jam. Even better is “Prophet,” hard-thrusting funk rock of great liberatory force, as epitomized by the refrain “Set me free, uh huh yeah.” Best of all is “Cynthy-Ruth,” which is simply one of the great psych-rock songs in history. The taut yet elastic rhythm and hypnotic, warped guitar riffing—plus excellent grunts, “whoa-oh-oh-whoa”s, and “boo-hoo”s—elevate this track to Hendrix-/Funkadelic-level genius. This song along is worth the price of admission.

Black Merda suffered from poor distribution due to management issues at Chess Records, and it didn’t initially garner the audience it deserved. However, the record’s become a cult favorite among funk/psych heads and has been reissued many times on vinyl over the last 30 years, most recently by the Russian label Lilith in 2020. -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.

Blo “Chapter One” (EMI Nigeria, 1973)

Nigeria’s famous for being the birthplace of the Afrobeat genre, pioneered by Fela Kuti and Tony Allen. But in the ’70s, that African nation also incubated some fantastic psychedelic-rock bands, including Blo. Guitarist Berkley Jones, drummer Laolu Akintobi, and bassist Mike Odumasu released five strong albums in the 1970s, of which their debut, Chapter One, is the best known in the US. It’s a great introduction to the trio’s sly psych-rock and funky Afrobeat fusions.

There’s a humid, low-end undertow to their generally celebratory, jammy songs that’s hugely appealing. Not to slight the other players, but Odumasu reigns as the group’s MVP with his atypical and athletic bass lines. That being said, Jones works his wah-wah and fuzz-tone effects pedals with wonderful subtlety and Akintobi is a font of lithe, unpredictable rhythms. You can hear these delights on opener “Preacherman.” It’s tensile, cyclical rock with a joyous melody and an inspirational bass line, while the guitar somehow sounds like a flute in places. The song gets freakier as it goes, a common pattern on Chapter One. While these songs have vocals and relatively conventional rock structures, at a certain point the voice drops out and the instrumentalists go off on controlled freakouts.

“We Gonna Have A Party” is a fragrant, chugging jam that stays true to its title while “Don’t” follows in the same vein, but with more funk in its trunk. The album’s most anomalous track, “Chant To Mother Earth,” sprawls into a dank, ritualistic trance-out, until Jones’ long, circuitous guitar solo torches the subterranean vibe. Finally, “Miss ‘Sagitt’” ranks as one of the most transcendental tracks to come out of Africa; it’s a world-class psychedelic pinnacle on the level of the most sublime krautrock (Agitation Free, Et Cetera, Popol Vuh). What a fantastic finale!

Overshadowed by Lagos’ booming Afrobeat movement, Blo proved that the city could produce psych-rockers of distinction, too, as exemplified by Chapter One. -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.

Steve Cropper “With A Little Help From My Friends” (Volt, 1969)

The legendary R&B/soul/rock guitarist Steve Cropper passed away on December 3 at age 84, and respect must be paid. Best known for his work with Stax Records’ tight-as-hell house band Booker T. & The MGs, Cropper played on hundreds of important sessions and on dozens of hits by Otis Redding, Wilson Pickett, and others. He also (co)wrote and produced many of his own classics and chart-dwellers, performed with the early Stax house band the Mar-Keys, and maintained a solid solo career. As many of you know, Cropper was one of the most economical and soulful guitarists ever to plug in.

Wanting to honor the master’s passing, I was tempted to review one of Booker T. & The MGs’ many influential instrumental albums, but decided to focus attention on a lesser-known work: his debut solo LP, With A Little Help From My Friends. It’s a fantastic showcase for Cropper’s R&B and rock chops, and it gives him room to spread his wings more than he could with the concise, precision-tooled tunes he cut with the MGs—that is, until 1970’s expansive Melting Pot. (Cropper’s 1969 collab with gospel/R&B/blues guitar giants Pop Staples and Albert King, Jammed Together, is also worthwhile.)

“Crop-Dustin’” sets My Friends‘ righteous tone; it’s groove-heavy, horn-blasted R&B that makes you wanna keep on truckin’, cowritten with Band Of Gypsys/Electric Flag drummer Buddy Miles. Steve and company turn Chris Kenner’s “Land Of 1000 Dances” into a sizzling banger—no surprise, as it’s never not sounded exhilarating, no matter who’s covering it. Of course, Cropper solos like the champion he is. On another oft-covered chestnut, Pickett/Cropper/Eddie Floyd’s “99 ½,” Cropper’s eloquent, scorched guitar calligraphy elevates one of the sexiest and most ominous soul classics ever to the top of the heap.

“Boo-Ga-Loo Down Broadway” and “Funky Broadway” (the 1966 Dyke & The Blazers dancer) deliver funky, good-time music with a lascivious bass lines and Cropper’s extravagantly soulful licks. The title track is not exactly an obvious choice for a Beatles cover, but it fits with the album’s theme. (Strange, then, that musician credits are largely absent!) Cropper blows the song out into an organ-intensive exposition that rivals Joe Cocker’s bombastic take. With contributions from guitarist Michael Toles and bassist James Alexander, “Oh, Pretty Woman” sounds nothing like Roy Orbison or Van Halen’s renditions. This one is more menacing, as Cropper solos with a seething intensity.

The album closes with a couple of Pickett/Cropper joints: One of Steve’s biggest hits, “In The Midnight Hour,” is given the hip instro treatment, while in the shaker-heavy “Rattlesnake,” Cropper gets off some fleet-fingered filigrees, but lets the horn section steal the glory.

Don’t come to With A Little Help From My Friends expecting anything that sounds like Booker T. & The MGs’ “Green Onions,” the 1962 minimalist masterpiece that established their lean, propulsive soul approach. Here, Cropper and his buddies go for an extravagant, party-igniting attack. It sounds like it was as fun to make as it is to listen to. Rest in power, Mr. Cropper. -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.

Parliament “Funkentelechy Vs. The Placebo Syndrome” (Casablanca, 1977)

If you attended a hip party in the late 1970s, you likely heard tracks from Parliament‘s Funkentelechy Vs. The Placebo Syndrome at it. “Flash Light” was all over the radio in the Detroit area back then, and at my high school ca. 1977-78 it was our undisputed anthem. No wonder it’s been sampled 214 times over the decades, becoming one of the foundations of hip-hop and various styles of dance music. But Funkentelechy has many more delights than that transcendentally brilliant classic.

Before we get into the songs, though, it should be noted that Funkentelechy is a loose concept album about the pitfalls of consumerism and disco (aka “The Placebo Syndrome”), the latter representing the bastardization of true funk, according to bandleader George Clinton. Funkentelechy is basically a manifesto about funk’s liberating powers. But knowing this catalyzing source isn’t at all mandatory for enjoyment of the record.

By the mid ’70s, Clinton had amassed a massive, talented group that boasted members of Funkadelic (genius keyboardist Bernie Worrell, guitarist Michael Hampton, bassist Cordell Mosson) and James Brown alumni such as Maceo Parker, Bootsy and Phelps Collins, and Fred Wesley. Backing singers such as Lynn Mabry, Dawn Silva, and Mallia Franklin added crucial flavor to these funk and R&B bombs.

Opener “Bop Gun (Endangered Species)”—itself sampled 38 times, including multiple instances by Ice Cube— is a bulbous, bubbly funk/disco hybrid elevated by extraordinarily soulful vocals by the powerhouse Glenn Goins. Beneath the vocal fireworks, some wonderfully complex and funky filigrees happen with the guitar, bass, horns, and keyboards. A change of pace comes with oft-sampled “Sir Nose D’Voidoffunk (Pay Attention – B3M),” a leisurely funk epic with absurdist elements, including allusions to “Three Blind Mice” and “Ba Ba Black Sheep,” goofy backing vox, and Bootsy’s languid drawls. All that said, does “Bop Gun” need to be 10 minutes long? No. it’s followed by the LP’s only real dud, “Wizard Of Finance,” whose slick R&B balladry tilts into schmaltz, despite its lurid horn charts and rich, liquid synth bass.

If you want to hear where Chicago rockers Urge Overkill got their name, check out “Funkentelechy.” The song earns its 11-minute run time with jaunty, wiggle-worthy funk and phenomenal vocal arrangements. Littered with advertising catchphrases of the time (“You deserve a break today,” “Have it your way,” etc.), “Funkentelechy” testifies that funk is the cure for whatever ails ya. Call it a danceable self-fulfilling prophecy…

Now this view may be blasphemy to some, but “Placebo Syndrome” is low-key Funkentelechy‘s peak. It’s not so much funk as it is preternaturally euphoric psychedelic soul. Lead vocalist Silva (I think it’s her) just kills it with her silky tones, contrasting with Mosson’s gruff emoting. Bonus: Worrell gets off a serpentine, oddly tuned keyboard solo in this song that would segue well with a Rotary Connection joint. I’m totally obsessed with “Placebo Syndrome” and rank it near the summit of the P-Funk canon; at the least, it’s the most blissful, beautiful song they’d done since “The Silent Boatman” from 1970’s Osmium.

Last but certainly not least, “Flash Light” bestows an ultimate highlight reel of mid-’70s funkenstein-ian molecular activity. Worrell unleashes a surfeit of Moog bass thrills, a masterclass in groove dynamics and tonal thickness. The elite vocal calisthenics here would put many gospel choirs in the shade. (Trivia: This was the pinnacle of clap-enhanced beats until Zapp’s “More Bounce To The Ounce” and George Clinton’s “Atomic Dog” entered the world in 1980 and 1982, respectively.) For “Flash Light”’s 5:46 duration, every blessed neuron in your body is firing at max capacity. True, “Everybody’s got a little light under the sun,” but in 1977, few shone brighter than Parliament’s. -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.

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.

Jimi Hendrix Experience “Axis: Bold As Love” (Track Record, 1967)

Consensus #1 guitar god Jimi Hendrix was the Big Bang of Black psychedelia, and all of the three albums he cut with the Experience (who included Brits Noel Redding on bass and Mitch Mitchell on drums) are absolutely essential. Each record was uniquely brilliant in its own way. But after four decades or so of listening to them, I have to say that Axis edges out Are You Experienced and Electric Ladyland by a plectrum.

The Experience’s sophomore LP reveals Hendrix’s prodigious range as a songwriter and, of course, virtuosity as a guitarist. The jazzy skitter of “Up From Skies” abuts the tumultuous, hooky rock of “Spanish Castle Magic.” “Wait Until Tomorrow” shows Jimi’s underrated pop sensibility and intricate guitar-bass interplay with Redding, while the unspeakably pretty “Little Wing” and “Castles Made Of Sand” represent Hendrix’s most poignant ballads outside of “The Wind Cries Mary.” In a similar vein, “One Rainy Wish” is damn near a pinnacle of psychedelic soul.

“If Six Was Nine” is a masterclass in menace and sparse dynamics, with a devastating, upward-spiraling coda. “You Got Me Floatin’” boasts one of the most infectious grooves of ’60s rock. “Little Miss Lover” is as funky and rugged as anything on the If There’s Hell Below… comp; whenever I play it, I think it might be my favorite Hendrix tune of all time. The feedback symphony “EXP” displays Hendrix’s experimental inclinations. “Bold As Love” shatteringly climaxes the record and flaunts Jimi’s most powerful vocal performance. And though it’s easy to overlook, the swirling psych-pop of Redding’s “She’s So Fine” holds its own with Jimi’s compositions.

Axis‘ ability to blow minds hasn’t faded in 58 years. -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.

Various Artists “If There’s Hell Below…” (Numero Group, 2023)

This crucial 13-track compilation partially derives from the limited-edition, long-oop 2002 collection Chains And Black Exhaust. Both albums feature the curation of thoroughbred record-collector Dante Carfagna, who tracked down rare singles by several amazing and unjustly obscure Black musicians to give them an afterlife on physical media and streaming services.

The main thrust of the songs on If There’s Hell Below... is a raw, tough-luck rock that nods to Curtis Mayfield (no relation) at his trippiest and most disenchanted. Stone Coal White’s stunned, wah-wah-heavy “You Know” exemplifies the muted, golden glow that pervades the comp, and Sir Stanley’s impassioned line in the profoundly soulful funk bomb “I Believe” (“I believe there’s got to be a better way”), sums up its prevailing attitude.

Elsewhere, Creations Unlimited’s “Chrystal [sic] Illusion” does blaxploitation-flick-soundtrack swagger with LSD, while Iron Force’s “Sweet Poison” melds stoned Hendrixian vocals with Black Sabbath-esque menace. Basement’s “Funky Music” is not the party jam its title would indicate, but a bleak, urban brooder. The standout track is Iron Knowledge’s “Show-Stopper,” a bulbous beast of action-packed psych-metal. It’s the greatest thing that’s ever come out of Youngstown, Ohio.

If There’s Hell Below… stands as one of the Numero Group label’s greatest comps of the ’20s—and there have been dozens, so that’s really saying something. -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.