Jive Time Turntable

Miroslav Vitous “Magical Shepherd” (1976)

Magical Shepherd is one of the most significant releases in mid ’70’s electro fusion jazz music, and ironically remains largely unrecognised. It is most decidedly unlike anything that else Miroslav Vitous recorded, with funky bass lines and extensive tape looping. A collaboration with Herbie Hancock, Magical Shepherd expands beyond the usual format of fusion jazz at the time, and ends up (on side one at least) producing sounds more reminiscent of modern house and jungle music (check out the use of the disco beats and loops in New York city). The atmospheric vocals by Cheryl Grainger and Onike would fit nicely into any recordings by Goldie. I cannot recommend this album highly enough.

If you like electro fusion jazz and do not have a copy, then your life is the poorer for such an omission. If you like Herbie Hancock’s electro fusion work then this album is compulsory listening. I have played it extensively on my Radio program and have always received calls from local club DJs amazed at the existence of the recording. As coordinator of [my station’s] Jazz Show it has become my personal mission to ensure that this recording gets the wide recognition that it deserves. —Peter

Produced by Tom Wilson:
A Guide to a Forgotten Visionary

Ask your friendly neighborhood music nerd about the great producers of the ‘60s and you’ll hear some familiar names: Phil Spector. George Martin. Perhaps Barry Gordy. But Tom Wilson? Probably not. True, the output of this Zelig-like figure, though prolific, has very few distinguishing characteristics. There’s no “Wall of Sound”. No Abbey Road studio wizardry. No Funk Brothers. Yet despite this lack of an authorial stamp, Tom Wilson’s legacy is perhaps even more significant and far-reaching than those of any of his contemporaries.

Tom Wilson was an anomaly. Texas-born, Harvard-educated, and a card-carrying Republican, he also happened to be African-American. Such a distinction thankfully makes no difference in the music business today. But the fact is, back then, finding success as a black man in an industry whose management was dominated by white males was no small feat. Wilson began work in the mid-50s as a jazz producer. It now makes sense that he worked with some of the most groundbreaking artists of the period, among them Sun Ra and Cecil Taylor; exposure to such innovation and talent surely inspired and primed him for what lay ahead.

The next phase of his career began at Columbia Records in 1963. An up and coming folk singer named Bob Dylan was at loggerheads with his current producer, John Hammond, during the final days of the sessions for his second album, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan. Hammond quit, and Wilson finished the job. Wilson produced Dylan’s next three albums, including the definitive Bringing It All Back Home, the first folk record, many argue, to fully incorporate the conventions of rock and roll production. Oddly enough, Wilson once stated that he never really cared much for folk or rock. This is a colossal irony, considering that without him it’s doubtful that the two would merge the way they did over the coming years. While Wilson may not have invented folk-rock, he was certainly its most influential agent. Just ask Simon and Garfunkel, whose little-heard acoustic track “The Sound of Silence” Wilson overdubbed with drums and electric instruments, sending the 1965 single to Number 1 and thereby giving the duo incentive to carry on after they had all but broken up.

Other fascinating anecdotes pepper the Wilson narrative. One oft-repeated one concerns guitarist Al Kooper. Sitting in the control booth during the sessions for Highway 61 Revisited as Dylan and his backing band laid down tracks for “Like a Rolling Stone”, Kooper composed an organ part for the song in his head. When he asked Wilson if he could try it out, Wilson slyly smiled and responded, “You’re not an organ player”. Kooper took that as a yes, and joined in on the next take. Hardly knowing the song at all, Kooper placed his fills a half a beat behind Dylan’s singing. Frustrated afterwards with this sloppy performance, Kooper resigned himself to failure, that is, until Dylan told Wilson to turn up the organ part during the playback. The take was used on the album, and history was made.

If Wilson had left the business at that point he’d still easily hold a place as one of the greats, but he was just getting started. In 1965, Verve Records appointed him head of A&R, a wise move for a label seeking to branch out into the more avant garde regions of rock. One of the first acts he signed was an LA band who called themselves The Mothers of Invention. Thinking that he had signed a somewhat accessible white R&B combo, Wilson was confronted with a new reality when, during a late night recording session, a young Frank Zappa conducted a cacophonous choir consisting of long-haired, unwashed denizens of the Sunset Strip scene. Rather than freak out (pun intended), Wilson went with it.

At the heart of Wilson’s genius was the gift of recognizing the talent of different people and then bringing them together under the right circumstances. The performers whom he worked with couldn’t have been more diverse, but he always understood and respected their artistic visions; rather than tinker with them, he stayed out of the way. Moreover, knowing how to work the system ensured that these visions could be realized. He sweet-talked execs and label bosses, procuring then unheard of sums of money for extremely risky projects while somehow still shielding those in his stable from artistic compromise. There were low points and failures, for sure, but when the magic Wilson formula worked, it produced some of the most groundbreaking, adventurous, and enduring material in the history of popular (and unpopular) music. This selected discography showcases some well-known and not-so-well-known highlights of Tom Wilson’s career.

The Animals Animalization (1966) Aside from the Soft Machine (see below) Wilson produced very few British acts. Recorded as the original line-up was beginning to splinter, Wilson was still able to coax a brilliant performance out of Eric Burdon and his cohort. The raw bluesiness of their earlier work is still here, but with an added dimension of psychedelia, a style that Burdon would fully embrace in the next incarnation of the Animals and in his later solo work.

The Blues Project Projections (1966) Though counting Al Kooper as a member, The Blues Project’s ambitious amalgam of folk, blues, and jazz initially hindered their efforts to achieve a musical identity. It took a person like Wilson to recognize the band’s eclectic influences and diverse skills and make them all flow together, and he did just that on this underrated album. One of their most popular songs, “Flute Thing” (a hit during the early days of underground FM radio) is here, but unfortunately, their other one, “No Time like the Right Time” (which eventually appeared on the original Nuggets), is not. It should be noted, however, that the latter appeared as a single prior to Projections’ release. Not surprisingly, Wilson produced it as well.

Nico Chelsea Girl (1967) Wilson worked with members of the Velvet Underground (see below) before, but Chelsea Girl is quite different than anything else he did with them or anyone else. The level of backing talent on the record is astounding; Lou Reed, John Cale, and Jackson Browne all sat in on the sessions. Yet the musical accompaniment is sparse and anonymous, the perfect foil for Nico’s ghostly delivery of its dark subject matter (drugs, betrayal, death). Chelsea Girls marks one of the few times when Wilson artistically intervened, insisting that strings and flute be added to some of the songs. Nico despised and disowned the finished product. Still, many agree that it’s the best thing she ever recorded outside of her work on the Velvets’ debut LP.

The Velvet Underground White Light White Heat (1968) Debate rages over Wilson’s level of involvement with the first Velvet Underground record. Though Andy Warhol was given full credit for production duties (most likely for financial reasons,) Wilson is said to have produced at least four of its tracks and to have supervised the final mix-down of the whole thing. Whatever the case, he was brought back as full-on producer for this sophomore effort, the most challenging and uncompromising in the band’s catalog. Having worked with the Velvets before, Wilson probably knew it best to leave them to their own devices. Besides, he had other things going on anyway. Guitarist Sterling Morrison once recounted that Wilson, ever the lady’s man, spent most of the studio time entertaining a rotating roster of beautiful women. Say what you will about such a managerial strategy, but it’s doubtful that the raging sonic beast that is “Sister Ray” would have been unleashed upon an unsuspecting public had someone else taken the helm.

The Soft Machine The Soft Machine (1968) Recorded while on tour in the states (supporting Jimi Hendrix), The Soft Machine’s debut was one of the first high-profile rock albums to blatantly fuse jazz with psychedelia. From start to finish, this proto-prog opus is a frenetic whirlwind of Robert Wyatt’s evocative vocals and dexterous drumming, Kevin Ayers’ rubbery basswork, and the truly unique emanations of Mike Ratlidge’s distorted Holiday Deluxe organ. The songs transition seamlessly into one another, pausing only at the end of side one, a sequencing practice that would become common in the age of the Concept Album but almost unheard of at this time for any rock band. Wilson’s jazz background was surely an asset to the proceedings. But once again, his personal life seemed to play the true role in the album’s construction. Ayers recalled Wilson being on the phone with one of his girlfriends more often than him giving musical guidance to the band.

Harumi Harumi (1968) – Harumi was an enigmatic Japanese singer/songwriter, about which little is known today. While briefly based in New York in the late ‘60s, he cut this album. It’s received very little press over the years, and it remains an obscurity even to hardcore psych fans. Why a project like this—a completely unknown singer with a thick Japanese accent performing experimental music (on a double-album no less!)—was green-lighted by a major American record label will remain an even bigger mystery. But without a doubt, only someone like Tom Wilson could have made it happen. Parts of it, particularly the poppier material on the first disc, are brilliant, a lysergic fusion of rock, jazz, and eastern folk. The material on disc 2 can be tedious, particularly the god-awful twenty minute spoken-word piece, “Twice Told Tales of the Pomegranate Forest ”. Still, the album’s relentless risk-taking and experimentalism make it one of the most bizarre records of its era, and considering the producer who was involved here that’s really saying something!

Further Listening: Oddly enough, Tom Wilson did very little work with any ‘60s soul artists, a real shame considering the potential of such a collaboration. One possible exception would be his work with the Canadian blue-eyed soul act, Central Nervous System. Their one and only album, I Could Have Danced All Night, is an energetic collection of hard-hitting numbers with echoes of James Brown and Wilson Pickett. They might have found more success had they not broken up shortly before the album’s supporting tour.

The ‘70s saw a marked decrease in the output of Tom Wilson, and by the end of that decade he had completely left the music business. Unfortunately, he never had a chance to return. In 1978, he dropped dead of a heart attack at age 47. The loss of such a visionary was a tragedy in itself, but another added one was the fact that Wilson took his memories with him, documenting very little of his experiences and giving very few interviews. His life and achievements are the stuff of a great rock biography that has yet to be written. Until it is, only the music can tell his story, but oh what a story it tells! – Richard P

Peter Green “The End of the Game” (1970)

Where has this album been all my life? I’ve heard a lot of Peter Green, but never anything quite like this. Free-form jazz/rock – hard psych – blues-rock with some of the most wicked guitar work you’ll ever hear. In fact, all of the musicians put on amazing performances, even though Green’s blistering guitar is the stand-out.

Each track here is instrumental, and each carries its own flavor. The opener, Bottom’s Up, features a driving blues-rock jam with Green running cricles around his fretboard. Timeless Time is slower, more psychedelic in nature, with a slight avant-garde jazz feeling. Descending scale is another psychedelic workout that’s more like a trip than a song, with each player finding room to explore. Burnt Foot is a more straight ahead, driving heavy blues rock piece with some heavy drumming and killer bass lines. Hidden Game starts out sounding almost like mid 70’s jammin’ Grateful Dead, with Green’s guitar tone eerily like Jerry’s. Then the song slows down and becomes yet another psychedelic soaked ride, reminiscent of Pink Floyd’s more piano dominated tracks, with a slow yet wicked solo. The final cut, and title track, The End of the Game, is simply a masterpiece. Green and company break out the free-form element in the extreme. Green’s guitar howls, moans, wails, cries and even sighs, all the while surrounded by hazy bass and crashing, scattered drumming.

However impressed I had been with the great guitar work of Mr. Peter Green, after hearing this gem of an album I’m even more impressed. Highly recommended. —Doug

Paul Kantner & Jefferson Starship “Blows Against the Empire” (1970)

If you’re an Airplane fan, you want to give this one a try. Yes, this is the earliest album to use the “Jefferson Starship” name, but it’s not the first official Starship album, this is simply a Paul Kantner solo project in between Airplane albums (Volunteers, Bark) with an all-star cast of musicians helping out with the name Jefferson Starship (including several Airplane members like Grace Slick, Jack Casady, Joey Covington as well as three Dead members, Jerry Garcia, Bill Kreutzmann, and Mickey Hart, plus David Crosby and Graham Nash, and ex-Quicksilver Messenger member and future Airplane/Jefferson Starship member David Freiberg, plus Peter Kaukonen, Jorma’s brother). The Airplane at this point was in flux having just lost Marty Balin and Spencer Dryden, so this gave Kantner the idea for a solo project. Luckily the music has much more in common with the Airplane sound circa Volunteers, so if you’re fearing a precursor to the Red Octopus sound, don’t worry, Pete Sears and Craig Chaquico ain’t here! Not to mention no Papa John Creach. To me, Blows Against the Empire is one of the last great West Coast psych albums. 1970 was obviously difficult times for the counterculture, as it was pretty much on decline, no doubt helped by the Kent State shootings, so this album was basically about a bunch of hippies who hijack a starship to sail off to the stars because they no longer feel welcomed on Earth. The album was nominated for a sci-fi Hugo Award, but didn’t win. Strange that an album of recorded music would be nominated by such an award.

“The Baby Tree” is a silly little folk-number about babies growing on trees while “Let’s Go Together” sounds like a missing number from Volunteers. “A Child is Coming” is a nice pleasant acoustic number, which seemed to coincide to Grace Slick having a child that was to be born (China Kantner). “Hijack” is a totally wonderful epic number, where the band almost enters prog rock territory near the end with some wonderful use of piano. There’s a couple of short pieces that simulate the sounds of a starship taking off, oddly they remind me of such Krautrock groups of the time like Ash Ra Tempel or early Tangerine Dream. “Have You Seen the Stars Tonight” is the group exploring space rock with spacy psychedelic effects. It reminds me a tad of Crosby, Stills & Nash, but then Crosby and Nash do appear on this album. “Starship” sounds like how the Dead and Airplane might sound like if they teamed together as you hear a strong Dead/Airplane sound to this piece (not to mention Jerry Garcia giving his trademark lead guitars).

A totally wonderful, if often underrated album of West Coast psychedelia which I highly recommend. —Ben

Diga Rhythm Band “Diga” (1976)

In each of Mickey Hart’s albums, the artist submerges himself within a concept and reinvents himself through the project dujour. Hart’s rhythmic journey as recorded in the studio has created some duds and crafted some gems. Fortunately, the Diga Rhythm Band produced one of his jewels. In this project, Hart’s focus was on the sounds of India. That written, vibes and marimbas are the primary musical instruments on “Diga” -neither of which are Indian and no attempt is made to have them play Indian melodies. The absence of sitars on such a project almost seems odd. Unless the listener is expecting classical Indian sounds, this isn’t necessarily a drawback. With respect to authenticity, Mickey Hart always produces his albums in a way that makes ethnic music more accessible to Western ears. In other words, this isn’t Indian music, it’s really World Music. When it came to the sounds of India, Hart’s focus was on rhythm; the tablas are the main vehicle. ‘Razooli’ sounds like it could be an outtake from the Grateful Dead’s “Blues for Allah.” ‘Sweet Sixteen’ is so sugary, it’s difficult not to describe it as ‘World Pop.’ Jerry Garcia plays ‘Happiness Is Drumming’ as if it were a prototype version of ‘Fire on the Mountain.’ In terms of rhythm, ‘Magnificent Sevens’ is the most accomplished composition. The song showcases the group’s improvisation within the Diga Rhythm Band’s most challenging arrangement. As a drum album, the percussion is stellar thanks in part to Zakir Hussain’s nimble hands. Easy to listen to, “Diga” delivers Indian infused World Music. —The Delite Rancher

Quicksilver Messenger Service “Shady Grove” (1969)

The first two Quicksilver albums are among the classics of the era. No doubt about it. They had a great talent for long, exploratory jams that really took you on that acid trip. When Gary Duncan left after 1968, it looked like the end. He was such an integral part of the band, how could they continue without him. Well, only the addition of a world class musician could save the band and that’s what happened when Nicky Hopkins, who had been living in San Francisco and recording with Steve Miller and Jefferson Airplane, decided to actually join a band. What an honor for Quicksilver that he chose them.

Okay, look, there’s no way this album could sound the same. But, that’s what’s great about bands…people come, people go, the music changes, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. This album has none of the feel of the first two but it stands on its own as a fine recording. From the opening Hopkins blast on Shady Grove, to the achingly beautiful drawing room/salon type solo on Flute Song, to the countrified leanings of David Freiberg on Words Can’t Say, right up to the grandiloquent opening to the ultimate Hopkins opus, Edward, the Mad Shirt Grinder, this album has a lot going on musically. Many Quicksilver enthusiasts dismiss this album because Hopkins so thoroughly dominates the proceedings as to make the band almost secondary. That may be true, but the results are still extraordinary. —Sekander

Charles Mingus “Let My Children Hear Music” (1972)

One of the more convincing attempts to fuse jazz with classical. Certainly an unusual album, even by Mingus’s standards (witness the sampling of an elephant in full-trumpet) but it seems to hold together in spite of the potential for catastrophe. There’s so much going on here that, however meticulously composed it may be, at times one can’t help thinking of the opening moments of Coltrane’s free-jazz masterpiece Ascension. Everyone of the instruments here is doing something worthy of attention at all times but there’s little one-upmanship. It is a collaborative effort if ever there was one. This is orchestral jazz in the most literal form. Musically there are times when it is considerably leaning more to the classical side of things than jazz, although classical in a cinematic sense. When you expect brooding horn swells, you’re never far from swinging brass bombast, and vice versa. If this is music for children, it’s for a darker kind of children’s story. The musical accompaniment to Mingus’s spoken-word story on The Chill of Death isn’t unlike an alternative film score for The Wizard of Oz, all dramatic flourishes and atmosphere in abundance, with moments of black humour throughout.

This is not a Mingus album for the jazz or Mingus neophyte, nor is it necessarily one for anyone who enjoyed Ah Um and Pithecanthropus and is looking for their next port of call. It isn’t typical of the works for which Mingus is most remembered. It is worth noting, however, that this is the album that Mingus himself was most happy with. If you trust the man’s judgement, you might find this being one of your favourites too. —Jaime

The Electric Prunes “Mass in F Minor” (1968)

The album works almost as one long song filled with dynamic psychedelic jams with Gregorian chants, searing guitar leads, string and horn sections, and a pounding rhythm section. [The album’s producer] David Axelrod’s “Song of Innocence” comes to mind with the fusion of psychedelic guitar and orchestral arrangements and one could consider this to be Axelrod’s first album because this music is clearly his vision and influence. However, “Mass in F Minor” is far more rock influenced as each song rises and falls emotionally with horn and string sections embellishing the guitar chords rather than vice versa (which, I believe to be the case on “Song of Innocence). The buildup of the entire album climaxes with the final guitar chords of “Agnus Dei” and mark the closing ceremony of a truly unforgettable and holy music experience.

As a fan of out-there, experimental psychedelic rock from the late 60’s, “Mass in F Minor” strikes a chord with me in ways that other Electric Prunes albums can’t. Sure, those garage psych songs from their previous albums are great, but it’s hard for them to really stand out above the rest of all the other garage psych albums of the time as it was such a common sound. There isn’t a category for psychedelic concept albums simulating a church experience. For those who enjoy the more experimental parts of the Chocolate Watchband, H.P. Lovecraft, Ultimate Spinach, David Axelrod, USA, Beacon Street Union or Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies (just a few off the top of my head), do yourselves a favor and brush aside the mainstream reviews of the more “level-headed” rock fan and check this out. —Coldchisel/RYM

Peter Hammill “The Silent Corner and the Empty Stage” (1974)

The absolute pinnacle of Peter Hammill’s solo career. The Silent Corner and the Empty Stage is every bit as impressive as the finest records from Van der Graaf Generator, although with most members of the (temporarily-defunct) Generator chipping in it’s arguable as to what degree this is a true solo album. Many of the tracks here are especially reminiscent of the intense vocal/sax-centric sound featured on the upcoming Generator classics Godbluff and Still Life, and fans of either of those albums will almost certainly love this release. Yet Silent Corner is a somewhat different kind of album than Hammill ever produced with the Generator. Every song here is extremely “intimate”, be it via deeply personal lyrics or via a stripped down production that brings everything back to Hammill’s voice. It’s also an extremely “weird” and “difficult” album, even compared to the average Generator release (only Pawn Hearts compares here). Bizarre lyrics, sudden shifts in dynamic, and absolutely no percussion until track four(!!!)- after dozens of listens there are parts of this album that I’m still trying to “figure out”. Yet before I scare away all but the most devout prog rock fans, let me emphasize that this album is totally worth your effort. A true classic of progressive music that repeatedly rewards the thoughtful listener via a wealth of magnificent details.

As for the tracks themselves, Silent Corner is bookended by what are arguably the two finest tracks of Hammill’s solo career: “Modern” and “A Louse Is Not a Home”. The first of those tracks contributes one of the most memorable opening sequences of any album from my collection, gradually developing into a glorious mindfuck of a song that perfectly epitomizes Mr. Hammill’s unique musical vision. The latter of those two tracks is representative of the record’s Generator-esque tendencies- a 10+ minute epic rocker in which Hammill’s energetic vocals are complimented by an equally-remarkable instrumental arrangement. Other highlights include a slow-building piano-driven “ballad” in “Forsaken Gardens” and another Generator-esque rocker in “Red Shift”. Preventing a perfect 5.0 star rating are the relatively straightforward ballads “Wilhelmina” and “Rubicon”, which carry over the “singer/songwriter” aesthetic that was more pronounced on the previous Chameleon in the Shadow of the Night. As with a number of tracks from that earlier album, I find both of these songs to be nice yet remarkably unmemorable.

Alongside the subsequent In Camera, the cornerstone of any Hammill collection. Strongly recommended to any progressive rock enthusiast, and a record that every Van der Graaf Generator fan should seek out. —Paul

Meet Trousers!

Meet the owners dog, “Trousers”! Now when you shop at Jive Time Records you’re supporting local indie business and pet rescue! A portion of our February profits will go to Ginger’s Pet Rescue who saved this scrappy, long-legged and lovable little character and made him a part of the Jive Time family. Thank you Ginger and the crew at Ginger Pet Rescue!