Sonny [Huey] Simmons – Burning Spirits (Contemporary, 1971)

Huey "Sonny" Simmons (ts, as, English hn); Barbara Donald (tr); Michael White (vn); Lonnie Liston Smith (p); Richard Davis (b); Cecil McBee (b); Clifford Jarvis (d)

Recorded on November 24, 1970

Years ago, when I was building my web site dedicated to Bobby Hutcherson, I decided to collect all of his recordings.  I already had most of his recordings as a leader, but there were many sideman appearances that I'd never heard before.  As I dug into Hutcherson's sideman work, two albums stood out.  Both featured Hutcherson with saxophonist Sonny Simmons.  The first was Eric Dolphy's Iron Man (Douglas, 1968) and the second was Firebirds (Contemporary, 1968), an album that Simmons co-led with Prince Lasha.  Like Eric Dolphy (and Prince Lasha as well), Sonny Simmons seemed to play free jazz that was informed by the tradition.  Simmons' playing could be metaphysical, cosmic, and "out" -- but it could also be lyrical and gentle.  Even when Simmons was surrounded by heavyweights, his sound was always distinctive and personal.  

Lester Koenig's Contemporary Records released Burning Spirits in 1971.  Originally released as a double-album, the music is ambitious in scope.  It features a terrific band.   Along with Simmons' alto, tenor and English horn, the dominant voices are trumpeter Barbara Donald (Simmons' wife at the time) and bassists Richard Davis and Cecil McBee, two young giants of the instrument.  Michael White and Lonnie Liston Smith add their voices on selected tracks.

My favorite cut on the album is "Things and Beings."  It's beautiful and strange and cosmic and gentle. It seems to come from the same place as Alban Berg's music.  It's contradictory: It's otherworldly and it's familiar.  That sums up all that I love about Sonny Simmons' music.

To hear "Things and Beings," advance to the 13:47 mark in the video below:

Sadly, after making Burning Spirits, Simmons had fewer opportunities to perform or record his music.  In the 1980s, his life took an even more dramatic downward turn.  After divorcing Barbara Donald, Simmons spent much of the decade living the life of a homeless person, busking to get by.  Eventually, he got back on his feet and returned to performing.  Two albums, Ancient Ritual (1994) and American Jungle (1997), both released on Quincy Jones' Qwest Records, helped Simmons re-establish his career.  Simmons continues to perform to this day, often in the company of fellow-saxophonist Michael Marcus in the band they co-lead, The Cosmosamatics.

Dave Brubeck Trio & Gerry Mulligan – Live at the Berlin Philharmonie (Sony Legacy, 1995)

Dave Brubeck (p); Gerry Mulligan (bs); Jack Six (b); Alan Dawson (d)

Recorded on November 7, 1970

Originally released on a single LP (with five tracks) in the U.S. and Japan in 1973 and on a double LP (with eleven tracks) in Europe in  1972.  The 2005 2-CD set consists of the entire evening's performance (13 tracks).

These recordings were made on the same day (and at the same location) as the Anita O’Day LP discussed in yesterday’s blog entry.  There must have been something in the air that day in Berlin—because this performance by Dave Brubeck’s trio and Gerry Mulligan soars just as high as O’Day’s.  Maybe even higher!

Brubeck formed his trio with Jack Six and Alan Dawson in 1968, after the breakup of his famous quartet with Desmond, Morello and Wright.  Shortly thereafter, at the instigation of George Wein, Brubeck’s trio toured with “special guest” baritone saxophonist Gerry Mulligan.  The tour was a rousing success, so they decided to continue.  However, rather than calling themselves a quartet, they continued to bill their act as the Dave Brubeck Trio & Gerry Mulligan.  By the time of this Berliner Jazztage performance, they were an extremely tight unit.

I admit that I’ve always preferred Brubeck’s band with Paul Desmond—and that I’m not particularly fond of Gerry Mulligan.  That said, this is an inspired performance by all concerned.  But I must make special mention of the drumming by Alan Dawson.  Tremendous!  Listening to this music, my ear is continually drawn to Dawson’s contributions.  He gives this music so much lift and fire!

I was shocked to discover that Mulligan’s “Mexican Jumping Bean” had never been released until Sony Legacy issued the 2-CD set in 1995.  It’s a rousing composition and performance.  Brubeck’s “Blessed Are the Poor” is also striking.  Many of the evening’s pieces are extroverted and dynamic, but “Blessed Are the Poor” is the opposite.  As you might expect from the title, it’s a quiet song, but it burns with an inward intensity that never wavers throughout the entire nine-minute performance.

One indicator of the powerful impact of this music on the Berlin Philharmonie audience: The band performed no less than three encores.  After the second encore, the band went backstage and changed into their street clothes.  But the audience refused to leave.  Finally, after fifteen minutes of uninterrupted clapping and cries from the audience for more, a harried stage manager came backstage and asked the band to perform again.  So they returned to the stage (wearing their normal clothes) and closed out the night with “Lullaby de Mexico,” making a not-so-subtle point that it was time to go get some sleep!

Incidentally, this was the last record Brubeck made for Columbia.  By the time it was released in the U.S. (in 1973), Brubeck had already gone.  After leaving Columbia, he signed a deal with Atlantic Records.  I’ve heard rumors over the years that Clive Davis, who was running Columbia in the early-70s, gave Brubeck an ultimatum: Begin using an electric piano or he would be let go.  Brubeck refused, and that was that.  I’m not sure whether it’s true.  But I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if it was.

Anita O'Day in Berlin: Recorded Live at the Berlin Jazz Festival (MPS, 1971)

Anita O'Day (vo); Georges Arvanitas (p); Jacky Samson (b); Charles Saudrais (d)

November 7, 1970

In 2006, author John Fordham had the following to say about Anita O'Day:

"There was her technique--huskytoned, steel-hard in phrasing, with immaculate timing, an unsentimental tenderness and a shrewd wit.  And there was her attitude to the male-dominated business in which she was working.  O'Day's career was full of setbacks, yet her reputation as one of the most intelligent, technically skillful and independent of jazz singers never dimmed, and she performed into her 80s. ... O'Day appealed to listeners hooked on jazz's improvisational edge, rather than on the laconic mannerisms of its phrasing, or its hip cachet.  Both as an interpreter of lyrics, and as a virtuoso of that most treacherous of jazz temptations, the instrument-mimicking style of scat, O'Day was a supreme improviser."

I don't think there's any better description of Anita O'Day than Fordham's, a "Supreme Improviser."  

Like many people, I first encountered O'Day's singing in Jazz on Summer's Day, a nearly wordless 1960 documentary of the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival.  It's an iconic performance in an iconic film.  Again, John Fordham:

"In Jazz On a Summer's Day, she delivered 'Tea for Two' as if the syllables were drum patterns, and reinvented 'Sweet Georgia Brown' with a remarkable lightness of touch.  If her pitching could be wayward, her avoidance of the obvious usually swept over it, and her combination of relaxation and rhythmic drive at a fast tempo made that Newport set one of the most memorable jazz vocal performances ever captured on film."

Between 1957 and 1963, O'Day recorded more than fifteen albums for Verve.  Vaulted by these albums and the exposure that came with Jazz on a Summer's Day, O'Day became an international star.  But the second half of the 1960s was a different story.  

O'Day almost didn't live to perform at the 1970 Berliner Jazztage [Berlin Jazz Days] festival, where she recorded today's selection.  In the late-1960s, with her career on a sharp downward trajectory, O'Day almost died from a heroin overdose.  O'Day revealed her struggles with drugs with brutal honesty in her 1981 autobiography, High Times, Hard Times (Limelight Editions, 2004).  Like Art Pepper's autobiographical confessions, it's not a book for those who are squeamish about confronting the ugliness of drug addiction.  Spurred by her brush with death, O'Day finally kicked the habit at the end of the decade.  

Listening to Anita O'Day in Berlin, it's clear that she's on the comeback trail.  Supported by Georges Arvanitas' swinging trio, O'Day sounds re-vitalized, soaring and confident.  The album kicks off with two songs with a perfect theme for an improvising artist.  Both "Let's Fall in Love" and "Your Wings" are about taking risks to find something special.  O'Day also has a knack for taking on contemporary material and making it her own.  For example, she skillfully blends Lennon & McCartney's "Yesterday" with Jerome Kern's "Yesterdays," and her version of Bobby Hebb's "Sunny" is joyous and swinging.  For someone who was just emerging from some dark times, the song's first few lines must have had special meaning: "Sunny, yesterday my life was filled with rain / Sunny, you smiled at me and really eased the pain / The dark days are gone, and the bright days are here."

As far as I can tell, Anita O'Day in Berlin has never been reissued in any digital format.  That's a bummer, because the music deserves to be heard.  However, there is a video of O'Day's Berliner Jazztage performance, made for German television, on YouTube -- at least for now.  (See below.)  It's better than nothing.  But if you want to hear the music in high fidelity (and you do!), you'll need to get the MPS vinyl.

More Anita O'Day
In the early-70s, soon after this Berlin performance, O'Day formed Emily Records. (O'Day named the label after her beloved pet dog.)  Given the tough market for jazz in the U.S., she created her own label, so she could release her music independently.  The Emily LP that I like best is My Ship. (It was originally recorded for Trio Records in Japan in 1975 and released on Emily in the U.S. in 1979.)

David "Fathead" Newman – Captain Buckles (Cotillion/Label M, 1971)

David "Fathead" Newman (ts, as, fl); Blue Mitchell (tr); Eric Gale (g); Steve Novosel (b); Bernard “Pretty” Purdie (d)

November 3 - 5, 1970

Originally released on Atlantic’s Cotillion imprint, Captain Buckles was reissued on Joel Dorn’s Label M in 2000.  This was no coincidence, because Dorn produced the album in 1970.  Dorn’s insightful and funny liner notes explain how the record came to be.  After Dorn produced three consecutive “with strings and horns”-type records with Newman [Bigger and Better (1968), The Many Facets of David Newman (1969), and The Weapon (1973)], Newman was frustrated with Dorn and eager to make an album without all the bells and whistles.  Per Dorn:

“The Weapon was the cause of the only tension between David and me in a thirty-five year friendship.  It was one of the worst examples of a producer over-stepping his bounds in the history of record making. … Captain Buckles was my way of making things right with David.  I stayed out of his way, and he did what he does best, which is be himself.  He picked the material and the personnel, I ordered lunch and made sure the tape machine was plugged into the wall.  The result is one of his most straightforward, enjoyable albums. ... Now, let’s talk about Blue Mitchell.  Captain Buckles was the only time I ever got a chance to record Blue.  He was a sweet, funny, soulful cat. … It was one of Blue’s lines that became the title tune of this album.  It rained the day of the first session.  David, the last of the musicians to get to the studio, arrived sporting a brand new raincoat.  That coat had more belts, vents, pockets, and, especially, buckles than any raincoat in the history of raincoats.  When he walked into the studio, Blue gave him the once over and greeted him with a salute and a hearty ‘Captain Buckles, I presume.’ Everybody fell out.  That line set the tone for the whole session.”

Great story.  Especially Blue Mitchell’s hilarious response to Fathead’s sartorial splendor. … One minor point worth noting is that Dorn somehow got confused about his dates.  Newman recorded The Weapon in 1972, and Atlantic released it in 1973.  All of it happened after Captain Buckles.  So Dorn couldn’t have been giving Newman free reign in the studio to make up for The Weapon—because The Weapon hadn’t happened yet. … It’s no big deal, really.  Fathead could have just as easily been frustrated with Dorn about The Many Facets of David Newman.  The fact that he got his wires crossed timeline-wise doesn’t detract from the music, which is every bit as soulful and enjoyable as he describes.

The early-70s were a great time for soul-jazz.  And I think Fathead’s Captain Buckles is one of the very best in that style.

More David Newman

When it came time to choose a Fathead album, I kept going back and forth between Captain Buckles and Lonely Avenue (Atlantic, 1972).  Both are outstanding.  The latter album features some excellent vibes work by Roy Ayers.  In 2000, Collectables reissued Lonely Avenue in a two-disc set paired with Newmanism (Atlantic, 1974).  It’s a great set, inexpensive and easy to recommend.

Cannonball Adderley Quintet – The Price You Got to Pay to Be Free (Capitol, 1970)

Cannonball Adderley (as, ss, vo); Nat Adderley (cor, vo); Joe Zawinul (p, el p, ring modulator); Nat Adderley, Jr. (p, el p, g, vo); Walter Booker (b); Bob West (b); Roy McCurdy (d)

Recorded on September 19 and October 5 & 6, 1970

Reissued on CD by Real Gone Music in 2016.

Cannonball's The Price You Got to Pay to Be Free is a free-wheeling cavalcade of musical genres and styles.  There's jazz, funk, soul, folk, and blues.  There's soul-jazz, modal jazz, contemporary jazz, fusion, and free improvisation.  There's even some spoken word.  Only a band as talented as Adderley's  could hold this wide-ranging diversity together and somehow make it work -- but they do.  The Price You Got to Pay to Be Free may not have the concentrated impact of some Cannonball albums, but the special parts are so powerful I had to include it in my survey.

Adderley's Quintet recorded eleven of the album's twenty tracks at the 1970 Monterey Jazz Festival.  Weeks later, intent on making enough music for a double-album, the band cut nine more tracks at the Capitol Records Tower in Hollywood.  To create a live show vibe, the band invited an audience to the studio -- just like they'd done on Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! and Why Am I Treated So Bad?  

I think this incarnation of Adderley's quintet was one of the finest that he ever had.  Walter Booker and Roy McCurdy are an impeccable rhythm team.  Josef Zawinul could range from ethereal, free-floating outer-space sounds to low-down, filthy blues.  Nat's cornet work is outstanding.  (And his singing ain't half bad either.  Just listen to "Down in Black Bottom.")  And Cannonball is Cannonball.  Oh man, what a sound!  So vital and unmistakable and expressive!  Whenever I hear Cannonball play his saxophone, he seems to be saying, "Life may not be easy, but it's good to be alive!"  And that is some potent medicine.

As the 1970s progressed and Cannonball's health declined, there was a subtle but noticeable diminishment in his playing.  But there's no hint of that decline here.  None whatsoever.

More Cannonball Adderley
One of the reasons I like The Price You Got to Pay to Be Free is because the band is playing live.  It's "unfiltered" Cannonball.  If there ever was a musician who did not need an intermediary to put his music across to an audience, it's Cannonball Adderley.  That's also why I'd recommend The Black Messiah (Capitol, 1971) and Music, You All (Captitol, rec. 1972, rel. 1976) if you're looking to explore more of Cannonball's music from the 1970s.  Just like The Price You Got to Pay to Be Free, both of these albums feature Cannonball and his band in a high-flying, live setting.

Paul Gonsalves & Ray Nance – Just A-Sittin' and A-Rockin' (Black Lion, 1973)

Paul Gonsalves (ts); Ray Nance (tr, vn, vo); Norris Turney (as); Hank Jones (p); Raymond Fol (p); Al Hall (b); Oliver Jackson (d)

Recorded on August 28 and September 3, 1970

What a delicious slice of Ellingtonia performed by two of the most important soloists to ever perform in Duke's orchestra, Paul Gonsalves and Ray Nance!

I admit that I have a special place in my heart for the sound that Paul Gonsalves makes on the tenor saxophone.  I'm almost ashamed to say now that when I first heard it -- that breathy tone with billowing clouds of notes devoid of any edges -- it grated on my ear.  As is often the case with artists who are different, the very thing about his sound that tripped up my ear soon became the thing I loved most of all.

Duke loved Gonsalves too.   After Gonsalves' famous "wailing interval" at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival that helped propel Ellington's flagging career, Duke was forever grateful.  Gonsalves' extended solo -- and the subsequent myth-making media coverage that flowed from it -- helped make Ellington at Newport the best-selling album Duke ever had.  (And not long after that, Duke's portrait graced the cover of Time magazine, in a time when that publication was an unequaled arbiter of cultural relevance.)  After Newport, whenever Ellington introduced his orchestra, providing the audience members with each instrumentalist's hometown, Duke would tell them that Gonsalves hailed from Newport, Rhode Island -- as if their mutual experience that night had given both Gonsalves and the band a sort of second birth.  The "Hero of Newport" indeed!

But I think Duke loved Gonsalves for many reasons.  It wasn't just that Gonsalves helped reinvigorate the appeal of Ellington's band to the culture at large.  Duke loved the way Gonsalves played the tenor saxophone, and I think he loved the man as well.  There are so many photographs of Ellington, but one of my favorites is in John Fass Morton's Backstory in Blue: Ellington at Newport '56 (Rutgers University Press, 2008).  The photo is not a particularly good one from a technical point of view. It's blurry and the composition is far from perfect.  But the photograph shows Duke and Gonsalves dancing together, off-stage, side-by-side, half-facing each other, joyous, un-self-conscious, not performing, smiling, and happy.  

Ellington was a notoriously private person.  He shielded himself by hiding behind an elaborate persona, an elegant put-on was part of every show.  But this photo is special because it captures Duke with his guard down.  And you can only do that when you're in the presence of someone you really care about. 

[...]

Well, after that digression, I suppose I should turn to the record at hand.  First of all, I should say that there is the slight (inevitable?) let-down that seemed to happen whenever Ellingtonians made records outside the Ducal fold.  Duke's music by Duke's musicians without Duke usually just isn't as good as it would have been if Duke were there.  That said, Ellington's absence is not felt as acutely on this LP as it is on some others.  French pianist Raymond Fol and especially Hank Jones bring their considerable artistry to the proceedings. Nance's trumpet and violin work is wonderful, and his singing (on a couple tracks) is a delight.  Relative newcomer Norris Turney shines on his feature, "Angel Eyes."  Gonsalves is Gonsalves, and now you know how I feel about him.

So, even if this LP isn't an unequivocal five-star masterpiece, I would hate to be without it.  More importantly, I wouldn't hesitate to recommend Just A-Sittin and A-Rockin' to anyone with even the slightest interest in Ellington's larger orbit.  Sometimes hearing a couple of your favorite soloists sing a few timeless songs is plenty.  If that's what you're looking for, this is exactly what you need.

Eddie [Eddy] Louiss – Our Kind of Sabi (MPS, 1970)

Eddy Louiss (org, p, mar); John Surman (bs, ss); Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen (b, 1 track only); Daniel Humair (d)

Recorded on August 27 - 29, 1970

American jazz fans who recognize the name Eddy Louiss will likely remember it from his appearance on Stan Getz's classic Dynasty (Verve, 1971).  Louiss (whose first name "Eddy" is misspelled on the cover of this MPS LP) was a highly respected French jazz musician, well known for his distinctive style on the Hammond B3 organ.  

Back in the day, few of Louiss' recordings made it to the U.S., so his profile remains far lower than many other jazz organ heroes.  Per Discogs, MPS only released our Our Kind of Sabi in Germany, France, and Japan in 1971.  Unlike some other MPS releases, the album was never issued in the U.S. through their licensing dealing with PAUSA.  Most of Louiss' other releases were limited to European (and occasionally Japanese) markets as well.

Furthermore, Louiss' approach to the Hammond B3 defied the conventions of the instrument -- at least as they had come to be defined in the United States circa 1970.  Perhaps more than any other instrument, the Hammond organ was a sound associated with inner-city Black America and with soul-jazz.  I suppose it's no surprise that, as a Frenchman, Louiss did not play in that style.  Instead, his approach to the instrument was built on older jazz styles like bebop and then mixed with a range of then-contemporary European jazz influences, including the burgeoning avant-garde.  That's what you hear on My Kind of Sabi.  

Louiss recorded the album in Tokyo while he as touring with a package of European Downbeat Poll Winners.  Fortunately for us listeners, the music doesn't sound like it was made by a pick-up group.  That's because Louiss and drummer Daniel Humair had a long-standing relationship, and their simpatico connection is what makes this music fly.  John Surman's powerful contributions on baritone and soprano sax carry the music even higher.  On the Caribbean folk song, "Zafe Ko Ida," Surman steps aside and Danish bassist Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen is added.  On this track, Louiss plays marimba and piano instead of organ.  But it is Louiss' work on the organ that makes this music memorable.

  
Collectors still have to pay top dollar for well-maintained vinyl copies of Our Kind of Sabi.  However, since the German company Edel acquired the MPS catalog, most of the music has been made available again through streaming services (or as digital downloads).  As a collector who prefers to add tangible objects -- either vinyl or CDs -- to my "library," this is not ideal.  But it's definitely better than nothing, especially when the music is this good.

More Eddy Louiss
Not long after making Our Kind of Sabi, Louiss collaborated with French trumpeter and arranger Ivan Jullien on a large-ensemble version of Porgy and Bess.  Originally issued in France in 1971 on the Riviera label, Gitanes/Emarcy reissued the music in 2000 as part of their "Jazz in Paris" series.  Another reissue in the same series, Bohemia After Dark (originally issued as Orgue, Vol. 2 on the French "America" label), features Kenny Clark and American ex-pat guitarist Jimmy Gourley.  

Finally, here are three discs that don't officially belong in this survey, since they weren't made in the 1970s.  But I'm going to list them anyway, since they're marvelous and some jazz fans may not know about them: 

• Eddy Louis Trio with Kenny Clarke & Rene Thomas (reissued on Dreyfus, 1991) 
• Humair, Louiss, Ponty – HLP, Vol. 1 (reissued on Dreyfus, 1991) 
• Humair, Louiss, Ponty – HLP, Vol. 2 (reissued on Dreyfus, 1991) 

Wayne Shorter – Odyssey of Iska (Blue Note, 1971)

Wayne Shorter (ts, ss); David Friedman (vib, mar); Gene Bertoncini (g); Ron Carter (b); Cecil McBee (b); Billy Hart (d); Alphonse Mouzon (d); Frank Cuomo (d, perc)

Recorded on August 26, 1970

In September 1969, Wayne Shorter and his wife, Ana Maria, had a daughter. They named her Iska.  In her biography, Footprints: The Life and Work of Wayne Shorter (Penguin, 2007), author Michelle Mercer explained that ... 

"Wayne had liked Cyprian Ekwensi's 1966 novel Iska, and especially admired its girl protagonist, who was a symbol of the winds of change blowing through post-colonial Africa.  In Nigeria, iska is the Hausa word for wind, but it's also a poetic expression for transition, or for liminal things like ghosts" (p. 135).  

Sadly, the joy from the birth of their child was soon followed by tragedy.  Just months after her birth, Iska experienced a severe adverse reaction to a tetanus vaccine.  Her breathing was obstructed for an extended period time until she was rushed to the hospital.  The results were horrific.  The oxygen deprivation meant that Iska experienced severe and permanent brain damage.  

So this music represents Shorter's attempt to reconcile what has happened to his child.  Given these grim circumstances (and the album's title), it's no surprise that The Odyssey of Iska takes us on a journey.  There's a sense of progression from the beginning of the album to the end.  On the first cut, "Wind," a storm is gathering.  The second cut is "Storm," and it is followed by "Calm" after the storm.  After the storm comes "Depois do Amor, o Vazio"; translated into English, this means, "After Love, Emptiness."  And the album's final track is "Joy."  So we experience a progression from foreboding gray to stormy darkness to finally emerge into some sort of recognition of survival.  I think the final cut is about finding some meaning and some joy beyond surviving.  But Shorter doesn't give us “normal” joy.  The music is not celebratory in the normal sense.  Instead, there's a swirling sense of struggle towards hope. 

Setting aside this terrible back-story, one of the things that I love about this music is that Shorter is striking out for parts unknown, new territory.  He is leaving behind the old structures and conventions and seeking to forge new ones.  I think it’s notable that Shorter didn't use a pianist -- or keyboards of any kind -- on the record.  (Even the producer, Duke Pearson, doesn’t play.)  So there is none of the harmonic stability that a piano would provide.  Instead, the only chordal instruments are David Friedman's vibraphone and Gene Bertoncini's guitar.  And they seem to use their instruments primarily for textural purposes, rather than providing harmonic support.  As a result, the music has floating, unmoored quality.

Listening to this music, one can't help but hear it in relation to the music that Shorter would soon be making as a member of Weather Report.  (Even the song titles "Wind," "Storm," "Calm" point in the direction of weather and the natural world.)  But this music sounds very different -- especially on the bottom of the sound spectrum.  This is what Weather Report might have been like without Josef Zawinul's dense forest of keyboard sounds. 

The music is moody and foreboding. Some have even described it as "melancholy," but I'd be hesitant to use that word. There's no sense of melancholy repose; things are continually astir.  The decision to use two drummers and a percussionist adds to this sense of infinite movement.  Rather than providing a sense of beat or forward momentum, the drummers provide texture in a painterly way.

It’s strange.  One of the remarkable things about this music is that it sounds so abstract and spontaneous while it's also orderly and thought-through at the same time.  Shorter often speaks about the idea of improvisation being "spontaneous composition," and you can hear that here.  It’s composerly music -- even if the composing is taking place while Shorter is playing.

When I listen to this music, I hear a father using his immense imagination to try to make sense of things, trying to find some way to communicate and connect with a daughter who is forced to live in an isolated world.  But of course the music works on a universal level as well. Like all great artists, Shorter takes the most personal and specific of circumstances and transforms them into something much greater, something mythic, something with which we all can identify.

Iska Shorter died in 1986 at 14 years of age.

Grant Green – Alive! (Blue Note, 1970)

Grant Green (g); Claude Bartee (ts); Willie Bivens (vib); Neal Creque (org); Ronnie Foster (org); Idris Muhammad (d); Joseph Armstrong (cga)

Recorded on August 15, 1970

After only recording sporadically in the latter half of the 1960s due to "health issues" (a euphemism for drug addiction used by jazz publications back in the day), Grant Green returned to Blue Note at the close of the decade.  He recorded Carryin' On (Blue Note, 1969) and Green Is Beautiful (Blue Note, 1970) shortly thereafter.  Alive!, the subject of today's post, was Green's third album after returning to the label.  As the title implies, it's a live record, made at the Cliché Lounge in Newark in the summer of 1970.  All three of these records drew the ire of jazz purists who preferred Green's "classic" hard-bop over the jazz-funk sounds heard on these albums. 

Bob Porter's book Soul Jazz: Jazz in the Black Community, 1945-1975 (XLIBRIS, 2016) is a useful counterbalance to these criticisms.  Although Porter never recorded Green, he was a friend.  In the book, Porter explains that Green at the time felt stifled by traditional jazz like he'd made in the early-60s.  Green was ready to move on. The decision to make funky jazz was entirely Green's own.  He regarded it as an evolution of his art.

Like many jazz fans, I love Green's Blue Note albums like Grantstand (1962), Idle Moments (1963), and Street of Dreams (1964).  But I think Green's jazz-funk is also interesting, particularly the music that he released on Alive!  The band is outstanding. Claude Bartee's tenor work is rock solid, and the funk drumming master Idris Muhammad lays down an irresistible groove. Neal Creque and Ronnie Foster share organ duties, and Willie Bivins' vibes add interesting colors to the mix.

Of course, Green sounds terrific too -- especially if one understands that his playing is necessarily more groove-oriented and less solo-oriented in a funky-jazz context.  In a 2018 JazzTimes feature on Green, guitarist Miles Okazaki discussed Green's deceptive simplicity:

In his teens Okazaki was turned off by the repetition in Green’s playing. But later, he recalls, “When I became more hip to African music, where the point is to create a vibe or a trance, I could hear that in his playing. He’s creating a kind of motion. It challenges the expectation of what a solo is.” The overall effect of a Green solo, he adds, isn’t captured on the notated page. “If you transcribe some Coltrane or Bud Powell,” he says, “you’re going to get a lot of information. If you transcribe Grant’s solos and analyze them, you’re not really going to get a lot. Because the information is not the whole story.” 

One discographical note: If you investigate this music, be sure to listen to the CD release that adds three bonus tracks recorded at the same gig.  These extra cuts are just as strong as the music on the original LP, and -- unlike some bonus cuts, which can destroy an album's unity -- they integrate perfectly with the music on the original release.  It's not always true, but sometimes more is better.

More Grant Green
I'm partial to Green's live recordings from the 1970s. So, after listening to Alive!, I would point interested listeners in the direction of Live at the Lighthouse (Blue Note, 1972) and Live at Club Mozambique (Blue Note, recorded 1971; released 2006).

Marian McPartland Trio – Ambiance (Halcyon/Jazz Alliance, 1970)

Marian McPartland (p); Michael Moore (b); Jimmy Madison (d); Billy Hart (d, two trks only)

Recorded in July 1970

Marian McPartland hosted Piano Jazz on National Public Radio (NPR) from 1978 to 2011, and it made her one of the most widely recognized names in jazz.  (The show is still the longest-running cultural program to ever air on NPR.)  Ironically, the program had the paradoxical effect of making it easy to take McPartland's artistry for granted.  Her amicable, easy-going on-air persona can come off as someone who's primarily a "media personality," rather than a dedicated artist.  I know that I made that mistake -- until I started listening closely to her music.

McPartland's Ambiance precedes her involvement with Piano Jazz by nearly a decade, and her profile was much lower at that time.  From 1953 to 1962, McPartland had hosted a trio at the Hickory House in Manhattan.  The personnel in trio varied, but the most famous incarnation featured bassist Bill Crow and drummer Joe Morello.  After the Hickory House engagement ended, McPartland work briefly with Benny Goodman.  But her modern playing style was off-putting to Goodman, so the gig didn't last long.  In the latter half of the 1960s, as work became more difficult for McPartland to find, she expanded her activities to include jazz education, music reviewing (for Downbeat, 1966 to 1969), and a first foray into radio in 1966 with a program called A Delicate Balance. (McPartland subsequently gave one of her LPs this same title.)  Finding little or no opportunities to record her music, McPartland also made the decision to form her own music label, Halcyon Records, in partnership with Sherman Fairchild and Hank O'Neal.

McPartland's first Halcyon release, Interplay (recorded 1969; released 1970), is a duo LP with bassist Linc Millman.  For those who are only familiar with McPartland's subsequent Concord recordings, the intensity and freedom of this music may come as a surprise.  McPartland was incorporating elements of the avant-garde into her music, and this trend continued on her second Halcyon release, Ambiance.

Even more than Interplay, Ambiance stands apart from most of McPartland's discography for its freedom.  But, for all its freedom, this music isn't difficult; even when it's "out," the music is suffused with a relaxed lyricism and beauty. McPartland wrote the album's liner notes, and I'd like to quote them at length, because I think she articulates the appeal of this music more eloquently than I ever could.

"We all felt very relaxed in the intimate setting of Sherman Fairchild's house.  Sherman himself supervised the date in a casual, easy-going way, looking in on us every now and then to see how we were doing, making encouraging observations about the music as he heard the various playbacks. 

It was a sheer pleasure listening to each other, exchanging ideas, getting outside, and inside of each piece -- everything we did seemed to come off well. 

To me, playing this freely means discipline, and empathy with the other players, so that no one 'takes over.' Sometimes I might draw the thread of an idea from Mike, and interweave it into a pattern of my own, relinquishing it to Jimmy when he starts a contrasting rhythmic figure, so that there is a constant shift of emphasis and a flowing through of ideas from one to another. 

Mike thought that everyone played quite differently on this session. 'We were freer and looser than in a club,' he said, 'and this has never happened to me before on a record date. Everything was relaxed, light, and happy.' And it really was."

The only thing that I would add about this delightful music is that everyone should keep an ear open for drummer Jimmy Madison, who plays on nine of the album's eleven tracks. I first became aware of Madison's excellent drumming on Jack Walrath's terrific and unjustly overlooked LP Wholly Trinity (Muse, 1988), a trio date featuring the trumpeter and bassist Chip Jackson.  As on that LP, Madison's contributions to Ambiance are something special.

More Marian McPartland
Along with the two albums described above, two more of McPartland's Halcyon releases stand out.  Marian McPartland Plays The Music Of Alec Wilder (Halcyon, 1980) is one of finest LPs dedicated to this unique composer of such singular songs.  I would also recommend The Maestro and Friend (Halcyon, 1973), a duo LP with violinist Joe Venuti.  Lastly, my favorite McPartland release on the label where she spend the majority of her career is A Portrait of Marian McPartland (Concord, 1979), a perfectly balanced LP that features superb saxophone and flute work by Jerry Dodgion. 

Bobby Hutcherson featuring Harold Land – San Francisco (Blue Note, 1971)

Bobby Hutcherson (vib, mar, perc); Harold Land (ts, fl, oboe); Joe Sample (p, el p); John Williams (b, el b); Mickey Roker (d)

Recorded on July 15, 1970

In the latter half of the 1960s, Bobby Hutcherson partnered with Harold Land to form the Bobby Hutcherson-Harold Land Quintet.  (In some cases, they were billed as the Harold Land-Bobby Hutcherson Quintet.)  The band toured and performed as a unit, but they never released an album under that particular moniker.  Instead, Hutcherson released a series of albums on Blue Note with Land serving as a sideman, and Land likewise released albums in his name on Cadet and Mainstream with Hutcherson playing a supporting role. Even though I think of the Hutcherson-Land Quintet as one of the great bands of their day, I think many (most?) jazz fans don't necessarily think of them as a unit.  

Another factor that may have impacted the quintet's long-term reputation: Blue Note didn't release two of their finest recordings until more than a decade had passed.  The two LPs (both released in Hutcherson's name) -- Spiral (rec. 1968; rel. 1979) and Medina (rec. 1969, rel. 1980) are among the band's finest.  Coincidentally, these two LPs are also the first Bobby Hutcherson recordings that captured my ear. (Blue Note released both LPs on a single CD in 1998.)  This is the music that made me love Harold Land's tenor work, and it made such an impact that I came to regard Bobby Hutcherson as one of my all-time musical favorites, regardless of genre. In fact, Hutcherson's music so thoroughly captured my imagination that I eventually created a fairly extensive web site in his honor. Even though I haven't updated the site in more than ten years, it's still available. You can view it here.

When I developed that site, I tried to write brief synopses for each of Hutcherson's records. I didn't want them to be "reviews"; instead, I wanted them to be personal responses to the music.  But Hutcherson recorded very prolifically (as a leader and as a sideman), and I never finished writing all of them. In fact, I didn't write anything about Hutcherson and Land's collaborative effort, San Francisco. That said, I did give the album a 4-and-a-half star rating (relative to Hutcherson overall output, not some Platonic 5-star ideal).  That assessment still rings true.  If anything, I think even more of the record now than I did then.

If the earlier records like Medina and Spiral pushed boundaries, they still were easily recognizable as "conventional jazz," even "Blue Note jazz."  I think San Francisco is different.  It sounds like they were very deliberately trying to move in new and creative directions.  They messed with new forms, with unusual harmonies, with different sounds.  But I don't want to overstate the case; the music isn't entirely new.  The album opens with Joe Sample's "Goin' Down South," a groover that also appears on the The Crusaders Pass the Plate (Chisa, 1971).  But Hutcherson and Land elevate the music to another level.

For me, the spiritual heart of the album is "Procession."  I'm not a musician, and I can't really describe exactly what happens here.  You'll just have to take my word for it and listen for yourself.  I think it's some of the most wonderful, moving music these musical giants ever recorded.

Look for more from both Bobby Hutcherson and Harold Land later in the survey.   

Lee Morgan – Live at the Lighthouse (Blue Note, 1971)

Lee Morgan (tr, flgn); Bennie Maupin (ts, fl, b cl); Harold Mabern (p); Jymie Merritt (el b); Mickey Roker (d)

Recorded on July 10 - 12, 1970

Originally issued as 2 LPs; subsequently reissued as a 3-CD set with extensive bonus tracks (Blue Note, 1996).

Tonight's blog entry is going to be short.  I just drove my daughter back to her college, and I'm now sitting in her dorm room at her desk.  She's anxious to watch "The Bachelor," so I need to get going. Plus, I have a long drive home home ahead of me this evening.

I'll try to update this post later.  Suffice it to say that this music is tremendous!  The worst part about hearing this music today is that we now know it would be the last LPs issued during Lee Morgan's tragically short lifetime.

More to come shortly.

[ ... ]

A few more thoughts:

Morgan's music from The Lighthouse sounds transitional, as if he's feeling his way forward, searching for a new path.  It's clear that Coltrane was an enormous influence on this band.  They were hardly alone in this regard.  If I were ever to write a history of jazz from the 1970s to the present, I would title it Jazz After Coltrane.  Trane's influence has been incalculable -- and it was especially ubiquitous in the years immediately following his death in 1967.

Regardless of the place the band was coming from, they are thrilling to hear. Morgan's jaw-dropping skills are still present, but they're re-contextualized.  Instead of his typical outward exuberance, his sounds is more inwardly focused, glowing and intense.  In some regards, Bennie Maupin steals the show.  He plays tenor on three of the four long cuts, and he's on fire!  On "Neophilia" ["Love of the New"], Maupin breaks out his ominous, rumbling bass clarinet.  It may be the strongest cut on the original 2-LP release.  Both Harold Mabern and Mickey Roker play furiously.  One can't help but hear echoes of Coltrane's quartet with McCoy and Elvin. The bassist Jymie Merritt composed half of the album's cuts, and his propulsive playing keeps the band flying.

The 3-CD set is fun to hear, but -- as a fan of "albums" -- I must say that the original four cut double-LP had a greater sense of narrative and cohesion.  If you're coming to this music for the first time, I'd recommend creating a playlist that mirrors the original album's four-song sequence.  It makes the music more approachable; it tells a better story.  After you've assimilated those four LP-side-long compositions, you can move on to the extra music.

For more details about the life and violent death of Lee Morgan, I would also recommend the 2016 documentary I Called Him Morgan.  The film portrays the complex relationship between the trumpeter and his common-law wife Helen Morgan, who fatally shot him outside Slugs' Saloon in New York City on February 19, 1972. 

Dexter Gordon with Junior Mance – At Montreux (Prestige, 1985)

Dexter Gordon (ts); Junior Mance (p); Martin Rivera (b); Oliver Jackson (d)

Recorded on June 18, 1970

Like a handful of others, this LP was one that I immediately knew I would include in this survey.  Dexter recorded prolifically throughout the decade, but I discovered At Montreux while I was making my first forays into jazz.  I listened to music over and over and over again.  Along with Dexter’s album Go, this was the music that made me a Dexter Gordon fan.  And Dexter’s was one of the first voices in jazz that I immediately recognized and loved.

In this album’s liner notes, Michael Cuscuna tells us that Dexter traveled to the 1970 Montreux Jazz Festival as a single.  This quartet performance, co-led by Junior Mance, was captured immediately after Mance’s trio had performed their set.  Engineers from Atlantic, the label with whom Mance was signed at the time, recorded Mance’s trio set, and the tapes kept rolling when Dexter joined them on stage.  The music remained unreleased for fifteen years, until Atlantic licensed the music to Prestige and they released the LP in 1985.  (Mance’s set has never officially been released, although “grey market” versions are now available.)  The long delay until the music saw the light of day is no indicator of its quality, which is fabulous.

As you might imagine, Dexter sounds inspired on this set.  What a sound he makes with the tenor saxophone!  It’s big as a house, cavernous!  Yet so swinging and effortless!  And Junior Mance and his trio are perfect in support.  The album opens with one of Dexter’s trademark tunes, “Fried Bananas.”  They also play two standards, Ellington’s “Sophisticated Ladies” and an epochal “Body and Soul” (another Gordon specialty), as well two Monk pieces, “Rhythm A Ning” and “Blue Monk.”  Mance plays the Monk pieces with aplomb.  It’s also enjoyable to compare Mance’s take on Monk here with his collaborations with Johnny Griffin & “Lockjaw” Davis on their 1961 LP Lookin’ at Monk (Jazzland/OJC).  (Perhaps it’s fun to me because I discovered both LPs around the same time.  Years ago, I remember making a mental note to myself, “That Junior Mance guy sounds great!  So bluesy and such a different take on Monk!”)  The CD release also include a bonus track, a striking version Gordon’s composition “The Panther.”  

Stay tuned for more from Dexter Gordon later in the survey.

Rusty Bryant – Soul Liberation (Prestige, 1970)

Rusty Bryant (ts, as); Virgil Jones (tr); Melvin Sparks (g); Charles Earland (org); Idris Muhammad (d)

Recorded on June 15, 1970

Reissued on Bryant’s Legends of Acid Jazz, Vol. 1 (Prestige, 1996)

My wife and I drove to Athens today to visit a friend.  As we went down the road, we listened to Soul Liberation and talked about the music.  Since I was driving, my wife was kind enough to jot down some notes from our discussion.  What fun to listen to such a groovy record with my best friend in the world!  Here are a few things that we noticed.

The album opens with Rusty Bryant’s version of “Cold Duck Time,” composed by Eddie Harris.  The sidemen are all Prestige soul-jazz stalwarts.  After the opening chorus, Bryant launches into his solo.  It grabs you by the throat immediately.  BAM!!!  I love the Jacquet-like growl in Bryant’s tone.  So soulful!

The second cut is “The Ballad of Oren Bliss,” a tender and bluesy ballad that's full of weariness and pain.  The way that Bryant performs this song reminds me of something I once heard Emmylou Harris discuss.  It’s a paradox that the most powerfully affecting songs sometimes require the performer to hold back a little.  Too much emotion can overwhelm the song and the listener.  Bryant walks that line beautifully here.  “Oren Bliss” is one of the album’s high points.

Melvin Sparks is the hero of “Lou Lou,” the album’s third cut.  He lays down a superb solo that moves in unexpected directions.

The unison horn parts of “Soul Liberation,” the fourth cut on the album, reminded us of Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind.”  The band immediately lays down a delicious, swinging, day-in-the-city groove.  But when each soloist comes forward, the musical intensity ratchets up dramatically.  This gives the music a sense of expansion and contraction, of dynamism and vitality.  Again, the idea of “holding something back” before an explosive break makes the music even more visceral and exciting.  “Soul Liberation” is another high-water mark on this stone-classic of soul-jazz.

The album wraps up with the gospel-toned piece, “Freeze Dried Soul,” bringing the album to a churchy conclusion.  Rusty Bryant preaches his sermon well, and all the others do their part.  Melvin Sparks again astonishes here with a wonderful and inventive solo.

Bob Porter produced yesterday’s blog entry, Black Drops by Charles Earland.  He also produced Rusty Bryant’s Soul Liberation.  Not a coincidence.  I really dig soul-jazz produced by Bob Porter—especially the Prestige albums he produced in the late-60s and early-70s.  There’s something special about them.

More Rusty Bryant

Fire Eater (Prestige, 1971) is another powerful Bryant LP that’s easy to recommend.  Along with Bryant’s soulful sax work, the recording features amazing organ playing by Bill Mason (on Side 1) and Leon Spencer, Jr. (on Side 2).  The LP was released in digital format on Bryant’s Legends of Acid Jazz, Volume 2 (Prestige, 1996).