Basra (Pete La Roca, 1965)

Pete La Roca, drums

Joe Henderson, tenor saxophone

Steve Kuhn, piano

Steve Swallow, bass

There are many great rhythm sections in jazz, and many of the greatest came from the 1950's and 1960's. However, one great rhythm section that wasn't recorded nearly enough was the team of pianist Steve Kuhn, bassist Steve Swallow, and drummer Pete La Roca. Granted, La Roca and Swallow did work together frequently, and Kuhn and Swallow formed a musical partnership lasting into this century. However, there were only three albums recorded by all three men together. One was a trio album under Kuhn's name titled Three Waves - the other two, which I will be reviewing here, were Sing Me Softly of the Blues by Art Farmer and this album, Basra, the first of Pete La Roca's three albums as leader. Incidentally, La Roca, born Pete Sims in 1938, acquired the name La Roca when playing timbales in a Latin band in New York for six years.

Pete La Roca's first ounce of jazz fame may have been his 1957-1959 stint with Sonny Rollins, leading to a recording credit for a few matinee tracks on Rollins' A Night at the Village Vanguard. As the 1960's started, La Roca was also involved in a brief incarnation of John Coltrane's quartet; it was here that La Roca would meet pianist Steve Kuhn, with whom he formed a lasting friendship and musical connection. After their time with Coltrane, La Roca and Kuhn played in a trio with famed bassist Scott LaFaro, known for his work with the great Bill Evans. La Roca would also become friends with bassist and composer Steve Swallow early in the decade, playing in trumpeter Art Farmer's quartet with Jim Hall on guitar. Swallow recalls when they first met, in an interview with Ethan Iverson:

"I met Pete La Roca on a Don Ellis gig in Queens. Jaki Byard was the pianist, and afterwards, Jaki would always tease me, ‘I was there the night you fell in love.’ The very first beat, it was love at first hit. After that, Pete and I were inseparable. We had a solemn pact to recommend each other for gigs; we also shared a room on tour, did drugs together, and studied the world."

For this album, La Roca's only album for Blue Note (he clashed heavily with producer Alfred Lion), he assembled his close friends Kuhn and Swallow, as well as tenor sax giant Joe Henderson. While La Roca had played with Henderson before, neither Swallow or Kuhn really knew him. Nonetheless, as Swallow states, "Joe was utterly remarkable and aced the recording." Indeed, this is probably one of Henderson's most fiery, unchained, and utterly weird recordings. With his 1963 debut album Page One (on which La Roca played), he had already established a truly unique voice on his instrument, which would stay consistent throughout his life. Consistency aside, Henderson's forte is surprise and the unexpected. His best solos involve sudden, inspired changes of gear between anything from the blues to bebop to angularities to pure noise, all contained in a neat, asymmetrical package. On this album, he gets ample space to stretch out on some long yet expertly crafted solos.

The first track, Ernesto Lecuona's Malagueña, made particularly famous by Stan Kenton's version, is given a looser quartet treatment here; one phrase of the melody is used as the basis for a Spanish-esque vamp that lasts nine minutes, and yet it is not at all boring (for me, anyway). From the first utterances of Henderson's solo, it is made clear that he aims to please. He runs the gamut from single repeated notes to short motifs, boldly proclaimed overtones to more bombastic distorted noise, modern-sounding bebop lines to simpler melodies. All of this is accomplished with perhaps more than a little glimpse of the man's soul behind his dry, on-the-nose, somewhat ironic tenor sound. An absolute masterpiece.

Not to be outdone, Steve Kuhn then provides an equally bombastic and nearly as genius piano solo. The introduction provides some nice flamenco-esque exposition, but quickly takes a more rhythmically adventurous turn. Kuhn was known around this time as a more avant-garde pianist; here, he uses the entirety of the piano, from smashing the top octaves to drawing from the very bottom keys. Kuhn also frequently uses groupings of 4 over the waltz time of 3, providing even more rhythmic intensity; throughout, Swallow and especially La Roca keep a tight, yet swirling and responsive waltz time feel to complement Kuhn's animosity. After the melody is played once more, Henderson vamps to a fade out, matching and even exceeding the fervor from his solo. This track is definitely the highlight for me.

The other long track, the titular piece, is another modal vamp, lasting ten minutes. It is one of La Roca's three compositions on the album, and it has a distinct Middle Eastern flair (the piece is titled after a city in Iraq). It starts with a brilliant open bass solo from Steve Swallow, and features another long and equally inspired Henderson solo; this one features some brilliant wailing fits caused by overblowing the saxophone. When the solo ends, La Roca starts a drum solo that isn't as bombastic as the rest of his work on the album, but rather sounds mysterious and foreboding. This veiled effect is helped by the accompaniment of Kuhn and Swallow; Kuhn in particular tosses some great flurries into the mix.

Another La Roca composition, Candu, is a medium-slow blues given energy by La Roca's driving groove. Henderson gets a chance to show his blues influence, delivering a blues-drenched solo without sounding corny or blasé. The highlight is near the end, when he breaks out some high wailing noises somewhat evocative of a blues singer. Kuhn is next, utilizing some typically bluesy piano licks while mixing in an element of discord and intensity. Swallow provides a great solo here as well - along with some great double-stops (playing two strings at once), he quotes from the melody, which is given an entirely different feel by his broad, Mingus-inspired sound on upright. Henderson next trades fours with La Roca, showcasing the drummer's power, as well as his lenience with time.

Steve Swallow recalls the atmosphere when recording:

"Basra has great soloing and a great groove, but what is behind all of that is Pete’s insistence on detail. Like a good performance by a Shakespearean actor, the effort behind that record is unseen. It’s extremely artful. It’s very much Pete’s album. Pete was insistent on countless details within that music. Rehearsals were grueling and lengthy. We seldom made it through a tune without him stopping and correcting us, to the point that the rest of us were on the verge of fleeing the room. It was terrible to rehearse with him, but the results were worth it."

An example of this attention to detail is La Roca's other piece on the album, Tears Come From Heaven. This is truly unique as jazz pieces go; there is a distinct contrast between the tempo (fast, medium-fast) and the emphasis on mood and atmosphere. This is clearly seen in Kuhn's genius piano intro, which involves some emotionally fervent clusters. The melody, a masterpiece in simplicity, is played at a slower pace than the rhythm (think Cherokee) and clearly evokes something that can probably never be seen by human eyes. There's definitely an element of spiritual mystery to the mood of the piece. The framework of the piece is open enough for Henderson to launch into a rapid solo, which features some odd rhythmic displacement as well as some more honking. Kuhn then begins an even more rhythmic piano solo, once again showcasing his original piano voice, as well as his incredible rapport with Swallow and La Roca. The piano solo then beckons La Roca to start a drum solo, featuring some extra color from the piano. This is undoubtedly La Roca's shining hour on the album, as he unleashes all of his power and fervor on the drum kit, especially the cymbals and the powerfully-recorded snare. Overall, this piece is a definitive artistic statement and stands next to Malagueña as a standout track.

The ballad of the set, John LaTouche and Jerome Moross' Lazy Afternoon, is given a delicate and definitive rendering by Joe Henderson. Despite this, the main feature here is a more introspective and impressionistic Steve Kuhn, taking a break from his harsher antics from earlier in the album. While in a more laid-back ballad setting, Kuhn is nonetheless equally prodding and insistent. Swallow recalls a take of the piece that would have sounded much different, and what the recording engineer, Rudy Van Gelder, thought of it:

"We were in full flight, mid-take, with our eyes closed, when Kuhn reached inside the piano to pluck a chord. There were immediate loud and abrupt noises over the P.A. Rudy came running out to the room in the middle of the take and angrily told Kuhn, ‘If you touch those strings again, this date is over.’ We were all sitting there pinned to our seats with our eyes bugged out."

The final piece is actually a historic one: this recording of Steve Swallow's Eiderdown was not only the first recording of the piece, but of a Swallow composition in general. It's one of my favorite Swallow pieces because while it has a darker hue, it is not necessarily sad, and lends itself to more of a chill, relaxing vibe. It's particularly good listening for winter. While not as extensive as the other pieces (each player only gets one chorus), it is more easy-going and each player gets room to have his say. Henderson delivers a more subtle, yet equally driving solo, and Kuhn sounds probably the closest to Bill Evans as he gets on this album, while still keeping his own personal stamps. Swallow's bass solo is probably the standout one on this track, featuring a keen sense of swing and a fluidity throughout the whole range of the instrument.

On the whole, this album is another underrated gem. Aside from being one of Joe Henderson's finest recordings, it's also a great document of a rhythm section that isn't documented nearly enough. It's also a fitting showcase for the brilliant artistry of the undersung Pete La Roca, both as a drummer and a composer. Much of this material would be revisited later; Lazy Afternoon would be reused by Joe Henderson on his album Power to the People, and Eiderdown would be revisited by Kuhn and Swallow on a more obscure trio recording, Childhood is Forever. (Incidentally, Bill Evans recorded probably the best known version of Eiderdown in 1977 with Lee Konitz and Warne Marsh.) However, the renditions here are just as definitive and it's a shame this album didn't get as much recognition upon its release. There are little to no missteps, and the entire band shows great chemistry. An absolute masterpiece. 10/10.

Track listing:
1. Malagueña
2. Candu
3. Tears Come From Heaven
4. Basra
5. Lazy Afternoon
6. Eiderdown

My next review will be on Sing Me Softly Of The Blues, an Art Farmer recording featuring this same rhythm section.

References/further reading:

Ethan Iverson's interview with Steve Swallow, April 2021

This is invaluable jazz history. Swallow provides excellent commentary, and we get insight into the friendship between the two men.

The Story Behind the Album: Basra by Pete La Roca

This article was very beneficial in doing research for this post. It's also fascinating taking a look at La Roca's varied career, even within a span of about ten years.

Eastern Rebellion (Cedar Walton, 1976)

Cedar Walton, piano

George Coleman, tenor saxophone

Sam Jones, bass

Billy Higgins, drums

First off, I love the recording quality on this album. This is a prime example of a 1970's jazz recording: everything is captured with a super crisp, direct and intimate sound, and the audio sounds slightly sharp, as if being played on vinyl. The piano and drums especially are recorded very faithfully. Overall, it just adds an extra layer of enjoyment and comfort to these proceedings.

This was the first album recorded under the band name Eastern Rebellion; later incarnations featured other giants like Bob Berg on tenor and Curtis Fuller on trombone. The only constants through the years were Cedar Walton and Billy Higgins, and their rapport is made clear on this original album with the original incarnation of the band, featuring George Coleman. What's special about this album is that all the players had been given significant jazz experience; Walton had been in the Jazz Messengers, Coleman had played with Max Roach and Miles Davis, Sam Jones played in Cannonball Adderley's group, and Billy Higgins was everywhere from Ornette Coleman's controversial group to soul jazz hit The Sidewinder. All four men knew what they were doing by this point, and the result is five long tracks that all bristle with drive, energy, and just plain fun.

I have seriously been sleeping on George Coleman's playing. I first heard him on Herbie Hancock's Maiden Voyage album and wasn't particularly blown away by him. I later heard him on My Funny Valentine and Four & More, two Miles Davis albums from the 1960's (which also heavily featured Herbie). I respected the ease with which he barreled through the rapid-fire changes, but realized (in part due to Miles himself) that Miles' band was about trying to play things you don't know, not just sailing through with licks and things. A few months ago, I next heard Coleman's playing on the Elvin Jones album Coalition, from 1970. I was considerably more impressed, since his playing had matured a little bit, and he was in a more open context, with only bass, drums, congas, and fellow tenorman Frank Foster.

Then, I came across this album. I can now fully appreciate George Coleman after hearing this recording. His playing is just the right balance of restraint and energy for the band and Walton's compositions. On the opening track, Walton's Bolivia, Coleman masterfully spins a musical tale that is not without twists and turns; he takes full advantage of the contrast between the dense harmonies of the first section and the long, drawn out modal vamp of the second section. The ending is especially genius, turning runs of lilting arpeggios into a sudden halt right on the downbeat. I would like to stress that despite Coleman's obvious skill, what's more apparent here is his musical prowess. His technical skill simply allows him more ways to create a strong musical statement, which he does here with flying colors. Contrast this to a later recording of this tune with the same band, but with Bob Berg playing tenor. While Berg has obvious technical and developmental prowess, his solo is more about exhaustive Coltrane-esque runs and intensity (it lasts about five minutes, compared to Coleman's two and a half). While I do really enjoy Berg's solo, Coleman's is far more subtle and musical, and nowhere near as flashy.

The one cover in this set, John Coltrane's exquisite ballad Naima, is given a fresh energy through a slightly more up-tempo Latin groove. Coleman and Walton both provide excellent solos that maintain the original beauty of the piece, while getting the chance to expand over a faster tempo. Walton in particular exploits his ability to immediately switch between chordless, uptempo bop lines and the most dense of block chords, and back again. His style is probably best described as dynamic, full of stylistic contrast and yet singularly unified. I have heard him often imitated, especially through the influence of his dense harmonies and unaccompanied lines that sink down into the low register of the piano.

5/4 Thing, a tune Coleman previously wrote and recorded with Elvin Jones on Coalition, is featured here. It features the longest stretch of lyricism on the album, with a minute-and-a-half long rubato opening played only by Coleman and Walton. As soon as the intro's done, the rhythm section heads into a clever take on the typical 5/4 clave (think Take Five or the Mission Impossible theme) featuring a robotic piano vamp. The piano gives this tune a more lush demeanor than on Coalition, which features no chordal instrument like piano or guitar. Coleman stretches out, and on his last chorus he breaks out some distortion-like noises on the top end of the horn's range, showing evidence of a Joe Henderson influence. After Walton, drummer Billy Higgins provides a genius solo, limiting himself by not straying from the 5/4 clave.

Despite being a somewhat collaborative group (all four members feature prominently on this album), Eastern Rebellion was basically spearheaded by Cedar Walton, and as a result, he was its primary composer. While Bolivia probably has the most staying power from this set, there are some other gems from his pen as well. Bittersweet is anything but, as an uptempo bebop blues head that evokes the spirit of Charlie Parker (which is helped further by some decidedly bebop accompaniment from Billy Higgins). 

An interesting decision made is that the first solo is taken by bassist Sam Jones (Edit: this is actually a Sam Jones tune). I know Jones mostly because of his sideman role on Cannonball Adderley's Somethin' Else, famous for featuring Miles Davis in a rare appearance as sideman. Outside of that, I don't know his work very well, but by 1976 he was definitely a seasoned musician. His solo contributions on Bittersweet and elsewhere on the album are solid and creative; on this track, especially, he shows his mastery of the bebop idiom while given the advantage of amplification on upright bass. Billy Higgins is also given solo space here, and he proves himself once again to be a master of his instrument. His work on this album, like Jones', results from his many years of experience prior to this recording; while not as flashy as other drummers, Higgins has a keen sense of time and knows his way around the kit. The result is some especially solid drum work, helped by the beautiful stereo recording (featuring an especially crispy snare drum).

The collaborative nature of this group is apparent on Walton's other piece, Mode for Joe, originally recorded on Joe Henderson's 1968 album of the same name. All four members of the band get a turn at soloing, as well as accompanying the soloists as part of the form. Walton makes clear his penchant for faster tempos, creating another solo gem next to the many on this album. Higgins provides some more crispy snare drum work, as well as some genius use of the cymbals. Coleman gets a chance to stretch further out and provides an excellent, driving solo; he also exploits his Joe Henderson influence, while creating more of a tribute than a mere imitation. Jones provides a solo that is brief, but full of beautiful contrast between spare notes and more up-tempo lines.

On the whole, this album is the result of four seasoned musicians getting together and having a good time. Their wide musical experience as well as tremendous rapport together raises this album quite a bit above average. While Walton sparkles and declares with flying colors on piano, the standout soloist for me is definitely George Coleman. His unique, grounded yet fluttery voice on tenor permeates this whole album, providing some excellent solos with a few twists (especially on Bittersweet and Mode for Joe). Overall, though, the entire band is full of energy and excitement, and this album shows it from start to finish. 8/10.

Track listing:

1. Bolivia

2. Naima

3. 5/4 Thing

4. Bittersweet

5. Mode for Joe

Criss Cross (Thelonious Monk, 1963)

Thelonious Monk, piano

Charlie Rouse, tenor saxophone

John Ore, bass

Frankie Dunlop, drums

Now on to a real jazz album. And who better to look at than the legendary, enigmatic Thelonious Monk? To say that there is no other musician like Monk would be beating a dead horse, but it's a fact. Monk achieved the seemingly simple task of fully translating his personality into his music. Yet, to those around him, his personality was nothing less than an enigma. Stories abound of Monk's odd behaviors, as well as the fact that he suffered from mental illness, especially near the end of his life. However, that should not be viewed as the reason his music is so off-kilter. Monk, among other things, was simply a very playful musician; pretty much all of his music reflects that in some way, whether it be a lilting bounce, off-centered yet sing-able melodies, or just plain mischief sometimes.

I usually don't listen to Monk's Columbia albums from the 60's, as by that point his repertoire had mostly run dry. He only wrote about 100 compositions in his life and very few new ones came about on his Columbia albums; most of his other pieces had already been recorded at that point. However, I thought I would give this one a chance because it has a cool cover design (because why not). When I first started playing the opening track, Hackensack, I instantly regretted any thoughts I had of such things. It's just so much fun! Other such gems on this album include the bright-sounding Eronel, the ecstatic Think of One, and the delightfully nutty anthem Rhythm-A-Ning.

Two standout pieces on this recording are Crepuscule with Nellie and the title track. The piece Criss Cross, while sounding jarringly modern and abstract, was actually written in the early 1940's. Along with Trinkle, Tinkle, this could be ranked as one of Monk's strangest tunes. The melody is jaunting and spare, using two basic motifs, and the bridge has six bars instead of the usual eight. Think of it as a Brothers Grimm nursery rhyme; pure, swinging fun with a slightly darker hue. Crepuscule with Nellie had been recorded multiple times before, but this proves to be one of the more creative renditions of it. The piece is often known as "Monk's concerto", written for his wife, Nellie. It's a through-composed piece with no solos, just the melody played once or twice. The creativity of this arrangement comes in who's playing what in the melody; drummer Frankie Dunlop also adds a nice crisp accompaniment, giving it a newly fresh and vibrant energy.

Of course, all the compositions are great. However, something I realized about this era of Monk's discography is that he was given a chance to assemble a working band; this way, these musicians could fully internalize the music like few had before. Bassist Larry Gales and drummer Ben Riley would form the band's better known incarnation, but John Ore and Frankie Dunlop provide fine accompaniment for this and other albums Monk first recorded for Columbia. Drummer Dunlop in particular provides a wonderful spark behind the proceedings and interacts particularly well with Monk's rhythmic clusters.

However, it was tenor saxophonist Charlie Rouse who would prove to have the most lasting effect in Monk's group, staying with him from 1959 to 1970. I didn't really mind Rouse's playing before, I just thought it wasn't anything special. Listening to this record, though, I realized it didn't need to be special or groundbreaking or anything like that. Rouse's solos perfectly complement the leader's compositions and don't stray too far into overindulgence, while still sounding individual and interesting. I further realized that many great bandleaders had someone who transcended the role of sideman to become more "partner" or "alter ego". Miles Davis had Wayne Shorter. John Coltrane had McCoy Tyner. Charles Mingus had multiple such collaborators, among them Jimmy Knepper and George Adams. With Rouse, Monk found a perfect interpreter and musical foil.

While Rouse's playing has been criticized for becoming too routine during this period, there are some gems in his playing, especially on earlier Columbia albums like this one. Generally, taking on one Monk composition is no mean feat, so Rouse should be commended for dedication alone. Some standout Rouse solos on this album (for me, anyway) include those on Hackensack, Think of One, and the genius interpretation of Criss Cross. In all these solos, he references the melody of the tune in some way (one of Monk's key musical virtues), but also adds interest beyond simply quoting the melody, while not drawing too much away from the compositions.

Interestingly, Rouse lays out for both of the covers on this album: Tea for Two and Don't Blame Me. The former is a delightfully disjointed romp, giving the old standard fresh energy. Despite the trio setting, we get a glimpse of Monk's stride piano roots (not unlike Erroll Garner in a trio setting); this might be part of what makes Monk's piano playing work so well on covers of standards. There's a certain timelessness in his playing, a contrast of futuristic and old-fashioned; something that can't be accurately described in words.

That leads me to probably the highlight of this set: Monk's solo rendition of the Jimmy McHugh-Dorothy Fields ballad Don't Blame Me. Ballads probably best showcased Monk the solo pianistic master, especially his own 'Round Midnight and Ruby, My Dear. However, this rendition of Don't Blame Me is just as grand; there is nothing sentimental about Monk's playing, and yet there's something wistful and nostalgic about it. Maybe that's just me, back in high school listening to Monk playing ballads on long car rides with my dad. I do think there's more to it than just plain nostalgia, though. Monk, while a playful and mischievous musician, was also open-minded enough to encompass more than just his tunes into his playing. When listening, I hear a reverence for the old stride masters like James P. Johnson, but also something cubist and disjointed that makes it distinctly Monk. More than anything though, there's an inviting quality and a real human warmth on this track. This is what I feel many people forget about Thelonious Monk: behind the weirdness he so often exhibited was genuine human honesty and excitement in everything he played.

Overall, while this album isn't all that groundbreaking, it doesn't need to be. It's a solid collection of some genius tunes, featuring a band who's really starting to get them down pat. Charlie Rouse offers some solid contributions, and of course, Monk himself is as inspiring as always, especially on his solo number. While very average, the presence of Monk and his tunes makes it feel like more, and the whole set has a very fun and inviting atmosphere. 7/10.

Track listing:

1. Hackensack

2. Tea for Two

3. Criss Cross

4. Eronel

5. Rhythm-A-Ning

6. Don't Blame Me

7. Think of One

8. Crepuscule with Nellie

Lofty Fake Anagram (Gary Burton, 1967)

 

Gary Burton, vibes

Larry Coryell, guitar

Steve Swallow, bass

Bob Moses, drums

For a first review, this feels kind of odd, but I can't seem to get this album out of my head lately. While I love a good piano, guitar, or even both, there's something about the combination of vibes and guitar that this group employs. I love the sound of vibes, and Gary Burton certainly delivers (and then some), but Larry Coryell's guitar sound is absolutely incredible. It's the perfect combination of jazz and rock, and yet always seems consistent. It's a shame not that many people talk about Coryell (at least that I've heard) - his stuff with this group in particular is magnificent.

Anyway, on the the music. The program itself is consistently jazz-rock, but contains some things out of left field as well. More on that later. Now, the phrase jazz-rock sounds very well-worn as of modern times, but in 1967 it was kind of a revolutionary thing. In fact, some claim that this group beat Miles Davis to jazz fusion by two years (In A Silent Way would not be recorded or released until 1969). While there is merit in this argument, there is a major difference between the two artists. While Miles was interested in funk music by the likes of James Brown and Sly Stone, this album (and the group) sounds more like what would have happened if the Beach Boys were trained jazz musicians. In general, much more easy-going and quirky yet still very disciplined and rooted in the jazz tradition.

The first two tracks were written by Burton's associate Mike Gibbs, whose work I need to listen to more. June the 15th, 1967 is my favorite of the two - it's a solid opener, with a good balance of a simple, sing-able rock melody and some very jagged, atonal (and not very sing-able) lines played by vibes and guitar. Feelings and Things has a slower pace, and is absolutely haunting. The overall composition blends rock harmonies with very ambient jazz stylings, overall creating a hauntingly beautiful experience.

Another exquisite ballad, I'm Your Pal, is contributed by the great bassist and composer Steve Swallow. The tune is really more of a song; the harmonies are simpler and complement the melody, beautiful and hopeful but not cheesy. Furthermore, the melody is used as a launching pad for some outstanding solos from Burton, Coryell, and Swallow himself (on acoustic bass; he had not yet switched to electric). Another slow piece on the album was composed by Swallow's frequent lover: another composing giant in jazz, Carla Bley. Mother of the Dead Man is from her longer work A Genuine Tong Funeral, which Burton recorded with Bley, his quartet, and a wind and brass section soon after this album. The tone is significantly more somber, with more subtle and ambiguous harmonies. Coryell's exquisite guitar solo combines blues inflections with heart-wrenching vibrato that evokes Spanish flamenco.

Three of Burton's compositions appear on this album: Lines, The Beach, and Good Citizen Swallow. Lines is played by only vibes and guitar; the interplay between Burton and Coryell is breathtaking and it sounds like they're really enjoying it. The tune is very Americana-sounding music that could be used for an upbeat cowboy chase or a bullfight, and the fast tempo only makes the two musicians' antics more impressive. Not to mention, it hints at the many other duo projects Burton was to pursue in his career, particularly with Chick Corea. Good Citizen Swallow was written for Steve Swallow, who gets an long unaccompanied solo. The track plays like the opening track, albeit slightly more driving and upbeat. This makes up for the fact that Swallow's bass solo, while executed well, lasts for two and a half minutes. Despite that, this is one of my favorites.

My favorite track on this album is probably Burton's other composition, The Beach. While not exactly representative of Burton's playing/composing style, it does represent the entire musical spectrum covered on this album - from The Beach Boys to Ornette Coleman. The playing on this tune is divine for everyone involved, and each player gets his moment. The genius introduction features Steve Swallow rapidly thumping the bass's lowest string as an imitation of surf rock players like Dick Dale, or even the drum intro to Wipeout. Burton takes off after the theme with a freewheeling, imaginative solo that reads something like Debussy on acid. This track probably best showcases the artistic capabilities of drummer Bob Moses, who, at 19, was recording with Burton for the first time on this album. Aside from simply being a solid drummer, he bursts with ideas and colors even as an accompanist, which is best showcased at the beginning of Burton's solo. However, my favorite part would be Coryell's guitar solo. It transitions seamlessly, aggressively and ominously as Burton is finishing his solo. From there, Coryell constantly shifts from skittering to sprawling to dissonant chords that sound more at home in a Captain Beefheart faux-blues song to ingenious use of the main theme to cue the end of the solo.

Now, I'd like to touch on the two odd spots on this album: one breaks it, one makes it. The one that breaks it (only slightly) is the closing track, Steve Swallow's General Mojo Cuts Up. It's more of an experiment in soundscapes that features some odd electric piano sounds (possibly by Swallow). The track succeeds in what it's trying to do; the musicians are too high-caliber for it to be otherwise. As an experimental soundscape thing, I think it's very interesting. However, it is completely off-kilter and does not fit with the general vibe of this album at all. The ambient, improvised nature of the track causes it to drag in comparison with the snappy fast pieces, and it just feels out of place with the other slower ones.

The other oddity on this album is a cover of Duke Ellington's Fleurette Africaine. Not only does this work better with the album in general, but it also gives a superb showcase for Burton's vibes. It does seem very out of left field, considering the other repertoire being used; however, the band does a great job of interpreting this beautiful, melancholy piece and giving it great dynamic nuance.

Overall, this album is an underrated gem and gives a glimpse of a very underrated group. The recording quality isn't as high as Burton's later albums for ECM especially, but if anything, it adds to the energy brimming from this album. While there are some slower, somber moments, the whole thing is basically four guys who love jazz having fun and enjoying each other's company. Lofty Fake Anagram, aside from being accessible and easily listenable, is also immensely enjoyable. Solid 9/10.

Track listing:

1. June the 15th, 1967

2. Feelings and Things

3. Fleurette Africaine

4. I'm Your Pal

5. Lines

6. The Beach

7. Mother of the Dead Man

8. Good Citizen Swallow

9. General Mojo Cuts Up

Welcome to No Wrong Notes!

Hello! My name is Loren Broaddus and I am a musician and artist with a passion for jazz, among other things. I frequently listen to music, so I figured I should give myself an outlet for sharing my thoughts about what I listen to, even if nobody reads it. This will probably entail album reviews, as well as more general meanderings.

The name "No Wrong Notes" comes from a quote by the great Thelonious Monk: "The piano ain't got no wrong notes." Another famous quote attributed to him (and others) is "Writing about music is like dancing about architecture." Which makes me think we need more ballets about skyscrapers.

In case you missed it, there's a lot of music out there. A lot. I obviously won't be able to cover everything from the time-space continuum, but I feel like I will be posting often. If you are reading and have any suggestions for album reviews, feel free to let me know! If not, then just enjoy what's to come. 

Peace.