Spotlight: Archie Shepp

I'm gonna try something new here, where instead of reviewing a single album (which I'll still try and do), I will be highlighting individual players whose work sticks out to me. I've been hearing a lot of people lately that fit this description, but a recent example of this is, of course, Mr. Archie Shepp. 

I came across an album of his on Spotify the other day, On This Night, and what struck me outside of the obvious intensity of his playing, was how controlled and lyrical it often seemed as well. On this somewhat early date in Mr. Shepp's discography, his compositions are already highly organized, and his titles seem more akin to someone like Charles Mingus than any free jazz player of the time. Perhaps what makes this album great is the sheer fluidity of this music, how it goes from free-for-all to quiet and composed on a dime. This is helped by the stellar musicianship of the great vibist Bobby Hutcherson and various bassists (Henry Grimes, David Izenzon) and drummers (J.C. Moses, Rashied Ali, and appearances by Ed Blackwell on rhythm logs).

If Shepp was only recognized for his saxophone playing, he would probably still be recognized as a legend. However, what truly defines his music is an emphasis on the global civil rights struggle of his time; this reveals itself on this record in Shepp's poem "Malcolm, Malcolm, Semper Malcolm", a tribute to Malcolm X, and the modern classical-influenced title track, featuring a soprano singing a tribute to activist W. E. B. Dubois. Despite the bluster and gusto of Shepp's playing, his gruff saxophone sound reveals his connection to the tradition, harkening back to Coleman Hawkins and Ben Webster. Jazz: The Rough Guide describes Shepp's stance in the music as "curatorial", always with direct ties to black musical history; he basks in the tradition, but never succumbs to it. Even on this early date, song titles such as "The Original Mr. Sonny Boy Williamson" (referencing the eponymous blues musician) reveals Shepp's insight into the "big picture" of black music and culture.

Archie Shepp was born on May 24, 1937 in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. He was raised in Philadelphia and learned piano, clarinet and alto sax; he also studied theatre in college. After gigging around, switching to tenor and relocating to New York City, he landed a gig with the singular and controversial pianist Cecil Taylor. Soon after, he formed the New York Contemporary Five with altoist John Tchicai, bassist Don Moore, drummer J.C. Moses, and eventually, legendary trumpeter and Ornette Coleman collaborator Don Cherry. Despite Shepp's varied musical background, his experimental bend proved him an exponent of the "New Thing" in the public eye; this view of Shepp only increased when he was under the mentorship of the great John Coltrane.

Shepp was among the many younger players Coltrane took under his wing near the end of his life, the most prominent being fellow tenorist Pharoah Sanders; both played on Coltrane's seminal, controversial piece Ascension in 1965. The year before, Shepp released Four For Trane, an astoundingly mature tribute to his mentor featuring some clever, nuanced arrangements of Trane's music, and focused playing from some of the avant-garde giants at the time. On Syeeda's Song Flute, Shepp engages in a duel of sorts with trombonist Roswell Rudd; Mr. Syms features a clever Eastern-tinged introduction and some understated yet powerful soloing from Wayne Shorter's brother, flugelhornist Alan Shorter; the shimmering arrangement of Naima is wonderfully nuanced, and features more intense solo work from Shepp and Rudd; Cousin Mary swings ahead with Shepp and Shorter before featuring alto player John Tchicai, Shepp's Contemporary Five bandmate who also played with him on Coltrane's Ascension. Throughout, the whole thing is anchored by drummer Charles Moffett and another Coltrane veteran, bassist Reggie Workman.

Throughout this entire album, Shepp carries himself immensely well, coming off as a futuristic Coleman Hawkins on surface level, yet also revealing an already-wide breadth of knowledge and an early maturity. He also displays concepts likely inherited from Trane, but nowhere are they more evident (ironically enough) on the only non-Coltrane composition on the album: Shepp's own "Rufus", which fits oddly well with the other pieces. Despite the authorship, it is here that Shepp displays the most noticable influence from Trane in the layers of sound and sheer intensity of his solo; the song's inclusion on the album seems to symbolize Shepp, through Coltrane's graciousness, being handed a torch that he accepts the responsibility of carrying. 

Shepp (left center) and mentor Coltrane, with producer
Bob Thiele (far right) and pianist McCoy Tyner (far left)
looking on.

This is what sets Four for Trane apart from other tribute or cover albums: it displays Shepp's tendency to view the bigger picture, rather than simply blowing through a bunch of covers. Around this time, Shepp was introduced to the work of Malcolm X, who would become a guiding figure for him throughout his career. To add further context, Shepp was also an accomplished playwright, and around this time he finished his play The Communist; this album is a perfect example of coalescing musical material into a narrative like a playwright would for a play. It shows a much deeper attachment to the music despite, as Shepp himself recalls, the album resulting from a marketing tactic:

"It turns out that John had offered the prospect to record to a then-young saxophone player, Byron Allen, and Byron had known Trane through his brother, or something like that, and Trane had offered him the possibility to record for Impulse. Then he met with Bob Thiele, who had this gimmick he would use. He would tell all the new players — 'Well if you are going to take this option to record that Trane has offered you, you’ve got to play all his music.' Which would usually turn most of these avant gardists away. But I had been a student of Coltrane’s music for years, and I really liked his music..."

Despite the business move at play here, one has no idea of this from simply listening to the recording. Unlike other albums produced for the sake of marketing or reaching a wider audience, here Shepp and company take Trane's themes and abstract and stretch them to their limit, all without compromise. Even this early in his career, it shows Shepp is knee-deep in the tradition, while not becoming completely overshadowed by it. This would be continued in such landmark recordings as New Thing at Newport (double billed with Coltrane), Mama Too Tight, and The Magic of Ju-Ju.

Perhaps Shepp's masterpiece is 1972's Attica Blues, which took on a much grander scale more akin to a Motown recording; brass, strings, burning solos, vocals and poetry all combine into a portrait of Shepp as an orchestrator, worldbuilder, and civil rights activist. The album features a variety of musical styles and orchestral colors that give Shepp's perspective on civil rights much more weight. Attica Blues could also be seen as a successful attempt to continue the legacy Shepp started as a free musician, rather than have it dim out as much of the free jazz movement had.

Despite the above statement, from the opening strains the album proves to be quite accessible. The title track could easily be mistaken for an act such as Sly and the Family Stone (incidentally, it's worth noting that this album predates Herbie Hancock's Headhunters by a year). I believe Shepp makes the unusual aesthetic choices he does here in order to grab, and successfully keep, the listener's attention in order to reveal the deeper meaning contained. Aside from the title track, there's "Steam", a two-part track featuring a beautiful vocal melody with some colorful harmonies, later revealing a harder edge with dual violin and soprano sax soloing. "Blues for Brother George Jackson" at first sounds akin to a Mancini film score, but during the solos the percussion adds a shuffling, boiling rock energy. "Quiet Dawn", a tune by trumpeter/composer Cal Massey draws on bossa nova and traditional jazz, and features vocals by Massey's young daughter Waheeda.

This is also another fine example of Shepp the musical playwright, whose skill at crafting a deeply personal narrative is honed further on this album. Besides just music, the album also features poems (invocations) written by drummer Beaver Harris, and many of the other songs have evocative and attention-grabbing lyrics. This turns Attica Blues from an already outstanding collection of music into a narrative both personal and made for a wider public. The time of its release is significant, since it was meant to be a response to the Attica prison riots (Charles Mingus composed one such song of his own), but the message is not inherently political. Nor is it naïve dotings of "why can't everyone just get along?" It is often deeply poetic and profound, such as in "Ballad for a Child", featuring the lyric "what the whole world really needs is a baby's smile." Incidentally, during the same year, Shepp finished a play in collaboration with Massey entitled Lady Day: An American Tragedy, chronicling the life of Billie Holiday. It's fascinating that one of his more known plays surfaced the same year as what many consider his finest musical narrative.

On the other end of the spectrum is Shepp's 1976 live sax trio album Steam, featuring bassist Cameron Brown and drummer Beaver Harris. The chordless trio setting gives Shepp plenty of room to let loose, but it's interesting that most of the tracks are jazz standards like Duke Ellington's "Solitude" and Charlie Parker's "Ah-Leu-Cha". Something that intrigues me about Shepp is how he presents himself; while he donned traditional African clothes early in his career, like many of his peers, nowadays he mostly wears relatively plain, yet suave three- or four-piece suits. I mention that here because this album, Steam, seems to signify Shepp donning his "straightahead" clothes in terms of repertoire. Instead of many avant-players' attempts at playing straight-ahead that are mostly one-off attempts, such as Anthony Braxton's curious In the Tradition albums, Shepp's forays into traditional jazz act as heartfelt tributes that also expand his personal artistic vision. Here, he does not let the changes (or sometimes even forms) dominate how he navigates the tunes. Instead, he charges ahead with a force that colors him tempted to abandon the song altogether, even though he never quite gets there.

The two original tracks are Cal Massey's "A Message from Trane" and Shepp's own "Steam", seen also on Attica Blues and dedicated to Shepp's cousin who was killed in a street fight at age 15. The latter is particularly full of fervor from Shepp, perhaps from its solemn dedication or from more personal musical material. Both tunes serve to highlight that Shepp and his peers are not that far detached from what people are used to hearing; if anything, they are forging a direct continuation of it. Here, his message is made clear by implying that his music is no different from the products of composers as Duke Ellington or Charlie Parker, who themselves were label-defying, boundary-pushing musical adventurers.

The debonair Archie Shepp.

This is what sets Shepp the traditionalist apart from modern neo-traditionalism: his acknowledgement of tradition does not hinder, but rather expands and informs his already-solidified individual voice. This makes it more apparent that what he plays is intrinsically connected to those who came before him, paving the way for new, younger blood in the future. A perfect example of this comes from Shepp's most recent album Let My People Go, a collection of duets with pianist Jason Moran released just last year. If there's anything to be noticed up front about this music, it's that age has done very little to hold Shepp back. His tenor playing, previously evocative of an erupting volcano, has now simmered to boiling lava, still featuring sparks aplenty. Moran proves an able duet partner, showing restraint and thought, but bursting with color when required; he also shares a similar "big-picture" viewpoint with Shepp, having been involved with art galleries and multimedia projects. The particular track I want to look at is the pair's take on Billy Strayhorn's iconic ballad Isfahan.

Before the pair are even shown in this video, the atmosphere is perfectly established by Shepp's breathy, delicate but heavy sound and Moran's sensitive backgrounds. When the pair comes into view it's not at all surprising; from the color palette and cinematography to Shepp's elegant suit and fedora, it's very nearly a tribute to film noir. Musically, both ends deliver a tour-de-force of intimate duet playing with each player serving equal importance. Moran delivers some inspired responses to Shepp's phrases, especially when the heat turns up, and Shepp leaves plenty of space in his playing for Moran to contribute; despite the moments of intensity, neither player is overshadowed by the other. It's also worth mentioning that neither player strays much from the melody; if anything, their music comes from reinterpreting and abstracting it. Throughout, the melody is the constant string that keeps the listener's attention, giving Shepp and Moran plenty of wiggle room for some very inspired moments, especially during Shepp's last turn on the melody.

To sum up, creating this post has increased my respect and admiration for Mr. Shepp. At 84 years old, he is one of the few creative musicians in his age group who has not yet run out of steam. His wide-reaching global/sociopolitical perspective is very inspiring for those who wish to pursue music as a form of storytelling and reflecting the world the way one sees it. Mr. Shepp's playing is also very inspiring to me for its reflection of so many different styles and periods, perhaps suggesting that style is both everything and nothing. Shepp perfectly encapsulates the age-old quote, "be the change you wish to see in the world." I truly hope you find as much inspiration in Mr. Shepp's work as I have.

Epilogue

Mr. Shepp has a very expansive discography, which consists mostly of his own records; hence, what I have highlighted here doesn't begin to capture the many directions his career has taken. Besides the albums I've listed already, here are some more you should check out:

• Archie Shepp + New York Contemporary Five - This is among Shepp's finest early work, featuring him alongside such giants as John Tchicai and Don Cherry.
• The Magic of Ju-Ju - This was the first Shepp album I ever heard. I stumbled across it somehow freshman year of high school and I thought his playing was amazing; now that I better understand it, it's still amazing. Highlights include "Sorry 'Bout That" and the scintillating title track.
• Montreux One - Here is documentation of Shepp's middle-career phase, confronting more straightahead material such as "Lush Life" and his own "U-Jamaa". 
• Hi-Fly (Karin Krog) - Besides vocalist Krog, Shepp is the main soloist and gets co-star billing. This front-line pairing proves to work quite well on such tunes as Shepp's "Steam", Randy Weston's title track, and an old favorite of this blog, Carla Bley's "Sing Me Softly of the Blues".

Furthermore, here are some links to some great interviews with Mr. Shepp that I used in part for this article:

• Archie Shepp: Four for Trane (Rant and Dawdle)
  
• "I'm Constantly Striving": Archie Shepp in Conversation (Tidal)
  

Tropic Appetites (Carla Bley, 1974)

 

Carla Bley - composer, piano, electric piano, clavinet, organ,

marimba, celesta, percussion, recorders, voice

Julie Tippetts - voice

Gato Barbieri (Unidentified Cat) - tenor saxophone

Howard Johnson - tuba, soprano, baritone and bass saxophones,

clarinet, bass clarinet, voice

Michael Mantler - trumpet, valve trombone

Toni Marcus - violin, viola

Dave Holland - acoustic bass, bass guitar, cello

Paul Motian - drums, percussion

This review will likely be half gushing over Carla Bley's compositional and organizational genius, and half gushing over the undersung talent of tenor saxophonist Gato Barbieri. Besides, those are the album's two greatest strengths. What makes this album all the more impressive, though, is that it came after a truly monumental feat in Bley's discography: the two-hour-long triple album Escalator Over the Hill, a collaboration with poet Paul Haines. Progress for that album became somewhat hampered with Haines travelled to India, but it provided him ample material for this album, released three years after Escalator. While Tropic Appetites is a smaller affair (eight musicians compared to over fifty utilized on Escalator), many players overdubbed different parts, giving the album a nearly equally grand scale.

The inimitable Carla Bley.

A perfect example of this album's sense of scale is the piece Enormous Tots, which had to have influenced Danny Elfman. The entire track has an absolutely looney, darkly whimsical carnival feel, which is helped by Bley's reading of Haines' oddball poetry. The music itself is also dense and varied, switching from oompah rhythms to dense overdubs of clarinet and saxophone to plodding recorders throughout. When I was listening to it, I thought I had been through most of the six-minute track already, when in fact it had been just over two minutes. That's not to say it's boring - rather the opposite. This track is a perfect realization of Bley's nutty yet deadpan musical universe, and it goes to show how purely enjoyable her music is. I must highlight the last two minutes in particular, when Bley and Julie Tippetts sing together in counterpoint, and Gato Barbieri's tenor is soon added into the mix. The slow, consistent backbeat underneath solidifies the feeling of a half-time coda, similar to the Beatles' I Want You (She's So Heavy). The three voices continue until they are almost against each other, creating a wonderful tension that is effectively released when the track suddenly ends.

A brilliant contrast is the track Caucasian Bird Riffles, which has a much softer, more brooding mood about it. The main voice (literally) is Julie Tippetts, whose ethereal singing is a perfect counterpart to Haines' seemingly wandering, aimless poetry. This one features such standout lines as "The sullenness of families, of compromise in claims of wealthy histories" and "Maturity, a sulking loss of reality". The entire track has a vibe of Beatles-meets-classical-meets-jazz; some particularly effective aesthetic choices come from Toni Marcus' beautiful and subtle overdubbed strings and the soft, delicate brushes of drummer Paul Motian. (Incidentally, Motian is seen here in a somewhat rare appearance outside of a piano-led ensemble or one of his own groups.) The main feature besides Tippetts is Bley's then-husband, trumpeter Michael Mantler. His solo is equally subtle and beautiful, and it highlights his unique trumpet sound and his economical note choices.

Carla Bley with Jack Bruce during the recording of Escalator Over the Hill.

The next track, Funnybird Song, exudes pure charm and happiness. This is due in large part to the vocal features from Karen Mantler (Bley's daughter, who was seven at the time) and tubist/multi-instrumentalist Howard Johnson. There's just something inherently charming (if not adorable) about hearing a 7-year-old singing oddball stream-of-consciousness poetry, and it works here brilliantly, even if she had no idea what in God's name she was reading. Johnson's part is just as charming, starting his lines with "o-okay, my turn." His deep bass voice is also extremely appealing, and there's a whimsical irony in his inclusion in this ditty next to two higher-pitched singers. The irony especially rings true in his last line, "I like to fly-y-y...a lot."

Speaking of the poetry, that's the main thing that the track In India has going for it. Aside from some sparse clarinets, violins and tuba/bass, the main emphasis is on Julie Tippett's soaring, haunting voice reciting oddball poetry to music. The words describe a desolate, flaming village with the only activity being one bird with a "scooped vanilla head" singing a few notes every quarter hour. However, I don't think that description quite does the actual poetry justice. Haines uses language in a quite curious way, similar to modern poets like E. E. Cummings, but I see it as much more tangible and accessible while still being delightfully weird.

And now for the other major strength of this album: the featured soloist, Argentine tenor saxophonist Gato Barbieri. Gato's first major jazz exposure was in the band of fellow Argentine, pianist Lalo Schifrin, before joining the band of the legendary Don Cherry. It was with Cherry that Gato began to develop his visceral, passionate tenor style that combined the high energy of the free jazz movement with a remarkably delicate sense of melody. In 1967, Gato performed on Gary Burton's album A Genuine Tong Funeral, featuring the music of Carla Bley. This was the seed for a fruitful musical relationship between the two, which would culminate in Escalator Over the Hill, and eventually this album. Carla Bley recalls what she saw when she went to find Gato to recruit him in the 70's:

"Me and Charlie [Haden] went and heard him after the first album because we wanted to hire him for the next album, and we were horrified at his band. It was at the Bottom Line, and Gato was up there, dressed like a gaucho with a bunch of guys playing very accomplished Latin music, straight Latin music. And Gato was twirling his hat around and wearing his hat and twirling his hat, and we looked at each other with total disdain, walked out and said, oh, he’s lost it. He can’t be on it anymore."

Luckily for us, this must have been after this album was recorded. 

Gato in his early years playing in the band of
Don Cherry (center) alongside Karl Berger (right).

Gato's main feature is the opening track, the wonderful What Will Be Left Between Us and the Moon Tonight? The composition itself is simple yet extremely emotional, featuring variations on a simple melodic line that suggest a 4-3 classical cadence. The solo backgrounds are also extremely tight and well done, featuring overdubbed trumpets and trombones from Michael Mantler and wonderful development of the groove, from a foreboding Latin beat to a more relaxed mambo, and finally a more driving Latin feel. However, it is Gato himself that gets the biggest share of the spotlight. His genius here lies in his wonderfully loose interpretation of Bley's melody, his passionate, gutsy tenor sound, and his glorious high range and primal screaming. Not to mention, the arrangement perfectly balances the main melody and looser blowing sections for Gato to simply play. More than anything, Bley had a penchant of writing for a particular soloist (much like Duke Ellington), and this is an outstanding showcase for Gato that suits him perfectly.

The much more popular image Gato adapted
for himself in the 1970's.

Another prominent feature for Gato comes from the blazing, humid Song of the Jungle Stream. While not as prominent, his solo is still powerful and muscular; what's more is that his solo here is used more as a means to compliment the ominous mood of the piece with a moment of catharsis. But the entire structure of this piece is brilliant. The track begins with a slow dirge of a Middle Eastern type melody from sliding strings and Bley's comparatively deep singing voice. This is followed by a light, mystical passage that sounds like something out of the Secret Garden musical. The main textures are high strings and Howard Johnson's clarinet; throughout the passage, the strings repeat a motif several times. Then, a slow brass ostinato backs up Julie Tippett's lighter voice as she sings a melody that has a very satisfying arc and conclusion - on the last note, the strings once again repeat their earlier motif! This then leads into a more lumbering, elephantine section with plodding brass and layers of soprano saxophone backing up Gato's warm, fiery tenor solo (mentioned earlier).

However, the standout section of this track is Dave Holland's bass solo surrounded by layers of percussion that create drive and suspense. It should be noted that while Paul Motian had recorded with Bley before (on Escalator Over the Hill, of course), this is the only album of hers I can find with Dave Holland. It's a rather interesting scenario for Holland to find himself in, as by this point he was more well-known for being in Miles Davis' "Lost Quintet" and more avant-garde settings, such as the group Circle and his own album Conference of the Birds (both feature Anthony Braxton). Despite his lack of involvement with Bley's music, Holland nonetheless provides some stellar contributions on bass and bass guitar, as well as overdubbed cello next to violinist Toni Marcus. After the bass solo, I particularly like Bley's choice to alternate herself singing parts of the opening melody with passages of Holland soloing. 

In my opinion, the track where everything on the album comes together in an astonishing little package is Indonesian Dock Sucking Supreme. Even if the music wasn't good here, it'd still get my vote from the title alone. Thankfully, though, this piece is brilliant in its combination of all the moods, features, and other qualities that make this album so great. To start, we hear a single note on the piano, followed by Tippetts' haunting vocal delivery:

"January, February, March or July,

A moth's eyes here can paralyze you to the thighs..."

Bley then supplies a drone behind Tippett, and soon strings are added in. This leads to a charming little moment when Haines' lyric "There's the barnacle crowd" is answered by a brief, demented fanfare from Mantler's muted trumpet. The music continues into a swirling, somewhat atonal passage, which climaxes in the introduction of an absolute banger of a 12/8 groove. Howard Johnson then gives a deep bass reading of a strange mantra-esque lyric:

"Better a lot of what's wrong

Than a little of what's right..."

Next comes another goofy and demented carnival music passage with some subtle rhythmic displacement. The 12/8 groove takes the center again, this time with clavinet, which provides a very counterculture-type sound in this context. The strings cue another wonderful Gato Barbieri solo, full of extremely melodic playing and inspired wailing. One particularly brilliant excursion comes when Gato lets out several rhythmic shrieks, which elicit response from Motian on drums and Holland on bass guitar. This album is a treat for me because it's a rare occasion where Gato and Motian play together; a very dynamic pairing that I feel wasn't explored enough.

The next section is a rather bold aesthetic decision; it's mostly just Bley rolling and mashing her hands on a clavinet and organ. It's quite a surprise after half of the song being relatively tonally centered, and I love it. Whether intentionally or not, in my eyes it pokes fun at the entire idea of a jazz solo, while also just being a kooky electronic texture. After this, Holland delivers a dynamic and rhythmic electric bass solo, which transitions seamlessly into Gato's sensuous interpretation of the main melody. The carnival music then returns to a fadeout, followed by a brief coda with only voice and piano.

Nothing is anything but: the intentionally misleading title contains an exciting finale that works just as well in culminating the album's entire continuity. It starts in a similarly kooky vein to Enormous Tots, featuring a particularly striking lyric: "The houses become themselves and are torn down." In immediate contrast, the next section led by tuba and trumpet call back the very opening of the album, followed by a transition into a lush, impressionistic waltz version of Caucasian Bird Riffles. The Beatles-esque coda returns, accentuated by some eruptions from Howard Johnson's tuba. We are then treated to probably the greatest beat drop of all time, which sees the glorious return of Gato's interpretation of the melody to Indonesian Dock Sucking Supreme. After the carnival march section of that piece, Gato ends up with the last word as he briefly solos over a section similar to the opening track, before free jazz chaos ensues and the album ends with the same 30-second gong reverb that closed out said opening track.

Tropic Appetites is a tight, coherent album that is also simply a lot of fun. Not only a genius composer, Carla Bley also had the same casting talent as Duke Ellington, being able to write for individual players. Her collaborations here with Paul Haines, Gato Barbieri, and Julie Tippetts in particular prove her keen intuition on exactly who she wanted playing her music. In addition, her calling on people like Howard Johnson for additional speaking roles shows extreme attention to detail and dedication on creating something inherently enjoyable. From the poetry to the variety of musical textures to Gato Barbieri's wonderful tenor work and Julie Tippett's haunting vocals, this album has a lot going for it. This was Bley's first solo album after the titantic Escalator Over the Hill; the fact that this album even exists after Escalator is no small wonder, and it stands as a testament to Bley's extraordinary vision and artistic drive. Her sense of continuity amazes me, especially in the closing track, Nothing, further demonstrating her ability to create a neatly packaged musical statement in the course of an album. Overall underrated, coherent, extremely enjoyable, and highly recommended. 10/10.

Track listing:

1. What Will Be Left Between Us and the Moon Tonight?

2. In India

3. Enormous Tots

4. Caucasian Bird Riffles

5. Funnybird Song

6. Indonesian Dock Sucking Supreme

7. Song of the Jungle Stream

8. Nothing

Further reading:

Ethan Iverson interview with Carla Bley

Like the Steve Swallow interview a few posts back, this is invaluable jazz history. Carla talks about her experiences meeting jazz legends like Sonny Rollins and Charles Mingus, and talks in depth about experiences with players in her own groups.

Review of Tropic Appetites on Between Sound and Space

This blog is dedicated to reviewing the ECM catalogue (Bley's label WATT was a subsidiary of ECM), and the review of this album is top-notch. Definitely recommended if you want to read more about this undersung album.

The Mourning of a Star (Keith Jarrett, 1971)

Keith Jarrett, piano

(also soprano saxophone, tenor recorder, 

steel drums, and conga drums)

Charlie Haden, bass 

(also steel drums)

Paul Motian, drums 

(also steel drums and conga drums)

Another underrated album by an underrated group, composed of not-so-underrated players. By this point, Keith Jarrett has become a true legend of jazz piano, especially in his 1970's European Quartet with Jan Garbarek and his ubiquitous Standards Trio with Jack DeJohnette and the late Gary Peacock. However, he also recorded often with his American Quartet with saxophonist Dewey Redman, of which this trio was the rhythm section. Jarrett's work with Charlie Haden and Paul Motian doesn't get nearly as much attention as the rest of his music, but it is often clear why; as seen from the personnel listing above, Jarrett used this group (as a trio or quartet) as a way to try different things. It's not widely known that early in his career, alongside piano, Jarrett also played soprano saxophone. I've heard mixed feelings about his soprano playing, but I personally think it's great. He clearly knows what he's doing, even if it isn't his first instrument. I guess he quit to focus more on piano, and deservedly so.

The unit of Keith Jarrett, Charlie Haden, and Paul Motian is another underrated trio that is fortunately starting to gain more recognition. Bassist Charlie Haden was known for his groundbreaking work with the Ornette Coleman quartet. Since Coleman's music did not rely on prewritten harmonies, Haden listened to the soloist in order to truly accompany in the moment, rather than simply walking a bassline. This made him an ideal choice for Jarrett's early trio, which often not only abandoned chord changes, like Coleman's group, but also abandoned strict time. Jarrett also often utilized Haden's magnificent tone, emphasized by a beautifully understated method of soloing. Jarrett found a similarly understated drummer in Paul Motian; while he is best known for a five-year stint with pianist Bill Evans, he spent eleven years with Jarrett. It was with Jarrett that Motian displayed his full capabilities, from the most delicate balladry to the most powerful free-time thrashing. Behind it all, though, is the true weight in everything he played. Haden and Motian in particular would prove a solid rhythm team for many other musicians, from pianists Paul Bley and Geri Allen to Haden's own Liberation Music Orchestra.

(It's also worth mentioning that this is the first album I've reviewed after listening on vinyl; the rest I've listened to on Spotify. This is also on Spotify, but the old, grainy copy I bought on vinyl makes it much more of an experience.)

Compared to Jarrett's debut recording (also with Haden and Motian), Life Between the Exit Signs, this record is much more of a sprawling mess (albeit a glorious one), and this is made clear from the first track, Follow the Crooked Path. From the very brief opening theme, all the layers on this track are held together by a very loose thread. Jarrett's piano is cacophonous, dense, and borderline unlistenable, yet it's hard not to be sucked in. His trademark vocalizing is heard in large, loud helpings as he gives the keyboard a thrashing. A unique effect is provided by some banging steel drums (probably by Motian) superimposed over the piano solo. Once Jarrett is through, the last half of the track centers on Haden's bass solo alongside more cacophonous steel drums. The track ends with a nice bit of Jarrett's soprano sax.

As a complete contrast, Interlude No. 3 features some beautiful, quiet solo work from Jarrett. It's a rather astounding look at just how much Jarrett's playing had matured in five years; it's completely serious and full of emotional depth, yet more relaxing than commanding. It also works as a breather from the clustered nature of the opening. Interlude No. 1, on the other hand, starts very amateurishly with Jarrett on recorder and Motian on steel drums. Both sound like they have no idea what they're doing, until Haden glues them together with some bowed bass in the upper register. The proceedings reach a quick climax when Jarrett holds a note and sings through the recorder simultaneously, creating a powerful, almost spiritual effect. Interlude No. 2 is honestly hilarious to me in a very playful way. We hear more of Jarrett's recorder, albeit experimenting more with noise than anything else. While Jarrett's lines are rising, Haden provides the icing on the cake with some crazy sliding sounds in the opposite direction.

Despite Jarrett's early love of more avant-garde playing, he also shines on pieces with a bright gospel flavor; here, it's Standing Outside, a joyful romp featuring Motian on congas. This piece shows without a doubt that happiness and joy is not below an artist as Keith Jarrett; this piece is full of depth and emotion, but not in a pretentious or "academic" way. To me, the piece evokes earth-tone watercolor paintings, like the ones used as backgrounds in Peanuts specials. In that way, it is very nostalgic for me. Like the last album I reviewed, Sing Me Softly of the Blues, this was recorded at Atlantic, so I get to enjoy more nostalgically recorded piano that evokes Vince Guaraldi. Here, however, the similarity to Guaraldi's actual music is more upfront, with a simplicity and driving energy that evokes a playground on a cloudy autumn afternoon.

The same can be said for the only cover of the set, Joni Mitchell's All I Want. The Guaraldi-esque vibe is given a unique effect with bits of overdubbed recorder, furthering the emotional drive of the song. It's brief, but it does a good job at introducing Side 2 of the record. It's also worth mentioning that Joni Mitchell's music is a perfect match for someone like Jarrett, who often reveals part of his playing akin to a folk musician such as Mitchell. It's his work on pieces like Standing Outside, All I Want and others that heavily influenced modern musicians such as Jacob Collier. Both songs are enhanced for me by listening on vinyl, and both are highlights.

Trust combines a gospel-esque melody next to more open avant-garde tendencies, with fluid transitions between the two. The title fittingly describes the tremendous rapport and friendship between the three men after playing together for five years. Jarrett's flights of fancy are accompanied beautifully by Haden and Motian, which is often hard to notice behind the mad plights of piano (and often just Jarrett screaming). The accompaniment does become more present when Jarrett switches from long single-note runs to more powerful block chords. On the whole, though, this is one of the weaker tracks because it didn't really keep my attention the whole time.

They took their each other's photos! (except Paul's for whatever reason)

The closing track, Sympathy, works as a foil to Trust, which closes Side 1. The track features a lengthy solo introduction by Jarrett, which despite its brevity and energy, is ultimately more beautiful than anything else. A perfect showcase of a master pianist. When Haden and Motian enter, the mood is enhanced by the two rather than sacrificed; in particular, Motian's beautiful brush and cymbal work is heavily featured. The whole thing captures the vibe of ballads played by Bill Evans when Motian was in the band, but adds a layer of mystery rather than simply imitating the sound. The only curiosity is the abrupt ending, which actually works considerably well; the track as a whole works better than its companion, Trust.

Everything That Lives Laments is another piece of astounding depth. The theme, brief and beautiful, is played by Jarrett on piano, but the real feature is Haden's heart-wrenching bass solo. Haden always had a gift of stark simplicity, and here his playing is crystalized in terms of content, but much darker in timbre. I resent that on my vinyl copy, the record skips right as Jarrett plays the last chord of the theme, which kind of ruins it, but that's only a minor complaint. An absolutely beautiful and emotional gem.

Ornette Coleman, mentioned earlier, generated controversy by incorporating the trumpet and violin into his performances; he was not trained in either instrument, and his violin playing especially is very difficult to listen to. However, that's not the issue with Jarrett's soprano sax playing. As unconventional as he might sound, he at least knows his way all around the instrument and has a very sinewy, piercingly beautiful tone. His soprano is showcased here on Traces of You, in which Motian supplies some of his best, spaciest playing on the album. Jarrett is no slouch; above all else, he shows true intention and thought with every note he plays. Not to mention, we get to hear Haden in his element as a true accompanist, much like his role in the Ornette Coleman group. His solo is also very thoughtful, with tons of weight coming from the simplest of melodic material. Overall, this track is a highlight for me.

Jarrett playing soprano sax.

Probably the biggest highlight is the title track; it's the longest at over nine minutes, but for almost that long it sustains the bright gospel feel of the other two such tracks. As another Jarrett composition, it reflects the rhythms and harmonic palate of artists like Joni Mitchell and the Beatles. While a perfect showcase for Jarrett the gospel player, it also works quite well in showcasing Haden's rock-solid accompaniment and Motian's brilliant drum landscapes. Around the three-minute mark, Jarrett momentarily drops out to cue a vamp for the rest of the track. From that point on, it's just a lot of fun to hear the band go from creating suspense to letting Jarrett fly loose on a more abstract improvised path. No matter how far Jarrett or anyone else goes, however, the groove always neatly glues everything together beautifully. What's particularly special about this track is that, being the title track, it perfectly sums up what the album is about: having a good time and mixing things up a little bit.

Overall, this album is a mixed bag. Its worst/weakest cuts are entertaining but inconsistent, while its high spots really hit high. Jarrett is comfortable here in any manner of playing, but it's especially his driving gospel feel and his slower lyrical playing that makes the most impact. His soprano playing on this album is also a high spot, thoughtful and flowing. The band is stellar; Motian proves himself to be a master at understatement at any dynamic, and Haden is a perfect anchor for Jarrett's freewheeling escapades and Motian's rhythmic fluidity. While the album is very mixed quality, I think the point of it was to just try out different things and see how well they worked together. As a result, the album is a vibrant mixture of everything Keith Jarrett was about at the time; all the tracks are great in themselves, but only some of them work as well in the grand scheme of the album. 7/10.

Track listing:

1. Follow the Crooked Path (Though It Be Longer)

2. Interlude No. 3

3. Standing Outside

4. Everything That Lives Laments

5. Interlude No. 1

6. Trust

7. All I Want

8. Traces of You

9. The Mourning of A Star

10. Interlude No. 2

11. Sympathy

Further reading:

Sam Newsome on Keith Jarrett's soprano playing

An extensive history on Keith Jarrett's trio with Charlie Haden and Paul Motian

Sing Me Softly of the Blues (Art Farmer, 1965)

 

Art Farmer, flugelhorn

Steve Kuhn, piano

Steve Swallow, bass

Pete La Roca, drums

Aside from the undersung rhythm section here, this will also highlight the playing of Art Farmer, an understated and less well-known trumpet player compared to the likes of Miles Davis and Freddie Hubbard. In the 1960's he switched exclusively to flugelhorn (except for big-band section work on trumpet), giving his already uniquely introverted playing a finishing touch. Aside from co-leading the Jazztet with the great Benny Golson, Farmer led his own stellar quartet, highlighting his mellower sound and featuring Jim Hall on guitar. Steve Swallow was a member of this group, soon to be joined by Pete La Roca on drums; this incarnation of the group recorded To Sweden with Love, released in 1964. Soon, when Jim Hall left, they were joined by close friend Steve Kuhn on piano, laying the groundwork for this fantastic album.

The presence of Carla Bley was felt often in the 1960's, despite not appearing on a recording until Gary Burton recorded her work A Genuine Tong Funeral in 1967. Rather, her compositions appeared regularly on albums featuring her first husband, pianist Paul Bley, and her frequent lover, bassist Steve Swallow. Two of her compositions appear here: Ad Infinitum and a stellar debut recording of the title track, Sing Me Softly of the Blues. Both pieces are great choices to start the album with, as they both feel unresolved and keep the listener's attention, making them crave more.

The title track starts slow, featuring spare playing from Kuhn and a delicate rendering of the melody by Farmer. While revealing the quirkiness of Bley's writing, it is also a superb showcase for this group to play with emotion, fervor, and even humor. Not to mention, the performance also takes an arc, starting soft and eventually becoming more powerful. Farmer provides an ingenious solo that proves him capable of delivering quiet intensity and playing only what needs to be played. As the tempo and dynamic level picks up, the rug is suddenly pulled out, and Kuhn trickles up the keyboard to start his solo. His playing here combines delicate pianistic harmonies with a burning insistence, as well as a great sense of buildup matched by his rhythm partners Swallow and La Roca. His final chorus is one of the great climaxes in jazz, ending in a giant booming from the bottom keys that seamlessly transitions back to the quiet ballad feel from the beginning. Likewise, the ending of the piece transitions seamlessly to the next track.

While the title track is a highlight, I like Ad Infinitum even better. While being a great piece with a beguiling melody from Bley, I also believe the resulting performance is a gold standard of intensity and interaction in jazz, period. Nowhere is this more evident than Kuhn's outstanding solo, which is actually more of a group effort. Kuhn's playing combines prodding dissonances, sharp attacks, yearning pianisms, and some smearing clusters pulled seemingly from nowhere. What tops it all off, though, is that these gestures are not random. Together, they serve compositional purpose in two ways: first, they fit the driving tone of the piece, and second, their coherence makes the solo a solid composition in itself. To top it all off, Swallow's deep pocket and La Roca's driving, swirling waltz time and cymbal work mesh perfectly with Kuhn's eccentric playing. A prime example not just of this trio, but of what jazz trio playing should be. Call me hypocritical, but words cannot accurately describe this miracle.

Farmer's solo, while not as dissonant or harsh, is nonetheless driving and intense in its own way. Farmer is often compared to Miles Davis, as they both were masters at saying the most with as few notes as possible. The difference is that Farmer is much more liquid and flowing in his playing, and his lines have more unique shapes. His playing here even shows a hint of turbulence, and his final chorus displays some dynamic and powerful high notes that aren't annoyingly brassy. Farmer's bravado is complimented perfectly by Steve Kuhn's comping underneath. It's important to note that while Farmer and Kuhn sound completely different, often like they're at odds with each other, they are both sympathetic musicians; Kuhn especially complements Farmer well when playing behind him, rather than overpowering him. One might even say Kuhn is a perfect foil for Farmer, taking his trumpet concept and roughly translating it to the piano in a more aggressive manner. Either way, this rendition of Ad Infinitum is a true masterpiece of small-group jazz playing. Go listen to it.

While the first two tracks are masterful exercises in building and maintaining intensity, the next track, Farmer's arrangement (I believe) of the traditional Petite Belle, is more somber and relaxed. Farmer's solo flugelhorn intro brings in the constant bossa nova rhythm that lasts for the entire song. Credit must be given to Pete La Roca, who, while able to deliver bombastic and spontaneous drum performances, could also maintain a nonstop rhythm and keep an unwavering sense of time. Farmer provides a solo full of subtlety, nuance, and ultimately beauty, while Kuhn provides a quirky piano solo that is equally as subtle. While featuring such genius playing, this track also lets me truly appreciate the recording quality. While not as high as other albums of the time, it has its own charm; the piano especially has a warm, nostalgic sound that for me, evokes the music of Vince Guaraldi.

The next track marks the return of the energy heard at the beginning: a completely different version of Pete La Roca's Tears Come From Heaven, listed here simply as Tears. While the version on Basra is more easygoing and is more of a mood piece, here it is taken at a breakneck tempo in a completely different key. While the faster tempo loses the spiritual mystery of the other version, it gains an equally mysterious intensity, boosted by Farmer's powerful reading of the melody. Farmer shows to be capable at blistering fast tempos while still maintaining his cool, and Kuhn creates another masterpiece of rhythm, intensity and interaction. Trying to describe it is basically pointless, so again, just go listen to it. You won't be sorry. Pete La Roca then takes off with his main feature on the album, an open drum solo featuring no piano or bass, unlike the version on Basra. La Roca takes advantage of the openness and bends time to his will, giving a magnificent pounding to the drum kit.

The band then tackles a more traditional jazz ballad, Dizzy Gillespie's I Waited For You, with another interpretation that goes beyond traditional performance. For one, both Farmer and Kuhn revel in the beautiful piece, Farmer with his gorgeous reading of the melody (ballads were a strong spot for him) and Kuhn with his lush, impressionistic, nearly Bill Evans-like accompaniment. As the first soloist, though, Kuhn goes a step beyond simply imitating Evans, with another brilliant performance straddling prancing runs and powerful blocked chords. Farmer, in his brief solo, expertly balances rich subtlety with powerfully bubbling volcanic eruption.

The album ends on an easygoing note with La Roca's blues One for Majid; this one features the whole band. Despite his brilliant playing throughout, Farmer shows that perhaps he is most in his element when playing a good old-fashioned blues progression. His lush tone on flugelhorn dominates his uniquely understated lines, resulting in a fiery, yet cool and bluesy sound. The whole solo is just so wonderfully crisp, and immensely pleasurable to listen to. Kuhn makes with an impression of a blues-drenched Herbie Hancock before adding his own subtle twists and turns. Here, Swallow gets his only solo on the album, which is probably for the best since the bass isn't that high in the mix. Despite that, Swallow does not disappoint, offering above all else a keen sense of rhythm and swing. La Roca offers a final remark with a brief but power-packed solo, highlighting a unique sound on the snare.

Probably what makes this album so special for me is that despite its varied and accessible material, it cannot be categorized alongside anything else happening at the time it was made. It is a vibe in itself, and I haven't heard many albums that have quite the same atmosphere as it does. Another thing about the album is that it's a masterpiece in pacing. Track 1 is mysterious and hints at the barrage to come; Track 2 is said barrage; Track 3 is gentler, giving the listener a breather. Track 4 returns to all-out intensity; Track 5 is more like Track 1, tranquil yet energetic and driving. And finally, the closer is another relaxed number that leaves the listener feeling good about themselves.

Overall, this album is a combination of many contrasting qualities: elegance, abandon, raw intensity, intimacy, and some fine playing all around. The album mostly revolves around the pairing of frontmen Farmer and Kuhn; while it seems like a potentially dangerous combination, Kuhn proves himself to be an adept foil to Farmer's straight man role, but knows when to cut back and give more space to the leader. Farmer's playing throughout is inspired and full of warmth while also displaying a burning quality. Despite his little solo space on the album, Pete La Roca especially dazzles with his bombastic drumming style that, while soloistic in itself, is above all sympathetic alongside Kuhn and Swallow. The second track, Ad Infinitum, is a bona-fide masterpiece in jazz quartet playing. The band has fantastic chemistry throughout, and this album is just as good, if not better, than Basra. Strongly recommended. 10/10.

Track listing:

1. Sing Me Softly of the Blues

2. Ad Infinitum

3. Petite Belle

4. Tears

5. I Waited For You

6. One for Majid

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