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Posts by Richard Williams

Feb 2

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Laura Nyro: a woman in full

If you don’t own much of Laura Nyro’s music and have a couple of hundred quid to spare, a newly released 19-CD set of her complete studio and almost complete live recordings titled Hear My Song would be a good investment. All the 10 studio albums are there, from 1967’s More Than a New Discovery to the posthumously released Angel in the Dark, plus the official live albums — Spread Your Wings and Fly (1971), Season of Lights (1977) and The Loom’s Desire (1993-94) — and two live performances from a San Francisco hotel in 1994.

For me, though, there’s one thing missing: a double album called Laura, subtitled Laura Nyro Live at the Bottom Line. Recorded during a tour in 1988, her first in 10 years, it was released the following year on the independent Cypress label after the A&R department at Columbia Records, her home since 1968, indicated that they didn’t want her next album to be a live recording and gave her permission to make a one-off deal with another company.

For the tour she put together a small band with Jimmy Vivino on guitar, David Wofford on bass guitar, Frank Pagano on drums, Nydia Mata on percussion and Diane Wilson on harmony vocals. It’s not the kind of virtuoso-level team with which she toured in 1976 and whose work with her was preserved on Season of Lights — guitarist John Tropea, double-bassist Richard Davis, Mike Mainieri on vibes, Andy Newmark on drums — but it’s a much better fit with her music and recorded with much greater warmth, richer textures and sense of space. Laura’s own performance is much more mature and confident.

The whole lengthy set is very fine, but the one thing I wouldn’t be without is a song called “Companion”, of which this seems to be the only recording. It begins with the drummer ticking off the time and a heart-melting guitar-and-bass lick that leads into a slow 12/8 blues ballad. It’s the fourth song in, and Laura addresses the crowd in the Greenwich Village club: “Well, now that you’re finally my captive audience, I’m going to force these new songs on you…”

Then she sings. “I don’t want to marry / I don’t want your money / But love’s come our way / Just a warm companion is what I want, honey…” The melody as simple and gorgeous as the lyric: “Life is complicated / Funny, love can be that way / When just a warm companion is what I want, honey / A very special trust / A very special lust…” There’s a short bridge passage (“Walk inside the rain / Laughter in the dark…”) that goes out of tempo, then the guitar-and-bass lick returns and the band riffs quietly as she introduces them, one by one, before three part harmony (Nyro/Wilson/Pagano) gently takes it out.

There nothing here of the wild originality she brought to Eli and the Thirteenth Confession and New York Tendaberry when she was in her very early twenties. She’s a different person, no longer sitting on a fire escape above a New York street. Her life has changed. She’s been through a marriage. She’s living in Amherst, Massachusetts with a female partner, the painter Maria Desiderio. She’s a radical feminist campaigning for women’s rights, Native American rights, animal rights. She’s a mother, bringing up a son, Gil. But as different as the songs may be, the voice is still hers, with all the poetry it contains.

Some people criticised her later studio albums — Smile, Nested, Mother’s Spiritual, Walk the Dog & Light the Light — for lacking the fire of her early music. That’s like accusing her of growing up. We’re lucky to have all of it. And for me, alongside “Wedding Bell Blues” and “Emmie” and “Been on a Train” and “When I was a Freeport and You Were the Main Drag”, there’s “Companion”, the expression of a woman no less powerfully connected with her deepest feelings but now finding peace.

Maria Desiderio was with Laura when she died in April 1997 of ovarian cancer, the disease that had killed her mother, her maternal grandmother, and her maternal great-aunt. She was 49 years old. It’s a great thing to know that, around the world, people are still listening to her voice and her songs with admiration and love.

* The Hear My Song box is released on the Madfish label. Live at the Bottom Line is out of print in both vinyl and single-CD formats. The photograph is by David Bianchini, to whom Laura Nyro was married in the early ’70s, and is taken from the booklet accompanying The Loom’s Desire.

Jan 29

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Monday at the Cockpit

Empirical’s Shaney Forbes at the Cockpit (photo: Steven Cropper)

I was pretty horrified over the new year to see, in the guides to the arts in Britain in 2025 produced by the Guardian and The Times, no mention at all of anything that might be happening in the world of jazz. Both papers have a long tradition of covering the music in an informed way, but that seems to have been set aside by the current generation of arts editors.

It’s more than a pity, particularly at a time when jazz, although its household names have gone, is showing such vitality at all levels, and particularly among a younger generation. That was an unmissable feature of Monday’s Jazz in the Round gig at the Cockpit Theatre, not just among the musicians taking part but in the audience.

Sure, the usual jazz listeners with decades of experience were well represented. But there were also lots of people of student age, a few with instrument cases, settling on the tiered benches surrounding the players on all sides. Some of them were obviously friends of the pianist Emily Tran’s very spirited quintet, featured in the opening slot nowadays reserved for JITR’s Emergence new-talent programme, but they and the other younger listeners in the room effectively reinvigorated the whole ambiance.

After Tran’s group, its front line of alto saxophone and trombone recalling Jackie McLean’s Blue Note albums with Grachan Moncur III, came the Portuguese guitarist Pedro Valasco, 20 years a London resident, building loops and effects with his elaborate pedal board, exploring the sort of territory John Martyn might have entered, given a couple of extra booster rockets. And finally came Empirical, a long-established but perennially creative quartet, with Jonny Mansfield replacing Lewis Wright at the vibraphone.

I’ve said before that Jazz in the Round is my favourite live listening environment, and during Empirical’s set there was a good example of why that might be. It happened while Shaney Forbes was carefully unfolding a drum solo on “Like Lambs”, his own composition, against overlapping rhythm patterns played by Mansfield, altoist Nathaniel Facey and bassist Tom Farmer in what sounded like three different time signatures.

Suddenly Forbes’s concentration was abruptly broken when the bass-drum beater flew off its pedal, landing at the feet of the front row. In many decades of watching drummers, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that happen before. Anyway, the nearest member of the audience was able to lean across and hand it back to the drummer, who quickly refitted it and screwed it up tight while the other three maintained their patterns without disruption, before resuming his train of thought and taking it to a conclusion.

There was, of course, a special roar of applause when the piece ended, but that in itself is not unusual for Empirical. Their music is complex, and sometimes knotty, but they consistently engage their listeners’ emotions in a straightforward way which demands a response. That in itself is quite unusual in this kind of jazz. You could analyse what they do in terms of pacing and projection but there never seems to be anything calculating about it.

They have the spontaneity that is the propellant of jazz and the warmth that is its lubricant, qualities for which Jazz in the Round, programmed and presented by Jez Nelson and Chris Phillips, provides a consistently rewarding environment.

Jan 17

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The Bob look

In her 2008 memoir, A Freewheelin’ Time, Suze Rotolo described how Bob Dylan, her boyfriend between 1961 and 1964, developed his look. Apparently it was Dave Van Ronk, a slightly older Greenwich Village folkie, who urged the 21-year-old Dylan to start paying attention to his image.

In Rotolo’s words: “Such things might have been talked about in jest, but in truth they were taken quite seriously. Much time was spent in front of the mirror trying on one wrinkled article of clothing after another, until it all came together to look as if Bob had just gotten up and thrown something on. Image meant everything. Folk music was taking hold of a generation and it was important to get it right, including the look — be authentic, be cool, and have something to say.”

The result was the transfixing sight of Dylan and Rotolo wrapped around each other on the cover of Freewheelin’ in 1963. If you were, say, 16 years old at the time, Don Hunstein’s shot of the couple on Jones Street in Greenwich Village opened up a whole world, and his suede jacket, denim shirt, jeans and boots seemed to offer an easy way in. If you could get hold of them, that is. And now, just six decades later, the Financial Times is telling you how. What you see above is a guide, published in its HTSI (How to Spent It) magazine, showing you to how to look like Bob Dylan.

It’s pegged to the release of A Complete Unknown, James Mangold’s film of Dylan’s life between 1961 and 1965, and it made me laugh quite a lot, for several reasons. The polka-dot shirt they recommend is black and white, which is how it looked in the monochrome photos from the soundcheck at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965; the real thing was green and white — and it was actually a blouse rather than a shirt (the film gets that right). And have you ever seen Dylan in white loafers, never mind 700-quid ones by Manolo Blahnik? The black leather blazer they recommend retails at £4,270. Mine cost a fiver in 1964 from the harmonica player in our band, who was skint at the time and needed rent money. I wish I still had it.

But it’s not just a matter of looking like Bob Dylan. You can try to sound like him, too. The rock critic of The Times went off to the vocal coach who did such good work with Timothée Chalamet in order to try and achieve that distinctive nasal whine. Again it sent me back to 1964 and sitting in my bedroom, strumming an acoustic guitar acquired very cheaply from a girl called Celia and bellowing the words of “The Times They Are A-Changin'” loud enough for my blameless parents to hear: “Come mothers and fathers throughout the land / And don’t criticise what you can’t understand / Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command…”

That was in real time. So was the £5 leather jacket. It was all part of growing up and finding out who you were, and it seems weird now to watch people turn it into a novelty, however good the cause.

As it happens, I enjoyed A Complete Unknown a lot, with only a very few reservations. When Chalamet-as-Dylan sings “The Times They Are A-Changin'” to a festival crowd, Mangold orchestrates the audience’s response in a way that precisely evokes how it felt to experience that song in 1964, with all the emotion of realising that it spoke for you. It was a relief to come out of the screening with the knowledge that I wouldn’t have to be explaining to younger people that it really wasn’t like that at all. Mostly, it was.

Jan 12

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Three in one

It felt like a great privilege to be at Cafe Oto last night to hear the Schlippenbach Trio — Alexander von Schlippenbach (piano), Evan Parker (tenor saxophone) and Paul Lytton (drums) — make a rare appearance in London in front of a capacity crowd. This is a group that has existed since 1972, with one personnel change: Lytton’s arrival some years ago to replace his great friend Paul Lovens, who stopped touring.

At 77, Lytton is the youngster of the group. Parker is 80, Schlippenbach 86. Although their group is one of the enduring monuments of European free jazz, they continue play as though the music is being invented every night — which it is, albeit with its foundations in their vast experience, both individual and collective. Last night’s 50-minute set was a further exploration of the spaces between them: a true conversation of equal voices, merging and separating and merging again with a perfect sense of spontaneous form and balance.

Jan 11

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Bird lives, dies, flies

Coming up to the 70th anniversary of his death (on March 12, 1955), Charlie Parker can still stop you in your tracks. His sound may be as familiar as the head on a postage stamp, his style imitated with greater or lesser success by thousands of saxophone players, but that unquenchable inventiveness retains all its singular potency, particularly when caught on the wing.

By that I mean not in a recording studio. I revere the studio classics — the hurtling audacity of “Ko Ko”, the sombre perfection of “Parker’s Mood” — as much as anyone, but Bird really flew highest in more informal or spontaneous environments, when the natural assumption of its evanescence drove his improvising into an extra dimension. That’s what impelled the devoted fan Dean Benedetti to record him in jazz clubs night after night on concealed equipment, and what made the posthumous release of such quasi-bootlegs as Bird at St Nick’s and One Night at Birdland (with Fats Navarro and Bud Powell) so vital to a true appreciation of Parker’s genius.

And now there’s more evidence of the brilliance of the uncaged Parker: an album called Bird in Kansas City, an official release on the Verve label. It’s worthy of a place alongside any of Bird’s output thanks mostly to the seven tracks with which it begins, captured during informal sessions in July 1951 at the house of a friend.

Prevented by the loss of his cabaret card from working in New York after being busted for heroin earlier in the year, Parker was staying with his mother, Addie, in Kansas City, where he had grown up. He played a few gigs at a local nightspot, Tootie’s Mayfair Club, and earned $200 for a stunning guest appearance with the Woody Herman Orchestra at the Municipal Auditorium.

But at the invitation of his friend Phil Baxter, a barber who had a pleasant habit of hosting regular soirées at his house on Kensington Avenue in the city’s Eastside district, Bird could play without pressure of any kind. Accompanied by an unidentified but more than competent bassist and drummer, he displays on these seven pieces the genius that flowed through him even in the most relaxed circumstances.

The first three pieces, each without a formal title, draw on various familiar bebop themes and motifs. The fourth, “Cherokee”, is jet-propelled. “Body and Soul” is taken at its usual ballad pace, slipping gracefully in and out of a double-time section as it proceeds to an ending in which a coruscating single phrase is followed by a particularly arch version of his favourite whimsical coda: a quote from “In an English Country Garden”. “Honeysuckle Rose” and “Perdido” swing at a mellow tempo, just on the bright side of medium, with eye-watering semi-quaver runs in the former leavened by some amusing quotes (“Fascinating Rhythm”, “Cheek to Cheek”).

For 24 minutes on these seven tracks we’re allowed to hear Parker as we became used to hearing Ornette Coleman and sometimes Sonny Rollins: an improvising saxophonist without the support of a chording instrument. It’s not a revelation — nothing conceptually different is happening — but it does allow an unusually clear sight of what he could do.

There are another four tracks recorded seven years earlier at a transcription studio in Kansas City, with two friends: the guitarist Efferge Ware, a useful witness in the first volume of the late Stanley Crouch’s sadly never-to-be-completed Parker biography, and the drummer “Little Phil” Phillips. The songs are standards — “Cherokee”, “My Heart Tells Me”, “I Found a New Baby” and “Body and Soul” — and the difference is remarkable: this is pre-bop music, belonging to the swing era, with bags of composure and fluency, completely charming in its own right while conveying barely a hint of what is to come.

The album’s compilers, Chuck Haddix and Ken Druker, go back even further for the pair of tracks that complete the set. These are two pieces recorded by the Jay McShann Orchestra informally in Kansas City in January 1941, apparently in preparation for a Decca session in Dallas a week or two later. Parker has a rather diffident eight-bar solo to close a loose-limbed “Margie” (see comment below) and a much more expressive full chorus on a smoochy “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You”, in which his tart sound and triple-time flurries must have pinned back the ears of the unwary. As they still do.

Jan 8

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Island Records: The Greatcoat Years

No record label has ever had its history subjected to the sort of minutely detailed scrutiny on show in the first two volumes of Neil Storey’s The Island Book of Records, the second of which was published just before Christmas. The initial volume examined the label’s earliest years, 1959-68, from the family background of its founder, Chris Blackwell, to the breakthrough into the new rock mainstream with the debuts of Traffic, Jethro Tull and Fairport Convention. The new one deals with just two years, 1969 and 1970. Their successors will, I gather, each focus on a single year**.

The format is that of an LP-size hardback of considerable heft (432 pages of high-grade paper in case of the new one), an oral history with testimony from participants and interested bystanders lavishly illustrated with photos, sleeve artwork, press cuttings, documents, ads and other ephemera. What 1969-70 means is loads of background (and foreground) material beginning with Steve Winwood’s involvement in Blind Faith and ending with King Crimson’s third album, Lizard. Among those featuring heavily are Spooky Tooth, Free and Mott the Hoople, three classic early Island rock bands whose largely student and mostly male following tended to sport ex-army greatcoats, along with plimsolls, loon pants and cheesecloth shirts.

You get their stories in jigsaw form, pieced together with great diligence in mostly bite-sized chunks of testimony. A good example is the treatment of Nick Drake’s Five Leaves Left: the producer Joe Boyd, the engineer John Wood, the bass player Danny Thompson, the guitarist Richard Thompson and the arranger Robert Kirby help describe its making, while Blackwell and his Island colleagues David Betteridge, Tim Clark, Bob Bell and Barry Partlow and the record shop owners John Clare and Eugene Manzi try to explain why it didn’t sell. (When Boyd sold his Witchseason production company to Blackwell in the ’70, it was with the stipulation in the contract that Drake’s three albums should never be deleted.) Others providing testimony include Gabrielle Drake, Nick’s sister, and Victoria Ormsby-Gore, a well connected friend.

There’s too much stuff here for me to begin to do it justice, but the riches include the triumph of King Crimson’s first album, helped by the fact that their two managers, David Enthoven and John Gaydon, were, like Blackwell, Old Harrovians; the debut album by Quintessence, a quintessentially Island band (i.e. Notting Hill hippies) that it turns out nobody in the company really seemed to like; the Fotheringay debacle, which derailed Sandy Denny’s career; the emergence of two ex-Alan Bown Set singers, Jess Roden and Robert Palmer, respectively with Bronco and Vinegar Joe; and the huge success of Cat Stevens, reinvented as a singer-songwriter with Tea for the Tillerman, and of Emerson, Lake & Palmer.

Alongside epochal releases like Traffic’s John Barleycorn Must Die and Fairport’s Unhalfbricking and Liege & Lief, the book features such bit-part players as Dr Strangely Strange (“a poor man’s Incredible String Band”), Blodwyn Pig and McDonald & Giles (respectively offshoots of Jethro Tull and King Crimson), and White Noise’s somewhat prophetic An Electric Storm, which seemed to typify Island’s propensity, in the early days, for backing weird stuff. Nothing is neglected, including the hugely popular and influential compilations, particularly what might be called the greatcoat anthologies: You Can All Join In, Nice Enough to Eat and Bumpers.

The two years covered by this volume pivot around the move from offices on Oxford Street to a former Congregational church on Basing Street in Notting Hill, converted around the time of the First World War into a factory making dressmakers’ showroom busts and wax figures for Madame Tussaud’s. Blackwell bought it and, with the aid of the acoustic engineer Michael Glickman and the studio technician Dick Swettenham, set about converting into a headquarters that incorporated not just offices for the label’s staff but two studios, No 1 on the ground floor, capable of accommodating 80 musicians, and the more intimate No 2 in the basement. This was where a bunch of talented young engineers set to work with Helios 16-track desks and Studer two-inch tape machines, and we hear from some of those hitherto best known as names the bottom of the list of album credits: Brian Humphries, Phill Brown, Richard Digby-Smith (“Diga”) and Phil Ault.

This was a turning point. Basing Street became a creative hub, a 24-hour hang-out, the office business conducted at round tables seating executives and secretaries in a non-hierarchical environment. Guy Stevens, the former DJ at the Scene Club in Ham Yard, for whom Blackwell had created the Sue label, was a maverick A&R presence, introducing Ian Hunter to a bunch of guys from Hereford and giving them the name Mott the Hoople. Lucky Gordon was the resident chef.

I visited Basing Street quite a lot during those early years, sometimes interviewing various people and other times just hanging out, occasionally in the studios. The buzz was terrific. It was, I suppose, a perfect example of hip capitalism in action. Nothing so perfect lasts for ever, but in this volume of his epic and invaluable series — expensive but, to those with an interest, worth every penny — Neil Storey catches it in glorious ascent.

* The Island Book of Records Vol 2: 1969-70, edited by Neil Storey, is published by Manchester University Press / Hidden Masters (£85)

** Not quite right. Apparently Vol 3 (out in the spring of ’26, all being well) will deal with 1971-72. Vol 4 is 1973-76, Vol 5 is probably 1977-79, and Vol 6 could be 1980-83. Neil Storey says he has always thought of the series as consisting of 10 to 12 volumes, so we’ll see.

Jan 1

11 Comments

Barre Phillips 1934-2024

Barre Phillips, who died in Las Cruces, New Mexico on December 28, aged 90, was a poet of the double bass, a member of a generation of players who, building on the achievements of Jimmy Blanton, Oscar Pettiford, Charles Mingus and Paul Chambers, lifted the instrument to new levels of flexibility and expression.

One of jazz’s great contributions to music has been to extend instrumental vocabularies, a process accelerated by the idiom’s rapid stylistic evolution through the last century. No instrument developed more spectacularly than the bass, and Barre — who was born in San Francisco but lived in Europe between 1968 and 2023 — played a significant role in that process.

His first album of unaccompanied solo improvisations was recorded in London in November 1968 in the church of St James Norlands in Notting Hill. Originally released as Journal Violone in an edition of 500 on the Opus One label, it came my way the following year when it was reissued, again in an edition of 500, as Unaccompanied Barre on the Music Man imprint. I think my copy may have come from the producer Peter Eden.

It was a pioneering effort, and a very striking one. I seem to remember making it the Melody Maker‘s jazz album of the month, which raised a few eyebrows. Entirely solo albums by improvising instrumentalists (other than piano players) weren’t yet a thing. Now look how many there are. Among bassists alone, Barre’s album paved the way for unaccompanied recordings by Gary Peacock, Dave Holland, Barry Guy, William Parker, Henry Grimes, John Edwards and others, including, most recently, Arild Andersen.

Barre made several more albums in the same format, including Call Me When You Get There (1984) and End to End (2018) for the ECM label. That’s where Peacock, Holland and Andersen’s solo efforts also appeared, which is hardly surprising, since the label’s founder, Manfred Eicher, started out as a bassist.

I first heard Barre’s playing on Bob James’s ESP album, Explosions, and Archie Shepp’s On This Night. He came to Europe for the first time in 1964 with George Russell’s sextet and returned later in the decade, staying first in London before eventually making France his home. Evidence of his early collaborations with British or British-based musicians can be found on John Surman’s How Many Clouds Can You See?, Mike Westbrook’s Marching Song, and his two sessions with Chris McGregor’s sextet (Up to Earth) and trio (Our Prayer), all recorded in 1969.

In 1970 he joined Surman and the drummer Stu Martin in The Trio, recording a self-titled debut with the basic combo and Conflagration! with an augmented line-up. Thereafter he played with all kinds of partners, from Derek Bailey to Robin Williamson, and was a regular member of his friend Barry Guy’s London Jazz Composers Orchestra. Two ECM albums with Paul Bley and Evan Parker, Time Will Tell (1995) and Sankt Gerold (2000), are favourites. His last release was ECM’s Face à Face, a duo recording with the electronics of György Kurtág Jr, released in 2022.

He was intense about music and what it meant to create it, as became obvious when I interviewed him in London in 1970.

“I’m interested in the process of making music,” he said. “I’m not really interested in the product at all, because I’ve got enough confidence to know that if I’m into it the product is really going to be OK anyway. That’s my personal reason — to have something to communicate to an audience besides the product. If I can show my process to people, perhaps they can understand themselves a lot better.””

The conventional role of the bass, he said, was of little interest to him.

“That’s product-producing. I’m coming from somewhere were the product was important, and I worked and worked until I could get on stage and produce it. But what’s really important is: how did I get from birth to the product? If I go on to a deeper level where the responses are reflecting off my central nervous system, then I’m living my whole life with every instant. Because you’re living in the process of making the music, and to me the biggest thing I’m playing is my birth.”

* The photograph, by an unknown photographer, is taken from Traces: Fifty Years of Measured Memories, a career summary in the form of an illustrated discography, a DVD, and the only CD reissue of Journal Violone. It was published by Kadima Collective in 2012.

Dec 17

16 Comments

2024: The best bits

I like street musicians, as long as they’re not using amplification or pre-recorded assistance. Some of them live on in my head. A clarinetist in a tiny garden near Taksim Square in Istanbul in 1968. A singer and an accordionist paying tribute to Carlos Gardel outside a Rosario shopping mall in 1994. A fluently boppish alto saxophonist outside a hamburger joint in downtown Atlanta that same year. An elderly quartet in a park in Sofia 25 years ago.

The accordionist pictured above has a regular pitch outside the British Museum in Bloomsbury. He’s from Romania. One day this autumn I heard him while on my way from a quick lunch at Caffè Tropea, the Italian restaurant inside the park in Russell Square. Probably my favourite un-fancy eating place in London, it’s been run for 40-odd years by a family with roots in Calabria. Immigrants, eh?

On this day the accordionist was playing Nino Rota’s theme from The Godfather. While I was listening, a young woman walked past, stopped, took a small camera out of her bag, and crouched down to take his photograph with a swift economy of movement that suggested she knew what she was doing. I took a single frame with my iPhone and it records one of the year’s happier moments.

NEW ALBUMS

1 Michael Shrieve: Drums of Compassion (7D Media)

2 Meshell Ndegeocello: No More Water: The Gospel of James Baldwin (Blue Note)

3 Wadada Leo Smith / Amina Claudine Myers: Central Park (Red Hook)

4 Beth Gibbons: Lives Outgrown (Domino)

5 Bill Frisell: Orchestras (Blue Note)

6 Alice Zawadski / Fred Thomas / Misha Mullova-Abbado: Za Górami (ECM)

7 Ohad Talmor: Back to the Land (Intakt)

8 Manu Chao: Viva Tu (Radio Bemba)

9 Silkroad Ensemble w/ Rhiannon Giddens: American Railroad (Nonesuch)

10 Giovanni Guidi: A New Day (ECM)

11 Pat Thomas: The Solar Model of Ibn Al-Shatir (Otoroku)

12 The Smile: Wall of Eyes (XL)

13 Mike Westbrook: Band of Bands (Westbrook Music)

14 Daniel Sommer / Arve Henriksen / Johannes Lundberg: Sounds & Sequences (April)

15 The Henrys: Secular Hymns & Border Songs (bandcamp)

16 Gillian Welch & David Rawlings: Woodland (Acony)

17 Lady Blackbird: Slang Spirituals (BMG)

18 Shabaka: Perceive Its Beauty, Acknowledge Its Grace (Impulse)

19 Johnny Blue Skies (Sturgill Simpson): Passage du Desir (High Top Mountain)

20 Kit Downes: Dr Snap (Bimhuis)

REISSUE / ARCHIVE

1 Miles Davis Quintet: Miles in France 1963 & 1964 (Sony Legacy)

2 Art Tatum: Jewels in the Treasure Box (Resonance)

3 Alice Coltrane: The Carnegie Hall Concert (Impulse)

4 Charlie Parker: Bird in Kansas City (Verve)

5 Anne Briggs: Anne Briggs (Topic)

6 Peter Hammill: Incoherence (Esoteric)

7 Bob Dylan and the Band: The 1974 Live Recordings (Sony Legacy)

8 The History of Les Cousins (Cherry Red)

9 Vanilla Fudge: Where Is My Mind? (Esoteric)

10 The Waterboys: 1985 De Luxe Edition (Chrysalis)

SUI GENERIS

Evan Parker: The Heraclitean Two-Step, etc. (False Walls)

LIVE PERFORMANCE

1 Manu Chao (Brixton Academy, September)

2 Bob Dylan (Royal Albert Hall, November)

3 Steve Lehman / Orchestre National de Jazz (Vortex, June)

4 The Necks (Cafe Oto, April)

5 Django Bates (Vortex, January)

6 Sylvie Courvoisier’s Poppy Seeds (JazzFest Berlin, November)

7 Bruce Springsteen (Wembley Stadium, July)

8 Marilyn Crispell (JazzFest Berlin, November)

9 Bill Frisell Trio (St George’s, Bristol, May)

10 Alexander Hawkins / Marco Colonna (Vortex, October)

MUSIC BOOKS

1 Joe Boyd: And the Roots of Rhythm Remain (Faber & Faber)

2 Brad Mehldau: Formation: Building a Personal Canon Vol. 1 (Equinox)

3 Neneh Cherry: A Thousand Threads (Vintage)

4 David Toop: Two-Headed Doctor: Listening for Ghosts in Dr John’s Gris-gris (Strange Attractor Press)

5 Philip Freeman: In the Brewing Luminous (Wolke)

FICTION

Samantha Harvey: Orbital (Vintage)

AUTOBIOGRAPHY

Al Pacino: Sonny Boy (Century)

NON-FICTION

Ekow Eshun: The Strangers (Faber & Faber)

FILMS

1 La Chimera (dir. Alice Rohrwacher)

2 About Dry Grasses (dir. Nuri Bilge Ceylan)

3 Conclave (dir. Edward Berger)

DOCUMENTARIES

1 Dahomey (dir. Mati Diop)

2 Soundtrack to a Coup d’Etat (dir. Johan Grimonprez)

3 Road Diary: Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band (dir. Thom Zimny)

RADIO

Composer of the Week: Bud Powell (BBC Radio 3/BBC Sounds)

PODCAST

Kate Lamble’s Grenfell: Building a Disaster (BBC Sounds)

THEATRE

Carwyn by Owen Thomas (London Welsh RFC, October)

EXHIBITIONS

1 Pauline Boty (Gazelli Art House)

2 Yoko Ono: Music of the Mind (Tate Modern)

3 John Singer Sargent: Sargent & Fashion (Tate Britain)

4 Gerhard Richter (Neue Nationalgalerie, Berlin)

5 Beyond the Bassline (British Library)

Dec 11

8 Comments

Evan Parker at 80

Evan Parker (left) explains the meaning of the universe to the author of this blog

If I write often about Evan Parker in this space, it’s because he’s one of the most original and compelling musicians of my lifetime. He’s also one of the most prolific, always up to something, usually something new. He turned 80 earlier this year, and by way of a slightly belated celebration comes a box set titled The Heraclitean Two-Step, etc., based around four CDs of previously unreleased solo soprano saxophone improvisations with a book containing interviews, musings, his own and other people’s memories, and a section devoted to his very nice collages, made during lockdown on the blank pages of a necessarily unused Musicians’ Union diary.

The first CD opens with a continuous 22-minute improvisation, an extract from a concert in 1994 at the Unitarian Chapel in Warwick. Parker remembered liking it, and decided to pair it on the disc with 40 minutes of new and shorter pieces recorded in 2023 at the same venue. That gave him the idea for the title of the box: it was the Greek philosopher Heraclitus who was reported to have said that you never step in the same river twice. The Unitarian Chapel was indeed not quite the same river: the floor had been renewed. But you get the higher point.

The second of those new pieces, titled “Orwell”, winds itself up to a pitch at which it almost blows your head off. And there are many such outstanding moments throughout these discs, the rest of which were recorded between 2018 and this year at Filipe Gomes’s Arco Barco studio, a converted old harbourside building in Ramsgate, Kent (Parker lives not far away, in Faversham). During “Blériot’s Handshake”, for example, I seemed to feel the ground sliding under my feet — the sensation I sometimes get when listening to Carlo Gesualdo’s choral music.

But the one that I loved most is the 31-minute piece taking up the whole of the second disc, in which Parker approaches the improvisation from several different trajectories, taking his time to pause before switching angle or pace. It’s called “The Path Is Made By Walking”: a most appropriate choice for a man who has followed his own route through the trackless expanses of improvised music for 60 years.

Although the accompanying book isn’t an autobiography, we do learn a lot throughout its various sections. We hear about his relationship with his saxophones, from the first purchase of an old alto at the age of 14, and there’s a semi-technical passage which gives even a non-professional a glimpse of the discipline and study it took to achieve his virtuosity, and still takes to maintain and deepen it. On relationships with other musicians, there are vignettes of Phil Seaman, Dudu Pukwana, Paul Rutherford, Henry Lowther and others, sometimes only a sentence or two but always memorable (“Eat when you can, sleep when you can” was Henry’s valuable early advice about life on the road). When I told Evan he’d made me think about John Stevens, who welcomed him into the SME and the world of the Little Theatre Club in 1967, soon after his arrival in London, and who died 30 years ago, he said: “I think about him just about every day.”

Since Evan has a wider conversational range than almost anyone I know, it’s hardly a surprise to find the text sprinkled with quotes from Borges, Buckminster Fuller, Simone Weil, Idris Shah, Dag Hammarskjöld, Kafka, Iain Sinclair, Chesterton, Koestler, Marcus Aurelius, Hogarth, De Quincey and the Iroquois nation’s address to the 1977 UN Conference on Indigenous Peoples, as well as Eric Dolphy, Steve Lacy and Booker Little. They’re used to support conclusions that are sometimes contentious, always stimulating.

Then I go back and listen again to “The Path Is Made By Walking”. In this wonderful half-hour we hear not just the use he’s made of his evolving technique to create fantastic, mindbending patterns of sound, often mesmerising and sometimes transcendent, but also how he can so fruitfully exploit the acoustical properties of his environment, in this case Arco Barco, and particularly its resonance; he really is “playing the room”, and the result is spellbinding.

Of course I love hearing Evan playing tenor, whether it’s on Tony Oxley’s classic 1969 recording of Charlie Mariano’s “Stone Garden”, or with Spring Heel Jack (John Coxon and Ashley Wales), or with the Necks, or in a big ensemble like the Globe Unity Orchestra. But I’m pretty sure it’s for the solo work on soprano that he’ll be most lastingly remembered. Here, in a fine package benefiting from David Caines’ elegantly austere design, is the evidence of his singularity.

* The photograph of Evan Parker and me was taken by Miranda Little. The Heraclitean Two-Step, etc. is on the False Walls label: http://www.falsewalls.co.uk

Dec 9

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Remaining Intakt

Independent record labels are one of jazz’s indispensible support systems, fuelled by the brave willingness of the enthusiasts who run them to buck the odds. My own early tastes were largely shaped in the 1960s by the work of Alfred Lion and Francis Wolff at Blue Note, Bob Weinstock at Prestige, Dick Bock at Pacific Jazz, Lester Koenig at Contemporary and Orrin Keepnews at Riverside. It’s now more than 50 years since Manfred Eicher reimagined what an independent jazz label could be in terms of focus, identity and appeal, and today we have International Anthem, Pi, Rune Grammofon, Hubro, ACT and others swimming lustily against the current.

And there’s the outstanding Intakt Records, founded in 1984 by Patrik Landolt, who stepped back in 2021 after 37 years of producing records and, in retirement, has just received the honorary award of the Deutsche Schallplattenkritik — the organisation of German record critics. His story of those years is contained in a new book, (A)tonal Adventures, containing short extracts from his journals, vividly describing the pleasures and problems of running such a label, travelling between Europe and America.

Intakt’s catalogue of about 400 releases captures a hefty slice of the creative music of our time, from the first release by the great Swiss pianist Irene Schweizer through many recordings by Barry Guy’s London Jazz Composers Orchestra, Cecil Taylor’s epic Willisau concert, the Globe Unity Orchestra and the great solo sessions of its leader, Alexander von Schlippenbach, plus Anthony Braxton, Oliver Lake and Elliott Sharp and a galaxy of drummers including Pierre Favre, Gunter Baby Sommer, Andrew Cyrille, Louis Moholo, Han Bennink and Lucas Niggli, to newer generations of artists including Ingrid Laubrock, Chris Speed, Sylvie Courvoisier, Alexander Hawkins, James Brandon Lewis, Angelika Niescier, Tomeka Reid and the mindbending trio Punkt.Vrt.Plastik (Kaja Draksler, Petter Eldh and Christian Lillinger).

In presentational terms, Intakt’s releases conform to no house style (à la Blue Note or ECM), but the sense of strong graphic design is very evident. Despite the absence of visual uniformity, somehow they speak with the same voice. And equal care is taken with the sound. Again, there’s no equivalent here of the signature (and very effective) reverb penumbra of Blue Note or ECM. Just clarity.

Among the newer artists there’s Ohad Talmor, the American/Swiss tenor saxophonist whose new album, Back to the Land, is one of the highlights of the year. Over two CDs, Talmor reimagines compositions and motifs from the work of Ornette Coleman in a variety of settings: trios for tenor, bass (Chris Tordini) and drums (Eric McPherson), quartets (one with tenor, two trumpets and drums), the duo of Joel Ross on vibes and David Virelles on piano, and a couple of tracks for a septet including sparing use of electronics.

The music is full of air and light, evoking without mimicry some of the south-western feeling Ornette brought to the music. Joy and pain are both present, always delineated with subtlety. The playing is sensationally good by all concerned (particularly Tordini), and the programming retains the listener’s attention without resorting to tricks. In his short preface to the sleeve notes, Talmor mentions the influence on his own playing of Lee Konitz, Dewey Redman and Wayne Shorter; his solos are extruded without apparent effort but with a notable richness of melodic and rhythmic ideas. This is his third album for the label, and it would be a surprise if he were not to become one of the artists to whom Intakt’s commitment is for the long term.

Since Landolt’s retirement, the label’s reins have passed to a team including Florian Keller, whose postscript to (A)tonal Adventures takes us out on a note of optimism. “Intakt Records has never been an ivory tower,” he writes. “It is about setting topicality to music, where the political and social issues framing the music are also considered.” With albums as thoughtful and eloquent as Back to the Land, it’s fair to assume that the mission is in safe hands.

* Ohad Talmor’s Back to the Land was released in October: https://www.intaktrec.ch/408.htm. (A)tonal Achievements is published in English and German editions by Versus Verlag: bit.ly/49rIjla

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