Entries associated with the tag "Albert Ayler":

Last night I dropped the new reissue of Machine Gun by the Peter Brötzmann Octet into my CD player. It had been a few years since I listened to the 1968 album, an indisputable milestone in the history of both free jazz and European jazz, but it still hit me with the same abrasive, ear-cleaning force as the first time I heard it. The German label FMP released the album with some alternate takes on CD back in the early 90s, but it failed to distinguish which were the masters and which weren’t. The new edition, dubbed The Complete Machine Gun Sessions and released on John Corbett’s Unheard Music Series label, not only makes that distinction clear, but ups the ante by adding a live version of the title track recorded two months earlier at the Frankfurt Jazz Festival, with additional saxophonist Gerd Dudek. (This performance was previously issued on the UMS release by Brötzmann called Fuck De Boere). The packaging also includes some great photos taken during the time and new essays by Corbett and Brötzmann.

The personnel alone would guarantee this album’s importance—Brötzmann was joined by fellow reedists Evan Parker and Willem Breuker, drummers Han Bennink and Sven-Ake Johansson, bassists Peter Kowald and Buschi Niebergall, and pianist Fred Van Hove, some of the most towering figures in European jazz captured early in their careers. But the music itself is downright titanic, one of the most ferocious and simultaneously joyful examples of spontaneous expression ever recorded, pushing the screaming saxophone style of Albert Ayler well past the brink of volatility. Although “Machine Gun” was the nickname Don Cherry gave to Brötzmann, it also describes the staccato sax outburst that opens the piece, giving way to a scalding chaos, one brilliantly undercut by some post-R & B sax riffing here and there that was inspired by Lionel Hampton’s classic “Flying Home.” The other two pieces are just as relentless, channeling the same primal energy while mixing in discrete bits like the almost kwela-like section that intercedes Van Hove’s “Responsibility/For Jan Van De Ven.”

There have been loads of manic free jazz records made over the last four decades, but nothing has yet topped Machine Gun. Tomorrow is the reissue's official release date.    

One more thing: I apologize for being AWOL last week—a burst hot water heater is my main excuse—but I’m back in full effect.

Today’s playlist:

Louie Ramirez, Ali Baba (Fania)
Hobart Smith, Blue Ridge Legacy (Rounder)
X Plastaz, Maasai Hip Hop (Out Here)
Johnny Griffin, Blues for Harvey (Steeplechase)
Junio Barreto, s/t (Tratore)

The onetime Chicago label Okka Disk has just released a fascinating and powerful document of the city’s free-jazz history—from the generally fallow late 80s. Fragments is an LP-only release of an intense duo concert with German reedist Peter Brötzmann and the explosive electric guitarist Sonny Sharrock, recorded at the Elbo Room in December of 1989. Back then many of the best gigs by out-of-town out jazz cats were organized by a nonprofit called Southend Music Works, which during the latter half of the 80s provided an oasis of progressive music at an ever-shifting array of venues: some River West loft spaces, Elbo Room, and even their own dedicated space on Michigan Avenue for a short time. If it weren’t for this organization, things would’ve been a lot drearier in Chicago.

Half a decade later, things had improved dramatically. This particular concert happened near the end of Southend, when they programmed a short series at the Elbo Room—I also remember hearing the String Trio of New York and Iva Bittova there. Brötzmann and Sharrock had been playing together as members of the heavy-hitting free jazz/heavy metal juggernaut Last Exit, and I’m pretty sure this date was the first time Sharrock had played in Chicago in many years—he later did several gigs at Lounge Ax—and the anticipation was palpable. During the early 70s Sharrock had developed a kind of electric-guitar analog for the mind-warping free jazz of Albert Ayler, although his work on a record like Monkey-Pockie-Boo with his wife, Linda, sounded more like escapees from a mental institute let loose in a recording studio than Ayler’s gospelized screech.

I remember this concert began tentatively, but soon picked up loads of steam. Early on Sharrock stuck to more restrained, lyric passages, but prodded by Brotzmann he soon raised the energy level. Although the grinding blues passage on “No 2” is a bit cheesy, other sections find the guitarist summoning roiling blasts that go head-to-head with his partner's fire breathing. During an alternately tender and searing section of solo clarinet playing there’s a brief pause and some laughter; I still remember Sharrock exclaiming, “Damn, Pete!” after a particularly forceful passage, and I’m willing to bet this was it. Malachi Ritscher recorded this performance, and it’s clearly one of his earlier efforts; the sound is clear enough to capture most of the details, but he’s in the midst of the crowd (you can hear a waitress ask a patron if he needs another drink). One odd thing is that Brötzmann, who designed the album art, credits only himself with composing the music, which is strange since these duets were clearly improvised. Sharrock should share the credit. The release comes in a numbered, limited edition of 1,000, and it’s pressed on heavy-duty 180 gram vinyl.

Two of the most idiosyncratic African-American musicians to ever play have died in the last few days. On Wednesday, August 2 Rufus Harley, a Philadelphia legend who started out as a saxophonist but soon found a way to play the bagpipes in a jazz context, died from prostate cancer at the age of 70. He made a number of peculiar jazz recordings for Atlantic, he also worked briefly as a sideman for hard-boppers like Sonny Stitt and Sonny Rollins, and he appeared on a pair of late Albert Ayler recordings, New Grass and Music is the Healing Force of the Universe [editor's note: see Comments for a correction]. Despite the freakish quality of his work, Harley managed to transcend its oddness much of the time. He’s perhaps best-known for some of his cameos—he played on “Sweaters” on Laurie Anderson’s classic Big Science, and on the title track of the Roots album Do You Want More?!!!??!

Yesterday Arthur Lee, the visionary behind the great psychedelic pop band Love,  passed away at the age of 61; he had been suffering from leukemia. During the late 60s his band delivered a natural-sounding mix of sweet, gorgeously orchestrated pop gems and nasty garage rockers. The band’s 1967 album Forever Changes was their masterpiece, but all of the group’s four albums for Elektra were strong. He broke the band up in 1968 and never came close to matching its artistic heights. For most of the 70s and 80s he struggled to regain his form and popularity without much luck and spent time in jail during the 90s for firearm possession. After his release in 2001 he cobbled together numerous line-ups to play the classic Love material.