Roy Harper ‎– 'Flashes From The Archives Of Oblivion' (Chrysalis)

A good live album captures something that isn't found in the studio, but Flashes from the Archives of Oblivion only does that in, well, flashes. Case in point: track #2, the impeccable 'Commune', sounds pretty much as the version on Valentine does, minus the strings and layered vocals. There's a little fragment of something preceding it, spliced in after the lone studio track on this record ('Home') ends, but otherwise, apart from maybe some hesitations on the tricky fingerpicking, this is just a lesser version. Likewise, 'Me and My Woman', minus David Bedford's strings and accents, is just a really long strummy folk song. And that's my problem with Flashes - it feels often like a contractual obligation record than something proper, though the horrible cover art probably affects my enjoyment.  Which isn't to say there's anything wrong with this; Harper's spoken intros are cute, when present, and the recordings (coming from a variety of shows in the early 70s) are pretty nice sounding. 'Home' bookends the set, studio at the beginning and a faster, jammy live version at the end, and the inclusion of one studio track feels a bit odd, like it might have been better released as a single. Which it actually was, according to discogs.com. It's a great song, a perfect pop concoction with a great 70s rock hood and some nice flute interplay. I do like the more minimal 'Twelve Hours of Sunset', a bit slower and more acoustic, though you could also say it drags a bit. The most extended bit of solo guitar jamming comes on 'One Man Rock and Roll Band' and this is a nice take on the Stormcock classic. But some of the other songs ('Don't You Grieve', for example) aren't anything special in these versions, except maybe when the production rule of 'less is more' is applicable (most obviously on the Lifemask tracks - 'South Africa', 'All Ireland' and 'Highway Blues'). There are some string accompaniments on 'Another Day', and some light backing in other places -- but for the most part this seems to be just Harper solo gig throughout, albeit with some echo effects (or else recorded in very large rooms). I'm not a Harper completist (which I realise is a funny thing to say about someone I own ten albums by) but I keep this collection mostly for the studio version of 'Home', and a side-D jam called 'Too Many Movies',  - a melancholy, electric guitar strummer that touches on memory and popular culture. 

GOL, Ana-Maria Avram, Iancu Dumitrescu And Members Of Ansamblul Hyperion - 'Musique Directe' (Planam)

GOL are a French-based quartet of electro-acoustic improvisers who take their soundmap from Musica Elettronica Viva and others which have followed in their wake. It's a spacious sound, and occasionally gets quite extreme in terms of echo/effects/processing, but there's a group feel throughout that doesn't really change when the guests join in. The opening cut is just GOL alone, and while their name suggests football fandom, this is more like water skiïng, cutting against waves of roomspace with tensely attenuated electronics. Avram and Dumitrescu join for the second track and it's a much murkier affair, with Dumitrescu playing a prepared piano frame which (I assume) fills up all the middle space. There's still a lot of negotiating even when there's nervous energy, like a yapping dog knowing when to pull back and wait for a snack. Occasionally some really what-the-fuck sounds drift in, but then they don't overstay their welcome; it's a trick that GOL plays a few time throughout the record but never to the point of gimmickyness. The last cut on side 1 features Dumitrescu on the cello but this doesn't sound like Yo-Yo Ma or even like a recognisable cello in any form. Actually, there's very few points of recognisable instruments across the whole album, at least in a conventional sense. Sometimes a processed sound has a texture that makes it identifiable as a plucked acoustic string or percussive tap, but it's transformed into a sideways ghost here. Yet this processing is not the point - it's not an overly wet record, just one that has a solid mood. Side two starts with a Dumitrescu composition built around a tape piece from 1985, played by Avram, and accentuated by the group's clatter and sturm. It rather seamlessly blends into the last piece, which is the only one to feature "members of Ansamblul Hyperion", in this case two people both named Teodorescu. It's not like the sound is significantly more full when there are seven people playing on a track instead of four, but this one gets into the higher register a bit more and ends around some ringing space tones that have a subtle pulse beneath them. At first I thought the title of this album was somewhat of a joke, but actually there is something 'direct' here, in the direct cinema sense, as in we're witnessing a group collaboration that is natural and unprocessed. The sounds, sure, have their own electronic processing at times, but the cohesive group dynamic is presented without visible editing or subterfuge. The liner notes contain a graphical score for a piece which is not on this album, maybe a Dadaist joke or just something pretty they wanted to include anyway. It's hard to tell the tone of this - it's not an overly joyous sound, nor is it too-serious or academic. And the basic, plain graphic artwork places this in a zone of total neutrality, allowing one to add their own interpretation at will. Direct music, indeed.

Globe Unity - 'Improvisations' (Japo)

I made a typo on the first draft of this and actually called the band "Glove Unity", which is a nice concept, indeed. This is a good test of the new turntable - so far I've noticed that jazz sounds far better than rock, as thicker mixes struggle a bit for clarity, but the turntable (which I got secondhand) has a pretty old cartridge/stylus on it, which I really should replace. I remembered this being nothing more than a giant ball of noise, but I'm confusing it with another Globe Unity album I have on CD. This has its moments of ball-like fury, as anything with 15 musicians playing at once will, but it's actually a lot more delicate and spacious than I remembered. Side one starts off very slowly, with everyone feeling each other out. The instrumentation is cryptically referred to with two-letter abbreviations and I think it's clear to me (ss = soprano sax, fl = flugelhorn --  or is it flute?, etc.) but it's not always clear who is what. For example, both Peter Brötzmann and Michael Pilz are credited to bass clarinet, though it's the third of three instruments for Brötzmann, so you're left to guess who is what. At the beginning there's a nice soft little lick played on that instrument, left to echo into the beautiful air-space that this vinyl pressing really clearly captures, and I'm guessing it's Pilz because it doesn't sound like a rocket launcher firing. But who knows? There's two of just about everything - well, not exactly - but only one drummer here, Paul Lovens, and he's content to sit back for long passages, just adding some cymbals or other percussion. And Alex von Schlippenbach, the leader of the whole thing is absent for long stretches. It's not until the end of side 1, when this group finally explodes in the manner I spent the whole side waiting for, that his piano really starts chopping through everything. The group interplay is fantastic, and even at its thickest, there is a remarkable balance between the different forces. It's at times tentative, and at times confrontational, but you don't feel like these musicians are battling in a way to establish dominance. I love European free jazz, because it seems to avoid any ego driven basis of much American soloing and focus on a group mentality; plus, later Dutch efforts start to reincorporate traditional swing elements and melody in a way that's really remarkable. There's no Dixieland flavours here, but as any record with both Derek Bailey and Evan Parker, a hell of a lot of boundary pushing. The end of the record is all strings, where the cello by Tristan Honsinger interplays with the bassists (Buschi Niebergall and the great unsung Peter Kowald, who I think is the Robert Horry of Euro free jazz); something is done to the bass, maybe the way its recorded, that makes it sound like some space age synth affect. I'm not sure if they actually used any effects or if it's just an accident of studio sonorities (or dust on my stylus??) but it feels like a spiritual connection to out-there European NWW list music like Heldon or Mahogany Brain, if only for a minute. Though I've pointed out the few musicians I can clearly identify (due to their instrumentation being unique), this isn't really a showcase for any one player, but rather one of the few examples of 15 people coming together to make something great together. I don't know if freely improvised music has moved very far beyond this record (recorded in September, 1977) but that's also not the point - the point is the lineup, for these musicians sound distinctly like these musicians when in this combination. And a joyous sound it is.

Chico Freeman - 'Chico' (India Navigation)

The very lengthy side one of this starts out with an extended Cecil McBee bass intro, and it's a pleasure, as is his playing throughout the 16-minute medley of 'Generation' and 'Regeneration'. This slow, open piece has Freeman playing soft and cautious, setting down a tone that's intense without being gusty. I heard this years back and was intrigued by Freeman's playing, but to be honest, it's McBee that owns this side of the record. 'And All the World Moved' finds Freeman fluting over some deep bowed McBee hustle; sometimes it's all-encompassing and echoing, and at other parts it's rumbling like it's about to rupture. Their start-stop interplay is pushed to two ends of the audible spectrum yet it doesn't feel empty in the middle. It's neither excessively solemn not overly tradition-based - it feels personal, open, and inviting yet hardly light. On the flip we find a quintet, the two being joined by some AACM alums including Steve McCall and Muhal Richard Abrams. This swings, and Abrams is a bit subdued; second percussionist Tito Sampa adds so much to this, making it a Larks Tongues in Aspic feel. About 3/4 of the way through the side's sole piece ('Merger', recorded live in concert in NYC), Freeman explodes with what's one of my favourite sax solos in the whole of my vinyl accumulation - a twisting, explosive and yet extremely harmonic flurry of notes that ends just before making it's pattern obvious. The proceedings are brought back down to a sweet, smooth denouement and then the audience claps. 

The Ex - 'Joggers & Smoggers' (Ex)

This has always been my favourite Ex album, where they full embraced their avant-garde tendencies and made a huge, sprawling record that's meant as a statement - a statement of purpose, but also a roadmap to future explorations. Some may disagree, as this can also be seen as an inconsistent scattering of sketches and unfinished ideas. Either way, if this isn't a turning point, I don't know what is - it's a 34-track double LP packed with guests from Dutch jazz as well as Thurston Moore, Lee Ranaldo and other such titans. But it also has a textual influence not yet seen, with various other writers contributing ideas (including Kafka, Brecht and Emma Goldman). The opening track announces that this is something different - it's a rumbling, staticky sketch, like something from a soundtrack, resisting the urge to explode in punk fury. And throughout Joggers & Smoggers we find a different, more open Ex. Whether they're accentuating their lineup with instruments yet-unheard of on Ex records, or just letting the songs breathe more, this is a conscious change. The results are stunning - as long as it is, it never gets tiresome and the lyrics seem to reflect this new openness as well. 'People Who Venture', deep on side three, is a nuanced dissection of individuality and systems, and they're printed in the gatefold so they can be enjoyed separately. I hear a lot of Beefheart, whose always been somewhat of a spiritual influence through the herky-jerky root sound, but also in the sprawl. The second side brings in some funky horns, growling voices, and the occasional classic Ex 'song'. The rocking bits move towards the sound of discordant bands like the Fire Engines or Dog Faced Hermans more than Crass; a Scottish influence perhaps? The next full-lengths after this, which I sadly don't own in physical form, are the two collaborations with Tom Cora, seen by many as the high point of the Ex's (and Cora's) career. It's easy to listen to Joggers & Smoggers and declare this as the warmup to a more improvisatory form, but really, the Cora records are tighter and more song-based than even this.

Elton Dean's Ninesense - 'Happy Daze' (Ogun)

They're called Ninesense cause there's 9 of them, get it? Elton Dean was in Soft Machine but here's a place to show off his jazzy side. This is from '77 and the liner notes, laid in out a lovingly hand-written manner, talk extensively about the history and composition of the band. I like this record lots, but I have a major soft spot for the South African expat/Chris McGregor axis, of which Louis Moholo and Harry Miller are present here. That's a hell of a rhythm section and they really start off with a warm inviting ball on 'Nicrotto', and then into a propulsive, slow swing on 'Seven for Lee'. The other 7, led of course by Dean's confident if slightly indistinct alto, never overplay. This is a who's-who of 70s British jazzbos, with some names I sort of recognize and others that I don't at all. The duo of Marc Charig and Harry Beckett are the high points for me, who play trumpet, cornet, flugelhorn and tenor horn (though I'm not one to really distinguish these). They give the ninetet a bright and brassy assonance that cuts through the repetitive themes laid down by the saxes and trombones.  The opening cut 'Nicrotto' is such a beautiful start to a record - such a gentle swell of harmony - and yet it also starts pulling away from itself about halfway through, where Keith Tippett's piano revs the whole band towards a discordant mess. It comes crashing back down into some nice, smouldering ashes, and the record never actually gets better. 'Seven for Lee' maybe gets a bit too Apollonian for my tastes, but it works well against the more outré sounds heard elsewhere, and it has an excellent start, lurching out of the aforementioned ashes. The flipside is a bit more traditional, opening with 'Sweet F.A.', I assume a paen to the football association of England. This is where Dean and Tippett really get their freak on; long, dizzying solos fill the 11 minutes of this song, over Harry Miller's repeating bass chords. It's jazz-by-numbers, but Tippett's solo in particular is stunning, sounding like he has 4 hands. The closer, 'Three For All', is not as wild as it's title might suggest, falling into a hard-bop groove that works because of the confident rhythms behind it. Tippet's piano chords punctuate all the right moments, giving this a nice momentum. Happy it is, a daze it's not, but it's a successful outing for sure.

Don Cherry - 'Complete Communion' (Blue Note)

If you've ever needed evidence of why record geeks often prefer mono pressings of things, listen here. This record sounds so unbelieveably good, that I have trouble believing it's almost 45 years old. This particular pressing is in mint fuckin' condition as well, so I'm always a bit hesitant to actually, y'know, play the thing. But just like I one day learned to accept that it's okay to lose brain cells, I learned to enjoy Complete Communion -- completely! This is Cherry's first solo LP for Blue Note, one of a trilogy (of which I am missing the middle entry, my fave, Symphony for Improvisers). The band is Cherry, Gato Barbieri, Henry Grimes and Ed Blackwell, and it's divided into two four-piece suites, 'Complete Communion' and 'Elephantasy', all penned by Cherry. 'Complete Communion' is an incredibly advanced subversion of jazz melodies. It's an iconic tune, one of the few from the avant canon that I can actually hum unprompted; yet throughout all four of its segments, whenever you feel the harmony about to hit, either Cherry or Gato ducks away from it, and goes to some weird minor second interval, just for a second. It's a series of marginal disruptions, but Grimes and Blackwell roll through everything with such a peppy momentum that you never really settle in it. The tune is a great one too, sprinkled with vaguely Iberian spice (perhaps this was written specifically for Gato?) and a lot of range in its monaural glory. We don't need separate channels for the cornet and sax, because these guys have a great way of responding to each other and establishing a complementary relationship, even though they mirror melody lines more than a few times. I can really hear how influential Cherry was on Don Ayler, because he has this way of playing a line that feels like he's mumbling it, out of the side of his mouth (yet through the cornet mouthpiece). It's those casual gestures that keep me coming back to music. Blue Note's high quality studio no doubt contributes to the 'classic' status of these records, because some of the 70s records don't have the same clarity that this does. Blackwell's cymbals in particular manage to sit just perfectly in the mix. Grimes is maybe the least obvious element, though halfway through 'Elephantasy' he gets a nice bowed string solo which folds back into the group before outstaying its welcome. 'Elephantasy' in general is a more fluid, exploratory piece. It's tempo shifts sometimes suggests the space of the lounge, and at other times, a menagerie. I actually find it a bit less exotic than 'Complete Communion' though maybe the title is supposed to suggest adventures in India. Of course. we're still a few albums away from Cherry's complete communion with the pulse of the earth, if such a thing is to be believed -- there's still a solid footing in post-bop free-jazz, which is a nice anchor. Total righteousness all around.

Tim Buckley (Elektra)

In my reality, the best crooners wear checked jackets and sport turtlenecks, white pants and a whitefro. You throw together Jack Nietzche, Van Dyke Parks and a 19-year old Tim Buckley and you're gonna get something at least interesting, if not earth-shattering. I know this Buckley record the least of his work, or at least as little as I know Goodbye and Hello (because I've never found a copy). But it's solid, though still in the whole 60's singer-songwriter style. About half of the songs are co-written with someone named Beckett (Samuel?) and they are given that warm, soulful production technique that always makes me think "mainstream". Plus, these liner notes are so awesome I'm gonna paste 'em verbatim:

Tim Buckley, an incredibly thin wire, just nineteen-years-old, is already a kind of quintessence of nouvelle, the sensitivity apparent in the very fineness of his features. The man is a study in fragile contrasts: yet everything is in key, precise. His songs are exquisitely controller: quiet, complex mosaics of powerful electric sound, they hold the magic of Japanese water colors. The voice - crisp, full of strength and character, can soar, yet remain tender and delicate. This is Tim Buckley.

This sums it up better than the Underbite could ever hope to say. There's little to jump out at me as this lacks the freedom of his later records, but the strings are dark and mournful and his voice has the sophistication that lends a gravitas to even creepy songs like 'Song Slowly Song' (though singing about a 16 year old girl ain't so bad if you're only 19 yourself, but how old was Beckett)? The melancholia that I love in Buckley is present, but buried a bit - or rather, as he hasn't really come into his own yet, it doesn't feel like his melancholia yet, but a generic sort. In some ways the blurb above feels more like a prediction of his future records than a description of this one - specifically the watercolour thing, which really comes to life once he shakes off steady rhythms and lets things roll. Van Dyke is pretty much just a session musician, though his harpsichord is pretty when you can hear it. Imagine how amazing a full-fledged songwriting collaboration would have been between these two? Move over Smile, cause the one thing I've always wanted from Tim Buckley was for him to be singing cryptic layered word-poems that gesticulate about American landscapes, political discontent and the fleeting inevitability of moments past. Or maybe a Samuel Beckett/VDP/Buckley collaboration would be an even greater rock music what-if jackoff. But yeah, I'm sad to say that this self-titled record gets filed back after this one listen because I'm just psyched to hear Blue Afternoon and Happy Sad again.

Anthony Braxton - 'Creative Orchestra Music 1976' (Arista)

Jumping off from the concise, quartet-based stuff on Five Pieces 1975, we get this large enesemble masterpiece - in some ways the culmination of everything Braxton 'represents'. He keeps his orchestra on a short leash for the most part, but at some points, particularly cut three on side 2, we hear some of the most fully realised potential of big-band improvisation/composition meetings. But let's start at the beginning - side 1, track 1 is a go-getter, a sprightly or attention-grabber that shows off the potential of what happens when you get 15 talented people together. The tune is concise and everyone is held somewhat in check by each other; solos come out but they're balanced in a brass vs. reeds structure and it's a pretty dazzling opening. And well-recorded too! But then, cut two is 8 minutes of quiet experimentation - with an even larger lineup of twenty. There's MEV guys, AACM guys, and some lesser known names but they all take their time feeling out how they can interact spatially. There's some bass drum rubbing, tuba bleats, and other motifs that people associate with 'smart' free jazz, but it's restrained enough that I would maybe even finger this as a track to pick out as a potential eye-opener for the doubters. Cut three is an experimentation with marching band music and is such really fun and, well, fucking racous. Leo Smith is conductor, and I can imagine him wearing some strange red uniform. The liner notes make a reference to Tutti music but all I know is that is fucking rips. When you flip the record, though, you get a very moody, ECM like exploration that steps through several tonal progressions (while still leaving room for piano tinkles and marimba gurgles). There are improvisational sections but they are like the floss between these heavy, post-classical teeth. I like it, but I've always had a thing for mildewy cobweb jazz composition. Braxton musta really carefully sequences Creative Orchestra Music 1976 to balance the peaks and valleys; these slower bits really work well against the full-fledged rock-out-with-your-cock-out moments. Of which the final cut is definitely that, as mentioned above. Creative? Yes. Orchestra? Well, 20 is an orchestra to me though there's a distinct lack of strings. But not a lack of swing; and even the slower, spatial bits maintain some sort of reflection on 'blues' or whatever it is that is the voice of African-American jazz espression.