Joseph Jarman - 'Song For' (Delmark)

There really must have been something in the water in Chicago then, because the music that came out of the late 1960s AACM scene is so unlike anything of its own time or any other. This first Jarman solo record is another piece in the puzzle that became the Art Ensemble, and thus fits in alongside the early Roscoe Mitchell recordings and the other pre-Art Ensemble experiments, which converge on that amazing 5 CD 1967/68 box set (if only it could get a vinyl release!). Jar's band at this time contained Christopher Gaddy and Charles Clark, both of whom were dead within a year (according to the liner notes of this 1970s reissue); dual tragedies, of course, all the more because this core trio had a contemplative understanding of space and time that was a really different flavour to the playfulness of the Art Ensemble. As a quartet with Thurman Barker, they're stripped down on 'Non-Cognitive Aspects of the City', a jaw-dropping excursion into outer-limits impressionism, with Jarman's poetic recitation at the centre. This celebration of urban mysticism explicitly references Dada a few times and casts Chicago's skyline as a shifting tapestry of possible worlds, a chaos that pulsates and gives. Gaddy's piano lines are especially elegant, with a mood closer to Paul Bley than fellow AACMer Muhal Richard Abrams. The larger band, found on the other three tracks, contains Fred Anderson on tenor, Steve McCall on drums and William Brimfield on Trumpet, and both sides start with cohesive, melodic compositions. 'Little Fox Run' is waxy, even a bit brittle, and a strange juxtaposition against 'Non-Cognitive'. It punches through the air and announces their arrival, but is too one-dimensional to showcase Jarman's talents. Side B starts with 'Adam's Rib', a modal, evolving progression that creaks towards silence, opening up for the longer form improvisation of the title track, which is segues into. 'Song For' starts by building percussive elements in space before erupting into a push/pull that is free, but never chaotic. Brimfield's trumpet rips over everything and the presence of two drummers makes it kinda choppy, but the band knows when to hold 'em and knows when to fold 'em, and the comedowns and murmurs are some of the piece's most invigorating moments. At times Jarman's alto and Anderson's tenor don't even seem to be in the same room, but then they come together to make great waves of sound. All around, in the corners, you can hear slide whistles, shouting, and marimba; also Charles Clark moseying around and tiny finger cymbals and bells. This flavours the music with sounds not often heard on ESP releases of the time (Don Garrett's work excepted); it's an approach radical and visionary, but quietly so, which can be the most rewarding.

Friendship Next Of Kin featuring Selwyn Lissack - 'Facets of the Univers' (Goody)

I used to know a guy who used 'Selwyn Lissack' as his Internet handle, which is a wonderfully obscure choice. This is the only LP by this group, a free bashabout led by two South Africans, Lissack on drums and Mongezi Feza's inimitable pocket trumpet. There's a bunch of British stars of the time present, most notable Harry Miller and Mike Osborne, who are no strangers to playing with these South Africans. And unlike Miller's own band, or the Chris McGregor Brotherhood of Breath, this is much more akin to the continental sounds of the time (1971), sounding like it could be an Italian band with Steve Lacy or something like that. Side one gets revving with the title track, with 'universe' spelled correctly on the label and song title, just incorrectly in the album title. There's some piano that is uncredited, though the Internet tells me it's second bassist Earl Freeman, and it's sparse enough to really set the tone when it's audible. This has that sorta shitty recording quality that affects so many jazz records from the time; Lissack's clattering is all sticks and cymbals with some ramshackle thuds; the highs of Osborne's alto and Feza's toy cut through everything and there feels like no middle. But despite all of this, it's great. It rumbles and growls, and when the brass erupts it's pretty intriguing, though I'm not sure if my verbal description here differs from any of the other free jazz records I've written about in these annals over the past six years. The b-side is one long track bearing the name of the group, which starts as a quieter exploration under a long spoken poem. I'm not sure who is speaking - the voice is male, and sounds African-American - I don't think it's Lissack cause there's no South African accent, but possibly the American Freeman. The recording is still as lackluster as the first side, especially on the spacious parts, which sound like they were recorded from down a long hallway. The spoken word is one of the more colourful passages of its type, with spirited absurdities and an earnest timbre to the delivery. When the two basses take over (one bowing, one walking) it moves the proceedings into a somber area that feels incongruous with the first half. But then it explodes, and this is where Lissack shines, pounding away with determination and style. The piano makes long glissando runs and Feza is once again the star. At times, there is a 'swing' vibe to this, but it never goes out of control or becomes too formulaic. Despite the flaws of the recording this is a favourite of mine, particularly due to the quite impressive scope of sounds explored on 'Friendship Next of Kin' (side B). Lissack apparently turned to painting in the late 70s but also appeared on the über-rare Ric Colbeck The Sun is Up LP, which for some reason still hasn't been reissued.

Elklink - 'The Rise of Elklink' (Kye)

Elklink is a Graham Lambkin cassette that was reissued here with a bonus track, built entirely from tape and voice. There's a lot of whispers, creaks, and guttural sounds, but it's not so much the source material as the way the overall construction makes an insane, unique atmosphere. Which is the key to Lambkin's genius. This has usual collaborators Tim Goss and Adris Hoyos appearing in places on electronics and voice, respectively, but it's largely Lambkin's game (though Goss's very delicate intrusions make 'Paul, Linda & Minor Members' completely stunning). The two sides of the original cassette are mirror images, in terms of titles - 'Tension Tec' vs 'Utension Tec', and two tracks called 'The Spoons'.  Delicacy is the key; the first 'Spoons', at times, withers to a point that is barely perceptible. Occasionally we hear an outlier - a baby's cry, a distant telephone or the pluck of an acoustic string - but mostly it's the mouth of Lambkin generating all of the ebbs and flows here. If you like Robert Ashley's Automatic Writing but want something a bit more, well, 'rock and roll' --- then Elklink might be for you. The sonority of the tape itself, continually rolling in a loop while this serene madness bubbles around it, is the primary colour here. Sometimes things congeal into soaring, ascending streaks while lots of it lies fermenting. The bonus track, 'You', is more thickly blanketed in white (or is it pink?) noise, a childlike vocal fumble occasionally poking out. This would make a good cut to mix with the numbers stations recordings of The Conet Project which I don't doubt was some sort of influence, if anything was. This was recorded in Florida in 1999 and I strive sometimes to hear a sense of alienation of the Englishman in his new country. I'm a massive fan of Lambkin's work, from the Shadow Ring through his brilliant solo work (just wait til we get to Salmon Run, a recording that I won't be able to throw enough superlatives at) and this certainly ranks among his best releases.

Art Ensemble of Chicago - 'Fanfare for the Warriors' (Atlantic Jazzlore)

There's something a little bit different about this album and I think it might have to do with move to Atlantic records, a proper major label. Yes, this is the "big studio" record, I guess, even though most of their other albums were recorded in a studio. There is something very classy and shiny at play here but it works well, almost too perfectly. Fanfare for the Warriors opens with Malachi Favors' 'Illistrum', an abstract bit of atonal 20th century art-pomp with dramatic spoken whatzit, and from the first resounding piano chord of guest artist Muhal Richard Abrams, we're pretty much aware that this is a grant statement. Everything sounds bright, alive like great jazz should, though not "live" like the last few records. Lester Bowie's 'Baryard Scuffel Shuffel' takes a ragtimish theme and decorates it with lopsided anarchy; it's a statement of his interest in traditional/Dixieland forms but integrated into a deconstructive group method. But it's Roscoe Mitchell's 'Tnoona' that blew my young mind when I first encountered it. The Art Ensemble sorta bridged the gap between minimalism and free jazz with this track, a fecund interstate highway in the direction of an unrealised potential for What Jazz Could Be. It's like the jazz Soliloquy for Lilith, or maybe I should say Salt Marie Celeste. I know I'm prone to overdo the superlatives but of all the tracks we've spun in the last few months, this is truly one of the greatest -- and there's been a lot of great ones so far. It bubbles, purrs and leaks, threatening to explode but staying under tight control. Which makes the jaunty 'The Key', also by Mitchell, feel so much more like a release at the end. Jarman's title track should also get mention here - it has a sinister edge we haven't really heard before, but then again, these are warriors we're talking about.

Art Ensemble of Chicago - 'Certain Blacks' (Inner City)

This used to occupy the spot of "least favorite Art Ensemble record worth keeping", for I perceived it as only pseudo-AEoC. The lineup contains Chicago Beau, Julio Finn, and William A. Howell, and none of the three compositions are by the "actual", "real" Art Ensemble members. This record is copyrighted 1976 and I saw this as the beginning of their downfall, but I couldn't deny some pretty killer grooves here so I kept it in the collection. Now I read that it was actually recorded in 1970, in Paris (which is not owned up to on the sleeve) so now it's recontextualised - some Chicago friends came over to visit, perhaps, and they had a recording session where they decided to let loose a bit. The visitors led things, and they decided to rock out with their cock(s) out, for once, right? And now if I think of this as fun and stop worrying about it being a great artistic statement against the already mighty pantheon of Art Ensemble releases, I can really enjoy it. The first side is "Certain Blacks" with a goofball chant that comes and goes around a total American-style loft jam. There is a more gutbucket approach here - maybe it's Finn's harmonica but it just feels ballsy and bluesy, melodic and dissonant at the same time. Howell's drumming is propulsive if not particularly distinct and it keeps things going. I guess if I was more of a student of the reeds I could hear the tonal aspects that identify the Art Ensemble's signature, but it all gets lost a bit through the new veil of, gasp, accessibility. Side two is even more "inside" - it opens with "One For Jarman", a clean, open descension around Beau's piano riff. It recalls some of the bouncier bits of side 2 of Chris McGregor's Brotherhood of Breath record, though with somewhat more translucent intervals. The last piece, a Sonny Boy Williamson jam, is like a bar room brawl magnified by a muddy trench, and it ends with the most bombastic, direct groove ever released under the Art Ensemble moniker. (Well, at least out of what I've heard). It's cool to embrace your roots and around the time this record was actually released I think they were starting to head in that direction.