The Penguin Jazz Guide (95 page)

Ellis later had problems with Columbia, who issued a bastardized version of his subsequent album
Shock Treatment
, but the very fact that a commercial label – Miles Davis’s label – was willing to issue material as adventurous as this was a sign of the times. With
Electric Bath
, recorded at the high-water mark of the rock revolution, Ellis showed that jazz – albeit unorthodox – could still generate the level of excitement youngsters had come to expect as of right.

By this stage Ellis had no difficulty in combining metrical complexity with hot blowing. His own solos on ‘Indian Lady’ and ‘Turkish Bath’ are endlessly fascinating. Even seasoned brass-players, perhaps forgetting that four-valve horn, still wonder how some of the phrases were articulated. The orchestra isn’t quite up to speed all the time. Asking a working band to play and swing in 17/4 is asking a lot, and yet the lineaments of the music are as clear today as they must have seemed baffling 30 years ago. The most recent reissues are superbly remastered, with a ripe, fruity bass, and include the single versions of both the compositions mentioned above. It’s an exhilarating experience.

GLOBE UNITY ORCHESTRA
^&

Formed 1966

Ensemble

Globe Unity 67 & 70

Atavistic Unheard Music Series 223

Manfred Schoof (c, t, flhn); Kenny Wheeler (t, flhn); Jürg Grau, Claude Deron, Tomasz Stańko, Bernard Vitet (t); Paul Rutherford (tb, thn); Jiggs Wigham, Albert Mangelsdorff, Malcolm Griffiths (tb); Kris Wanders (as, bcl); Gerd Dudek (ts, ss, cl, f); Evan Parker (ts, ss); Michel Pilz (ss, bcl, f); Peter Brötzmann (ts, as, bs); Heinz Sauer (bs, ts, as); Willem Breuker (bs, cl); Alexander von Schlippenbach (p, perc); Karl Berger (vib); Derek Bailey (g); Willy Lietzmann (tba); Buschi Niebergall (b, btb); Peter Kowald (b, tba); Han Bennink (d, perc, shellhorn); Jaki Liebezeit, Mani Neumeier, Sven-Åke Johansson, Paul Lovens (d). October 1967–November 1970.

Alexander von Schlippenbach said (1966):
‘From the divine indifference of the spheres emerge the solos with all the impulse of revolt. The lines they trace are the images of life.’

Though it isn’t often discussed in wider contextual terms, Globe Unity was a phenomenon very much of its times – combining postwar political radicalism with a pan-cultural, almost cosmic view informed by the example of Karlheinz Stockhausen and Sun Ra – which managed to sustain that spirit over the next four decades. Schlippenbach’s most ambitious ensemble has sustained itself with rare concerts and even rarer records. Although there has been a revolving cast of players throughout the group’s existence, a few hardy spirits act as points of reference. What a great find
67 & 70
was, two sets by huge editions of the Orchestra, one from Donaueschingen, the other from Berlin, both recorded by German radio. ‘Globe Unity 67’, which runs for 34 minutes, is a glorious pandaemonium of sound, the 19-strong group making a magnificent racket which scarcely lets up, but which, on careful listening, revolves around a relatively harmonious structure. The 1970 performance seems tamer in comparison, yet in formal terms this is the more freewheeling and radical piece and it’s interesting to follow the parallels in working philosophy observed by the London Jazz Composers’ Orchestra, whose first model was American but which existed in the same orbit as Globe Unity, moving from composition to free playing and then back to something like structure.

& See also
ALEXANDER VON SCHLIPPENBACH, Pakistani Pomade
(1972; p. 401),
Monk’s Casino
(2003–2004; p. 683);
LONDON JAZZ COMPOSERS’ ORCHESTRA, Ode
(1972; p. 393)

THELONIOUS MONK
^&

Born 10 October 1917, Rocky Mount, North Carolina; died 17 February 1982, Weehawken, New Jersey

Piano

Underground

Columbia Legacy 513559 2

Monk; Charlie Rouse (ts); Larry Gales (b); Ben Riley (d); Jon Hendricks (v). November 1967, February 1968.

The pianist’s son, T. S. Monk, said (1998):
‘You have to remember that he was considered some kind of Bolshevik, a dangerous revolutionary who was out to break things down. There’s a political dimension to this music no one talks about, and because Thelonious didn’t talk to the press, they made up their own version of him.’

Columbia shrewdly signed Monk just as he was making the transition from underground to mainstream, which is why there’s a certain irony in the choice of
Underground
as the title
of his last small-group album for the label. No one will seriously suggest that his Columbia records match up to the genius of the Blue Notes and Riversides, but they have an impressive persistence and consistency and are delivered without compromise.

The Grammy-winning cover art was pitched at the new youth culture in a year of stillborn revolutions. It shows Monk at the piano in his bunker, machine pistol slung over his shoulder, grenades on the table and a Wehrmacht officer tied to a chair behind him, while a
fille de la Résistance
poses in the background. It doesn’t work quite so well at CD size, but there are a few musical grenades and rapid-fire tunes to enjoy as well. And there is that cameo appearance by Jon Hendricks on ‘In Walked Bud’. On his last quartet date for Columbia, Monk introduced no fewer than four new tunes, unprecedented in this period and unrepeated after as his output slowed prior to the dramatic retirement/disappearance of 1978. One of the four, ‘Ugly Beauty’, is Monk’s only documented composition in three-quarter time, an amazing detail only if you’re unused to the devoted foursquare of his subversively traditional pianism. The other new tunes are ‘Raise Four’, yet another brilliant reinterpretation of the blues form, and two less well-known items, ‘Green Chimneys’ and ‘Boo Boo’s Birthday’. Neither of these has found much favour with piano-players, though Kenny Drew Jr is a great exponent of ‘Boo Boo’.

The real plus of the set isn’t the addition of bonus tracks but that five of the seven original titles are now in unedited form. The band is as tightly disciplined and single-minded as a Resistance cell, explosive outbursts from Riley, a strict cadence from Gales, bristling wires of melody from the much maligned Rouse and strong revolutionary philosophy from Monk, still very much the master of surprise. The irony is that the most notorious Monk cover should conceal some of his least-known tunes, though it’s hard to contradict producer Peter Keepnews’s assertion that this would be a significant moment in the canon even if it came in plain brown wrappers.

& See also
Genius Of Modern Music
(1947–1948; p. 115),
Brilliant Corners
(1956; p. 198)

JAZZ COMPOSERS ORCHESTRA
^&

Formed 1967

Ensemble

Communications

JCOA 841124-2

Michael Mantler (dir); Don Cherry (c); Randy Brecker, Stephen Furtado, Lloyd Michaels (flhn); Bob Northern, Julius Watkins (frhn); Jimmy Knepper, Roswell Rudd (tb); Jack Jeffers (btb); Howard Johnson (tba); Al Gibbons, Steve Lacy, Steve Marcus (ss); Bob Donovan, Gene Hull, Frank Wess (as); Gato Barbieri, George Barrow, Pharoah Sanders, Lew Tabackin (ts); Charles Davis (bs); Carla Bley, Cecil Taylor (p); Larry Coryell (g); Kent Carter, Ron Carter, Bob Cunningham, Richard Davis, Eddie Gomez, Charlie Haden, Reggie Johnson, Alan Silva, Steve Swallow, Reggie Workman (b); Andrew Cyrille, Beaver Harris (d). January–June 1968.

London Jazz Composers’ Orchestra founder Barry Guy says:
‘My own compositional studies in the late ’60s had introduced me to this “time/space” notation via Penderecki and others and whilst composing
Ode
for LJCO using this method, the arrival of Mantler’s music in 1968 was an affirmation of this approach. I decided to name my own ensemble in homage to Mike Mantler (who I only met in the ’90s!). I found his work invaluable and immensely satisfying, like having a wonderful Picasso painting above my work desk.’

Formed by Michael Mantler to commission and perform new large-scale jazz compositions. JCO’s best-known product is still the massive ‘chronotransduction’
Escalator Over The Hill
. From the same period came the equally ambitious
Communications
. It consists of four enormous slabs of orchestrated sound and a brief ‘Preview’, each with a featured soloist.
Or, in the case of the opening ‘Communications No. 8’, two soloists: Don Cherry and Gato Barbieri. Mantler’s scoring is unique. Cherry’s squeaky cornet is the only high-pitched brass instrument; the sections are weighted towards french horns and trombones, with flugelhorn accents generally located in the middle register and the higher-pitched parts assigned to soprano saxophones. In addition, Mantler scores for five double basses on each track, which gives each piece a complex tonal rootedness for the soloists’ (mostly) unrestrained excursions.

Roswell Rudd’s playing on ‘No. 10’ is some of his best on record; Steve Swallow’s bass introduction establishes its parameters with great exactness, and again the dark scoring works superbly. The final two-part section fully justifies Cecil Taylor’s top billing. His solo part is full of huge, keyboard-long runs and pounded chords and arpeggios that leave Andrew Cyrille trailing in his wake. Very much of its time,
Communications
is still an important historical document.

& See also
LONDON JAZZ COMPOSERS’ ORCHESTRA, Ode
(1972; p. 393)

STEVE MARCUS

Also known as ‘The Count’; born 18 September 1939, New York City; died 1 October 2005, New Hope, Pennsylvania

Tenor and soprano saxophones

Tomorrow Never Knows

Water Music 120

Marcus; Mike Nock (ky); Larry Coryell (g); Chris Hills (b); Bob Moses (d). April 1968.

Larry Coryell says:
‘Steve Marcus is one of the greatest saxophonists who ever lived. When he promulgated “Tomorrow Never Knows”, he was aiming to do his own, Coltrane-influenced improvisation on a theme that wasn’t considered “jazz” at the time. Steve never thought about the labels that get applied to music; the Beatles’ music turned him on, and so, in turn, he turned on his bright light of talent as a tribute to the lads from Liverpool.’

Is this the record that launched jazz-rock? The birth of fusion? Arguably, Coryell’s Free Spirits were around earlier, with a near-identical line-up to this, but Marcus’s was much more of a jazz group. Though he became associated with the new jazz-rock hybrid, Marcus had played with Woody Herman, Stan Kenton and Buddy Rich and was MD of the Rich ‘ghost’ band. A player of enormous resource and instinctive musicality, he seemed able to turn his hand to any form and any material. His saxophone sound, pure and keening, isn’t so distinctive one would instantly pick him out of a crowd, but his way of phrasing, with a kind of liquid edge to the note-groups, is all his own.

Most of the material is pop tunes, with the Lennon–McCartney title-piece (a fiery solo from Coryell in his Hendrix phase) and ‘Rain’, Donovan’s ‘Mellow Yellow’, the Byrds’ ‘Eight Miles High’ and only former Marcus employer Gary Burton from the jazz canon at all. It has a somewhat dated sound, inevitably, but only the cloth-eared and hidebound will miss the musicality behind every phrase. Marcus also released
Count’s Rock Band
and
The Lord’s Prayer
(Herbie Hancock was on board) around this time, and they merit a revisit as well.

HAROLD MABERN

Born 20 March 1936, Memphis, Tennessee

Piano

A Few Miles From Memphis

Prestige PRCD 7568

Mabern; Blue Mitchell (t); George Coleman, Buddy Terry (ts); Bill Lee (b); Walter Perkins, Hugh Walker (d). March 1968.

Harold Mabern said (1991):
‘I’m not saying we feel downtrodden, and I guess it’s because people associate Memphis with country music, but you don’t hear anyone talking about the “Memphis sound” and all the great players that come out of there. George Coleman? Booker Little? Phineas Newborn Jr and Calvin Newborn, Alberta Hunter, Frank Strozier, Dee Dee Bridgewater … me, too!’

There is something about Harold Mabern that just breathes Memphis. Few jazz pianists have come so close to the essence of the blues, yet there is nothing crude or revivalist about his playing, which also indicates a heavy debt to the spacious approach of Ahmad Jamal and Phineas Newborn. He took lessons with Julian Mance Sr and played later with Benny Golson and Art Farmer, as well as a stint with Hampton, often working as an accompanist. Mabern himself has pointed out the importance of regular R&B gigs, not in the sense that these overdetermine his piano style – though they influence it deeply – but more that players of his ilk were able to play continuously and professionally on that scene, constantly learning and adapting.

A Few Miles
has been reissued with
Rakin’ And Scrapin’
, pretty downhome fare on both, but with Coleman’s subtle harmonic awareness informing his solos. Mabern plays bop with his own inflection, using mostly original lines which reduce the complexity but open up intriguing territory for improvisation. Shrewdly, both these early discs featured one contemporary pop song each: ‘There’s A Kind of Hush’ on
A Few Miles
, ‘I Heard It Through The Grapevine’ (electric piano) on
Rakin’.
Perversely, perhaps, Harold’s own ‘Walkin’ Back’ sounds more like a chart hit, another benefit of growing up in Memphis, where song is all-pervasive.