Abbey Lincoln's Abbey Is Blue

A fascinating vocal jazz album, Lincoln and the band play sparse, reserved music with some Afrocentric and political themes and content, especially “Afro Blue,” wherein Lincoln sings about an African prince and is nearly as good as any instrumental recording from Coltrane or Santamaria. Though lacking strong, obvious Afro-Cuban rhythms because the drummer plays so silently, Lincoln’s lyrics are beautiful, “shades of delight, cocoa hue, rich as the night, Afro Blue.” The song asserts pride and sensuality, a defense of blackness as beautiful, which, for 1959, was quite rare in popular culture. Her horrifying, solitary voice on “Lonely House” is quite soothing and depressing, but sheer delight in her range. “Funny, with so many neighbors, how lonely it can be!” Clearly, there is some political meaning to the lyric here beyond the universal feelings of loneliness anyone feels, perhaps a reflection on the loneliness of urban living, too, but also African-American ‘loneliness’ in the US under Jim Crow segregation from alienation from mainstream America? The lyrics were written by Langston Hughes, so I shall leave the interpretation up to you. Some songs use elements of the blues, such as “Let Up,” a stirring number with, again, muted accompaniment and excellent saxophone back up. “Sure enough fed up” of course entails not only anger in personal relationships, or life, but, naturally, the political climate at the time. Though nothing is as “out there” or avant-garde as her screaming on Max Roach’s We Insist!—Fredom Now but this is definitely unique when compared to most vocal jazz of the late 1950s and early 1960s. Her rendition of songs like “Thursday’s Child” are quite emotive, deep, and, at times, sounds something like Billie Holiday on more mysterious, sinister-toned songs like “No More,” itself a rather unusual jazz ballad with an ominous tone. Likewise, Lincoln, who, alas, passed away in recent years while never relenting on her dedication to the civil rights movement and black power, channels Holiday. The relaxed feel of the band and their rather muted performance enhances the solitude and loneliness of the piece, accentuating Lincoln’s strong voice, vocal range, and, at times, haunting beauty. My favorite song, “Brother, Where Are You,” a composition of Oscar Brown, who wrote lyrics for Max Roach, begins on a dark note with spiritual, pleading vocals from Lincoln, searching for her brother. “Brother, where are you, they said you came this way. The simple piano accompaniment is played beautifully and is reminiscent of church hymns, something I am sure was intended by Lincoln. This “brother” seems to be despised, nobody wanting to answer his call or help, perhaps a reference to the African-American civil rights movement, lost in 1959. The flautist ends it perfectly, too.

“Laugh, Clown, Laugh” is a cute, light-hearted track where Lincoln’s vocals evoke laughter. “You’re supposed to brighten up the place, and laugh clown, laugh, clown” suggests an attempt to raise and lighten spirits after the sorrowful “Brother, Where Are You.” We even hear some swing, a walking bassline, and more uplifting horns. “Don’t let your heart grow too mellow, just be a real punginello fellow,” as well as other lyrics, are fun puns and suggest that perhaps the listener is the clown, or, to read this as a ‘political’ subtext, perhaps satirically referring to the expectation that black musicians and entertainers play the “coon” and foolishly perpetuate negative stereotypes and caricatures for white audiences, especially as she says, “go on creating those false impressions, never let your looks be too revealing.” Similarly, Charles Mingus’s “The Clown,” incorporating poetry, has also been read by some as an allusion to race strife and identity in 1950s America. Subsequently, “Come Sunday,” Ellington’s tribute to God, includes lyrics by Lincoln that are unquestionably, like the gospel and spirituals that sustained resistance, a tribute to the moral justification and campaigns for equality across the US. Her vocal style, perfect with balladry and, as mentioned previously, emoting, calling for God’s assistance. “And love will bloom at springtime, birds will sing” implies a hopeful optimism. “Come Sunday, oh, come Sunday…”

“Softly As in a Morning Sunrise” begins with just light swing and Lincoln’s solitary voice, “for the passions that thrill love and lift you high to heaven, are the passions that kill love and let you fall to Hell.” As a warning song, a premonition, it conveys the danger of love that can come and go quickly, which, as for previous songs, could easily be interpreted politically for Blacks to not take the recent progress as a given and realize things could worsen despite their ‘love’ and non-violent protests. The bassist perfectly accompanies her, and the instrumental sections also echo her theme of danger in optimism, danger in love. She improvises herself with the melody and lyrics of the song at its conclusion, showing her range and dexterity again. As for “Lost in Stars,” a more conventional jazz ballad and a standard, sounds majestic with Lincoln’s soaring, booming, and well-paced voice. “Well the lord God hunted, through the wild night air, for the little lost star on the wind…” sounds heavenly while the light accompaniment from the band allows one to focus entirely on Lincoln’s voice as an instrument. “Well, I’ve been walking, through the night and day, and then my eyes grow weary and my head turns gray, and sometimes I think, maybe God’s gone away, forgetting his promise, and words he’d say, and we’re lost out here in stars…blowing through the night, and we’re lost out here in the stars.” Again, this is another song with a potentially dark, ominous relationship to African Americans, who, like Lincoln in this song, are lost in the stars, waiting for a God who has forsaken or forgotten her. Lincoln concludes the album with “Long As You’re Living,” a swinging number where she has this sing-talk quality to her lyric, for a strange-sounding composition. “They say the truth will make you free, and that’s the way you want to be, Brother, this is your life.” Lincoln’s song, slightly ‘avant-garde’ perhaps by vocal jazz standards, makes the song a warning for self-improvement and to live every minute, an inspirational song urging people to exert agency and take their lives in their own hands. Of course, the rather quirky chorus and horn arrangement and the political climate in 1959 make this an obvious reference to the Black Freedom Struggle. Note the use of the term “brother,” for instance, another marker of African American vernacular English widely used by Lincoln. Thus, her entire album, marking the beginning of a career away from simple acting roles and jazz-pop, Lincoln makes subtle and not-so-subtle references to the burgeoning Civil Rights Movement and an uncertain political climate. Even better for us, the listeners, her vocal style, range, arrangements, and lyrics are brilliantly conceived and delivered, making for a vocal jazz album with infinite repeatable listens and, for those in the mood for late night ‘blues,’ an excellent way to conclude the night.

Solomon Ilori's African Highlife

Solomon Ilori’s African High Life

A Blue Note record from the early 1960s and early ‘worldbeat’ or ‘world music’ fused with jazz, it is a sometimes cute, high-life record with some amazing Afro-Jazz bonus tracks. As a fan of highlife, I must admit that the highlife from West African bands in Nigeria and Ghana were much better than this, such as E.T. Mensha’s band, or Fela Kuti’s Kola Lobitos. Nevertheless, some of the songs come out quite well, such as “Tolani,” featuring a competent drum choir, Ilori singing (presumably in Yoruba?), talking drum, melodic drumming solos reminiscent of some of my favorite highlife, and what sounds like a band having fun in the studio. “Tolani (African Love Song)” is presumably a love song, and although I have no idea what Ilori is saying, compared to some of the other ‘highlife’ material on the album, is quite good. The saxophone solo, far from Fela Kuti, is okay and one can tell the musician is trying to sound like a highlife soloist. His solo is ‘cute,’ “African-like,” melodic, and, at times, sounding like Eastern-inflected avant-garde with some dissonances. “Ise Oluwa,” the next track, is a Yoruba hymn to God and reflects Christianization and missionary activity in 19^th century Yorubaland. It has a very simple melody and at over 5 minutes, is a little too long, but nice for cultural value and some perspective on Yoruba religious music. But there is very little to it that is ‘jazzy,’ but Ilori does play a pennywhistle, very easy on one’s ears. 

 

As for “Follow Me to Africa,” one hears that 6/8 ubiquitious rhythm and drum and pennywhistle solos, but, ultimately, the song gets old quickly because of its uninteresting theme and repetitiveness. The drum solo gets things moving again, but otherwise, it’s a piece of ‘exotica’ that unfortunately bores. Fortunately, the more ‘highlife’-sounding “Yaba E” is adorable, Caribbean-inflected (highlife is partly shaped by calypso and Cuban son), and features nice marimba and saxophone, sounding almost like something one could hear in Haiti or Trinidad. The lyrics also work here, too, with great band accompaniment to the likely Yoruba lyrics. In addition, the chorus and back-up vocals make it a celebratory, communal effort with catchy rhythms and appropriate use of the marimba or xylophone. The saxophone solo is a work of art, a mixture of bebop and highlife. “Jojolo” also has that community-oriented, Caribbean-driven beat and marimba or xylophone. The lyrical and clean guitar sounds like something straight out of Cuba or the Congo with some American influence, and the singers and percussionists give life to the guitarist and horn section. Although definitely not ‘jazz’ per se, but quite beautiful in its own ways with playful and often simple improvisation and appropriate call and response vocals, especially on the parts of the guitarist and saxophonist, the latter hinting at Middle Eastern or North African themes in his solo at one point before giving over to the drummers. One feels like this could be at a venue in Lagos or Accra in the 1950s or 1960s, and something I very much enjoy. The last track on the album before the entirely jazz bonus tracks, “Aiye Le,” also features vocals, and an easy, deceptively simple guitar accompaniment. Eventually, back-up vocalists join in and Ilori is not alone. Fortunately, the song is less than 4 minutes, because it becomes monotonous rather quickly. 

 

“Gbogbo Omo Ibile” is the first of where things become interesting. In a jazz band with Ilori’s drummers (I think McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones may have a part in this, it definitely sounds like it), the band does indeed sound like it is going home, home to Africa. The melody seemingly quotes from “Wade in the Water,” a famous Negro spiritual, and the percussionist, especially the talking drum, add in a wave-lake texture to the piece, so the jazz band, through their percussionist accompanists, wading across the water to the land of our ancestors. The soloists here are firmly rooted in jazz, too, the saxophonist sounding bop-oriented and refined, while a brilliant jazz drummer plays in time with the African drum ensemble to give structure to the turns and shapes conjured by the sax. At times, it almost sounds like it’s trying to break free of the confines of the polyrhythmic jam, until the trumpeter’s solo asserts his presence with extended notes or shouts. To me, he sounds like Freddie Hubbard, possessing his vigor and firm breaths of joy infusing the trumpet. The pianist keeps things funky with some well-chosen chords until the drummer, sounding like Jones, solos with the drum choir. He adeptly takes advantage of the bass and larger drums, pounding and hammering, as if he is drumming for his life to ‘wade in the water.’ One of the drummers, likely Ilori, gets in on the fun, too, speaking through his hand percussion while the jazz drummer swings and, with precise, fast hands, shows the beauty, complexity, and dexterity in West African percussionists, responding to his own rhythms while the song keeps swinging.

“Agbamurero” takes the jazz band and drum choir on a more “African” route, with cowbell, call and response chants, and prominent piano. “Agbamurero” apparently alludes to the rhino, and the composition’s force, strengthened by the drum choir and chants and the ‘drum-like’ piano pounding, could easily evoke a rhino stomping through the savannah. Then the pianist and trumpet take over, exerting a more blues-rooted style that comes out as funk that somehow meshes well, particularly during the trumpeter’s ‘fully’ jazz solo. He breathes in long gasps of blues and soul, stretching the notes to form a river of aural funk on the polyrhythmic waves from the band, especially with additional help from the pianist. Thus, what we have here is a seamless fusion of hard bop with thunderous West African drumming, and a flute or pennywhistle solo that is also jazz-rooted. The drum solo here is also quite nice, and similar to some highlife band’s drum solos, though those are also highly influenced by jazz in addition to West African and Afro-Caribbean rhythms. But here everything succeeds, the cowbell, the jazz drumset, hand percussion, each contributes to something great than the sum of all its parts. Ilori and the jazz drummer play call and response, too, each one soloing and playing in tandem.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. “Igbesi Aiye,” translated as “Song of Praise to God,” is a spiritual, jazz poem for God. Like “Gbogbo Omo Ibile,” brilliant trumpet improvisation with religiously fervent piano accompaniment contributes to an ethos of divine tribute. The trumpeter, blowing away, sounds like someone chanting for God in a Yoruba ceremony, as in “Ise Oluwa,” while the saxophonist also plays in a relaxed style but with utmost gravity, bop-like at times, while holding the notes at times for exhortations. Whoever the flautist is, they perform superbly, invoking God(s) as the trumpeter did, and, for a lack of terms, calling the spirits as if located in the deep recesses of the forest. The drummer, likely Ilori, plays his drum melodically, in response to the vamp that the entire song is built on, showing off his chops at “praising God,” since no deity could avoid the infectious rhythms here. The essential cowbell rhythm, forming part of the clave and basic component of much Afro-Caribbean music, is appropriately used in this quasi-religious spiritual. For any fan of Blue Note’s “experimental” releases with “African” music, this is a must-hear. Indeed, much better than Art BLakey’s “worldbeat” releases of percussion-oriented travels in Caribbean and African music, two of the tracks, “Jojolo,” and “Yaba E,” as well as the three jazz bonus tracks, indicate fascinating, Afro-Jazz. On the strength of the last bonus tracks, with their jazz bass, West African percussion, and attention to blues, modal jazz, as well as African music forms, this is a five star release. Any fan of jazz, especially the type of jazz that was becoming en vogue in the early 1960s, such as the universal spiritualism of Coltrane’s music, fusing African and Asian spiritualties and musical influences, must listen.

Jackie McLean's "Plight"

Jackie McLean’s “Plight” is a deliciously catchy, quirky jazz piece. Bobby Hutcherson’s vibes and the bassist keep it together with a very simple head and nice additional horns from McLean and the trumpeter in a call and response introduction. It’s actually quite deceptively simple, the head and vamp provided by Hutcherson. One can see this as an instance of McLean again experimenting with avant-garde influences in 1960s jazz, almost sounding like a composition by Grachan Moncur III, who was instrumental for the success of McLean albums such as Destination Out!. McLean’s solo, restrained exuberance, goes into the direction of less bop-rooted blowing, and the drummer, Billy Higgins, keeps things funky and utilizing the entirety of the drumset. The subsequent trumpet solo, is also restrained but nothing compared to McLean or Hutcherson’s vibes , who take a melodic route while never straying far from the melody. In some ways, it is a quirky composition one may expect from someone like Andrew Hill or Moncur III. Higgins’ spirited drumming, sounding like Elvin Jones at times, is pleasant to the ears and a sign of his expertise in performing not only in hard bop but modal and avant-garde jazz albums, as his work on Let Freedom Ring or The Shape of Jazz to Come reveals. Furthermore, something about Hutcherson’s playing is reminiscent of his own “Verse,” an introspective composition modeled on Coltrane’s “Spiritual” while featuring McCoy Tyner. As the title suggests, plight or danger or doom seems imminent in this dark tune, although it seems undefined or unknown. The rest of the album is quite good, too, stuck somewhere between hard bop and rousing numbers like "Hootnan" and bebop-based tunes such as the title track.

Cannonball Adderley's Country Preacher

 

Cannonball Adderley’s Country Preacher, live album

It all begins with Black English vernacular-inflected introduction by Jesse Jackson, since the concert was performed for his Operation Breadbasket in Chicago. “Walk Tall” is a funky number led by the organ and a funky drummer, appealing to the ghetto of Chicago and across Black America. In addition to bringing the funk, it has a gospel-styled melody, soulful and optimistic for the future of ghetto Black Metropolis. The electric organist gets down, too, while that drummer keeps the heavy backbeat going with some nice rolls. The crowd response seems to indicate enjoyment, too, and Cannonball introduces “Country Preacher,” where he speaks about Operation Breadbasket. It’s a slower number, also gospel-inflected, with the keys provided by Joe Zawinul, a European playing more soulful blues and gospel jazz than most other cats could back then. The crowd seems to enjoy this too, cheering just as Adderley’s soulful, contemplative solo begins. Adderley ends the piece urging Rev. Jackson to preach. “Hummin’” proceeds, with some nice soul-clapping, tambourines, and a funky riff from Zawinul. Indeed, this entire album could serve as a goldmine for hip-hop cratediggers, eager to lay their hands on some funky soul-jazz and jazz-funk from this period. Adderley’s brother, Nat, takes over on the soloing, blowing some nice trumpet funk, asserting the primacy of the blues while cognizant of the new thing in black music, funk. Adderley’s subsequent soloing, is also keeping the funk groove in mind, soaring at times while remaining mostly tame as Zawinul keeps on makin’ it funky, as James Brown would approve. This is my jam, alongside the next track, “Oh, Babe,” famously sampled by Atmosphere for “Guns and Cigarettes.”

“Oh, Babe,” beginning with a soulful blues wail from Cannonball, also keeps things funky through Zawinul and the careful gut-bucket rhythm by the drummer. Adderley, introducing the piece, talks about the need to pay our respects to the blues, talking about the song as a soulful excursion into “the past, present and future of our music,” a collective we asserting the power and transcendence of the blues while a blues shouter takes over, who exhiliarates the crowd. “I’m like a Mississippi hound dog, babe” must be my favourite line, as well as the “Please, Mr. Nixon, don’t cut that welfare off on me,” marking the song as political, humorous, and relevant to the concerns, experiences, and political views of the audience. The Zawinul solo, funky and bluesy, is the part sampled by Atmosphere, a well-chosen part of the song to sample. Once our vocalist returns, he continues in the blues wail while the horns play call and response, and the vocalist inserts some more humorous commentary and his plan to find a new love. This is a fun, at times silly, blues piece and funky and relevant to the audience. Adderley introduces the next song while focusing on black music, what it is, and speaks about black music as out of the same thing, not being the same. The song, “Afro-Spanish Omelette, is a suite-like composition of four tunes by each bandmate, and veering from the soul-jazz and funk of the previous compositions, entering into modal territory. Adderley’s trumpet evokes Sketches of Spain quite well while the bassist, drummer, and Zawinul provide background atmosphere superbly. When things start swinging and the drummer, sounding not unlike Elvin Jones, kicks in, things get interesting, especially under Adderley’s shrieking, elephantine sounds. The bassist takes over, playing something “Moorish,” introducing the next segment of the piece, sounding like Reggie Workman from Coltrane’s “Olé” but ultimately begins to bore after a while without any bandmate accompaniment. Zawinul takes over, fortunately, and the drummer adds in some funky playing while he explores something that sounds between Afro-Caribbean Latin music (at times) and jazz fusion. His feature is light-hearted, sweet, contemplative, and introspective, while never tiring or declining into mindless noodling, rather venturing into new heights before ending rather poorly. Better yet, Adderley’s saxophone feature, beginning with bluesy wails, turns into Afro-Caribbean or Cuban-inflected music, with appropriate drumming and the rest of the band. It is a meeting of African-American bebop, blues, and Latin music, which, as we can see in “Jive Samba,” is something Adderley handles adeptly. By far my favourite part of “Afro-Spanish Omelette,” the drummer is definitely enjoying himself and Adderley’s light-hearted, cute soloing, reflective of bebop lines, of course, remains in the spirit of jazz’s Caribbean heritage. It’s impossible for the listener to not want to clap their hands, dance, or sway their feet with the infectious rhythm, particularly during Adderley and the band playing call and response and introducing even more Caribbean-inflected horn duos to repeat an adorable melody to close the composition. 

 

The album ends on a high note, “The Scene” with a sermonic line stating the audience’s shared belief in their worth, declaring, “I am somebody” and “Sock it to me.” Adderley’s band ends with some swinging and Adderley exhorting on the values of soul power. He gracefully thanks the audience, the band, and the groove the band and audience collectively created. For a record of some of Operation Breadbasket’s appeal to Black Chicagoans and the use of music and art for this period in the Black Power/Civil Rights Movement, this album is invaluable, despite some less than pleasant moments. Highly recommendable, I give this a 3.5 out of 5, with a restatement of its accessibility, entertainment quality, and funkiness. As a product of its time, the listener is rewarded immeasurably by an entry into this period in the life of Jesse Jackson, the Cannonball Adderley Quintet, and an important period in the Black Freedom Struggle in the United States.

Ornette Coleman's Tomorrow Is the Question!

From 1959, Coleman’s romp of an album is still in his early avant-garde phase, and features his partner in crime, Don Cherry. The title track swings, is light in tone and heart, and has a walking bassline, not sounding too different from the usual hard bop. But the drummer has more freedom and moves beyond his role as timekeeper, utilizing all the drumset for interesting additions and going along well with the bassline. In a sense, like “Una Muy Bonita,” the title track almost sounds Caribbean, folksy, or like carnival or festival music because of its light-heartedness. “Tears Inside,” likewise, is not “out there,” showing some signs of blues influences in the head. Despite the melancholic title, whatever tears Ornette has inside sound celebratory, with some swing, and another walking bass. Even Cherry does not sound free in this. Coleman, a product of the R&B bands of 1940s Texas, knows how to play the blues, although not as fiery or soul-stirring as “Ramblin” a few years later. One can see nascent avant-garde elements in his solo here, though, such as his penchant for emulation of the human voice, moving beyond blues lines and the honking squeals of 1940s and 1950s R&B. With Don Cherry, their dual horn effect sounds great, a fruitful partnership. The subsequent “Mind and Time” features a dissonant head, and sounds more like something you might hear from The Shape of Jazz to Come. But, like the previous tracks, everything sticks to a swinging rhythm and there is no collective improvisation or anything that characterizes some of his future work. Moreover, Coleman’s solo evokes the blues in his wailing as well as bop, which is perfectly followed up by Cherry.

“Compassion” begins with some interesting sounds, another almost Caribbean-inflected start until something more conventional of jazz. The bassist is really getting down here, too, until Coleman’s solo takes off. He blows waves of melodic lines at a leisurely pace to the midtempo rhythm section while also suggesting the blues at times. Coleman impressively sounds almost childlike and ‘cute’ on his horn, while Cherry’s solo is muted, and likely played on a pocket trumpet, giving him an additional interesting sound. The composition, sounding almost folksy or Caribbean at times, is definitely an interesting, disjointed head, though not quite avant-garde. “Giggin’” is, as the title suggests, something one would play at a gig, rooted in bop but beginning the Coleman solo with some dissonant, squeaking. Manne’s swinging hard here while the bass maintains the foundation of the bop tune, something very in line with the music of 1950s jazz. Cherry’s trumpet solo likewise is bop-oriented, but Manne adds in appropriately timed drumming until the head is repeated and ends. As for “Rejoicing,” as the title suggests, is indeed celebratory, with a simple bass figure and upbeat, joyous head. The bassline, simple and sweet, is perfect with Coleman’s rousing solo that has some call and response with Don Cherry, the other side of Coleman’s musical heartbeat. While Cherry solos, the bassist and drummer keep things moving quickly, to which his relaxed pace seems out of sync, but matches the celebratory tone of “Rejoicing.”

“Lorraine” is an ominous number, and a tribute to Lorraine Geller, a pianist. It has the disjointed theme and suggestive dark tones of “Lonely Woman,” aided by Manne’s cryptic drumming and lazy swing alternating with fast-paced, frenetic drumming. After the lengthy introduction and head, Coleman’s solo reaches depths heard on The Shape of Jazz to Come or This Is Our Music. As a tribute to a fallen fellow musician, Coleman appears to be mourning and crying for the late Geller. At times the composition sounds like “Peace” as well as “Lonely Woman,” which is a good thing. Manne also gets some solo time, playing a meticulously melodic solo until the lugubrious and angular head repeats. The penultimate track, “Turnaround,” is a conventional 12-bar blues number with heavy drumming and a bass solo to kick things off that, honestly, is unnecessary. Things pick up when Cherry and Coleman’s horns play call and response to the bassist, whose solo, thankfully, ends. Cherry’s solo is accompanied well by Manne’s well-timed heavy beats, and he seems to improvise a little himself with quick runs while maintaining the swing, even adding in Latinesque rhythms at times. Coleman’s solo, the last, soars, playing upper register tones while also retaining a relaxed approach and responding to his lines with nice blowing. Clearly, Coleman never lost his touch for the blues or his inclination for soulful, voice-like sound. The album then closes with “Endless,” a good title for the final track. It’s entitled such because the head seems to never end, skipping into solos initiated by Coleman’s exploratory honks, wails, and inspired drumming at a quick tempo. Coleman maintains his lyricism, surprisingly, and at times, sounds “cute” or horrifying, while Cherry’s solo, relaxed and smooth, maintains a seeming indifference for the pummeling of the drums from Manne. The bassist’s solo is playful, light-hearted, and punctuated at times with the addition of horn fare from Cherry and Coleman, culminating in a brief drum solo, until the theme is repeated again. Interesting for providing a look at Coleman’s music before the iconic Shape of Jazz, this is higly recommendable for fans of Coleman’s early work and to trace the development of his vastly more avant-garde material in the 1960s.

Eric Dolphy's Far Cry

Opening with a blues tribute to Charlie Parker, this number does not match the transitional character of the album, straying from avant-garde trends that Dolphy was closely connected to. This is bop, fun, and Roy Haynes on drums sounds like he’s enjoying himself, as is Jaki Byard. Fortunately, Dolphy’s solo, with his unique voice of honks, squeals and leaps, gives it that singular stamp of Dolphy individuality. Unlike Byard and the other soloists, he is stretching beyond Parker and the blues, a feat he brilliantly accomplished while using the blues form while recording “Stolen Moments” with Oliver Nelson, or his collaborations with Mingus and Coltrane. Of course, one cannot overlook Ron Carter’s funky cello solo, which sounds so earthy and almost country, famously sampled by a West Coast hip-hop group in the 1990s, Del the Funkee Homo Sapien’s “Catch a Bad One.” The subsequent track, a ballad with Dolphy pulling out his flute, “Ode to Charlie Parker,” is another beautiful tribute. Dolphy’s typical balladry comes out of his flute, tastefully done and Booker Little’s trumpet blows softly and beautifully with the flute. Dolphy’s flute solo is beyond reproach, one of those rare instances where jazz flute is not only bearable, but enjoyable, too. At times the sweet melody takes on a dark, depressing turn and at times sounds like the James Bond theme, yet for more subtly done and with expert flute additions.

The next track, “Far Cry,” is the more “out there” material Dolphy penned, with an angular head, rooted in bop while sounding otherworldly. The song is too short, alas, but fun to listen to, especially Booker Little and Dolphy. “Miss Ann” is similarly “out there” in terms of Dolphy’s sax solo, uptempo, and disjointed at times while Dolphy’s one of a kind voice blows away. “Left Alone,” a soft ballad featuring Dolphy on flute, is another tribute, to Billie Holiday this time, quite moving. During his solo, with excellent accompaniment from Byard and Haynes, he plays in his not quite free but not bop either style, ensuring another appreciable case of jazz flute.  Ron Carter’s bass solo is also a nice addition, one of those bass solos that is short, melodic, and not just random strumming of deep notes. Moreover, “Tenderly” represents another “out there” number, though a standard. It’s hauntingly beautiful in Dolphy’s introductory statement, almost as breathtaking as his solo in “Round Midnight” from Ezz-Thetics but only featuring himself. Things end out well with the pretty standard, “It’s Magic,” a midtempo delight featuring Dolphy’s unique, voicelike blowing again. As an album, this is far more conventional and accessible than Out to Lunch, and Dolphy’s take on standards is impeccable, as well as the Byard piano solo, for its beauty. Something about the song under Dolphy’s interpretation, though a standard, sounds like something from another universe. Finally, the added track, “Serene,” is a serene blues-inflected piece with strong Dolphy overtones in the head, making this a very, though under Dolphy’s unique leadership, traditional blues-oriented and ballad-based album. As a personal lover of jazz that veers between hard bop and avant-garde (Sam Rivers, Andrew Hill, some Jackie McLean and Lee Morgan, and a few other jazz artists from the early to mid 1960s accomplished this quite well), this phase in Dolphy's work is my favorite, as well as his work with Charles Mingus (Listen to the Town Hall Concert!).

Wayne Shorter's Juju

Recorded with Coltrane’s sidemen, Tyner, Jones, and Workman, and heavily influenced by Coltrane’s style, it’s no surprise that this sounds like his work. The dark, African Juju even sounds like “Africa” from Coltrane’s Africa/Brass album, though different in the shrieking sax solo by Shorter that suggests some ominous dark magic, as the name “Juju” implies. Elvin Jones also has a brief solo that suggests a tie to “Africa,” although much shorter, giving the spotlight to Shorter himself. “Deluge,” the following track, is, strangely enough, suggestive of a flood or deluge of sound. Shorter’s talents as a composer capable of crafting music of spiritual or alternate atmospheres, is one of his strengths self-evident in Speak No Evil, another of his masterpieces from the 1960s. Jones and Tyner accompany perfectly, with Jones’ characteristically spirited, powerhouse drumming adding textural complexity to the songs, as if one is truly experiencing a deluge. The “mystical” and “Oriental” feel of “House of Jade,” another beautiful ballad composed by our man for his infant daughter, begins with an elaborate introduction by McCoy Tyner. Little known fact, Wayne Shorter’s wife was Japanese, and his exploration of “Eastern” melodies and music was partially motivated by his wife as well as his Buddhist persuasions. Either way, McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones, after playing with Coltrane, were ready for exploring spiritual music from around the globe, and “Mahjong” is a beautiful reminder of Shorter’s ability to improvise on ballad, slow tempo numbers, exploring within and around the song’s theme while Jones adds in flourishes and textures of sound through his drumming. Tyner’s accomplished comping propels things forward, and the song switches in tempo, picking up on swing while Shorter’s searing tenor blows wave after waves of dark, sometimes bluesy, notes. Tyner’s solo is blues-rooted but not limited by the blues form, taking us to the song’s finale featuring Shorter’s extended notes.

Moving on, “Majhong,” a beautiful modal piece with more “Eastern” colors, sounds “Chinese” as the name would suggest, but turns around unsurprisingly at times, from a minor, dark feel, to more uplifting, brighter days. Jones brilliantly bangs on the drums, expertly using cymbals to accentuate and conjure an ancient Chinese ceremony, as well as Tyner’s piano solos, mixing his usual left hand chord accompaniment to his right’s powerful fingers. Shorter’s solo nicely compliments the Eastern melody, suggested by Tyner’s accompaniment, and also throws in some more of Shorter’s fiery, bop-inflected soloing from his tutelage under Blakey while simultaneously suggestive of Coltrane’s influence. Jones really blows everything away, though, fusing cymbal work while playing melodically, adding to the song’s “Eastern” theme. Alas, like every other song on the album, Workman’s bass is mixed very low, so it’s barely audible. But “Yes or No,” a contemplative, upbeat yet not simply copacetic, number, shows something of Shorter’s recognition of his days with the Jazz Messengers, indeed, sounding like some of his work with them in the early 1960s. The lively swing provided by Jones and Shorter’s employment of Coltranesque blowing does not challenge his individuality. Tyner’s solo is a work of beauty, quick-paced, light and sweet while maintaining the depth and, paradoxically, serious playfulness suggested by the seeming unknown answer “Yes or No” imparts to the leader. 

 Reggie Workman in the recording studio for the album

The final track, “Twelve More Bar to Go,” a playful title on the twelve bar blues form so widespread in jazz music, is, unsurprisingly, a blues, but with Shorter it transcends whatever limitations people attach to the blues, becoming joyous, upbeat, playful, insightful, and triumphant in Shorter’s solo. Clearly well-versed in the blues from years of playing with Blakey, his solo is a more restrained example of his mastery of the blues compared to his fiery, soulful solos on jams such as “Dat Dere.” As usual, the song is able to maintain this restrained, yet upbeat feel, and, with thundering drums and crashing cymbals, later in Shorter’s solo, the song still remains locked in place and evades collapse. A perfect way to end an album reminiscent of night, with the blues, a form associated with the after hours of clubs, with joy and sadness, gloom and triumph, Shorter’s Juju, in my opinion, surpasses Speak No Evil, though the latter features stronger compositions and lyricism in their melodies, but lacks the unique and powerful drumming of Jones. The Eastern, African, and Latin themes mesh well here, and, I must say, and "Juju" alone tops most of the compositions on Speak No Evil (though songs like "Witch Hunt" benefit from the drumming of Jones as well as Hubbard's scorching trumpet blues, as does the title composition, another blues-drenched, horn-centered piece and "Infant Eyes" is utter delight). The CD also includes some alternate takes on "House of Jade" and "Juju," the latter interesting for providing what seems to be more Tyner-led yet, of course, retaining the strong polyrhythms and African mysticism. The drum solo on the alternate recording seems a little longer, and, as a fan of Jones, means it is something I enjoy, while the alternate of "House of Jade" entertains and features the same back and forth between uptempo and midtempo, with needed additions and cymbal crashing and percussive genius from Jones.

Eric Dolphy's Hat and Beard: A Tribute to Thelonious Monk

A playful free piece in tribute to Thelonious Monk, though lacking any piano, has a strong walking bassline played by Richard Davis and the rest of the band. Bobby Hutcherson’s vibes are perfect here, representing  quirky, piano-like sound and the needed dissonance comes from the chorus. Dolphy solos first on his bass clarinet, squeaking, scratching, and employing other forms of dissonance while Richard Davis lays down a groovy bassline and Tony Williams swings away, in a strange march-like rhythm. Hutcherson’s input comes  in the form of background on the vibes, and all the while Dolphy keeps on blowing. After his solo, Freddie Hubbard comes in and another bass figure is represented, sounding almost “Spanish,” and Hubbard shows that he can handle himself in the commanding, difficult post-bop, free jazz world of the 1960s. Meanwhile, Williams speeds things up, Hutcherson’s seemingly misplaced vibes kick in, and Hubbard continues blowing his trumpet in all sorts of runs, sounding boppish at times, but Hutcherson takes over in a series of disjointed notes while Davis continues in a similar bassline, possibly using a bow and Williams seems to be using mallets instead of usual drumsticks. Hutcherson’s quirky, almost disjointed playing seems completely random, but goes well with Williams’ drumming, and the ominous bassline of Davis kicks in alone. Though Monk distanced himself from free jazz for its atonality in the 1960s, I like to think he loved hearing this number, so playful, featuring collective improvisation, and a jazz portrait of a legend. Dolphy’s jarring solo, which sounds like he’s enjoying himself and the voice-like sounds he emits, is not too hard on the ears like some free jazz, and Hubbard’s solo is within that ill-defined territory between bop and free jazz, is also having fun with the runs evocative of bop, Spanish themes, and the dissonances one associates with Monk. 

Personally, Hutcherson and Dolphy steal the show here, with the former’s child-like innocence on the vibraphone, accompanied by Williams’ inventive drumming and bowed bass from Davis, keeps one on one’s foot. My favourite moment may be those two long, high-pitched wails in the beginning of Dolphy’s solo, a feature of free jazz I sometimes especially enjoy: fun little notes and sounds almost randomly assorted or seemingly incongruent. Richard Davis, a professor at UW-Madison I have had the pleasure of meeting, deserves praise for his arco and pizzicato bass playing, keeping the song from falling apart as each soloist takes off into different directions and Tony Williams experiments with the rhythms. This is otherworldly, and, though vastly different from anything Monk ever recorded, shares his playful spirit and dissonance. Moreover, Williams gets down with Hutcherson, playing some interesting rhythms, an indication of the young drummer's prowess and ability to keep up with older, more established musicians. Fans of this will probably like "Straight Up and Down" from the same album, which evokes a drunken stagger with another disjointed, melody. Dolphy's brilliant, wailing solo does sound like a pathetic, drunkard, falling through the streets while the rest of the band keeps things going during the twists and turns of the drunken protagonist. Indeed, these two tracks, my favorites from the album, Out To Lunch!, are necessary listens for any and every fan of jazz.

Jive Samba

Cannonball's brother, Nat, wrote a funky piece that lives up to it's title, "Jive Samba." As the name would suggest, it's funky, drenched in blues, and set to a samba rhythm which was such a craze in the 1960s. Also, one can see how Cannonball Adderley, like other soul jazz-oriented artists of the 1960s, aimed at African-American audiences who were turning to funk and soul instead of the jazz of their parents. Recorded concerts at clubs and various venues, from San Francisco to Chicago, show lively interaction and entrenched African-American vernacular English, as well as popular culture, gospel traditions, and a general atmosphere of fun and joviality. This is the type of relaxed, crowd-pleasing jazz, giving the people the kind of music they wanted to hear: funky, gospel-tinged, bluesy, and, at times, a crossover pop hit. Lee Morgan's The Sidewinder was a surprise hit, as well as some of the songs Cannonball recorded in the 1960s: "African Waltz" and "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," each one funky in its own way yet still jazz. "Jive Samba" encapsulates 1960s Adderley, paying tribute to jazz's roots, new trends in African-American and mainstream music (rock, funk, soul), and, at the same time, ambitious, with soulful, at times honking solos from Adderley that reach majestic heights. The simple piano vamp that builds the song, just a few chords, is nonetheless allows some freedom for the instrumentalists to stretch out, playing blues lines while also retaining the samba-like feel throughout the song and, at times, almost a gospel-like clap in the rhythms, transporting one to a funky church service with some Cuban and Brazilian flavor.

Some versions incorporate Cuban-derived melodic lines, especially Yusef Lateef's solo, which alone makes the song worthy of listen since any one who recognizes the flute melody in "Soul Bossa Nova," a hit by Quincy Jones will appreciate it. The Cuban ostinato is particularly evident during Adderley's solo on a version of the tune from a live show in 1963. Thus, this song not only remains indebted to the bossa nova craze and blues, but Latin soul, boogaloo, and Cuban mambo/son music that inspires a typical Cuban improvisational flute solo. Moreover, the song's conclusion on the emphasized piano chords builds tension perfectly before the horns lower the heat on this stew of a jam. The crowd response in live recordings also contributes to a priceless recording, which can be best heard on the version from Jazz Workshop Revisited in a San Francisco club, where audience members (or perhaps Adderley himself or other bandmates?) say, "All right" and encourage each other. Interestingly, while this fusion of bossa nova with African-American soul and R&B was taking place, some Brazilian popular artists were incorporating rock, soul and funk into their repertoire, as a quick listen to Jorge Ben, Os Mutantes, or Wilson Simonal will illustrate. What we have here is cross-Atlantic musical exchanges: jazz to samba to create bossa nova, blues and soul with jazz, and Cuban and Puerto Rican influences in the ostinato melody.

The Conquest of the Canary Islands and the New World

This above and following 2 images are from Le Canarien, an early 15th century manuscript describing the 1402 Norman/French-led expedition to the Canary Islands. The artist did not ever see the Canaries himself, but based his illustrations on descriptions from the text. The French knights, led by Bethencourt and de la Salle, succeeded in taking Lanzarote, which was already underpopulated due to slave raiding since the 1300s by Iberian and Italians, establishing a settlement there and describing the island (as well as other islands they couldn't conquer, such as Gran Canaria and Tenerife) as being much more abundant and beautiful than it really was. Though not the first encounters between the indigenous Canarians and Renaissance Europe, this mounted expedition aimed at conquest and colonization established the precedent for New World Iberian conquests as well as the first encounters between Renaissance and Early Modern Christian Europe and so-called "primitive" societies using stone weapons and tools in the Canaries and the Caribbean. David Abulafia's The Discovery of Mankind expertly places the European conquest of the Canaries parallel with the upcoming discovery and conquest of the Caribbean, noting how the indigenous Canarians, using stone tools, lacking Christianity, and lacking many of the qualities inherent in European societies that marked them as non-savage, suitable for slavery and exploitation, and at times, obstacles to European settlers.

This depicts the expedition en route to the Canary Islands from France

The above image depicts the presentation of indigenous Canary captives to Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain. Final conquest of Tenerife would not come until 1496, when European diseases, ecological changes, slave raiding, and outright warfare with the divided and "Neolithic" societies of the archipelago led to the loss of autonomous indigenous society. Some islanders, who allied themselves with conquering Castilian forces were able to survive with some power, such as don Fernando Guanarteme, who, brought to Spain, was rewarded with marginal territory on the island his people had been inhabiting for thousands of years. The indigenes would die out as an independent people in the 16th century, but elements of their culture, bloodline, and documented presence in Spain and elsewhere in the Spanish empire includes evidence for a  Canarian area in Seville, their presence in the Spanish conquest of the Americas, etc.

Nevertheless, the tale of Renaissance/Early Modern Europe's conquest of the Canary Islands is an important chapter in the tale of slavery, the discovery of the "New World, and just an interesting precolonial, pre-settler history. Since each of the seven inhabited islands were populated by related indigenes, they should have been in more contact and understood each other's dialects, but at the time of European contact since the 14th century, the different islands lacked seafaring technology and could not even contact people on say, Lanzarote or Tenerife, from Gomera or Gran Canaria. Thus, the Spanish conquest of the Canary Islands is the tale of seven different conquests of people who, though sharing a mutual heritage, were even isolated from each other and disunited on the islands they shared. Like the Tainos of Hispaniola, Spanish conquerors could use these internal divisions among chiefdoms led by caciques on a single island to facilitate complete subjugation of the island. Indeed, Spanish conquest of Tenerife in the 1490s was facilitated by one group of people, led by don Fernando Guanarteme, who recognized Spanish authority, received a feudal title in Spain, and lent military aid to Alonso de Lugo's forces. Moreover, despite the indigenes' lack of firearms, steel weapons, and armor or horses, Spanish soldiers encountered great difficulty in defeating the nimble, quick Guanches who were expert stone-throwers and knew the land better, often taking the high ground to pummel invaders with stones. Unfortunately for them, this eventually led to them allowing the Spanish (or, in the case of Lanzarote in the early 1400s with the French 1402 expedition) to eventually control the coast and lowlands of the islands. Inevitably the Spanish conquest of the archipelago would occur, but it just took almost a century for it to happen. Several decades of slave raiding from Portuguese, Italian, and Castilian raiders, the introduction of diseases the isolated population lacked immunity to, and increased interest on the part of Spain (partly fuelled by rivalry with Portugal over claims of the land) and desiring closer bases to "Guinea," or West Africa and its fabled wealth in gold, just made the Canary Islands attractive, despite the island's lack of resources beyond the shepherds kept by indigenous people.

Conversion of the 'king' of Lanzarote from Le Canarien

Soon Spanish use of indigenous slaves as well as imported slaves from North and West Africa ensured the development of sugar plantations, a similar process taking place in Madeira and Cape Verde, Portuguese colonies in the eastern Atlantic that were previously uninhabited islands. The Canarian peoples, as agro-pastoralists, were adept shepherds and highly prizes for that form of labor while others ended up enslaved in Iberia or Italy, where descriptions of the indigenous Canary Islanders verge from beautiful, primitives to ugly, dark-skinned savages (Black Africans in Renaissance Europe includes a chapter where Canary Islander slaves were described oscilliating between those two extremes, while another chapter on Blacks in Spanish Golden Age literature included Canary Islanders, West Africans, dark-skinned Berbers and Arabs, and people from southern India as part of a denigrated "black" group). For Abulafia, the contrasting opinions of Petrarch and Boccaccio on the humanity of the indigenous Canarians, their skin color, and whether or not pagans have the right to live independently of Christian authority would have ramifications for relations with the New World. Thus, for people like Boccaccio, who perceived the people of the Canaries as innocent, good people, sort of like a pre-Rousseau "noble savage," meant that enslavement and conquest by Christians was not necessary (and he saw the Canarians as being like how Petrarch described his skin color, intermediate or between black and white). Petrarch, on the other hand, and many other future European commentators on the Canarians and Indians of the Americas, saw them as dark-skinned, too dark, and observed what they called savage traits or customs that, in addition with their paganism, condoned Spanish Catholic conquest. Influenced by Aristotelian notions of natural slaves, wherein someone who is seen as lacking self-control or too savage, animal-like, can be justifiably enslaved by superior peoples, in this case European Christians, it's easy to see how the conquest was justified. It is interesting how settler colonialism and slavery could reduce what appears to be light-skinned, "Caucasian" indigenes to the level of "black" savages for some Renaissance European observers, but, as Abulafia indicates, people like Columbus considered the Canary Islanders to be neither black nor white, and compared the Taino of the Caribbean to them.

Anyway, the long precolonial history of the archipelago is interesting in itself. There were likely a few different waves of humans to the archipelago over the last 2000 years or so, and some evidence on their language indicates similarities with the Saharan Berbers across the sea. And since they came to the Canaries with agriculture and animal husbandry, they must have crossed the sea (back when they still had shipbuilding skills and technology) sometime after the spread of food production among Berber-speakers in northern Africa. Furthermore, some of them must have came after the development of the tifinagh script, an ancient Libyco-Berber writing that can be seen throughout North Africa, the Sahara, and Sahel, still evident among some Tuareg people. Thus, we can surmise that at least some of the waves of human occupants in the early human history of the Canary Islanders were Berbers with goats, wheat agriculture and other evidence of food production, as well as some coming to the islands after the development of a script, seen in Saharan rock art and elsewhere, from Libya to Mauritania. This would conform well with perceptions of the Canary Islanders by Europeans, too, since some some them as brown, like the Azenagues and other Saharan/Sahelian Berbers, such as the Tuareg. Interestingly, European art of the 15th century depicts very 'white-looking' Canarians, which may be similar to conventions in a lot of European art of this century and future centuries of depicting African and indigenous peoples of the Americas as having a "Caucasian" morphology with darker skin. Regardless of European pictoral representations, the Canary Islanders were likely related to Berber-speaking peoples who were migrating across and around the arid Saharan and Sahelian zones, leaving evidence of their presence in petroglyphs of pastoralists, chariots, and the tifinagh script, which has appeared in the Canary Islands, too. Besides their connections to Northern Africa, the Canary Islands was also visited in Classical times, being known to the Romans as the Fortunate Isles, and apparently Juba II, a king of Mauretania, also knew of the islands.

But whatever contacts were had back then were not lasting and by the time of continued European contact in the 1300s, the indigenes of the islands were, as previously mentioned, lacking contact with each other, politically fragmented, had trouble understanding each other, and, depending on the island they lived on, severely limited in terms of political organization. If they had knowledge of metallurgy, it was lost as soon as they arrived in the Canary Islands. As for their cultural practices, some had forms of simple mummification, caves were religious sites, and some small numbers took to Christianity. Perhaps on Lanzarote, where a small settlement was founded in the early 1400s, some were interested in Christianity, but, for the most part, cultural contact and change for the Canarians who survived to the 1490s was limited. But Columbus knew of the island and sailed west across the Atlantic from that area, another instance of its parallels and ties to European 'discovery' of the 'New World,' Africa, and the future economy of the New Canaries, the Caribbean's sugar-plantation economy. Read David Abulafia's fascinating text, Discovery of Mankind, for a far more detailed, ingenious coverage of the Canary Islanders in an Atlantic context, as well as the debate within Renaissance European consciousness on the humanity, enslaveability, and placement of indigenous societies they would soon encounter negatively in future centuries. Intriguingly, Abulafia sees the Iberian perception of the naked, Stone Age societies of the Canaries as different from that of contemporary relations with West Africans since the latter possessed larger towns, kingdoms, many were Muslim, and they had trade, metal weapons, and other forms of contact with the outside world through the trans-Saharan trade and  North Africa.