Record #974: Miles Davis – Jack Johnson (1971)

Jazz is a difficult realm for completionists—especially when you’re dealing with cats like Miles Davis. Jazz players were notorious for recording everything, and almost all of those records have something notable to justify collecting it. But there’s so much to sort through.

While my own jazz collecting has mostly focused on Davis’ electric period and the work his band members (e.g., Herbie Hancock, John McLaughlin, Chick Corea…) were doing, there’s one important piece that had escaped my collecting until recently.

That is Jack Johnson, a celebration of Black Excellence originally commissioned as a soundtrack for a documentary about the titular champion boxer, who famously shrugged off threats from the KKK to lay down to white opponents.

But perhaps my own interest in it is that this is the only time that Davis collaborated with Sonny Sharrock, my favorite jazz guitarist—even of Sonny was uncredited.

Continue reading

Record #873: Miles Davis – On the Corner (1972)

There’s no point in debating the point that Miles Davis is the most important figure in jazz. No one else is as widely recognized outside of jazz circles nor as influential within them. Throughout the trumpeter’s five-decade career, he pioneered a number of movements, ushering in fundamental shifts in what jazz was. After cementing his status as a bebop great, he went on to pioneer cool jazz, then changed the face of jazz by embracing rock music, psychedelia, electronic instruments, and experimental recording techniques.

That experimental streak was perhaps never as fierce or fearless as on On the Corner, which saw him taking the heroin-hot mania of Bitches Brew and the extended-form ambience of In a Silent Way and distilling them into a dystopian block party.

Continue reading

Record #406: Chick Corea – Return to Forever (1972)

Just yesterday, I mentioned that I’ve spent the last few weeks looking into what Miles Davis’ cohorts were up to during his fantastic electric period. While Herbie Hancock was busy launching jazz into space, his best friend Chic Corea was tethering it to the earth.

In the liner notes of this album, Chick says that Return to Forever (which was the group that performed this album, despite it being credit to Chick alone) was born out of a desire to reconnect his jazz explorations with the heart of emotional songwriting. He had gotten a bit lost in his own head, and wanted to put his soul back into music.
And for the most part, this hits that mark. Chick plays a Fender Rhodes throughout the session, without much effects trickery. There’s no shortage of experimental jazz weirdness, but there’s also a fair amount of Latin flair. Oh, and a pop song.

The opener, “Return to Forever” is an incredible, moody twelve-minute piece of space jazz with wordless vocals and a deep samba groove. “Crystal Silence” is an In a Silent Way-esque piece of ambience that finds Chick’s Rhodes accompanied only by Joe Ferrell’s woodwinds. “What Game Shall we Play Today?” is a delightful pop tune that sounds like could be on Sesame Street (note: that is not an insult!).

The closer, “Some Time Ago/La Fiesta” takes up the entirety of side B and manages to revisit every track before it. It opens with an obtuse, ambient section where bassist Stanley Clarke finally gets his day in the sun. It then transitions into a Latin-tinged pop song featuring Flora Purim’s enchanting vocals. After her verses, it becomes a much more aggressive flamenco inspired jam, that ends up nowhere near the place it began.
At times, it runs the risk of sounding dated, or even a little cheesy.

But it somehow transcends the signifiers of its era and manages to become truly timeless. While his contemporaries were getting lost in space or hitching their wagon’s to funk’s swagger, Corea took the road less traveled and made an album that is truly special.

Record #405: Herbie Hancock – Sextant (1973)

As much as I love Miles Davis’ electric period (especially In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew) it’s taken me until the last couple weeks to realize that everyone else in the room with Miles on those records was also making some really out-there music around the same timeframe…
Maybe the most out-there of Miles’ collaborators during this time was the already-legendary Herbie Hancock. Herbie was a pillar in the jazz scene years before Miles invited him into his band. He had proven himself as a master composer (”Maiden Voyage” is a standard for any high school jazz group) and a virtuoso on the piano. But when instrument makers started to expand upon the basic format of the piano itself, Herbie was keen to jump on board. He was an early adopter of the Fender Rhodes, the synthesizer, and tape delay.
While you can hear his love for electric pianos on his work with Miles, his fascination with the boundless possibilities of synthesizers came to a head during his Mwandishi period. While all three of these records (Mwandishi and Crossings being the other two) saw Herbie and Co. pioneering digital landscapes with sheer animalistic delight, that ethos reached its pinnacle on Sextant.
The album opens with “Rain Dance,” a nine minute track that is almost as synth driven as a Kraftwerk tune. Drums are almost absent as the group lets a synthesizer take over on rhythm duties. It’s followed by “Hidden Shadows,” which I swear is a rearrangement of a tune from Miles Davis’ Live-Evil, but I can’t identify it. But it jaunts along with a wicked sounding voodoo funk that Herbie tries to defeat with the only acoustic piano on the record (spoiler alert: he does not defeat the voodoo).
Side B is a single twenty track (not unusual during this period) called “Hornets.” It’s a funky, spaced-out jam that sounds exactly like the cover looks. The band plays in an absolutely tribalistic abandon that sounds exactly how the cover looks. Herbie warps the settings on his tape delay. Bennie Maupin plays a friggin’ kazoo. Buster Williams runs his bass groove through every possible permutation. Billy Hart does all he can on the drums to keep the band from flying off into space. But for all of his effort, he fails: the song still ends up as the theme song for a rave on Mars.
While Herbie would go on to out-funk all the funk guys on Head Hunters, his Mwandishi period produced my undisputed favorite albums in his catalogue. And this record, even more untethered to traditional conventions of jazz, is as good as he gets.