212. Weather Report / Legendary Live Tapes: 1978-1981 (2016)

On point! Four discs of hitherto unreleased live material from Weather Report's finest lineup. Pastorius recorded a healthy parade of studio LPs with the group and played dozens of gigs. His tenure is my touchstone for the Weather Report discography (I'm a native South Floridian, and admit heavy local partiality). I never saw them live, and I wore out the 8:30 album. That album's cushy overdubs and post-production soften the raw, affirmed talent in evidence on the live document. Given the Report's rep for slick and innovative studio work, I concur and take no issue there. But needless to say I am very happy that these tapes were assembled and released so we can hear them in the buff. Without hitting trading circles for soundboards and audience tapes, it's enough to pore over for a few years. Working through the first disc, my ears perk at Erskine's sparkling and aggressive work behind the drum kit, and his interactions with Jaco. Half the total sound is the rhythm section, hard to believe that only two people are carrying that. Nice notes are also included. While you wait for these to arrive in your mailbox, I heartily recommend the aptly titled Trio of Doom live disc with McLaughlin and Tony Williams.

211. Can / Tago Mago (1971)

Each of Can's albums is distinctly a product of the legendary ensemble, but each also presents its own direction and tone. Tago Mago is the first turning point. As the maiden voyage with Damo Suzuki, it opens the period of their most innovative work. "Paperhouse" displays the new chemistry: unintelligible motivic phrases are intoned, sometimes shouted by Suzuki. His strained voice is utilized for its value as a rhythm instrument, and also for texture. The caterwaul is entwined with Michael Karoli's grainy, insect-like guitar, while jitterbugging around Jaki Liebezeit's impeccable, discomfiting claptrap. Elsewhere, fragments of surreptitiously recorded rehearsals are draped over layers of arranged material in moody loops that crash together with the anxiety of cut-and-paste editing. "Mushroom" features a disorienting reversed vocal and further collisions of noise and melody. Moving into the dense heart of the album, "Halleluwah" is the archetype for Can's trailblazing approach to music. Suzuki mumbles and howls over noisy keyboards and chiming guitars, while Liebezeit parades in zombie fashion to the track's uncertain conclusion 18 minutes later. It's a 2-LP set, audacious and necessary. The music moves without being touched, as if by enchantment. If there exists a skeleton key to understanding Can and everything after, this is it.

Changes to this blog.

And management would like to announce.... a change in format! Henceforth, this blog will include my ramblings on all types of music, not just jazz. Don't worry, it's not a radical change in gears. I listen to all sorts of stuff, and while a lot of it could be classified as "jazz," much of it just isn't. Formerly I had several different blogs into which I would channel my thoughts, but I've decided to just combine them here because the world of 365 Dry Martinis seems to get the most attention. And my apologies for not updating my recent listening lists, or posting as often as I would like. But in the future, this should all improve. A health to you, dear readers, and thank you for dropping by. Feel free to say hello in the comments.