213. Santana / Moonflower (1977)

Moonflower, released 1977, is a mixture of new studio material and contemporary live performances that demonstrate, in equal measure, all components of the Santana sound. Carlos Santana had spent the previous decade exploring the nuanced corners of this thing he’d invented called “Latin jazz rock fusion.” Of course, we didn’t call it that back then, we were still a few decades away from piegonholing everything into an early grave. The unique music was just the thing that Carlos did. But by the time Moonflower reached audiences, he’d come to the top of the pyramid and was ready to jump off. So the form I’m talking about -- a lysergic combination of free-form acid rock punctuated by Latin dance rhythms of primal intensity, and buoyed by the harmonic message of jazz and slick sensibilities of pop -- as far as I am concerned, was perfected right here. All the other Santana records up to this point demonstrate one of these aspects superbly, but only now are they brought together under a single heading. Such a culmination of style is the reason Moonflower is just so damned good, and why you need to stop whatever it is you’re doing, right now, and listen to it for at least a week, straight.

Santana’s guitar is a sustain bomb, famously so, and it comes in spades on this album. We call it, “neverending sustain” because that’s exactly what it is -- a controlled feedback loop between a guitar pickup and a very loud amplifier, and Carlos basically wrote the book on it: First, crank a tube amp to within a few volts of its life. Then, plug in your guitar and roll its volume knob back to a level that won’t cause a lawsuit. As the notes you play start to fade, roll that volume knob back up to keep them going. Once you hit the sweet spot, just stand there and let the message ring…. forever if you want. In this way, a few well placed strokes of the pick become epic vehicles of self expression, whole chapters in the book of whatever your song is trying to say. At least, that’s how it works if you’re Carlos Santana. During soundchecks, he paces around the stage playing the guitar until he finds the magic distance to stand from the amp, and marks off the spot with duct tape. His amplifier cabinets sit at waist level so the speaker can see the guitar. The whole process is calculated and diabolically simple, but the net effect is packed with an intensity that so belies its simplicity, you’d swear it’s witchcraft. The sound is rapturous bliss, or euphoric jubilation. Otherworldly. It’s a miracle note. It shouldn’t still be there, it should have melted away to silence by now, but there it is. And therein is another component of Santana’s music, amply demonstrated on Moonflower -- the magic-realism of Latin folklore, the power of the supernatural in everything, and the tingling, electric sensation of listening to a really good Santana record.

To get the gist of what I’m saying, turn up the stereo good and loud. Do it in the car, in a parking lot, standing still. Don’t try to drive while appreciating guitar feedback to its fullest capacity for fulfillment. Do it in an armchair with a good pair of flat response cans, or, if no one’s home, open the fader and let the sound blast through your speakers. Moonflower offers high grade sonic transcendence on tap. For the experience of a live concert, listen to the careening beauty of “Black Magic Woman,” “Savor,” or “Soul Sacrifice” from the Abraxas era, complete with Carlos’ signature fuzz and effects, and the raucous, chaotic energy of Chepito Areas on percussion. Songs like “Europa” and “Transcendence” softly (but not quietly) offer the quintessential example of the Carlos Santana Sound in its starkly beautiful phrases and lengthy single-note passages of sustained sound. The latter features a masterpiece solo that you don't want to miss. With a snazzy snap and velvet touch, the subtle hooks of newcomers like “I’ll Be Waiting,” “Zulu,” and “Flor d’Luna” point to the coming years when Santana transitioned to pop and album oriented rock. If Caravanserai is the album that bridges the gap between Santana's acid rock genesis and their more advanced forays into further realms of jazz and progressive rock, then Moonflower is likewise the album that marks where Santana funnels all it learned from the second part of the journey, and strikes off in a new direction once again.

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.

191. Fred Hersch - Alone at the Vanguard (2011)

Hersch plays in his characteristically slick and lyrical style in this collection of live, solo recordings. The gently meandering set is just over an hour long but was culled from an entire week of performances at the Vanguard in  2010. Hersch's back catalog of superb trio records has given him all the leeway that could be expected from the trio format, but alone, he is free to wander a little farther from the yard, in both time and route, as with Sonny Rollins' "Doxy," or the elegant salute to Thelonious Monk's "Work." In the absence of the drums and bass, he develops sweeping melodic arcs in each piece, and displays refined senses of harmony and dynamics. With several numbers he tips his hat to inspiration from friends and figures like Robert Schumann, Bill Frisell, and Lee Konitz. My favorite piece is the disc's opener that I know as a favorite Frank Sinatra song (although it has been covered countless times since). "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning" is rendered so poignantly as to touch the emotional depth achieved by Sinatra on the 1955 album.

187. The Complete Jazz at the Philharmonic on Verve, 1944-1949 (1998)

After being evicted, in a word, from Los Angeles' Philharmonic Auditorium in 1946, Norman Granz retained his revue's catchy name and took the show on the road. For the next several years, various incarnations of "Jazz at the Philharmonic" played for audiences across Europe and North America. The historically important concerts were recorded and released, pimples and all. In fact, they represent some of the first commercial "live" albums ever made. Some were broadcasted on big radio stations, and extensive touring allowed audiences in isolated locales to see performers who never would have reached them. A notable feature of the Philharmonic lineups was that they juxtaposed veterans of the swing era with younger players of bebop. Rosters included Slim Gaillard, Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Parker, Roy Eldridge, Illinois Jacquet, Billie Holiday, Gene Krupa, Hank Jones, Ray Brown.... too many to list them all here. These styles were often in stiff opposition, and their players unlikely to play together. Stories abound of the politics wrought by the odd marriage of styles. I've read critics who fault Granz for "forcing" jams and contests between players, but most listeners enjoy the results. I'm with the latter camp, and I rank these records among the most essential of all.

169. Ronnie Cuber / Live at the Blue Note (1986)

Live at the Blue Note is fine hard bop by a very strong quartet featuring Cuber on barisax, with Dr. Lonnie Smith on organ and the outspoken Randy Brecker on trumpet. Drums are by Ronnie Burrage. The lineup says it all. Brecker is outstanding, assertive and brassy but so is everyone else. Listeners will recognize Cuber and Smith as an old team. From behind the organ Dr. Smith gives the music a robust buoyancy, working the draw bars like floodgates. Along with Burrage, he bounces between playing his own steely choruses and pointed interplay with Brecker and Cuber. The date is memorable and stands head and shoulders above Cuber's studio dates on Projazz, like Two Brothers. The set is a mix of bop, rhythm, and blues. It gets pretty hot, as with "Philly Blues," or "Blue 'n' Boogie," but practically the whole disc has the same feel. If you can find a copy and the price is reasonable, buy it. The audio is great, too.

158. Dick Hyman & Ralph Sutton (1993)

This magical live set was recorded at Berkeley's Maybeck Recital Hall in 1993. Both players have a grand command of the keyboard, and a little bit like the piano recordings of Duke Ellington, they render the music with the arranger's ear for an orchestra. Hyman is off to the left, Sutton on the right. Hearing the two styles in opposition is a marvelous thing. Tumbling down the stairs in effervescent flurries from the high end is Hyman, while Sutton provides a canvas of chording and big rhythmic anchor. Sutton's choruses in tunes like "I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter" are comparatively rowdy, bordering on barrel house, filled with booming chords and a topsy-turvy swing. Clocking in just shy of five minutes, I think the tune could easily have gone another round, but what we get is such a skyrocket that it's impossible to complain. "Everything Happens to Me" is a solo feature for Sutton, while Hyman gets "Ol' Man River" all to himself. In the latter, Hyman's lines demonstrate a dazzling fluency in blues, bop, and balladry. A shimmering collection of piano jazz by two undisputed masters of the instrument, I highly recommend this collection.

157. Gene Harris Quartet with Frank Wess / It's the Real Soul (1995)

Recorded live across two nights in March of 1995, these eight tracks feature the Gene Harris Quartet (Ron Eschete, g; Luther Hughes, b; Paul Humphrey, d) in the company of Frank Wess. Wess divides his time between four tracks, playing tenor on "Menage a Bleu" and "Estoril Soul," then flute on "Straight No Chaser" and "My Funny Valentine." He is as expressive on the flute as Harris is on the piano, unleashing a diverse assortment of perky phrases and exciting techniques that frame the Monk tune in a perfectly jaunty way, and adding lots of personality to "My Funny Valentine." Nice as it is to have him around for the proceedings, the core band plays with such a big sound and heavy swing that I don't miss him on the other half of the record. Harris works well with guitarist Eschete. Their cooperation in splitting the breaks of "Lady Be Good" turns the old tune into a memorable affair, their choruses developing patiently until the mood reaches a fever pitch. "That's All," which is the last tune on the album, is a fitting closer. Harris teases "Rhapsody in Blue" before really pounding into fully chorded statements, with the crowd loving it. His style on the keyboard is often described as being rooted in a gospel tradition and tracks like "You Don't Know Me" clearly substantiate those descriptions.  

149. Cannonball Adderley Quintet in Chicago (1959)

Cannonball Adderley Quintet in Chicago (aka Cannonball & Coltrane on Limelight LS 86009) is a splendid disc from the core band that recorded Kind of Blue. "Limehouse Blues" stands ragtime roots on their head in the attitude of hard bop. A sparring match between alto and tenor proceeds at breathtaking pace until the tune reels in for a final, punctual tutti on the main theme. "Stars Fell on Alabama" is next and features very sensitive embellishments from Adderley. Kelly goes next, tinkling single notes into the dusty register. As saxes go, it's a pleasure to hear the two styles in opposition. Adderley and Coltrane ride atop the rhythmic swell and strike the bar at will. But the two players are not very similar. Contrast their rhythmic interpretations of "Wabash," or technique in "Grand Central," which crackles with Trane's rhythmic inventions in fast triplets. The ballad "You're a Weaver of Dreams" is handed to Coltrane, and Kelly strolls through some jaunty figures that recall the old school with aplomb. On each track, whether it's Adderley busting open the guts of the melody and improvising endlessly thoughtful variations on its theme, or Coltrane boldly probing the rhythmic and harmonic architecture, there's always something to hang an ear on. This disc is a fine compliment to Kind of Blue, Somethin' Else, and At Newport 1958.

147. Either/Orchestra / The Calculus of Pleasure (1992)

Like everything by Either/Orchestra, The Calculus of Pleasure intrigues me. Music by Benny Golson ("Whisper Not"), Horace Silver ("Ecaron"), and Julius Hemphill ("The Hard Blues") bumps against the original work of Bob Nieske ("Consenting Adults," "Grey"), Russ Gershon ("Bennie Moten's Weird Nightmare," "Miles Away"), and Curtis Hasselbring ("Unnatural Pastime"). I love the classic vibe and musical conversations in "Consenting Adults." Nieske then produces a shy ballad in "Grey" that whispers the secrets of its harmonic language more with each successive listen. Gershon's tunes are varied, like "Miles Away," the down tempo, texture-laden tribute to late Miles Davis, or the curious intersections of "Nightingale". In spite of its obviously spirited playing and conception, the whole of Calculus seems restrained and lacks some of the devilishly odd character that endeared me to Half-Life of Desire. The music has held up extremely well in the nearly 25 years since it was recorded. I see this as a rumination in sound rather than a wholesale defection from the grinning muse that inspired Half-Life. As always, E/O's trademark of mixing old with new, enhanced by each member's indelible stamp, creates a codex pointing in several directions simultaneously.

146. Wes Montgomery / Smokin' at the Half Note (1965)

Smokin' is the second collaboration between Montgomery and the Wynton Kelly Trio. They played on a couple of his other albums, too, and they make a solid group. The trio is Kelly, Chambers and Cobb. Having said as much I shouldn't have to say more because the names, let alone the music, practically say it all. I'll listen to anything with these guys. Only two of the five tracks on the original LP are actually live from the venue, "If You Could See Mee Now" and "No Blues." The other three are from (where else?) Van Gelder's studio. It doesn't really matter because both dates are terrific. Our opener "No Blues" pushes 13 minutes in length, marked by Montgomery's fat tone and heavy right hand. It's also an interesting piece as far as Miles covers go, dating from his 'casting around' period before the second great quintet formed up. But getting back to Wes, his melodic constructions in "Unit Seven" are something to marvel at. It's refreshingly cogent jazz thinking, replete with strong musicality and inventive spirit. For both live and studio material, Chambers and Cobb are the bedrock while Kelly is probably the perfect pianist for this group, having both the technical facility and bluesy swagger necessary to enhance the brew. If you want to learn what jazz guitar is all about, this is a good entry point.

122. Charlie Haden / Night and the City (1996)

Night and the City has an extra attraction for me, because I love the film by Jules Dassin. Anyway, they're not related, but it's a great record. It was recorded for Verve at the Iridium in NYC, home to many a great night of live music (see HughGotIt's excellent uploads of the Ed Palermo Big Band for a glimpse of when the tiny room really gets rocking, and also some of Hugh's other great live video work). This time Haden teams up with Kenny Barron on the keys. Their music is elegant and sparse, but not at all vacant. It's reverent of jazz from an earlier era, and even its title recalls a romantic notion of the city as theater of life. Barron's opening "Twilight Song" sets the pace. The tunes are mostly standards, with one original by Haden ("Waltz for Ruth") and Barron's aforementioned "Twilight" being exceptions. "Body and Soul," as if anyone can get away from it, is thoughtful and majestic and makes a perfectly timed appearance midway through the disc. I think the collection is a treat, and each player exercises a remarkable restraint to let the other sing and breathe as needed. It's thick on mood, but not overly heavy, and I highly recommend it.  

120. Ahmad Jamal / At the Pershing, But Not For Me (1958)

Out of Jamal's handful of live albums, each one a gem, At the Pershing stands out to me as essential listening. It was originally released on Chess Records' Argo label and became a smash hit, a coup for the label that had recorded a goodly variety of music but not broken into the jazz markets held by Blue Note, Verve, Columbia, or smaller labels like Prestige. Widely influential, it's become a classic. Jamal's emergent style is the principal attraction but the trio consisting Israel Crosby and Vernell Fournier isn't to be fooled with. Their brand of jazz is superbly crafted and seamlessly executed. Cooperation and interplay between bass, drums and piano is supernatural. Listen to the sparse but beautiful "Poinciana," demonstrating Jamal's wise but playful use of space and silence while the rhythm section carries a percussive groove. Some of the selections clearly presage the work of Miles Davis' first great quintet. My only complaint? On the original liner, Jamal writes that he himself selected eight tracks of the 43 they recorded 16 January 1958. Gambit's Complete Live at the Pershing Lounge 1958 offers only 20 tracks. I did the math, and while Jamal is still playing dates, it'd be darned nice to have those missing tapes....

94. Thelonious Monk Quartet with John Coltrane at Carnegie Hall (2005)

Considering the complexity of Monk's style and the assertive individuality of Coltrane's style on the tenor, this music isn't just blazingly good, it's also surprisingly cohesive, at least to me. Rediscovered 2005 at the Library of Congress, it sheds invaluable light on the fabled partnership between Monk and Coltrane. Monk is so energetic, he's jumping all over the keyboard like popcorn, supported by a really intuitive drummer in Shadow Wilson.  Sometimes Coltrane lays out for long section while Monk sketches the melody or takes a chorus. But when Coltrane steps back in, Monk comes alive in give-and-take interplay that surges the whole group ahead. Coltrane isn't giving us a smattering of scalar flights of fancy. He's carefully picking and choosing his spots as an ensemble player and featured soloist. It' so much more mature than the music previously available from this union, and kudos to all involved for bringing it out in the open. It makes me wonder what else is hidden in the Library of Congress?

76. Nat Adderley Quintet / Blue Autumn (1983)

Recorded live at the Keystone, 1983. The quintet is Nat Adderley (c), Sonny Fortune (as), Larry Miller (p), Walter Booker (b), and Jimmy Cobb (d). There's a lot going on in this tribute, and it's a bit of a mixed bag. While Cannonball isn't in attendance, it's not always obvious with Sonny Fortune blowing alto, especially on the smoldering "For Duke and Cannon." That channel is again fulfilled by the last number, which is Willis' rollicking "Tallahassee Kid." And the band pays further homage with "Book's Bossa" in the middle of the set, a form popularized by Cannonball. Booker, Cobb and Willis are like a band unto themselves, working closely while Nat haunts the wings, shouting his encouragement. He flies in and out where needed in his characteristically bright and broad tone, especially in "Fifth Labor of Hercules," wildly shaping and reshaping themes before putting it all back in the box at the end. These performances don't just showcase the soloists, though. Like any Adderley band, it's a celebration of a band, and in this case, a really good band. 

66. Miles Davis / At Newport 1958 (1958)

This live disc features the sextet that recorded Kind of Blue a short time later. It's also the debut of Cobb and Evans with the group. Davis premiered his new lineup in the context of Newport's considerable inertia. The gloves are off right from the start. "Ah Leu Cha" is the fastest I've heard it played by anyone and Adderley, Davis, and Coltrane show off their chops in blistering runs of mind boggling accuracy. If you haven't heard this, I advise you turn up the volume to fully appreciate these musicians when they start blowing. I think their power even surprised the leader. It's like going from 0 to 60 in an instant. Davis is in high spirits, talking all throughout the set, encouraging his musicians. Evans is careful when he slips between Adderley and Coltrane, but offers excellent harmonic advice and makes a few pointed statements as with "Straight No Chaser." It's easy to see why Davis picked him, and to hear him outside of his role in guiding the modalities heard in Kind of Blue is quite exciting. A short-lived and critically under-documented group, I'm thankful to have this disc.

49. Thelonious Monk / The Thelonious Monk Orchestra at Town Hall (1959)

I like to think I can hear the splice in "Little Rootie Tootie," although I'm probably imagining it, a necessary evil because of a tape flip that missed the middle. Are there any tapers out there? You can identify. It's a good set, and arrangements for the 10-piece band showcase the soloists, like liquid Charlie Rouse, Phil Woods, Pepper Adams, or Donald Byrd. They also blow good ensemble figures and frame Monk's angularisms and wild chords within a richer ocean of sonority, so there's a lot of lift in the music. Some of these tunes, warhorses for small groups, sound as if they've found home at long last in a big band, like the majestic take of "Monk's Mood" or the jumping "Rootie." Just listen to ten guys blowing the head of "Rootie" around the 7-minute mark. Holy cow! That's tight! I think it works wonderfully. This performance finds Monk emerging from the '50s as mature and bursting with new ideas, about to enter his most productive decade just a few months ahead. For the full effect of the band, you've really got to turn up the volume on the stereo so it sounds like you're in the hall. It's electrifying.

39. Joe Lovano Nonet / Live on this Day at the Village Vanguard (2003)

This is the way a live album should sound. I've never been to the Village Vanguard (one day) but the place looks nice and small. That said, Joe's nonet must have peeled the paint off the walls. How'd they all fit on the stage, with a baritone, piano, and drum kit? Talk about crowded, and the music is crowded, too. Real crowded... but it works. Think: "Subway after a football game crowded," or "Mingus Big Band crowded." The nonet is a small big band that wants to behave like a big small band, so when it gets rolling and all nine pieces try to turn the corner at once (listen to "Good Bait"), it comes nigh to spilling into the street. There's so much energy present, and the power of the whole group blowing at once is daunting and impressive. Steve Slagle on alto is a great foil for Lovano, and there are some really good solos by baritone Scott Robinson. In the midst of the melee don't overlook the group's rhythmic inspiration, which is provided by pianist John Hicks and drummer Lewis Nash. Lovano is a powerful leader in any context, but I've always felt he sounds most at home when leading a big group like this one.  

26. Dizzy Gillespie / Dizzy Gillespie & the Mitchell-Ruff Duo (1971)

Dizzy plays live at Dartmouth College with the under appreciated duo of Dwike Mitchell and Willie Ruff. His association with the duo dates to New York in the 1950s where they were often booked in the same clubs. This night, Diz is in top form, very relaxed, and plays some solos that recall his agility from earlier decades, also interjecting humor into bits between songs. Willie Ruff has developed an idiosyncratic, inventive brand of rhythm on the string bass, he also plays elegant music on the French horn that adds brassy class to tracks like "Dartmouth Duo." Most of the set is what I expect from Dizzy ("Woody'n You," some Billy Strayhorn picks, "Con Alma") but there is a beautiful blues in the aptly titled "Blues People" and also an original by Willie Ruff called "Bella Bella" that isn't easily overlooked in the middle of the program. Overall, it's a very strong set from Dizzy Gillespie aged 54, with two very interesting and not often heard "sidemen" wrapping their duo chemistry around the familiarity of another musician. It's a shame this album has gone out of print with no sign of a reissue.

02. The Carla Bley Band / European Tour 1977 (1978)

European Tour 1977 is an easy album to take to. Carla's organ swirls and growls in the background, and with help from pianist Terry Adams (who does an admirable job of carrying the shambling groove), she occasionally does parts with the tenor sax. She uses voicings that are alternately sublime or spooky, and runs amok behind the front line soloists. The music is typical of the 1970s Carla Bley Band, a polyphony of mutual contributions that are playfully moody, eccentric, and make a topsy-turvy ride filled with colorful textures and abrupt shifts into wild extemporizing from Elton Dean, John Clark, and Gary Windo. It's joyously free while remaining remarkably accessible, if the word "free" really needs to be qualified.  On "Star Spangled Minor," the assembled brasses, squalling reeds and raging drum kit recall Albert Ayler's interpretations of spirituals and simple Americana, reclaimed and expanded, a newly enfranchised musical Frankenstein. Indeed, members of Bley's band (Gary Windo, Elton Dean) are no strangers to the avant-garde or Ayler, and are easily comfortable with this type of music.