202. Flying Island / Flying Island (1975)

The self-titled debut from the fruitful but short lived Connecticut group Flying Island has excellent music to offer and deserves wider recognition. Things begin with a sharply executed "Funky Duck," but the material takes interesting turns into weirder territory and more aggressive textures like on "Flying Island" and "I Love to Dance." The music proceeds across shifting time signatures in tradeoffs between Fred Fraioli's electric violin and keyboards by Jeff Bova. Fraioli speaks in squalling, anthemic strokes, sometimes smooth, sometimes menacing, bookended by his fiery runs and escalated, wailing solos. Also present are guitarist Ray Smith, bassist Thom Preli, and drummer Bill Bacon. Smith and Bacon emerge as superb players that make the album much heavier than your typical mid-70s fusion outing. After the violin-keyboard pyrotechnics are over, their work is often the force that distinguishes the band from dozens of similar acts. Flying Island and the follow-up Another Kind of Space should interest fans of higher profile names in '70s fusion like Jean-luc Ponty, Weather Report, or Mahavishnu Orchestra. The musicians are competent and talented, and the total package is professional and well rehearsed. Yet it is not without the spark needed to bring a studio take home for the listener. Highly recommended!

199. Ex Ovo Pro / European Spassvogel (1976)

I don't hear enough of the European jazz scene, past and present, simply because of the music's more limited availability where I live. Thankfully, the web makes the world a little smaller and I was able to locate and hear this out-of-print gem from the Amayana label. European Spassvogel ties a lot of pieces together and after listening to many American groups from the same era, it's refreshing, I really like it. The music is exploratory with anchors in moody vamps and dark melodies. Thankfully, funk is only an ingredient, and the band doesn't dwell on it indefinitely, frequently moving away from it. Wild extemporizations of Mandi Riedelbauch ("In a Locrian Mood") are free and noisy, but the band is really tight. Harald Pompl pounds his traps all around the beat, stuffing the cracks with a unique assortment of percussion and technique. Max Kohler's growly electric bass pours the foundation, and while Pompl does his thing, Kohler keeps time. Hans Kraus-Hubner proviides electric piano, often leading, sometimes coaxing the soloists. It's just a good, chill listen. The songs are concise, and the sides wrap before you can get distracted. If you're like me and get burned out on purely funk-based fusion, this could be what you were looking for.

195. Jazz Anecdotes by Bill Crow (1991)

This music we have come to call jazz is long and storied, its course determined by thousands of musicians, singers, bandleaders, producers, patrons, and hangers on. Music is more than harmonically related pitches that sound off in regularly timed intervals. It's a living and growing mode of expression, a self-description of our culture. a sentimental record of our times. Bill Crow's Jazz Anecdotes is exactly what the title implies. Drawn from many sources, readers are treated to a rich assortment of personal recollections, rumors, legends, inside jokes, and more than a few stories with very long legs. In his introduction, Crow shares a fundamental truth about storytelling: every good tale has a life of its own, eclipsing even the storyteller. In this way, real or imagined, the contents of Crow's compendium leap right off the pages, straight into the annals of popular culture. I'll equate jazz with my favorite sport, baseball. A listener can enjoy a song without knowing the musicians much like how a spectator can enjoy a ballgame without knowing too much about the players. But understanding the personal dimension of their collective small-game and their colorful arc of backstory enriches the experience tenfold. If you stay interested for your entire life, it's more than 18 guys on a diamond. The sport actually fulfills the obligation of a cultural phenomenon in which the spectator is a willing participant in the creation of its legend.

But back to jazz... Through Crow's work, which is subdivided into manageable sections covering certain musicians or styles, or certain aspects of being a musician, you get all the behind-the-scenes gossip, juicy tidbits, and wild memories of the women and men who made the music happen. In other words, the material is so vivid, it's as if the subjects are right there in the room, talking to you. In his acknowledgements, Crow thanks Nat Hentoff, whose book Hear Me Talkin' to Ya is a similar work that bears mention here. Likewise, and with a stronger recommendation for its beautiful prose and sense of relational self identity, please see Living with Music: Ralph Ellison's Jazz Writings. I'll close by saying this: When I put the book in the nightdrop and left it there to resume a lonely life on the shelf for two or three more years, whenever the next patron should come along, I actually said goodbye. Startlingly, as I drove off in my car, I felt like someone heard me.

192. John Scofield - A Moment's Peace (2011)

Like any other artist, John Scofield is no stranger to the ballad, which is amply represented in his back catalog and live repertoire. But A Moment's Peace is the guitarists first album consisting entirely of ballads (Scofield's albums are big on themes, anyway). It's a really enjoyable set of standards with Brian Blade, Larry Goldings, and Scott Colley on hand to help out. They deserve congratulations because while anybody will recognize these tunes, when the band locks in with Sco in the lead for emotive rushes like "I Want to Talk About You," or the slippery bends and bluesy explorations of "Gee Baby Ain't I Good to You," it's still pure magic, despite the age of the music. Scofield's guitar is heard in a judiciously reverberant, tone saturated signal that is occasionally augmented by simple effects like tremolo, or Scofield rolling the volume knob for shading and dynamics. I love that technique, especially when Blade is playing sympathetically, and Goldings starts to use the draw bars in the same track... the cumulative effect of both instruments pulsing together creates a blissfully disorienting sonic texture that shimmers like light reflecting on a water surface. A Moment's Peace was good when I heard it three years ago, and it is getting better. Highly recommended.

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.

175. John Blake / A New Beginning (1988)

A New Beginning combines Blake's typically sonorous violin lines with elements of funk, soul jazz, and Brazilian and African rhythmical structures. The exciting music is buoyed by an interesting lineup featuring two keyboards, a drummer, and a percussionist. Gerald Veasley kicks out solid rhythms on the bass with a soulful and percussive technique that employs juicy slides and the occasional slap to emphasize his point. Between the deceptively catchy but challenging opener "Dream Lady" and the following "Samba Di Bahia" listeners get the idea that the group is capable of excelling in a variety of musics while maintaining a consistent level of performance and improvisation quality that is the album's hallmark. Dual keyboards (James Simmons, electric; Sumi Tonooka, acoustic) add to the bubbling rhythm section, Simmons for texture and Tonooka as the melodic foil for Blake. Not being familiar with Blake beyond his work with Grover Washington, I had lukewarm expectations when I picked this up, and was pleasantly surprised. It ends on a great tune, "Serengetti Dance."

166. Sonny Rollins / Rollins Plays for Bird (1956)

The medley of post-1950 Charlie Parker tunes that begins this tribute to the late Mr. Parker flows as effortlessly as a river thanks to Wade Legge's piano continuo and Max Roach's drum kit. Rollins and Kenny Dorham do most of the melody and choruses, although Roach gets a fair shake, too. He characteristically mixes it up during the front line's choruses, laying on the cymbals and hard rolls while changing from straight time to double-time and back again, adding a loping feel, building urgency, or cooling it back down as needed. Legge and bassist George Morrow are the only musicians in the quintet to never work with Parker, so there is a familiar intimacy about the music that comes from the friends honoring a friend. Dorham is relaxed and outstanding in the "Star Eyes" segment. He especially soars in "Kids Know," a Rollins original in 3/4 that the band stretches out generously. There are a lot of Charlie Parker tribute albums out there, hundreds since 1955, and some are real time wasters. This date is one of the best, the most genuine, and the most enjoyable.

162. Steely Dan / Countdown to Ecstasy (1973)

The followup to Can't Buy a Thrill is like the great early Steely Dan album that no one talks about. It's understandable for a band with things like Aja or Pretzel Logic lurking in the back catalog. Much like Scam, the band's second LP seems destined live in the shadow of its discographical neighbors. But the songcraft is wise and clever, a subtly sophisticated mix of pop, blues, rock, soul and jazz. And like Royal Scam and Katy Lied, it helps set up the stylistic direction that reached its pinnacle with Aja. I find it amazing that this is only their second record. It's an instructional antithesis to the sophomore slump. Appreciating its heights and evenness compared to the debut does much to illustrate the talents of the creators. To say the least, Becker and Fagen are really hitting their stride by this time. The pieces for each future masterwork are in place: First thing to gel is Fagen doing all the lead vocals, killing the herky-jerky transitions heard on Thrill. Denny Dias and Jeff Baxter split the guitar duties, Baxter contributing pedal steel and six string. But there are notable session players, too, like Ray Brown on "Razor Boy," Rick Derringer on "Showbiz Kids," Ernie Watts on "My Old School," and Victor Feldman playing several instruments through both sides. The lyrics come into their own, filled with wry references, quotable one-liners, and unforgettable character studies that are simultaneously explicit and oblique. Some of the music is visionary, too. "Pearl of the Quarter" has been described as "country," but to my ear it is something closer to the further amalgamation of American musical idioms, presaging that which in later decades we would come to call Americana. I love all the SD albums and go through phases where one will sit on my stereo for longer than the others. Right now, Ecstasy is "the one." So excuse me as I put on my headphones and turn on to the curt, sardonic strains of "Bodhisattva" once again....

159. Buck Hill Quartet / This is Buck Hill (1978)

This is Buck Hill is Hill's recording debut on SteepleChase. From Washington D.C., Hill worked for the post office by day and was a hard driving driving tenor sax leader by night. So by the time we meet him in 1978, he is 51 years old and already possesses a fully developed tone and unique stylistic approach to modal material. Because of this late exposure, he is easy to miss, but he was and continues to be a fantastic player in the tradition of other big tenors that jazz listeners are more familiar with. For the debut he teams up with Billy Hart, Kenny Barron, and Buster Williams. They have a good sound that approaches the Prestige or Blue Note gold standard from two decades earlier. This session lacks the production gloss of newer Hill releases like Relax (which is also excellent). Notably, four of the album's seven tracks are Hill's originals. These are modal explorations with contributions from all members of the group. The four musicians play so well together that it's a hard sell for me to believe they weren't working together a lot longer than they were! Finding the vinyl could be a challenge but the recent CD is a worthwhile purchase and comes with a bonus take of Hill's "S.M.Y."

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.  

156. Chet Baker / The Italian Sessions (1962)

Baker's groups in Europe were a mixed lot. Sometimes they were great but sometimes it was just the opposite. Then after a lifetime of drugs, alcohol, and legal trouble, his tone and technique suffered hugely.  I like this disc because it is none of those things. It features Baker on the front line of a charging hard bop sextet. He holds his own flanked by piano, tenor sax, and guitar. His lines are so forthright and aggressive, so strident and even verbose (for Baker) that it hardly even sounds like him. I'm dying to put it in a blindfold test because it's such a curveball. The high spirited band gets started on the first track. "Well You Needn't" is one of two rhythmically thorny pieces in the session, the other being Charlie Parker's "Barbados." In the Monk tune, Baker careens along filling the space above and below him with a clarion tone and fast but thoughtful flits into the upper register. The drummer, Daniel Humair, drives the thing right over the top. Every track is short and concise -- no wasted space, no excessive showboating, no lost attention or bad takes. If you know the Let's Get Lost Chet Baker, the Californian bebop sensibility, the underplayed moody ballads and minimalistic statements in the lower register only, then you could revise that understanding, or at least enrich it, with these eight performances. They even do "Star Eyes," which is one of my favorite tunes by anyone.

154. Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt / Boss Tenors (1961)

If you've got the stereo disc then Ammons is in the right channel and usually goes first. Stitt is in the left channel and comes next, occasionally doubling on alto. The latter was one of the most inspiring alto players there was, but he gets short shrift. A whiz on the alto, he was equally capable on tenor or even baritone (no barisax on this disc). These two players make wonderful music together. It's a solid dance session, with plenty of fireworks and some intriguing knots in the choruses that may interest more serious listeners. "There is No Greater Love" features Stitt on alto. His exhilirating double-time chourses are a thing to marvel at. While trading jabs with each other, the horns take unexpected sidesteps outside the blues, like in Ammons' first chorus of "Autumn Leaves," or some of Stitt's phrases in the smoking "Blues Up and Down." The rhythm section of John Houston, Buster Williams, and George Brown has a good chemistry. Williams' timekeeping meshes well with Brown, and especially Houston's comping style, which favors chunky, chorded statements emphasizing the beat. Their interplay with the leaders during "Blues Up and Down" really kicks the tune into a higher gear. This is a memorable session, and quite enjoyable, to say the least.

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.

145. Benny Carter & His Orchestra / Further Definitions (1961)

This octet features the alto saxes of Green and Phil Woods playing across from Coleman Hawkins and Charlie Rouse on tenor. The lineup recreates the famous Green-Hawkins date from Paris 1937 while harkening back to the swing era's "dueling" sax lineups, fashioned after the Basie model. This time, several 30+ year veterans team up with players of the next generation like Woods, Rouse, and Jimmy Garrison. It's a real sympatico affair, a collage of distinctive voices working together in a shared, now classic style. Their danceable, infectious small group swing is a far cry from Impulse's stock and trade just a few years later. Carter's arrangements provide amply for the players, and the set rolls without a hitch. I love "Body and Soul," especially when Hawk plays it. It's a gem, and Carter's chart gives him all the room he wants. Woods' work on "Crazy Rhythm" (a chestnut also from the Paris date) is notable, drawing equally from the work of his mentors and his own developing style. The solid, self-assured vibe feels a lot like Duke Ellington Meets Coleman Hawkins or Verve's Ben Webster and Associates. Comparisons aside, it's something you want to own for its sheer enjoyability, if not for its historical value.

143. Don Braden / The Voice of the Saxophone (1997)

Braden plays a big sounding  tenor and does an admirable job arranging for his octet (which is occasionally a quartet, as with "After the Rain"). He carries most of the groove but there's also Vincent Herring, Randy Brecker, Frank Lacy and Hamiett Bluiett. The arrangements are nimble, often carried by a piano continuo, and they balance the group's massed power with spaces that feature the soloists. It's clever, and I'll forget that I'm listening to an octet before a big blast reminds me to count the pieces. The opener is Hank Mobley's swinging "Soul Station." There's a lot of good hard bop in the playlist, like Shorter's "See No Evil," or Jimmy Heath's "Voice of the Saxophone." It all sounds fresh. There's also Sam Rivers' tricky "Point of Many Returns" and some solid originals by Braden like "The Dust Kicker" and "Cozy," (nice solo by Brecker here). "Monk's Hat," which is the tune we all know as the theme from the Cosby Show, is appreciated but might be more appropriately placed at the end of the album. Kitsch aside, I like that last one well enough because it reminds me of watching Cosby! Hats off to Braden and crew for an outing that's enjoyable, danceable, and even holds a few surprises.

141. Monty Alexander, Ray Brown, Herb Ellis / Triple Treat (1982)

For various reasons, the cover of this recording seems oddly appropriate. A photograph of a three-scoop ice cream sundae makes a cheeky pun for the piano trio's sweet and sometimes quirky set of tunes like Blue Mitchell's "Fungi Mama" (with fun quotes by Ellis, and some jangly syncopation by Alexander) or the hot side-opening "(Meet The) Flintstones." Monty Alexander fills the piano chair and I don't think he sounds one bit like Oscar Peterson, in spite of Brown and Ellis being longtime members of that musician's group. The other music on the album is equally sweet and creamy, as with the sumptuous "Body and Soul" and "Sweet Lady," or swinging "When Lights are Low." Also notable is the title track, the "Triple Treat Blues." Chemistry, relaxed atmosphere and slick, baton passing choruses of these three musicians make a buoyant and memorable session that is out of print but worth seeking out. If you enjoy this lineup, be sure to check out their other albums, as well.

137. Arnett Cobb and Eddie "Lockjaw" Davis / Blow, Arnett, Blow! (1959)

This Prestige date was something of a 'return' for Cobb, who had been recently injured and was retired during recovery. Fans of Mr. Davis should enjoy the album thoroughly because it's exactly the same band as the Cookbook sessions, plus Cobb. Every cut is a wild give and take between Cobb and Davis, a battle for sure. Shirley Scott, making heavy use of the drawbars and tremolo, throws gasoline on the fire more than once. The choice of an organist over a pianist makes a big difference in the total sound and Scott definitely has some good licks. The quintet setting is almost too small to contain the horns, and it does get noisy, but the arrangements are tight. It's well worth seeking out for fans of early soul jazz, or Texas tenor, or anyone studying the small group work of Cobb or Davis who were also well known as big band soloists. The opening chestnut "When I Grow Too Old to Dream" is very nice, also take a look at "Dutch Kitchen Bounce" and "The Eely One." I wonder, is that title a reference to Bud Freeman? Maybe someone in the blogosphere can tell me. One word for this album? Hot!

134. Chet Baker / Live in '64 and '79 (2006)

Baker's music definitely matured, although his development is sometimes difficult to appreciate given how his drug habit impacted his life and performances. This DVD from Jazz Icons shows him playing with two European groups, 15 years apart. In the '64 quintet I sense tension between the underplayed Baker and overactive pianist Rene Utreger, who is constantly throwing heavy handed chords at the end of Chet's phrases, sometimes before they appear to be completed. It's like a leadership dispute, and the band or producers clearly have their own ideas about who falls where. In spite, Baker manages a lovely "Time After Time," though the quintet's take on "So What" seems like a missed opportunity. Baker has trouble finding space to express himself and fights with the group, and also has difficulty with the intonation. The second performance is from '79 and begins with an interview that segues into "Blue Train," in progress. Baker says his lyrical approach to improvising has become more subtle with experience and the performance reflects this. The drummerless quartet is much more together than the '64 group, thankfully, and Baker's rich sumptuous tone pervades the set. Although "Blue Train" is truncated (which stinks, because what we do hear is beautiful), we get a heavy swinging and creative take on "Softly As In a Morning Sunrise" with Baker's smoothly flowing melodic improvisation, the occasionally interesting turn of a chord, and overriding melancholic appeal. Also notable are pianist and vibraphonist Michele Graillie and Wolfgang Lackerschmid. I like this installment of Jazz Icons for the contrast it provides between a younger Baker and an older, perhaps wiser player with a more respectful band.  

133. Roland Kirk / We Free Kings (1961)

This early album by Roland Kirk demonstrates some of the things he became known for a bit later on. It's a polished, enjoyable, and provocative album. Most notably, throughout the blues and soul inflected set, he plays two or sometimes three instruments at once and switches between them at lightning speed. While blowing the blues on the flute, he likes to screech, howl, and sing along. There aren't any drop-ins from the board, no spliced takes. Obviously with one man filling four chairs, the arrangements revolve around him. As a testament to his talent, it works seamlessly. Kirk has an inspiring technique and sweet tone on all instruments. His style of improvising, I think, clearly departs from the Coltrane bag he was once lumped into. The band is Hank Jones or Richard Wyands, drums is Charlie Persip (great choice), and bass is Art Davis or Wendell Marshall. Through his technique and instrumentation, Kirk puts a unique spin on old tunes, and kicks out his own compositions, as well. After this album, Kirk's journey continued to seek new directions, ever expanding, ever exploring. We Free Kings isn't just nice for listening, it's also nice for perspective. It shows his music is steeped deeply in blues and bop, but the trajectory for future dates would always be farther out than before.