215. George Harrison / Early Takes, Vol. 1 (2012)

I listen to this collection of demos and early takes more often than I do All Things Must Pass. I love Harrison's chords... there are so many good changes. Most takes are just him with a guitar, and sometimes a drum track or overdub. It's an intimatre setting: you can hear his feet on the floor keeping time, or taking breaths between phrases. The simplicity of the demos lets their beauty shine through unobstructed. This is easy music for a hard time... "All things must pass away," as Harrison reminds us. Also: "You don't need a horoscope or a microscope to see the mess you're in." Right? Well, it is 2020. Every bit helps.

210. Santana / Santana III (1971)

In the dictionary next to the word "essential," you'll find a picture of this album. Sandwiched between the seminal Abraxas and the revolutionary Caravanserai, Santana's third LP finds the band now very comfortable inside their invention, that unique fusion of Afro-Cuban rhythm with pan-Latin import and the ferocious, unrelenting pound of a psychedelic rock and roll band in full flight. If you liked Abraxas, don't forget to go the extra step and get this one, too. Because none were doing it in 1971, and none have done it better since. I think it's amazing how fresh and how mature the group sounds for just the third album, and yet, with all the swirling Hammond organ, raucous percussion and abrasive guitar, the thought of Caravanserai's chill embarkation for parts unknown almost brings a tear -- and by the way, I love Caravanserai. Compared to its immediate predecessor in the discography, III is rougher around the edges, a little more relentless in its pursuit of the groove, and maybe even a little less accessible. The music is fully cooked and raging. It sounds a lot like a live album, and the segues between tracks are so tight that they beg you to look for the seams. The audio quality on all available CD editions is stellar, and the "Legacy" edition contains a full live set from July 04, 1971 at the Fillmore West, plus extra studio sessions. Play it loud! 

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.

198. Frank Wess / Opus in Swing (1956)

This pianoless quintet led by the flute of Frank Wess also lacks his other instrument, the alto sax. Accordingly, he's in top form whether it's pounding high notes in the blue gloom of "Southern Exposure" or adding harmonic color to the serpentine leads of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Also moonlighting from the Basie Band are Eddie Jones and Freddie Green who keep time with Kenny Clarke so tight it's telepathic. The quintet excels in the same music that Basie's bands made famous. Like Basie's, their combo has an undeniable group dynamic, but every man is heard as his own solo artist. Together, they drive the music with one mind, then shine forth as individuals during the moments when one man stands alone. It's impossible to appreciate one quality without noticing the other. Kenny Burrell is notable. Listen to "East Wind." Green trades chording for a more pianolike approach that walks, while Klook keeps time with the cymbals and Wess sketches the heavy mood with dense vibrato. When he lays out, Burrell bursts the seams with bluesy runs and relevant single note phrases that underscore the character of the melody and polish the rhythm. It's choice stuff, a potent brew of Kansas City swing that has been seasoned with the developments of postwar New York.

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.