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.

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.

197. Steely Dan / Gaucho (1980)

Gaucho is the last album before the Dan's 12 year hiatus. It's the capstone of the original run, a grooving foil to Aja's majestic sophistication, and the proverbial semibreve rest in the ongoing saga of the Becker/Fagen partnership. Instead of trying to reinvent the wheel, Gaucho swaps Aja's complexity for simple charts and chill vibrations that recall classic rock, rhythm, and soul. Here, the down tempo is on tap and the beats play straight ahead.  Hear "Babylon Sisters" shimmer with rich sonority, lush background vocals and immaculately layered overdubs, and you get the picture. Gaucho is also notable for the drum machine (engineer Roger Nichols' "Wendel") lending additional consistency to the already smooth track sequence. If you like Steely Dan, then chances are you won't be disappointed by the fare on Gaucho. But at the same time, while these are unmistakably "Steely" tunes, I think it is also the most stylistically distinct album in the catalog. As always, make of that what you will.

189. Donald Fagen / Morph the Cat (2006)

Morph the Cat is a good representative of the Donald Fagen solo catalog. It is every yard a Fagen product whose pristine sonics and glossy group choruses recall the perfectionist grandeur of Aja and underplayed soul vamps of Gaucho or Nightfly. I prefer the guitar on Morph by Wayne Krantz, his variety of techniques and effects, to the guitars heard on Sunken Condos. Fagen also rocks the Fender Rhodes, ringing in that classic Steely Dan sound. Some lyrical themes nod in the direction of the aged, slyly morose matters explored further on Condos. But at this stage, our heroes, perhaps, aren't as willingly resigned to their fates as they will be in 2012. Some of these characters make the best of the New World Order, however, swaggering into the 21st century as if it were still 1975. Like the guy who picks up the TSA girl in "Security Joan." Fagen is the only living writer other than Murakami who can write a guy into a one night stand at the airport. But they're not all success stories. Former showbiz kids make jaundiced appearances in songs like "The Night Belongs to Mona," or the the unwitting pokes whose night vices all lead them to meet the man in the "Brite Nightgown." You'll be in familiar company with the motley assortment, and all nine tracks are rendered in sparkling audio.

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....

153. Miles Davis / Big Fun (1974)

Listening to Miles go electric 40 years ago, critics were in a different position. They took issue with his stylistic developments, because 1974 was much different than 1954. They were too close to see that the intervening years would witness Davis' massive influence on successive generations. Today we see what happened, so we evaluate their merits on another scale. It bears mentioning that these aren't records I can listen to every day. I don't have that kind of time to invest on a daily basis. Like Bitches Brew, the music on Big Fun explores modality through orchestration and arrangement. The tracks are brimming with textures, melodic ideas, and moods. Themes are played and repeated, then recalled, then played again. The effect is haunting, like beasts looming in a fog, vanishing and reappearing. After 22 mnutes, the effect is glacial. Like it says in the liner to Coltrane's Ascension, you shouldn't turn it on without expecting to hear at least a whole side. You can't be interrupted for a few minutes without the magic being broken, and the arc is lost with just a few minutes of play time. Collaborations with Zawinul like "Recollections" or "Great Expectations" fulfill the promise, and typify what's found elsewhere throughout the record. As if you really need a curveball, Davis added sitar and tabla.

106. Frank Zappa / Hot Rats (1969)

Fusion, like the avant-garde, is a thing that everyone approaches from a different angle. Hot Rats is way off the typical fusion track, if you follow the example set by those who left Miles Davis' electric groups. But Frank wasn't moving in those circles. When he made Hot Rats, as ever, he was following his own muse. On the surface, Hot Rats takes the path of a hard rock band, emphasizing the "rock" half of the jazz-rock equation. It is filled out with intricate arrangements played on various reeds, electric guitar, electric violin, percussion, and keyboards. Most of the solos are blues-based guitar workouts or feedback-laden electric violin riffing by Sugarcane Harris (see "Willie the Pimp," "Gumbo Variations"). On the other hand, it also features quirky, composed pieces whose tight arrangements are closer to a synthesis of jazz and classical elements than they are to any mainstream American rock and roll from 1970. Listeners of European experimental music from the same time period, or Rock in Opposition groups like Henry Cow should have no trouble appreciating such pieces. "It Must Be a Camel" and "Peaches En Regalia" are notable in this regard, likewise the horn charts for "Son of Mr. Green Genes," which remained a live staple for years to come. Zappa was also a DIY innovator in the studio. If he didn't have the equipment he wanted, then he invented it, and he was endlessly creative at the mixing desk. So the aurally warm texture of Hot Rats was created with a forest of meticulous overdubs and tape manipulation techniques that Zappa pioneered on his own. Are you new to Frank Zappa? Hot Rats is a good entry point due to its presentation of several characteristics common to many pieces in the FZ oeuvre. It's also very good for rock audiences and toe dippers because it is listenable, contains none of Zappa's lyrics (which range from funny, to off-putting, to complete bullshit, depending on how they strike you), and is also widely available on CD format.

75. The Bad Plus / Prog (2007)

I admit the title caught my eye: Prog. I like Bad Plus well enough, even if their brand of jazz-rock fusion tends to wear thin (or thick) on my ears after so long. In jazz we describe them as a piano trio. I say they're a power trio, lying closer to Cream than Oscar Peterson. Sure, that's a minor conundrum of classification, but this is an interesting album, and what we call "jazz" has become an interesting field, to say the least. There are some terrific originals (I like Iverson's "Mint" and Anderson's epic "Giant"), but this record's trick is in the interpretation of progressive rock like Rush ("Tom Sawyer"), David Bowie ("Life on Mars"), and Tears for Fears ("Everybody Wants to Rule the World"). These invoke the roots of both the prog rock and jazz-rock fusion, a crossing of wires in a genre of crossed wires. I love it. Remember Mahavishnu Orchestra, Miles Davis, and Return to Forever? How they smashed exploratory jazz head-on with the fury of electricified rock and roll? All those extravagant displays of musicianship that pushed the envelope so far into left field that the genre designation didn't just stop mattering, it ceased to be? My language skirts hyperbole, but that's how I feel when I listen to Prog. I think they've really hit the nail squarely with this record -- it is innovative, attentive, intelligent, and really exciting. It cuts straight to the root of why these compositions have come to be what they are to us, and why we appreciate either style of music, running with that idea until the band is out of string and must make its own. And that thrill is why I listen to jazz.