Issam Hajali - 1977 - Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard

Issam Hajali

1977

Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard

01. أنا ضمير المتكلم = Ana Damir El Motakallim

02. مواصلات إلى جسد الأرض = Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard

03. خبز = Khobs

04. لم أزل = Lam Azal

05. عاد = Ada

06. يوما كنا = Yawma Konna

07. انتظرني = Intazirne

Vocals, Guitar – عصام الحاج علي

Bass – Jean Francois

Drum – Mirzac

Guitar – روجيه فخر

Percussion – ميشيل بقلوق

Piano – Patrick Penet

Santoor – Mahmoud Tabrizi-Zadeh

Recorded in one day in Paris (May or June 1977)

Issam Hajali's Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard (Journey to the Body of the Earth / Communication to the Body of the Earth) is a rare, deeply personal debut album from 1977, originally self-released in an extremely limited run of approximately 75–100 cassette tapes during the Lebanese Civil War.

Berlin-based Habibi Funk Records reissued it officially in November 2019 as Habibi Funk 010 (vinyl, CD, digital), mastered from Hajali's sole surviving copy, with an extensive booklet. The album fuses Arabic folk traditions (notably the santour), jazz, progressive/folk rock, early synthesizer elements, and poetic politically engaged lyrics, capturing homesickness, exile, cultural reconnection, and revolutionary undertones amid war and displacement.

Hajali emerged in mid-1970s Beirut as singer and guitarist in the progressive rock band Rainbow Bridge, whose debut record charted locally. He was a militant leftist politically active against the Western-backed Maronite establishment and involved with left-wing causes and the Palestine Liberation Organisation context during rising tensions.

The Lebanese Civil War erupted in 1975; Syrian intervention in 1976 brought devastation to Beirut. As a politically ultra-left figure, Hajali fled with his wife first to Cyprus, then Paris in 1976/early 1977. Exile was harsh: factory and supermarket work, poverty, cultural alienation in immigrant musician communities (many Arab). This period prompted deep self-reflection—he shifted from taking Lebanese/Arabic traditions for granted (favoring Western artists like Peter Green, Joni Mitchell, Weather Report) to a "rebirth" through re-exploring roots, traditional music, and heritage questions amid war and displacement.

He recorded his solo debut in Paris (May/June 1977), returned to Beirut late 1977, founded the influential folk/jazz/rock band Ferkat Al Ard ("Earth Band")—with Hajali as singer/main composer—which released three albums: Oghneya (1979, highly collectible vinyl; copies fetched thousands USD), Tamul'at Alkuz Fi Tamuz (1983), and Hi'ja (1985). The band carried political overtones rooted in the war era.

Hajali collaborated with Ziad Rahbani (Fairouz's son; appeared on Abu Ali 1978 and others; Rahbani discovered a cassette and played/collaborated), Roger Fakhr (reissued material), and later artists like Tania Saleh. By 1980, he withdrew from activism, earned a Master's in philosophy (early 1990s), remarried, had children, and built a quieter life. As of the late 2010s/2020s, he runs a jewelry shop in Beirut, sells compositions to other artists, has near-complete new material (~80%), but has not performed publicly in years. The 2019 reissue brought international acclaim to his overlooked early work.

Hajali recorded Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard in one intensive studio day in Paris with a pickup multinational band (French musicians, Algerian, Iranian, plus Beirut friend/mentor Roger Fakhr; specific names mostly lost). Budget constraints meant seven tracks captured largely in single takes, with vocal/santour overdubs. Upon returning to Beirut, he added minimal percussion to "finish" it. Unable to find a label amid wartime chaos and economic hardship, he personally dubbed black-and-white cassette copies at a corner store (~75–100 total), distributing/selling them to friends, family, and one consignment shop (poorly promoted; tapes often hidden). Ziad Rahbani acquired a copy, admired it, and connections followed, but the album stayed obscure outside a tiny Beirut circle of like-minded musicians. Hajali kept only one copy himself—the source for the Habibi Funk reissue.

The title carries rich meanings: transportation/communication, returning to roots, emotional/physical connection—mirroring exile, heritage reconnection, and political longing.

The album is a raw, passionate, immediate hybrid: melancholic stripped-down guitar-based folk giving way to jazz-fused breaks, funky rhythms, choppy jazz/prog guitar chords, Fender Rhodes, early analogue synth solos (futuristic/wild), and the distinctive glistening hammered santour (Iranian/Arabic/Middle Eastern dulcimer). Structures are atypical (not strict verse-chorus), making it accessible yet experimental/progressive. Vocals are winsome and wistful, conveying nostalgia, displacement, hope, and passion. Guitar work is precise and exceptional (comparable to Nick Drake, Bert Jansch, James Taylor). Production feels intimate and urgent due to one-day constraints, with a slick/shiny prog-rock edge blended with traditional elements—far from generic "fusion," it's steeped in Lebanese/Arabic cultural and historical context.

It foreshadows Ferkat Al Ard's sound but feels more personal/solo-oriented. Lyrics are primarily from Palestinian revolutionary poet Samih al-Qasim (reflecting persecution, resistance, roots), with one track by Hajali; themes are politically engaged, poetic, socially conscious (exile, war, identity, revolution).

Originally obscure and nearly lost, the Habibi Funk reissue (2019) positioned it as a "lost classic" and true gem of Lebanese/Arabic fusion—praised for emotional depth, sonic uniqueness, historical resonance, and archival value in spotlighting underrepresented music from war-torn eras. Reviews highlight its raw energy, cultural synthesis, homesickness-infused performances, and role as a bridge to Ferkat Al Ard/Ziad Rahbani scenes. It stands as a poignant document of personal/political turmoil, innovative in blending traditions with prog/jazz/synth in the Lebanese context, and now appreciated globally by collectors and world music fans.

In summary, Mouasalat Ila Jacad El Ard is an essential, intimate artifact: a one-day exile recording that distills war-era longing, cultural rebirth, and musical daring into ~35 minutes of haunting, forward-looking beauty. The Habibi Funk edition makes this hidden Lebanese treasure widely accessible with proper context and fidelity—highly recommended for fans of Arabic fusion, 1970s folk/psych/prog, politically poetic songwriting, or overlooked global gems.

Tibetan Blue Air Liquid Band - 1983 - 空中浮遊 = Kūchū Fuyū

Tibetan Blue Air Liquid Band

1983

空中浮遊 = Kūchū Fuyū

01. 楽々々 - Raku-Raku-Raku 5:31

02. 七拍子 - 7 Time 5:42

03. 軽快足踏音曲 - Light Footwork Song 7:03

04. 瀬戸内Blue - Setouchi Blue 4:30

05. 若い娘のハネ踊り - Young Girls' Jumpin' Dance 4:51

06. 空のワレ目 - A Crack In The Sky 3:53

07. エライコッチャ - Eraikoche 5:45

Drums – Cecil Monroe

Electric Bass – Rodney Drummer

Electric Guitar – Kazumi Watanabe

Percussion – Sabu Toyozumi

Trumpet, Producer – Toshinori Kondo

Recorded at Chestnut Studio, Japan, June 19 -23, 1983.

When Jazz Decides to Float Away and Never Come Back

Ah, Kūchū Fuyū. The title translates to "Aerial Levitation" or "Floating in the Air," which is fitting because this album feels like it's untethered from gravity, logic, and sometimes even melody. Released in 1983 on Trio Records/Domo in Japan (with promo vinyls and later reissues scattering like confetti), this is Toshinori Kondo's quirky side project under the moniker Tibetan Blue Air Liquid Band—a name that sounds like a New Age spa treatment gone rogue. It's free jazz meets fusion with a dash of funk, where Kondo's trumpet soars, squawks, and occasionally sounds like it's trying to hail a cab from outer space. Imagine Miles Davis on a vision quest in the Himalayas, backed by a band that's equal parts groovy and gonzo. At about 37 minutes, it's short enough not to overstay its welcome but weird enough to make you question your speakers.

This isn't your grandpa's jazz—unless your grandpa was into experimental Japanese avant-garde in the '80s. It's energetic, improvisational, and hilariously unpredictable, like a polite jam session that suddenly remembers it has a flight to catch. If Taihen was Kondo causing trouble, this is him achieving liftoff.

The Levitating Crew Who Made This Float

Tibetan Blue Air Liquid Band wasn't a "band" in the traditional sense—it was more like Kondo's experimental sandbox, pulling in collaborators for a one-off levitation session. Think of it as a supergroup of niche talents, where everyone showed up with their A-game and a willingness to get weird. Here's the lowdown on the key players, with just enough snark to keep it airborne.

Toshinori Kondo (Trumpet, Producer): The ringleader, born in 1948 in sleepy Imabari, Japan. He picked up the trumpet at 12 in school band (because nothing screams "future avant-garde icon" like brass basics). By university in Kyoto, he was jamming with percussionists and dreaming big. In 1978, he hightailed it to New York, rubbing elbows with free-jazz heavies like John Zorn and Bill Laswell. Kondo's signature? Electric trumpet processed through effects until it sounds like a cosmic banshee. He lived a tri-continental life (Tokyo, NYC, Amsterdam), collaborated with everyone from DJs to Tibetan monks, and passed in 2020 at 71. Here, he's the gravity-defying force, producing and blowing notes that float between jazz and abstraction. Fun fact: His name means "equal rule," but his music follows none.

Cecil Monroe (Drums): The American rhythm anchor, born in 1955 in Woodside, New York. He moved to Japan in 1978 and never looked back, becoming a fixture in the local jazz scene until his death in 2011 in Tateyama. Monroe was a straight-ahead jazz drummer with a funky edge—think solid grooves that keep the chaos from fully unraveling. On this album, he's the guy holding the balloon strings while everyone else floats away. Not much spotlight on him historically (he wasn't the type to hog the mic), but his steady pulse makes the levitation feel earned.

Rodney Drummer (Electric Bass): Ah, the enigmatic bassist—possibly an American expat like Monroe, but details are scarcer than hen's teeth. (Searches turn up drummers named Rodney, but this guy's on bass, slapping funky lines like it's his job to ground the aerial antics.) He collaborated with Kondo in the early '80s, providing the low-end glue that keeps tracks from drifting into pure ether. Think of him as the unsung hero: reliable, groovy, and probably wondering how he ended up in a band named after a mystical fluid.

Kazumi Watanabe (Electric Guitar): The Japanese fusion wizard, born in 1953 in Tokyo. He started piano at seven but switched to guitar at 12 after a Ventures obsession, then went full jazz at 15 thanks to Wes Montgomery. Debuting at 17 with Infinite, Watanabe became Japan's guitar prodigy, blending rock, jazz, and everything in between. He's versatile, technical, and influential—think a smoother, more melodic counterpart to Kondo's wildness. On Kūchū Fuyū, his riffs add sparkle and sting, like fireworks in a floating parade.

Sabu Toyozumi (Percussion): The free-improv pioneer, born in 1943 in Yokohama. He started in a school marching band, formed a pop group in the late '50s, then dove into free jazz in the '60s. Toyozumi was part of Japan's first wave of improvisers, collaborating with globals like Peter Kowald and Tristan Honsinger. Known for his "erhu drum" (a custom spike-fiddle hybrid) and boundless energy, he's still active in his 80s. Here, his percussion adds exotic rattles and shakes, making the album feel like a levitating ritual.

Producer Kuniya (Kenny) Inaoka rounds out the team, a jazz impresario who helped shape Japan's scene.

How They Engineered the Float

Recorded over five dreamy days (June 19–23, 1983) at Chestnut Studio in Japan, mixed at Tamco Studio. Engineered by Masahiro Terada. Original release: Vinyl LP on Trio Records (AW-25035), promo versions on Domo. Reissues galore—Polydor vinyl in 1984, CDs in 1990, 2001 (Absord Music Japan), and a remastered paper-sleeve edition in 2004 on PJL. Analog warmth with '80s flair: stereo, no fancy digital tricks yet.

Does It Float or Flop? (Spoiler: It Soars, Sort Of)

Kūchū Fuyū kicks off with "Raku-Raku-Raku," a laid-back groove where Kondo's trumpet glides over Monroe's steady drums and Drummer's bass thump. It's fusion-lite—funky bass, Watanabe's guitar twinkles, Toyozumi's percussive flourishes—like a chill levitation tutorial. Then "7 Time" throws in odd rhythms, with everyone trading solos like they're passing a hot potato in zero gravity.

"Light Footwork Song" is the longest, building from light steps to full-on improv frenzy: trumpet squeals, guitar stabs, percussion clatter. It's danceable if your dance involves floating. "Setouchi Blue" gets melancholic, evoking the Seto Inland Sea blues—Kondo's horn melancholic, Watanabe adding soulful licks. "Young Girls' Jumpin' Dance" bounces with youthful vim, funky and fun, like a jazz party on a trampoline.

"A Crack In The Sky" cracks open the abstraction: eerie, spacious, with sounds that feel like peeking through clouds. Closer "Eraikoche" (a playful nonsense word?) erupts into joyful mayhem, everyone piling on like they're defying physics one last time.

Humorously, this album is what happens when free jazz tries yoga: relaxed yet intense, structured yet free-falling. The fusion elements keep it accessible, but the improv keeps it unpredictable—like ordering sushi and getting a side of fireworks. Strengths: Infectious energy, stellar playing. Weaknesses: Occasionally drifts too far, alienating casual listeners. But that's the point—levitation isn't for everyone.

A Cult Float That Didn't Make Waves

Upon release, Kūchū Fuyū was a niche darling in Japan's jazz underground—appreciated by fusion fans but ignored by the pop masses. No Billboard storms, but Discogs users love it: 4.67/5 from a handful of ratings (high praise for obscurities). YouTube full-album upload has a modest 3,671 views, 81 likes, and comments like "Nice" (understatement of the decade). Blogs and jazz archives hail it as peak early Kondo, but mainstream reviews? Crickets. Reissues keep it afloat for collectors, with vinyl fetching $35. In 2026, it's a hidden gem for avant-garde diggers.

The Float That Influenced the Fringe

As Kondo's pre-IMA project, Kūchū Fuyū bridged his free-improv roots with fusion accessibility, paving for Taihen and beyond. It spotlighted Japanese avant-garde on the global map, influencing free jazz and fusion scenes. Scaruffi notes it as a key entry in Kondo's wild discography. Reissues ensure it levitates on—proof that weird jazz endures. Not earth-shattering, but a delightful "what if jazz could fly?" artifact.

If you're into floating fusion (fans of Weather Report or early Kondo, strap in), grab a reissue. It might leave you ungrounded, but in the best way. Highly recommended—with a parachute and a grin.

Toshinori Kondo & IMA - 1985 - Metal Position

Toshinori Kondo & IMA

1985

Metal Position

01. Night Drive = ナイト・ドライブ

02. Cerezo Rosa = セレソ・ローサ

03. Metalic Bamboo = メタリック・バンブー

04. Black Dance = ブラック・ダンス

05. We Know Smart = ウイ・ノウ・スマート

06. Tea Girl = ティー・ガール

07. Tricky Dicky Fa Fa Fa = トリッキー・ディッキー・ファ、ファ、ファ

08. Kaze = 風

Drums, Percussion – Hideo Yamaki

Electric Bass – Rodney Drummer

Guitar – Taizo Sakai

Guitar, Percussion, Vocals – Reck

Synthesizer, Piano, Saxophone, Vocals – Haruo Togashi

Trumpet – Toshinori Kondo

The Trumpet Goes Full Headbanger (Sort Of)

If Taihen was Toshinori Kondo gleefully crashing a tea ceremony with a funk-rock band, then Metal Position is him cranking the amps to 11, handing the trumpet a leather jacket, and daring it to mosh. Released just a year later in 1985 on Polydor Japan (with European presses trickling out in 1986), this sophomore IMA album takes the chaotic energy of its predecessor and injects it with steroids—more guitars, drum machines, synths, and a title that screams "heavy metal" while delivering something far weirder: electric trumpet-led fusion that's equal parts funky groove, rock riffage, and avant-garde mischief. It's like Kondo looked at the '80s hair metal scene and thought, "Cute, but hold my effects pedals."

Clocking in at about 37 minutes across eight tracks, Metal Position feels like a bolder, shinier escalation. The trumpet still squeals and warps like a sci-fi weapon, but now it's dueling with crunchy guitars and Simmons electronic drums. It's danceable in theory, headbangable in practice, and utterly baffling to anyone expecting straight jazz. Think of it as the missing link between Herbie Hancock's electro-funk, early Red Hot Chili Peppers slap-bass antics, and a touch of industrial clank—all filtered through Kondo's irreverent Japanese lens.

Strap in, because this album is metal in position only; the execution is pure Kondo chaos.

Kondo Levels Up the Mayhem

By 1985, Toshinori Kondo was no rookie. The Imabari-born trumpet rebel (1948–2020) had already conquered New York's downtown scene in the late '70s, blowing minds alongside John Zorn, Derek Bailey, and Bill Laswell with his effects-laden electric trumpet—a horn that could mimic guitars, synths, or alien invasions. Back in Japan after Taihen's 1984 debut introduced IMA (his flexible "International Music Activities" crew), Kondo doubled down. Metal Position captures him at peak confidence: blending his free-jazz roots with accessible(ish) rock and funk, while nodding to pop covers and Japanese elements.

IMA remained a revolving door of talent, but this lineup leaned harder into rock. Kondo wasn't just leading; he was producing, vocalizing (in scattered speeches and scats), and pushing boundaries. Post-this album, he'd dive deeper into industrial, ambient, and global collabs, but Metal Position marks his flirtation with '80s mainstream edge—without ever selling out. Tragically, Kondo left us in 2020, but albums like this keep his spirit blasting through speakers, reminding us that trumpets can indeed rock.

Forging the Metal in Tokyo

Recorded and mixed March–April 1985 at Polydor Studio in Tokyo, with engineering wizardry from Seigen Ono (who'd worked magic on Taihen). Mastered at JVC Cutting Center. Original Japanese vinyl (28MX 2520) and CD (H33P 20026) releases, plus a German LP on Jaro Medien in 1986. Produced by Toshinori Kondo & IMA, with A&R by Masa Marumo. Art direction by Kazuhiko Ohta, photos by Eiichiro Sakata—pure '80s gloss.

What Happens When a Trumpet Discovers Distortion Pedals?

Metal Position kicks off with "Night Drive"—a slinky bassline and electronic drums prowling like a Tokyo taxi at midnight, before Kondo's trumpet slides in with delayed echoes and overblown wails. It's funky, it's driving (pun intended), and it sets the tone: tighter than Taihen, but wilder in texture.

Then comes the curveball: "Cerezo Rosa," a straight-faced cover of that cheesy Pérez Prado mambo standard. But Kondo's crew turns it into a quirky funk workout—slapping bass, guitar stabs, and trumpet lines that twist the melody into something almost sarcastic. It's hilarious in the best way, like watching a jazz purist attempt breakdancing.

The title-ish vibes hit with "Metalic Bamboo" and "Black Dance": crunchy guitars duel Kondo's processed trumpet (metallic indeed—delays, flanges, making it sound like bamboo swords clashing in a cyber dojo). "We Know Smart" has swaggering grooves and vocal interjections, while "Tea Girl" slows for atmospheric synths and soprano sax. "Tricky Dicky Fa Fa Fa" lives up to its goofy name with scat-like trumpet bursts and playful rhythms. Closer "Kaze" evokes wind-swept minimalism, blending traditional Japanese feels with rock edge.

Overall? It's more polished and rock-leaning than Taihen, with Simmons drums and drum machines giving that glossy '80s sheen. The fusion is infectious—danceable basslines meet avant trumpet freakouts—but the humor shines in the contrasts: a mambo cover next to titles like "Tricky Dicky Fa Fa Fa." It's Kondo winking at pop while staying fiercely experimental. Not quite metal (no shred solos or cookie monster vocals), but "metal" in its shiny, industrial clatter. Fans call it a Japanese RHCP-Ministry hybrid with the heaviness dialed back—energetic, odd, and endlessly replayable.

Downside? The '80s production dates it a bit (those electronic drums scream era), and purists might miss pure improv. But that's the charm: it's unapologetically fun mayhem.

Still Underground, Still Beloved by Weirdos

Like Taihen, Metal Position flew under mainstream radar upon release. Japanese fusion fans dug it, but no chart storms or big reviews. International exposure was limited to niche imports. Cult blogs praise its unique rock-jazz-pop blend with Japanese twists; one old review calls it a perennial favorite for its eclectic joy. On platforms like RateYourMusic and Album of the Year, it's solidly niche—ratings around 3.5–4/5 from dedicated listeners who appreciate the boldness. Detractors? "Too poppy" or "dated drums." But in avant circles, it's hailed as peak IMA accessibility.

No Rolling Stone covers, but crate-diggers and YouTube uploads keep it alive—full album rips rack up views from curious heads.

The Position That Influenced the Fringe

Metal Position solidified IMA's early rep as Kondo's vehicle for genre-smashing fun, paving for later albums like Human Market. It showcased his electric trumpet in a rock context, influencing niche Japanese fusion and experimental rock scenes. Reissues (including compilations with Taihen) and digital availability keep it circulating. In 2026, it's a delightful relic of '80s experimentation—when artists could blend mambo covers with metallic trumpet noise and call it a day.

Not revolutionary like Kondo's free-improv blowouts, but a legacy of fearless joy: proof that jazz instruments can rock without losing soul. For fans of adventurous fusion, funky weirdness, or just trumpet tantrums, it's essential.

Hunt it down—preferably on vinyl for that analog clank. Kondo's metal phase may not have started a genre, but it sure bent a few minds. Highly recommended, with volume cranked and expectations checked at the door.

Toshinori Kondo & IMA - 1984 - Taihen

Toshinori Kondo & IMA 

1984

Taihen

1 タイヘン = Taihen 7:42

2 ザ・デイ・アフター = The Day After 6:36

3 高雄Blue =Takao Blue 5:59

4 花祭 = A Song For Buddha 7:11

5 オイワケ = Oiwake 5:42

6 オハラ・ショースケ = Shosuke-San 7:22

Backing Vocals [Background Vocal] – Rika Tanaka, Fusako Fujimoto*

Drums – Cecil Monroe

Electric Bass, Voice, Guiro [Güiro] – Rodney Drummer

Electric Guitar – Taizo Sakai, Yoshinori Teramae

Electric Guitar – Reck

Percussion – Kiyohiko Semba

Tape – Bill Laswell

Trumpet, Vocals, Instruments [Little Instrument] – Toshinori Kondo

When a Trumpet Decides to Start a Riot

Ah, Taihen. The title alone is a punchline waiting to happen. In Japanese, "taihen" can mean "very" (as in very good, very bad, or very much), but it most commonly translates to something like "terrible," "disastrous," or "what a mess!" Imagine naming your debut album "Oh No!" or "Big Trouble." That's the kind of bold, self-aware humor that Toshinori Kondo brought to his music—avant-garde jazz fusion that sounds like it's gleefully causing chaos while winking at you. Released in 1984 on Polydor in Japan, this album marks the explosive birth of Kondo's band IMA, a group that fused free jazz squeals, funk grooves, rock riffs, and enough electric trumpet wizardry to make Miles Davis spill his coffee. It's energetic, electronically charged, and occasionally unhinged, like a polite Japanese tea ceremony interrupted by a heavy metal band crashing through the shoji screens.

Let's dive in, with all the reverence this cult oddity deserves—and a healthy dose of snark, because listening to Kondo's trumpet wail over funky basslines feels like being tickled by a swarm of electric eels.

The Man Who Blew Up the Trumpet

Toshinori Kondo (1948–2020) was born in Imabari, a quiet city on Japan's Shikoku island, where the biggest excitement was probably the annual citrus festival. He picked up the trumpet at age 12 in his school band, because nothing says "rebellion" like joining the brass section. By 1967, he was at Kyoto University, befriending percussionists and diving into experimental sounds. But Japan felt too insular for Kondo—he wanted universal chaos. In 1978, he bolted to New York, plunging into the downtown avant-garde scene like a trumpet-shaped torpedo.

There, he collaborated with everyone who mattered in noisy circles: Derek Bailey, John Zorn, Peter Brötzmann, Henry Kaiser, and especially Bill Laswell (who'd later mix Taihen). Kondo became famous for his electric trumpet—not just amplified, but processed through effects pedals until it sounded like a sci-fi laser beam having an identity crisis. He lived tri-continentally (Tokyo, New York, Amsterdam), played with DJ Krush, formed short-lived supergroups, and even dipped into industrial and hip-hop. Sadly, he passed in 2020 at 71, leaving behind a legacy of boundary-pushing that made traditional jazz purists clutch their pearls.

In 1984, back in Japan after years abroad, Kondo founded IMA (sometimes glossed as International Music Activities, but really just a cool acronym for his revolving crew). Taihen was their debut: a statement album where Kondo dragged American funk rhythms and Japanese sensibilities into a jazz-rock blender. It was his way of saying, "I'm home, and I'm about to make things taihen."

Recorded and mixed in 1984 at Sedic Studio in Tokyo, Taihen is pure analog warmth with a digital-edge twist (thanks to Kondo's effects). Produced by Kondo himself alongside Masa Marumo, with mixing duties handled by Bill Laswell (yes, that Laswell, the bass god and ambient dub maestro) and Seigen Ono. It's stereo all the way, originally released on vinyl (Polydor 28MX 2503), cassette, and even a rare promo CD in Japan. International versions trickled out in Germany and the Netherlands in 1985, with reissues popping up as late as 2020 on fancy remastered UHQCDs.

Personnel (the ragtag crew causing all this delightful trouble):

Toshinori Kondo: Trumpet (electric and processed to hell), vocals (occasional shouts and scats for extra flair)

Cecil Monroe: Drums (solid, funky backbone—think he could moonlight in a disco band)

Rodney Drummer: Electric bass, güiro (slapping those low-end grooves like he's auditioning for Parliament-Funkadelic)

Electric Guitars: Reck, Taizo Sakai, Yoshinori Teramae (layered riffs that veer from crunchy rock to jazzy stabs)

Kiyohiko Semba: Percussion (adding exotic shakes and rattles)

Backing Vocals: Rika Tanaka, Fusako Fujimoto (soulful touches that humanize the mayhem)

Six tracks, clocking in around 40 minutes—perfect length for an album that hits like a caffeine overdose.

What Does It Actually Sound Like? (Spoiler: Gloriously Bonkers)

Picture this: It's 1984. Reagan's in office, synth-pop rules the radio, and here's Kondo blasting an electric trumpet that squeals, wails, and warps like a possessed elephant trunk. Backed by a tight funk-rock band, he turns jazz fusion into something feral. Opener "Taihen" kicks off with groovy bass and drums, then Kondo's trumpet erupts—processed echoes, delays, and overblows that sound like he's arguing with the instrument. It's funky (think Herbie Hancock's Headhunters era), but with free-jazz tantrums thrown in for good measure. The guitars chug like early Red Hot Chili Peppers, but smarter and less frat-boy.

"The Day After" has a post-nuclear vibe—slinky bass, percussive clatter, trumpet lines that spiral into abstraction. "Takao Blue" slows it down with melancholic melodies, proving Kondo could be lyrical when he wasn't summoning demons. "A Song For Buddha" is the spiritual high point: meditative grooves undercut by wild solos, like chanting monks invaded by a rock band. "Oiwake" incorporates traditional Japanese folk elements (oiwake is a style of bluesy folk singing), blending them with fusion—culture clash done right. Closer "Shosuke-San" explodes into full-band frenzy, with backing vocals adding soulful hype.

Humorously, this album feels like Kondo asked, "What if Miles Davis went to a Tokyo disco and got into a fight with a guitar hero?" It's danceable in parts (those basslines slap), but the trumpet freakouts ensure no one's actually dancing—they're too busy wondering if their speakers are broken. Energetic? Yes. Cohesive? Mostly. Alienating to jazz purists? Absolutely, and that's the fun part.

Crickets, Cult Followers, and Occasional Cheers

Upon release, Taihen was... noticed, but not exactly a chart-topper. In Japan, it got some play in fusion circles, but mainstream audiences probably went, "Taihen desu ne!" (What a disaster!) and stuck to their pop idols. Internationally? Even more underground. Piero Scaruffi called it a rock-backed trumpet experiment, lumping it with Kondo's wilder works. Blogs and YouTube rips (the title track has a loyal slowed-down fanbase) praise its energy, calling it "electrically charged avant-fusion."

On sites like RateYourMusic (where it hovers around a solid but niche 3.5/5 from a few hundred ratings), fans dig its boldness, while detractors whine about the "dated" '80s production. No major reviews in Rolling Stone or anything— this was cult territory from day one. Bill Laswell's mixing touch gave it that downtown NYC polish, but it remained a hidden gem for crate-diggers.

The Trouble That Echoed Onward

Taihen launched IMA proper, leading directly to 1985's Metal Position (even heavier, more industrial). It showcased Kondo's shift toward accessible(ish) fusion without selling out his improv roots. His later work—blowouts with Brötzmann, ambient collabs with Laswell, even Tibetan-inspired electric trumpet—owes a debt to this album's fearless genre-mashing.

In 2026 hindsight, Taihen is a time capsule of '80s experimentation: when jazz, funk, rock, and effects pedals collided in glorious messiness. It's influential in niche scenes (Japanese fusion revivalists, electric trumpet nerds), and reissues keep it alive for new generations discovering Kondo via YouTube rabbit holes. Legacy score: Not world-changing like Bitches Brew, but a delightful "what the hell was that?" artifact that reminds us music doesn't always need to be safe.

If you're into adventurous fusion (Mahavishnu Orchestra fans, apply here) or just want something to blast when your neighbors deserve a little taihen, hunt down a reissue. Kondo's trumpet may cause temporary hearing weirdness, but the grins it'll induce? Priceless.

Highly recommended—with earplugs and a sense of humor.

Afrika Bambaataa - 1986 - Beware (The Funk Is Everywhere)

Afrika Bambaataa

1986

Beware (The Funk Is Everywhere)

01. Bambaataa's Theme (Assault On Precinct 13) 5:05

02. Tension 5:18

03. Rock America 5:53

04. Kick Out The Jams 6:17

05. Funk Jam Party 5:47

06. Funk You 6:49

07. Bionic Kats 4:36

08. What Time Is It 5:58

09. Beware (The Funk Is Everywhere) (Silent Version) 0:20

Performer – Anton Fier, Bernard Fowler, Bernie Worrell, Bill Laswell, Cindy Mizelle, Craig Derry, Doug Wimbish, Eric Calvi, Fred Fowler, Gavin Christopher, Grandmaster Melle Mel, Jason Corsaro, Keith LeBlanc, Leroi Evans, Michael Hampton, Michael Jonzun, Nicky Skopelitis, Pat Thrall, Paul Pesco, Rae Serrano, Rob Stevens, Robin Halpin, Screamin' Rachael, Skip McDonald, Steve Knutson, Vince Madison

Producer – Afrika Bambaataa

In 1986, Afrika Bambaataa, the undisputed godfather of hip-hop and founder of the Universal Zulu Nation, dropped a warning shot: the funk is everywhere, and it's coming for your speakers. Released on Tommy Boy Records, Beware (The Funk Is Everywhere) is a wild, sprawling electro-funk adventure that feels like Bambaataa invited every funky friend he knew to a jam session and hit record. Coming hot off the heels of the groundbreaking Planet Rock: The Album, this one dials up the experimentation, blending hip-hop beats with rock guitars and enough groove to make even the stiffest listener twitch. But beware (pun very much intended): at 46 minutes of mostly instrumental-heavy tracks, it's the kind of album that either electrifies your soul or leaves you checking if your turntable skipped. The funk is everywhere... but sometimes it's hiding in a six-minute guitar solo.

This isn't a solo affair; it's credited to Afrika Bambaataa & Family, and "family" here means an all-star roster of producers, musicians, and vocalists. Bambaataa himself produces several tracks, but he shares the helm with a dream team:

ey Producers: Bill Laswell (bringing his avant-funk Material magic, especially on the standout cover), Rae Serrano, Keith LeBlanc, Skip McDonald, Doug Wimbish (the Tackhead crew delivering heavy bass and drums), Michael Jonzun, Eric Calvi, Gavin Christopher, and Lee Evans.

Vocalists: Grandmaster Melle Mel (adding authentic old-school rap grit), Bernard Fowler, Robin Halpin, Craig Derry, and Cindy Mizelle.

Musicians: Bernie Worrell (Parliament-Funkadelic legend on keyboards), guitarists like Nicky Skopelitis, Paul Pesco, Michael Ciro, Pat Thrall, and Michael Hampton; drums/percussion from Anton Fier; and relentless scratches from DJs in the Zulu Nation orbit. It's a collaborative explosion, with Laswell and the Tackhead guys injecting industrial edge, while Worrell and the funk veterans keep the P-Funk spirit alive.

Sonically, Beware is mid-'80s electro-funk on steroids: booming 808 beats, scratching, synth basslines, and – the big twist – layers of rock guitars that make it feel like a bridge between hip-hop and rap-rock experiments. Tracks average 5-6 minutes, giving room for extended jams, breakdowns, and builds.

Highlights include:

"Bambaataa's Theme (Assault on Precinct 13)": A moody opener sampling John Carpenter's score, with tense synths and building percussion.

"Kick Out the Jams": A ferocious cover of MC5's proto-punk anthem, transformed by Laswell into a guitar-shredding electro monster – easily the album's peak.

"Funk You": Explicit, groovy, and unapologetic, with heavy funk bass.

The closer: A 21-second "silent version" of the title track that's literally just silence – a cheeky joke, or perhaps a warning that the real funk lingers in your head.

Production is dense and layered, courtesy of pros like Laswell (dub influences) and the Tackhead rhythm section (tight, menacing grooves). It's not as hook-driven as "Planet Rock"; instead, it's atmospheric and instrumental-leaning, with raps taking a backseat to the groove. Technically solid, but the length and repetition can feel formless – like a killer party that goes on a bit too long.

Contemporary reviews were mixed. Robert Christgau gave it a B, praising its musical edge over contemporaries but calling out its "formlessness." Melody Maker trashed it as redundant and boring, while Spin Alternative Record Guide landed at 6/10. Modern retrospectives are kinder in niche circles (e.g., electro and funk enthusiasts love the experimentation), but user scores hover low – around 58/100 on sites like Album of the Year. Critics appreciated the ambition, but many felt it lacked the revolutionary punch of Bambaataa's earlier singles.

Beware is a cult classic in the electro-funk canon, showcasing Bambaataa's willingness to fuse genres long before rap-rock became a thing (hello, early influence on acts like Bomb Squad or even later nu-metal). The Laswell/Tackhead collaborations foreshadowed industrial hip-hop, and tracks like "Kick Out the Jams" remain DJ favorites for their raw energy. It's not as universally celebrated as "Planet Rock," often overshadowed by Bambaataa's pioneering singles, but it proves his visionary status: the man who turned Kraftwerk samples into global anthems wasn't afraid to get weird with guitars and funk.

That said, Bambaataa's personal controversies in later years (allegations from 2016 onward) have complicated his legacy, making retrospectives rarer and more nuanced. Musically, though? This album still slaps – a bold reminder that in 1986, the funk really was everywhere, sneaking into rock, electro, and beyond. If you're craving extended grooves and don't mind a little chaos, crank it up. Just beware: you might start air-guitaring in public. Highly recommended for funk archaeologists; approach with caution if you prefer tight pop structures.

Elvin Jones Music Machine - 1978 - Dear John C. - Live In Japan

Elvin Jones Music Machine

1978

Dear John C. - Live In Japan

101. E.J. Blues 15:29

102. House That Love Built 10:17

103. A Love Supreme 26:37

201. Keiko's Birthday March

202. Bessie's Blues

203. Antigua

204. E.J. Blues

Bass – Andy McCloud

Drums – Elvin Jones

Guitar – Roland Prince

Tenor Saxophone – Frank Foster

Tenor Saxophone, Soprano Saxophone – Pat LaBarbera

Elvin Jones Jazz Machine's Dear John C. - Live in Japan 1978 (1993 Compilation): A Thunderous Tribute That Combines Two Japanese Mini-Albums

Elvin Ray Jones, the polyrhythmic powerhouse who turned drumming into a spiritual force, was born September 9, 1927, in Pontiac, Michigan, the youngest of the legendary Jones brothers (pianist Hank and trumpeter/composer Thad). From circus parades to Army bands, Elvin was drum-obsessed early on, hitting New York in 1955 and quickly backing icons like Miles Davis and Sonny Rollins. But his legend was forged from 1960-1966 in John Coltrane's classic quartet, where his swirling triplets and explosive independence propelled masterpieces like A Love Supreme – making time feel optional. Leaving in '66 (not thrilled about drum-sharing with Rashied Ali – Elvin liked his thunder solo), he toured with Duke Ellington briefly before launching his own groups. The Elvin Jones Jazz Machine became his vehicle in the '70s and beyond: a hard-swinging, post-Coltrane beast that toured relentlessly, blending fiery improvisation with groove. Elvin led until his death in 2004, influencing generations – humorously, if jazz drummers have a patron saint of endless energy, it's Elvin, the guy who could play triplets in his sleep and still wake up swinging.

Now, Dear John C. - Live in Japan 1978 (often just called Live in Japan 1978: Dear John C.) – this 1993 compilation (and various reissues) smartly combines two original 1978 Japanese "mini-albums" released on Trio Records: the initial Live in Japan 1978 (PAP-9111) and Vol. 2 (PAP-9200). Recorded over two nights (April 8-9, 1978) at Yomiuri Hall in Tokyo, it's a blistering live document of the Jazz Machine paying homage to Coltrane (the title nods to Elvin's 1965 studio album Dear John C., a tribute to Trane). Clocking in at over 70 minutes in full form, it captures extended workouts, including a monumental 26-minute "A Love Supreme" – because why rush a spiritual epic?

This quintet was a killer post-Coltrane lineup: dual tenors from Pat LaBarbera (tenor/soprano sax, fiery and lyrical) and Frank Foster (tenor/soprano, bringing big-band punch and soul), Roland Prince on electric guitar (that smooth Antiguan adding chordal depth and melodic sparkle, no piano to crowd the space), Andy McCloud on steadfast bass (locking in like a human metronome), and Elvin thundering on drums. It's lean, mean, and horn-heavy – perfect for stretching Coltrane-inspired themes without aping the master.

Typical tracks across the two volumes/compilation: "Keiko’s Birthday March," "Bessie’s Blues," "Antigua," "E.J. Blues," "A Love Supreme," plus others like "House That Love Built" in some editions. Pure post-bop fire with modal explorations.

Raw live energy from Tokyo's Yomiuri Hall – no studio polish, just audience roar and analog warmth from Trio's engineering. Elvin's kit dominates: booming toms, crashing cymbals, those signature rolling triplets captured with punchy clarity. Horns soar over Prince's guitar comping (electric for a subtle '70s edge), bass grounds it all. Sound is dynamic and spacious, though bootleg-like in spots (crowd noise adds vibe). The 1993 and later reissues (Venus Records, Japanese paper sleeves, SHM-CD) clean it up nicely – remastered for better separation, letting Elvin's polyrhythms dance without mud.

Oh boy, this is the Jazz Machine in full beast mode: a direct descendant of the Coltrane quartet's intensity, but with Elvin front and center, unleashing waves of propulsion. The dual tenors trade blistering solos – LaBarbera channeling Trane's sheets of sound, Foster adding bluesy grit – while Prince's guitar provides airy harmony (a clever no-piano choice, opening space like Ornette's harmolodics but swingier). McCloud's bass walks tirelessly, and Elvin? He's the star, driving extended jams with relentless creativity – sensitive on ballads, volcanic on uptempos. Highlights: the epic "A Love Supreme" suite (Acknowledgment, Resolution, etc., stretched to ecstatic lengths) and swinging originals like "Keiko’s Birthday March" (nod to Elvin's wife). Humorously, it's like Elvin saying, "Miss me with Trane? Here's what I've been cooking – hold onto your seats!" Not wildly experimental, but pure joy: urgent, spiritual, groove-heavy. Critics call it a "direct outgrowth" of Coltrane without imitation – accessible yet deep. A rollicking 4.5 out of 5 thunderclaps.

The original 1978 Japanese volumes were niche hits in Japan (jazz fans there adored Elvin's tours), but flew under global radar amid fusion's dominance. No big Western push initially – more for import hunters. The combined/reissued versions in the '90s (and beyond) got warmer love from critics rediscovering Elvin's '70s output.

This compilation endures as a prime snapshot of Elvin's Jazz Machine era – raw, live Coltrane homage without nostalgia traps. It's a cult favorite for drum enthusiasts (transcribe at your peril) and post-bop lovers, often reissued (Venus, Japanese editions) for its energy. In Elvin's vast discography, it bridges his Impulse classics and later works, proving the thunder god could tribute Trane while forging ahead. Essential for understanding his post-1966 fire – grab the full combo, crank it, and feel the earth move. Just warn the neighbors: Elvin's triplets might cause spontaneous dancing... or earthquakes.

Elvin Jones Music Machine – 1982 - Elvin Jones Music Machine

Elvin Jones Music Machine

1982

Elvin Jones Music Machine

01. Shi-Tsu-Mon 7:22

02. Like Someone In Love 9:50

03. Dealin' 12:54

04. My One And Only Love 8:33

Bass – Andy McCloud

Drums – Elvin Jones

Guitar – Roland Prince

Soprano Saxophone – Pat La Barbera (tracks: A1)

Tenor Saxophone – Frank Foster (tracks: A1, A2, B1), Pat La Barbera (tracks: B1, B2)

Recording dates & place

March 22, 23 & 24, 1978 The Educational Center For The Arts, New Haven, Connecticut, U.S.A.

Elvin Ray Jones – the polyrhythmic thunder god who made John Coltrane's quartet sound like a divine storm – was born September 9, 1927, in Pontiac, Michigan, youngest of the powerhouse Jones brothers (pianist Hank and trumpeter Thad). Drum-obsessed from parade-watching childhood, he gigged in Detroit post-Army before storming New York in 1955. Sideman stints with Miles, Rollins, and Mingus followed, but his 1960-1966 tenure with Coltrane immortalized him: those swirling triplets and limb independence on A Love Supreme turned drumming into a cosmic conversation. Post-Trane (he wasn't thrilled sharing with Rashied Ali – Elvin preferred solo thunder), he joined Ellington briefly, then unleashed his own groups, evolving into the relentless Elvin Jones Jazz Machine. Touring like a man possessed into his 70s, he influenced everyone from rock drummers to jazz innovators until his 2004 passing. Humorously, Elvin's kit wasn't just instruments – it was a full weather system, capable of sunshine brushes or hurricane fills.

Elvin Jones Music Machine (1982) is a Japanese compilation that smartly combines two ultra-rare 1979 Japanese-only 45rpm mini-albums (Vol. 1 and Vol. 2), both pressed as high-end audiophile releases on the Mark Levinson label (yes, the hi-fi equipment guy – because nothing says "jazz thunder" like premium sound demos). Recorded live over three nights (March 22-24, 1978) at The Educational Center For The Arts in New Haven, Connecticut, this full LP clocks in at around 35-40 minutes, blending fiery post-bop with subtle swing. It's the Jazz Machine in intimate, straight-ahead mode – no electric excesses, just pure acoustic drive.

A killer quintet: Elvin Jones on drums (the unstoppable engine), Andy McCloud on bass (steady as a rock, locking in flawlessly), Roland Prince on guitar (that silky Antiguan touch adding melodic warmth and comping clarity – no piano to clutter things), Frank Foster on tenor saxophone (big-band veteran bringing soulful punch), and Pat LaBarbera on tenor and soprano sax (switching seamlessly for Coltrane-esque wails). Dual saxes for thick harmonies and blistering trades – it's lean, mean, and horn-heavy.

Tracks typically include originals like "Shi-Tsu-Mon" (soprano-led urgency), standards such as "Like Someone In Love" (brushes magic), and extended blowouts showcasing the band's interplay – think modal explorations with Elvin's signature propulsion.

This is audiophile heaven – originally direct-to-disc on Mark Levinson's setup (engineered by Dean Roumanis and Levinson himself), then compiled for the 1982 Nippon Phonogram/East Wind release. The 45rpm minis were limited, numbered editions in fancy packaging (gatefold plastic boxes, obis, seals), designed for ultimate fidelity: wide dynamics, crystal separation, and Elvin's kit captured with thunderous depth (toms booming, cymbals shimmering). The full 1982 LP retains that warmth – raw live energy without crowd noise overload, horns cutting sharp, guitar sparkling. Strengths: Intimate venue sound feels like you're in the room; weaknesses: Short runtime (those minis were teases), and '70s live quirks like occasional balance shifts. But for drum nerds, Elvin's nuances shine – every triplet audible.

Elvin Jones Music Machine is the Jazz Machine stripped down and sparkling: relaxed yet explosive, like Elvin decided to invite friends over for a casual blowout that accidentally summons Coltrane's spirit. Opener "Shi-Tsu-Mon" kicks with soprano fire, "Like Someone In Love" floats on brushes (Elvin's tender side – who knew thunder could whisper?), and the tenors duel with Foster's gritty soul clashing LaBarbera's intensity. Prince's guitar is the secret weapon – transparent comping opens space, letting Elvin weave polyrhythmic webs without overwhelming. It's straight-ahead post-bop with edge: subtle listening, flowing commentary, no wild avant-garde, but endlessly swinging. Humorously, this is Elvin in "demo mode" – proving his Machine runs smooth even on fancy hi-fi gear, like a sports car tuned for audiophiles. Not as epic as his Japan lives, but delightfully human and listenable. A crisp 4 out of 5 audiophile thunderbolts.

Niche audiophile darling in Japan (those 1979 minis were promo treasures for hi-fi enthusiasts), but obscure elsewhere – no big Western push, more for import hunters amid fusion's flash. Critics who caught it praised the fidelity and band's cohesion, though some purists yawned at the restraint compared to Elvin's wilder outings.

A cult gem for collectors – those original 45rpm minis fetch serious yen today, prized for sound quality and rarity. The 1982 compilation made it accessible, highlighting a prime '70s Jazz Machine lineup (Foster and Prince shining). In Elvin's canon, it's a bridge between Coltrane intensity and later explorations: proof he could groove intimately without losing fire. Drum students worship the clarity, sax fans dig the duels. Essential for understanding Elvin's post-'70s versatility – hunt a copy, spin it loud, and let the Machine rev up. Just don't blame the neighbors if your walls start vibrating – Elvin's triplets have that effect.

Elvin Jones Music Machine - 1978 - Remembrance

Elvin Jones Music Machine

1978

Remembrance

01. Giraffe 7:54

02. Section 8 4:25

03. Little Lady 6:27

04. Familiar Ground 3:32

05. Kalima 8:30

06. Beatrice 6:41

07. Rememberance 7:07

Bass – Andy McCloud III

Drums – Elvin Jones

Guitar – Roland Prince

Liner Notes – Frank Kofsky

Tenor Saxophone, Soprano Saxophone – Michael Stuart

Tenor Saxophone, Soprano Saxophone – Pat LaBarbera

Recorded February 3, 4 and 5, 1978 at Tonstudio Zuckerfabrik, Stuttgart, Germany

Elvin Jones Jazz Machine's Remembrance (1978): The Thunder God Goes Quintet and Still Shakes the Foundations

Elvin Ray Jones – the youngest of the legendary Jones brothers (with pianist Hank and trumpeter Thad), born September 9, 1927, in Pontiac, Michigan – was the drummer who turned the kit into a full orchestra of polyrhythmic fury. Growing up in a musical household, he was hooked on drums early, practicing like a man possessed and serving in the Army band before hitting Detroit's vibrant scene in the early '50s. By 1955, he was in New York, gigging with Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, and Charles Mingus, but his eternal fame came from 1960-1966 as the explosive heartbeat of John Coltrane's classic quartet. On albums like A Love Supreme, Elvin's swirling triplets and independent limb wizardry redefined jazz drumming – no longer just timekeeping, but a tidal wave propelling Trane's spiritual quests.

He left Coltrane in '66 (not thrilled about sharing the throne with Rashied Ali – Elvin wasn't big on drum duets that cramped his style), briefly joined Duke Ellington, then launched his own groups. The '70s saw him fronting various ensembles under his name, evolving into the Elvin Jones Jazz Machine – a powerhouse that toured relentlessly and featured killer sax talent. Elvin kept pushing boundaries until his death in 2004, influencing drummers from rock (Ginger Baker) to jazz icons. Humorously, if Coltrane was searching for God, Elvin was the guy providing the thunderous soundtrack – and occasionally elbowing the cymbals for emphasis.

Remembrance, recorded February 3-5, 1978, and released on the prestigious German MPS label, captures the Jazz Machine in peak form – a tight, energetic quintet delivering post-bop with serious drive. Clocking in at around 44 minutes across seven tracks, it's mostly originals (four by Pat LaBarbera, one each by Michael Stuart and Andy McCloud, plus Sam Rivers' "Beatrice"), blending hard-swinging grooves with Coltrane-esque intensity and a touch of soul-jazz warmth.

No piano here – an unusual lineup of two tenor/soprano saxes (Pat LaBarbera and Michael Stuart, both blowing with fiery post-Trane passion), Roland Prince on guitar (that smooth Antiguan tone adding melodic clarity and lighter comping, a fresh contrast to McCoy Tyner's dense chords), Andy McCloud III on rock-solid bass, and Elvin himself thundering away. It's a lean, mean machine: dual saxes for thick harmonies and blistering solos, guitar for transparency, bass locking in, and Elvin... well, being Elvin.

Tracks highlight the vibe: opener "Giraffe" (LaBarbera) stretches out with urgent energy, "Section 8" swings hard, "Little Lady" brings lyrical grace, "Familiar Ground" grooves mid-tempo, "Kalima" dives into soulful Coltrane territory, "Beatrice" is a tender ballad showcase, and the title closer "Remembrance" features Elvin's epic drum statements – because why not end with a bang?

Technical Specifications: Classic MPS analog excellence – recorded at Tonstudio Zuckerfabrik in Stuttgart by Gibbs Platen, produced by the legendary Joachim-Ernst Berendt. The sound is dynamic, spacious, and crystal-clear: Elvin's kit roars with depth (those toms booming like distant thunder), saxes cut through sharply, guitar sparkles without mud, and bass anchors everything. No overdubs; it feels live-in-the-studio, raw yet polished. Strengths: Immac impeccable separation and warmth that lets polyrhythms dance. Minor quibble: In the fusion-heavy '70s, the guitar-sax setup might feel a tad restrained compared to electric excesses elsewhere, but that's the charm – pure acoustic fire.

Remembrance is the Jazz Machine in full roar: urgent, in-your-face, and groove-heavy, like if rock had jazz's soul (one reviewer nailed it – groove to "Giraffe" and "Kalima," and you'll nod along like it's arena-ready). The dual tenors wail with Coltrane influence without copying, Prince's guitar weaves elegant solos and comps transparently (a smart pivot from piano-driven groups), McCloud's bass is the unsung hero providing Elvin's perfect foil, and Jones? He's the star – propulsive, melodic, explosive yet sensitive. It's post-bop with edge: straightforward excellence, diverse moods from ballad tenderness ("Beatrice") to drum showcases ("Remembrance"). Humorously, this is Elvin proving he didn't need Trane to levitate – just a killer band and his endless energy. Not wildly avant-garde, but relentlessly swinging and human. A solid 4.5 out of 5 polyrhythmic thunderstorms.

In 1978, amid fusion and disco, it flew under mainstream radar – no blockbuster sales, but jazz circles dug it. One critic (Globe and Mail) griped about lacking "energy and originality," blaming Elvin for not stoking enough fire (harsh – the man's a volcano!). Others praised the tight band and sparkling originals. European audiences (thanks to MPS) embraced it more warmly.

Today, Remembrance is a reissue darling – remastered CDs keep it alive for crate-diggers and drum students transcribing Elvin's magic. It's a prime example of his '70s Jazz Machine era: versatile, hard-hitting, bridging Coltrane intensity with accessible post-bop. Not his most famous (that stays with Impulse classics), but a cult favorite showcasing unsung gems like LaBarbera and Prince. In Elvin's vast canon, it's proof the master could lead a lean quintet to greatness well into his career. Essential for fans of swinging, sax-driven jazz – crank it, feel the pulse, and remember: Elvin was the beat of life itself. Just don't try keeping up with his triplets unless you're ready for a workout.

Elvin Jones - 1975 - New Agenda

Elvin Jones

1975

New Agenda

01. Someone's Rocking My Jazzboat 6:49

02. Naima 6:10

03. Haresah 8:09

04. Anti-Calypso 5:18

05. Stefanie 4:39

06. My Lover 3:36

07. Agenda 7:55

Bass – Dave Williams

Drums – Elvin Jones

Guitar – Roland Prince

Percussion – Candido (tracks: B2, B4), Frank Ippolito (tracks: A1, A2, B1, B2, B4), Guillermo Franco* (tracks: A3, B1)

Piano – Gene Perla (tracks: B2, B4), Kenny Barron (tracks: A1)

Reeds – Azar Lawrence (tracks: A3, B1), Frank Foster (tracks: A1, A2, B2), Steve Grossman

Saxophone – Joe Farrell (tracks: B2, B4)

When the Thunderous Drummer Tries a Little Tenderness (and Percussion Overload)

Elvin Ray Jones – the human polyrhythmic volcano who made John Coltrane's quartet sound like a spiritual earthquake – was born on September 9, 1927, in Pontiac, Michigan, the baby of a ridiculously talented musical family (big brothers Hank on piano and Thad on trumpet weren't exactly slouches). Young Elvin was obsessed with drums from toddlerhood, mesmerized by circus parades and practicing rudiments like his life depended on it. After a stint in the Army (where he honed his marching chops), he gigged around Detroit before hitting New York in 1955. He quickly became the go-to sideman for heavyweights like Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, and Bud Powell.

But immortality came in 1960 when he joined Coltrane's classic quartet alongside McCoy Tyner and Jimmy Garrison. For six explosive years, Jones redefined jazz drumming: no longer just keeping time, but weaving independent rhythms across the kit – triplets swirling like storm clouds, accents shifting unpredictably, propelling Trane's sheets of sound into the cosmos on masterpieces like A Love Supreme and Crescent. He left in 1966 (rumor has it, miffed by the addition of second drummer Rashied Ali – Elvin wasn't one for sharing the thunder). Post-Coltrane, he briefly joined Duke Ellington, then formed his own groups, eventually dubbing them the Elvin Jones Jazz Machine. He led relentlessly until his death in 2004 at age 76, influencing everyone from Ginger Baker to Mitch Mitchell with his relentless energy and innovative flow. Humorously, if drums could talk, Elvin's would say: "Why play four-on-the-floor when you can play everything at once?"

New Agenda, his 1975 debut for Vanguard Records, is peak mid-'70s Elvin: a eclectic grab-bag where post-bop meets funky fusion, Latin grooves, and a nod to his Coltrane past. Clocking in at about 43 minutes across seven tracks, it's like Elvin invited a party of percussionists over and said, "Let's see how many rhythms we can stack before someone complains." Produced by Ed Bland and recorded in New York, it features a revolving door of talent – no fixed band, just Elvin as the gravitational center.

The core is Elvin on drums (duh), Dave Williams on solid bass, and the ever-smooth Roland Prince on guitar – that Antiguan jazz wizard adding crisp, melodic lines with a Caribbean lilt (fresh off gigs with Don Pullen and his own Color Visions). Reeds are a sax smorgasbord: Steve Grossman (tenor/soprano/flute, bringing fiery post-Trane energy), Frank Foster (tenor/soprano on several, with big-band swagger), Azar Lawrence (tenor/soprano, Coltrane-esque wails), and Joe Farrell (tenor/soprano on closers). Piano: Kenny Barron (electric and acoustic sparkle on the opener) and Gene Perla (on others, doubling from his usual bass role). Then the percussion avalanche: Candido Camero (congas on two), Guillermo Franco (on two more), and Frank Ippolito (sprinkled across most). It's like Elvin couldn't decide on one conga player, so he hired three – because why have a groove when you can have a percussion orchestra?

Tracks include the upbeat "Someone's Rocking My Jazzboat" (Foster), a tender "Naima" (Coltrane tribute), Grossman's intense "Haresah," Prince's quirky "Anti-Calypso," the breezy "Stefanie," short-and-sweet "My Lover," and Elvin's own swinging title closer "Agenda."

Pure analog '70s warmth – engineered by David Baker, mixed with John Kilgore. The sound is punchy and live-feeling, capturing Elvin's signature roar: thunderous toms, swirling cymbals, those famous Elvin triplets dancing independently. Guitar and horns cut through cleanly, bass locks tight, but the percussion layers add delicious density (sometimes bordering on chaos – in a good way). It's post-bop with fusion edges: electric piano hints, funky rhythms, Latin inflections. Strengths: Dynamic range that lets Elvin explode or whisper; weaknesses: occasional overcrowding from all those shakers and congas, making it feel like a jam session that forgot to edit.

Ah, New Agenda – the album where Elvin proves he can groove without Trane's cosmic pull, but occasionally overdoes the spice rack. It kicks off swinging with "Someone's Rocking My Jazzboat," Barron's keys and Foster's sax setting a joyful tone over Elvin's skipping pulse. "Naima" is heartfelt beauty, Elvin caressing the ballad like an old friend. "Haresah" lets Grossman and Lawrence stretch out fiercely, while "Anti-Calypso" (Prince's tune) brings island funk that's downright danceable – imagine calypso's evil twin. The percussion-heavy tracks pulse with global flair, and the closer "Agenda" is pure Elvin propulsion.

Humorously, this is Elvin in "accessible mode": still polyrhythmic mayhem, but with melodies you can hum and grooves that won't scare the neighbors (much). It's eclectic, energetic, and endlessly listenable – a party where post-bop meets world music without pretension. Not his most revolutionary (that crown stays with Coltrane-era stuff), but delightfully human. I'd rate it 4 out of 5 conga lines: essential for drum nerds, fun for everyone else.

Reception Upon Release: Mixed, to put it mildly. DownBeat in 1975 called it "strangely uninspired even tepid," griping about weak reeds and lack of fire – purists annoyed that Elvin was exploring beyond avant-garde purity amid the fusion era. It didn't set charts ablaze but found fans among those digging his evolving Jazz Machine sound.

Today, New Agenda is a beloved cult classic – reissued on CD, prized by crate-diggers for showcasing Elvin's versatility in the '70s wilderness. It bridges his Impulse/Blue Note intensity with later global experiments, highlighting unsung heroes like Roland Prince. In the grand Elvin canon, it's not A Love Supreme, but a reminder that the master could swing, funk, and innovate into his later years. Drum students still transcribe his rides here, and it endures as proof that even thunder gods like to chill sometimes. Grab a copy, crank the percussion, and let Elvin rock your jazzboat – just watch out for the waves.

Don Pullen - 1977 - Tomorrow's Promises

Don Pullen

1977 

Tomorrow's Promises

01. Big Alice

02. Autumn Song 5:11

03. Poodie Pie 6:40

04. Kadji 8:54

05. Last Year's Lies And Tomorrow's Promises 5:37

06. Let's Be Friends 7:36

Drums – Tyronne Walker

Electric Bass – John Flippin

Guitar – Roland Prince, Sterling Magee

Percussion – Ray Mantilla

Piano, Electric Piano – Don Pullen

Tenor Saxophone – George Adams

Trumpet – Randy Brecker

Violin – Michal Urbaniak

Bass – Alex Blake 

Drums – Bobby Battle

Electronics – Ilhan Mimaroglu

Tenor Saxophone – George Adams

Trumpet – Hannibal Marvin Peterson

Don Pullen's Tomorrow's Promises (1977): When Avant-Garde Jazz Tries on a Funky Disco Shirt

Don Pullen – the man who could make a piano sound like it was simultaneously attending church, throwing a tantrum, and leading a revolution – was one of jazz's most fearless explorers. Born on Christmas Day 1941 in Roanoke, Virginia, young Don grew up in a musical family, tinkering on the keys early and playing organ in church choirs (the kind where "amen" comes with serious gospel fire). Influenced by his cousin, professional pianist Clyde "Fats" Wright, and later blown away by Art Tatum's elegance and the free-form chaos of Ornette Coleman and Eric Dolphy, Pullen ditched medical studies for the wild world of jazz.

By the 1960s, he was deep in the avant-garde scene: duets with drummer Milford Graves that sounded like controlled explosions, gigs on organ backing R&B acts to pay bills, and stints with Giuseppi Logan. He studied with Muhal Richard Abrams in Chicago, soaked up free jazz in New York, and even played with Nina Simone. But his big break came in 1973 when he joined Charles Mingus's band – recommending his buddy George Adams on sax along the way. Pullen's percussive, cluster-bomb piano style (elbows, fists, the works) fit Mingus like a glove, appearing on classics like Changes One and Changes Two. Post-Mingus, he formed the explosive George Adams/Don Pullen Quartet in 1979, blending post-bop, gospel grooves, and outright freedom until his tragic death from lymphoma in 1995 at age 53. Pullen wasn't just a player; he was a bridge between gospel soul, blues grit, and avant-garde fury – often all in one solo.

Now, Tomorrow's Promises – his 1977 Atlantic Records debut as leader – is the album where Pullen briefly flirts with accessibility, like a free-jazz wild child trying to sneak into a disco without scaring the normals. Recorded in 1976-77 at Atlantic Studios in New York (with a few sessions spilling over), produced by the avant-electronic wizard İlhan Mimaroğlu, this is Pullen dipping toes into jazz-funk waters while keeping one foot firmly in chaos. It's a major-label shot after years in the underground, clocking in at about 44 minutes across six tracks. The opener "Big Alice" became a near-standard (a funky, upbeat groover), and the whole thing feels like Pullen saying, "Okay, world, here's something you can dance to... mostly."

This isn't a tight band affair; it's a revolving door of heavy hitters, making it feel like a jazz-funk all-star jam with avant twists. Core player: George Adams on tenor/soprano sax, flute, and bass clarinet – Pullen's Mingus-era soulmate, bringing raw emotion and squealing intensity. Guitars by Roland Prince (that smooth Antiguan jazz cat from Elvin Jones's band) and Sterling Magee, adding crisp rhythms and funky edges. Trumpets: Randy Brecker on the opener for that bright punch, and the fiery Hannibal Marvin Peterson (aka Hannibál Lokumbe) on several tracks. Bass duties split between John Flippin (electric) and Alex Blake; drums/percussion from Bobby Battle, Tyronne Walker, and conga master Ray Mantilla. Special guests: Polish violinist Michal Urbaniak slicing through "Big Alice," Mimaroğlu himself on eerie electronics, and vocalist Rita DaCosta closing with a warm, soulful plea on "Let's Be Friends." Pullen handles piano, electric piano, and Clavinet – yes, that funky Hohner keyboard beloved by Stevie Wonder.

Analog warmth from Atlantic's heyday, with a clean yet punchy mix that captures the era's fusion vibe without overpolishing. Pullen's acoustic piano roars with his signature clusters – dense, hammering chords that explode like fireworks – while his electric keys and Clavinet add wah-wah funk and synth-like textures (courtesy of Mimaroğlu's electronic tinkering). The rhythm section grooves hard: tight bass lines lock with percussion for danceable polyrhythms, especially on African-influenced "Kadji" (that 6/8 swing). Horns are brassy and bold, Adams's tenor howling freely at times. Production-wise, it's eclectic – from full-band blowouts to intimate duets – but cohesive enough. Weak spots? Some tracks feel a tad dated in their '70s funk sheen (think bell-bottoms for your ears), and the variety can make it schizophrenic. Strengths: Dynamic range that swings from tender ballads to free excursions, proving Pullen could straddle worlds without selling out.

Oh, Tomorrow's Promises – the album that's equal parts party starter and philosophical musing. Kicking off with the infectious "Big Alice" (10+ minutes of upbeat jazz-funk joy, complete with violin fireworks and trumpet solos), it lures you in like a groovy pied piper. "Autumn Song" slows to nostalgic beauty, "Poodie Pie" rocks out with easy-listening riffs (co-written with Magee and Morgan Burton), and "Kadji" pulses with African rhythms before Pullen unleashes a free-jazz piano rampage. The standout duet "Last Year's Lies and Tomorrow's Promises" is Pullen and Adams trading free/tonal ideas like old friends arguing philosophy over coffee. Closer "Let's Be Friends" features DaCosta's velvety vocals – sweet, but a bit schmaltzy, like the album's attempt at a radio hit.

Humorously, this is Pullen in "commercial mode": imagine a guy who normally elbows the piano into submission deciding to play nice... for about 80% of the record. It's not his wildest (that'd come later with the Quartet), but it's delightfully schizophrenic – funk one minute, free the next. Scott Yanow gave it 4.5 stars, calling it a perfect intro to Pullen's world.

In 1977, amid disco fever and fusion frenzy, it was a modest hit for introducing Pullen to broader audiences via Atlantic's muscle. Critics praised the variety and energy; it sold decently for jazz, with "Big Alice" getting airplay and covers. Not a blockbuster, but it opened doors – European tours followed, and it helped cement his rep as a rhythmic avant-gardist with groove.

Today, Tomorrow's Promises is a cult favorite – that "atypical" Pullen record fans love for its accessibility without compromise. It's the gateway drug to his deeper catalog: the fiery Quartet albums, solo masterpieces like Evidence of Things Unseen, or late-career gems with African-Brazilian Connection. Reissued on CD (Koch, 1999), it's prized by crate-diggers for blending '70s funk with free spirit. Pullen's influence lingers in players who mix gospel fire with abstraction (think Vijay Iyer or Craig Taborn). If Mingus was his wild youth, this album was the charming coming-out party. Hunt it down – it'll make you dance, think, and occasionally laugh at how one man could pack so much into 44 minutes.