The Pianist Who Could Do It All (With Style and a Side of Sass)
First, let's meet the man behind the keys. Lawrence Elliott Willis (1942–2019) was a Harlem-born jazz pianist who started life aspiring to be an opera singer—yes, really. Picture a teenage Larry belting arias instead of boogie-woogie. He studied voice at the High School of Music and Art, then music theory at the Manhattan School of Music, but jazz snuck in like an uninvited (yet welcome) guest. By 19, alto sax legend Jackie McLean scooped him up after hearing him play, and Willis made his recording debut on McLean's fiery 1965 Blue Note album Right Now!. From there, his career was a whirlwind: sideman stints with heavyweights like Hugh Masekela, Cannonball Adderley, Dizzy Gillespie, Woody Shaw, Stan Getz, and even a seven-year rock detour as keyboardist for Blood, Sweat & Tears (because why not trade bebop for brass-rock anthems?).
Willis was the ultimate musical chameleon—free jazz, fusion, Afro-Cuban, hard bop, you name it. He composed standards, arranged for orchestras, and later in life earned Grammy nods with Jerry Gonzalez's Fort Apache Band. He passed in 2019 at 76 from an aneurysm, leaving behind hundreds of sessions and a legacy as one of jazz's most versatile (and underrated) pianists. Humorously, his piano teacher once warned him: "The piano is the most complicated machine man ever invented—88 to 10 odds against you every time." Willis clearly beat the odds, turning those keys into gold.
Inner Crisis (1973/1974): The Album That Grooves Without Selling Its Soul
Released on Groove Merchant in 1974 (recorded in 1973), Inner Crisis is Willis's second leader date and a shining gem of mid-1970s electric jazz-funk. At a time when many jazzers were either going full fusion (think over-the-top synths and rock drums) or clinging to acoustic purity, Willis threaded the needle: soulful grooves, tight compositions, and real jazz improvisation, all without descending into cheesiness. AllMusic's Thom Jurek calls it "one of the very finest examples of electric jazz-funk from the mid-'70s," praising how Willis prioritizes ensemble playing over ego-driven solos. It's accessible yet deep—catchy enough to nod along, sophisticated enough to reward repeated listens. Critics and fans (on sites like Rate Your Music and Reddit) hail it as a lost classic, with strong ratings and comments like "head and shoulders above the rest of Groove Merchant."
The lineup is stacked, split into two configurations for variety (like Willis couldn't decide on one killer band and said, "Why not both?"):
Core trio on all tracks: Larry Willis (Fender Rhodes electric piano, acoustic piano), Harold Vick (tenor/soprano sax), Roland Prince (guitar).
Group A (tracks 1, 4? variations noted): Dave Bargeron (trombone), Eddie Gómez (bass), Warren Benbow (drums).
Group B: Roderick Gaskin (bass), Al Foster (drums).
Out on the Coast (4:30) – Uptempo funk opener with driving rhythms.
153rd Street Theme (6:43) – Loping sax lines over deep bass grooves.
Inner Crisis (6:25) – The shimmering modal title track.
Bahamian Street Dance (4:32) – Caribbean-infused groover.
For a Friend (6:58) – Tender acoustic piano ballad.
Journey's End (7:11) – Blissful, lyrical closer.
Where the Magic (and the Groove) Happens
Technically, Inner Crisis is a masterclass in balancing 1970s electric jazz elements without the pitfalls. Willis leans heavily on the Fender Rhodes for that warm, bell-like tone—iconic in jazz-funk for its percussive attack and sustain. No cheesy synths here; it's pure Rhodes soul, evoking Herbie Hancock's Head Hunters era but more restrained and ensemble-focused. Willis plays as a team player: his comping supports the horns and guitar, while his solos are lyrical, blues-infused, and rhythmically locked-in. On the ballad "For a Friend," he switches to acoustic piano for pure emotional clarity—proving he didn't need electricity to shine.
Harmonically, the tunes draw from modal jazz (nodding to Miles Davis's In a Silent Way in the title track's shimmering expansiveness) with soul/blues cadences in the long head melodies. Rhythmically, it's tight funk: bass lines (Gómez's walking agility vs. Gaskin's solid pocket) and drums (Foster's crisp swing-funk, Benbow's energy) drive infectious grooves that flirt with disco pulse but stay rooted in jazz swing. Harold Vick's sax work is a highlight—underrecorded in his career, he delivers soaring, expressive solos with soprano adding ethereal bites. Roland Prince's guitar adds wah-wah funk and clean lines, while Bargeron's trombone brings brassy depth.
The album avoids "sterile fusion tropes" by emphasizing composition and group interplay: heads are memorable and extended, solos build organically, and the funk feels organic, not forced. It's jazz-funk that dances without tripping over its own feet—soulful, improvisational, and endlessly groovy. If this album had an inner crisis, it was probably deciding whether to make you dance or contemplate life; luckily, it does both flawlessly.
In short, Inner Crisis is a underrated banger that deserves more spins. Dust off your turntable (or stream it)—Larry Willis might just resolve your own inner crisis with a killer riff. Highly recommended for fans of 70s jazz-funk that actually swings
Acoustic Bass, Electric Bass [Fender] – Ted Crumwell
Baritone Saxophone – Haywood Henry, Paul Williams
Clarinet, Voice – Angie Hester
Drums – Al Lindo, Cal Eddy, Frank "Downbeat" Brown, Idris Muhammad
Guitar – Al Fontaine, Keith Loving, Roland Prince
Tenor Saxophone, Baritone Saxophone – Bill Bivins
Trombone – Arthur Hamilton
Trumpet – Al Pazant, Don Leight, Ed Williams, Richie Williams
Voice – Patricia Rosalia
Piano, Acoustic Guitar, Organ, Vibraphone, Voice – Lincoln Chase
Lincoln R. Chase (June 29, 1926 – October 6, 1980) was a New York City-born songwriter, pianist, and occasional performer whose pen was mightier than his microphone – though he certainly tried the latter with gusto. The only child of West Indian immigrants (his father from Cuba), Chase studied at the American Academy of Music and kicked off his career signing with Decca Records in 1951. His early singles flopped across labels like RCA, Dawn, Liberty, and Columbia, but as a songwriter? Goldmine. He penned R&B classics like "Such a Night" (a hit for The Drifters, Johnnie Ray, and even Elvis), "Jim Dandy" (LaVern Baker's #1 R&B smash in 1956, later covered by Black Oak Arkansas), and coined the phrase "nitty gritty" with Shirley Ellis's 1963 hit.
In 1959, he met and married singer Shirley Ellis, managing her career and co-writing her playful '60s novelties: "The Nitty Gritty," "The Name Game" (where he sneakily name-drops himself: "Lincoln, Lincoln, bo-Bincoln..."), and "The Clapping Song" – all chart-toppers that turned playground rhymes into pop gold. His first album, The Explosive Lincoln Chase (1957), went nowhere commercially, but by 1973, he was ready for a funky comeback. Tragically, Chase passed away in Atlanta at just 54, leaving a legacy of infectious hooks that outshone his own recordings. If songwriting paid royalties in immortality, he'd be set – but hey, at least we can still clap along.
Sixteen years after his orchestral debut bomb, Lincoln Chase emerged from the songwriting shadows with Lincoln Chase 'n You (Paramount Records, PAS-6074), a self-produced, self-written, self-arranged oddball gem that's equal parts funky soul, spoken-word poetry, and psychedelic commentary. If his earlier hits were playful and concise, this album is Chase unleashing his inner eccentric – think a "black Frank Zappa but groovier," as one description nails it, or Melvin Van Peebles meets Eugene McDaniels with a dash of Gil Scott-Heron's bite. It's trippy, verbose, and unapologetically weird, blending jazz-funk grooves with marathon monologues on life, love, and society. Commercially? Crickets. Cult status among crate-diggers? Absolutely – this is the kind of record that makes you wonder if Chase finally said, "Screw it, I'm doing me."
Chase handles vocals (spoken and sung), piano, acoustic guitar, organ, and vibes, backed by a killer band: Idris Muhammad on drums (that funky precision is unmistakable), Al Pazant on trumpet, Keith Loving on guitar, and others adding horns and rhythm. All original compositions, clocking in around 40 minutes of dense, narrative-driven tracks.
This isn't your standard soul album – it's more like extended funky poems over grooves. Chase's delivery is theatrical: half-preacher, half-raconteur, with long-winded lyrics that veer into social commentary ("The Woods Are Full" rails against the rat race with vivid storytelling). The music is solidly '73 funk: tight breaks, wah-wah guitars, punchy horns, and Muhammad's impeccable drumming keeping things danceable amid the verbosity.
"The Woods Are Full": A highlight – Chase's spoken-word takedown of urban hustle over a slinky funk backdrop. It's like a gritty fable with killer drum breaks.
Other gems include twisted soul oddities that mix humor, philosophy, and groove – think extended raps before rap was a thing, but with vibraphone twinkles and organ swells for that jazz edge.
The vibe is intimate and personal (hence the title – it's Lincoln Chase and you, buddy), but the lengthy texts can feel like "een hele hoop geouwehoer" (Dutch for "a whole lot of blabber," as one cheeky reviewer put it). Humorous moments shine through Chase's witty wordplay, echoing his novelty-song roots.
Musically, this is prime early-'70s funk-soul fusion with jazz underpinnings. Idris Muhammad's drumming is the anchor: crisp, pocket-deep grooves with subtle fills and breaks that scream sample fodder (no wonder diggers love it). Chase's arrangements layer horns (Pazant's trumpet adds brassy stabs) over modal vamps, with his own piano/organ providing harmonic color – often minor-key moods for that introspective feel. Guitar work (Loving) brings wah-infused rhythm and leads, evoking Blaxploitation soundtracks. Production is raw and warm: analog tape saturation, natural room reverb on drums, and a live-band energy that avoids over-polish. Vocally, Chase isn't a powerhouse singer but a charismatic talker-singer; his vibes and organ add ethereal textures, nodding to his classical training.
Weaknesses? The spoken-word marathons can test patience – it's avant-garde soul that demands attention, not background play. Not for everyone, but that's the charm.
Overall, Lincoln Chase 'n You is a bold, funky curiosity from a hitmaker gone rogue – underrated, eccentric, and groovy as hell. If you dig offbeat '70s soul like Van Peebles' Brer Soul or McDaniels' Headless Heroes, hunt this down (original vinyl is rare; check YouTube rips). 8/10 for the brave – extra points for making "nitty gritty" cool and name-checking himself eternally. Just don't play it on a short attention span day, or you'll be lost in the woods!
Organ, Clavinet, Piano – Jack DeJohnette (tracks: A1, A3, A4, B2, B3, B5)
Percussion, Congas – Jumma Santos
Saxophone, Flute – Harold Vick
Vibraphone – Bob Moses (tracks: A4)
Back in the fertile fields of jazz-funk fusion, Compost returned in 1973 with their sophomore effort, Life Is Round, proving that good things do indeed grow from well-turned soil. After the quirky, energetic debut Take Off Your Body, this album feels like the band let their musical compost heap mature a bit longer – richer, funkier, and with a touch more polish, but still delightfully organic and unpredictable. Released on Columbia Records (KC 32031), it's often hailed as their stronger outing: a "near brilliant piece of jazz-rock (and funk)" that's both artistic and accessible, without the awkward vocal detours that sometimes derailed the first record.
The core lineup remains the same supergroup cooperative:
Jack DeJohnette (keyboards, melodica, occasional drums) – the Miles Davis alum bringing electric wizardry.
Bob Moses (drums, vocals on the title track).
Harold Vick (tenor sax, flute) – soulful and soaring.
Jack Gregg (bass).
Jumma Santos (congas, percussion) – the rhythmic heartbeat.
New guests spice things up: guitarists Roland Prince and Ed Finney add rock-edged bite and texture, while vocalists Jeanne Lee (avant-garde jazz icon) and Lou Courtney (soul singer) appear on select tracks, bringing more professional polish to the singing department.
Life Is Round clocks in at about 47 minutes of feverish, funky fusion bliss – spiritual yet groovy, with angular edges that nod to European breakbeat styles while staying rooted in American jazz-soul. The addition of guitars gives it a harder rock-funk punch compared to the debut's clavinet-heavy vibe, making it feel like a bridge between Miles's On the Corner grit and Herbie Hancock's emerging Headhunters smoothness. Vocals are sparse and tasteful this time – no off-key drummer antics dominating; instead, Jeanne Lee's ethereal scat on the title track and Lou Courtney's soulful turn on "Moonsong" add depth without overwhelming the instrumentals.
"Buzzard Feathers" (Harold Vick composition): A moody, soaring highlight with Vick's tenor at its most expressive – spiritual jazz-funk gold that builds from brooding flute to intense sax wails.
"Compost Festival" (DeJohnette): Uptempo polyrhythmic joy, layering percussion and keys into a celebratory jam.
"The Ripper": Short, sharp, and funky – pure angular groove with guitar riffs that rip (pun intended).
"Moonsong": Soulful ballad vibe with Courtney's vocals and warm bass lines.
"Life Is Round": The closer, with Lee's vocals floating over a gentle, philosophical groove – a fitting, circular end to the album (because, you know, life is round... profound, or just a handy title?)
The overall mood is more cohesive and mature: less hippie free-form, more focused funk with spiritual undertones. It's crate-digger heaven – breaks and grooves that have aged like fine... well, compost-turned-wine.
Rhythmically, this is where Compost shines brightest. The dual percussion (Moses's kit + Santos's congas) creates intricate polyrhythms that lock into deep funk pockets without feeling overly complex – think Afro-Latin influences meeting rock steadiness. Guitars from Prince and Finney introduce distorted wah-wah and clean comping, adding harmonic layers over modal vamps (often one- or two-chord bases for extended solos). DeJohnette's keyboards (electric piano, melodica) provide colorful textures, while Vick's sax/flute alternates between lyrical melodies and free-jazz edges.
Production-wise (again helmed by Martin Rushent), it's warm and live-feeling: punchy bass, prominent percussion in the mix, and a raw analog grit that captures the band's energy. No overproduced slickness here – drums have natural room reverb, guitars bite without compression overload, and the overall sound has that '70s Columbia warmth. Harmonically simple but rhythmically dense, it's accessible fusion that rewards close listening: those layered conga patterns and bass grooves are hypnotic, prefiguring later spiritual jazz-funk like Strata-East releases.
Drawbacks? It's still niche – no big hits, and the band disbanded after this (Columbia dropped them post-contract). Some tracks lean a tad meandering in improv sections, but that's fusion charm.
In the end, Life Is Round is the matured compost: nutrient-rich, groovy, and underrated. If the debut was a wild garden party, this is the bountiful harvest – funky, spiritual, and fun. Perfect for fans of early '70s fusion who want soul without the cheese. 9/10 – highly recommended. Just don't expect it to make your actual compost pile groove... though with these rhythms, who knows? Dig it up on vinyl or the Wounded Bird CD reissue!
Drums, Vocals, Clavinet, Organ, Vibraphone – Jack DeJohnette
Producer – Martin Rushent
Tenor Saxophone, Flute – Harold Vick
The jazz-funk fusion band with possibly the most... organic name in music history. Formed in 1971 as a cooperative supergroup of sorts, these guys described themselves as a "potpourri of mixes: jazz, rock, some soul, and some free-form things," resulting in what Jack DeJohnette called "good compost music." If that doesn't make you chuckle while nodding appreciatively, I don't know what will. It's like they were fertilizing the soil of early '70s fusion, turning musical scraps into something rich and groovy. Their debut album, Take Off Your Body (sometimes just titled Compost on reissues), dropped in February 1972 on Columbia Records, and it's a delightfully weird, funky romp that feels like Miles Davis's electric era crashed into a hippie jam session.
The lineup is stacked with heavy hitters:
Jack DeJohnette (fresh off Miles Davis's Bitches Brew band) on clavinet, vibraphone, organ, and occasional drums – the electric keyboard wizard here.
Bob Moses on drums and vocals (yes, vocals – more on that in a sec).
Harold Vick on tenor sax and flute, bringing that soulful wail.
Jack Gregg on bass, holding down the groove.
Jumma Santos (aka Jim Riley) on congas and percussion, adding Afro-Latin spice.
Produced by Martin Rushent (who'd later helm new wave hits), it's a tight, energetic set blending jazz improvisation with rock energy and funk rhythms – think Herbie Hancock's Headhunters vibe but with a freer, more psychedelic edge, or a less polished Weather Report.
Sound and Highlights
This album is pure early jazz-funk fusion joy: heavy on electric clavinet riffs (DeJohnette's funky comping is addictive), polyrhythmic percussion layers, and sax lines that dart between soulful and avant-garde. The grooves are uptempo and infectious, with African influences bubbling under – congas and percussion drive everything forward like a perpetual motion machine. It's "hippie mode" fusion, as one reviewer aptly put it: fun, loose, and unpretentious, without the overly complex beats or pretentious lyrics that plagued some contemporaries.
Standout tracks:
"Take Off Your Body" (the title opener): A speedy, funky blast with crazy lyrics from Bob Moses, groovy clavinet stabs, and uptempo bass. It's an invitation to dance – or, uh, disrobe metaphorically? The energy grabs you immediately.
"Funky Feet": Pure groove heaven – those percussion breaks and clavinet lines make it a rare-groove favorite for DJs even today.
"Inflation Blues": A standout for its blend of free-jazz edges and funk, with Vick's tenor soaring.
Other gems like "Bwaata" and "Sweet Berry Wine" keep the Afro-funk pulse alive.
Bob Moses handles most vocals, and here's the humorous caveat: he's not exactly a crooner. His singing is enthusiastic but often off-key or quirky – think a jazz drummer who's having too much fun to care about pitch perfection. It adds charm, though; the album feels like a party where everyone's invited, even if someone's warbling the chorus. No difficult concepts here – just good vibes and solid playing.
From a musician's perspective, this record shines in its rhythmic complexity masked as simplicity. The dual percussion setup (Moses on kit, Santos on congas) creates dense polyrhythms that feel organic rather than forced – influenced by Afro-Cuban and free-jazz traditions, but locked into funk grooves. DeJohnette's clavinet work is a highlight: he uses it like a rhythmic guitar, with wah-wah effects and staccato comping that prefigures later funk-fusion (e.g., Headhunters-era Hancock). The bass (Gregg) is walking but electric-tinged, providing a rock-solid foundation without flashy solos.
Harmonically, it's modal jazz territory – lots of vamps over one or two chords, allowing extended improv. Vick's sax/flute adds melodic flair, often layering flute for ethereal textures over the funk. Recording-wise, Rushent captures a live-in-the-room feel: warm, punchy drums, prominent percussion (no burying the congas here), and a raw edge that avoids the slickness of later fusion. It's analog goodness – vinyl rips reveal the subtle vibe hits and room ambience that digital remasters sometimes flatten.
Weaknesses? It's short (around 40 minutes), and some tracks meander a bit in free-form sections. Moses's vocals might grate on purists seeking instrumental purity. But that's part of the fun – this isn't polished perfection; it's fertile, messy compost turning into musical gold.
Overall, Take Off Your Body is an underrated gem of 1972 fusion – groovy, experimental, and endlessly replayable. It didn't chart big (fusion was niche then), but it's aged beautifully as a cult classic for crate-diggers and jazz-funk heads. If you're into Miles's On the Corner era or early Mahavishnu vibes but want something lighter and funkier, dig this up. Just don't blame me if you start composting your own band afterward. Highly recommended – 8.5/10, with extra points for the name alone. Take off your body and get down!
Roy Haynes' Senyah (1972): The Snap-Crackle Drummer Turns Up the Funk Heat
(And Witchcraft Salsa)
1972: Jazz is in full cosmic flux – fusion's buzzing, spiritual quests are peaking, and everyone's chasing that post-Coltrane fire with a side of groove. Roy Haynes, the eternal snap-crackle-pop drumming legend (already in his late 40s but playing like a man possessed by rhythm demons), drops Senyah on Bob Shad's Mainstream Records. Fresh off the exploratory vibes of 1971's Hip Ensemble, this is Haynes doubling down on the funkier, more electric side of his "Hip Ensemble" project – a burner that trades some of the previous album's spiritual uplift for raw jazz-funk energy, Latin spice, and straight-up groove monsters. As AllMusic's Ron Wynn nailed it: "This set is a burner, featuring Haynes in an entirely new light." And boy, does it scorch.
Haynes keeps the core fire from Hip Ensemble but trims the fat: No double bass or extra percussionists this time. The lineup is lean and mean:
Roy Haynes: Drums, timpani – the undisputed star, whipping up storms with his signature crisp snare and decorative cymbal flair.
Marvin "Hannibal" Peterson: Trumpet – soaring, intense lines that could melt brass.
George Adams: Tenor saxophone – raw power, emotive wails (he contributes two killer tunes).
Carl Schroeder: Piano (acoustic and likely electric hints) – tasteful comping and solos.
Roland Prince: Guitar – adding that subtle electric edge for funk bite.
Don Pate: Bass – solid, groovy anchor.
Lawrence Killian: Congas – essential Latin/Afro pulse.
Compared to Hip Ensemble's broader spiritual palette (with flute, bongos, and anthemic medleys), Senyah feels tighter, funkier – more Strata-East/Black Jazz grit meets Latin jazz-funk. Dusty Groove calls it a "sweet set of spiritual jazz... with a slightly electric groove," and they're spot on. At just over 30 minutes, it's concise but packed – no filler, all killer.
Track-by-Track Breakdown (With Fiery Wit}
Sillie Willie (George Adams, 7:48)
Kicks off with a bang – upbeat funk groove, horns blasting unison riffs over Killian's congas and Pate's walking bass. Adams' tenor roars first, Peterson's trumpet follows with fiery scalar runs. Haynes? His drums pop and crackle like fireworks. It's playful yet intense – "sillie" indeed, but in the best, head-nodding way. Sets the tone: This ain't your grandpa's bebop.
Little Titan (Marvin Peterson, 7:22)
Mid-tempo swinger with a heroic vibe – Peterson's composition lets his trumpet shine bright and bold. Adams counters with gritty tenor, Prince's guitar adds wah-wah spice. Haynes drives it relentlessly, timpani thundering for dramatic flair. Feels like a mini-epic; if Titans had a theme song, this would be it (minus the capes).
Senyah (Joe Bonner, 5:30)
The title track (spelled backwards? "Haynes" flipped – clever wink from Roy?). Modal and mysterious, with shimmering piano intros and layered horns building tension. Shorter but hypnotic – congas pulse underneath soaring solos. It's the album's contemplative breather, nodding to spiritual jazz depths without slowing the momentum.
Full Moon (George Adams, 6:14)
Moody groover evoking lunar mysticism. Adams' tune lets his tenor howl ethereally over funky rhythms. Peterson adds cosmic trumpet, guitar weaves in subtly. Haynes' fills dance around the beat – pure propulsion. Perfect late-night spin; you'll feel the werewolf urges coming on (in a groovy way).
Brujeria Con Salsa (Roy Haynes, 4:01)
The closer and crowd-pleaser: Haynes' own composition translates to "Witchcraft with Salsa" – and it delivers! Fast Latin-funk blast with conga fireworks, horns trading spicy riffs, and electric guitar bites. Short, explosive finale – everyone stretches wildly. Humor note: If this doesn't make you dance like you're warding off spirits, check for a pulse. Pure party exorcism.
Overall Verdict: A Funky, Fiery Follow-Up That Burns Bright
Senyah refines the Hip Ensemble formula: Less extended trance, more punchy jazz-funk with Latin zest. Haynes shines as leader – his drumming is inventive, powerful, always serving the groove (no ego trips here). The young guns (Adams and Peterson launching toward stardom) bring raw energy, while the rhythm section locks in tight. Strengths: Killer compositions (especially Adams'), organic interplay, and that elusive '70s spiritual-funk balance – approachable yet deep. Weaknesses: Runtime feels teaser-short; we crave more witchcraft!
In the Mainstream catalog, it's a standout – echoing Buddy Terry's contemporaneous gems but with Haynes' unbeatable snap-crackle drive. Legacy? A cult favorite for crate-diggers, sampled subtly, and a testament to Haynes' timeless adaptability (he'd live to 99, still innovating). AllMusic 4 stars; modern fans hail it as essential jazz-funk.
Rating: 8.8/10 – A burner indeed. Drop the needle, feel the salsa sorcery, and let Roy's drums cast their spell. When it's Haynes, it always roars – here, it funky-roars with extra brimstone.
Roy Haynes' Hip Ensemble (1971): Snap, Crackle, and Spiritual Pop
The Legendary Drummer Gets Funky (And Righteously Hip)
Picture this: It's 1971. The jazz world is buzzing with post-Coltrane quests, electric Miles vibes are electrifying everything, and funk grooves are sneaking into every corner. Meanwhile, Roy Haynes – the snap-crackle-pop drummer who's already backed legends like Bird, Lester Young, Monk, Sarah Vaughan, Getz, and even a stint with Trane himself – decides it's time to lead his own crew into the new decade. At 46, Haynes wasn't some wide-eyed youngster chasing trends; he was the veteran saying, "Hold my cymbals – I'll show you how it's done." The result? Hip Ensemble on Bob Shad's Mainstream Records: a sizzling blend of spiritual jazz, jazz-funk, Latin percussion, and post-bop fire that's as "hip" as the title promises – and twice as explosive.
Haynes assembled a killer young(ish) squad he dubbed the Hip Ensemble: future heavyweights George Adams (tenor sax/flute – raw, emotive power), Marvin "Hannibal" Peterson (trumpet – soaring, fiery lines), Carl Schroeder (piano/Fender Rhodes – shimmering electric soul), double bass threat Teruo Nakamura (acoustic) and Mervin Bronson (Fender), plus percussion spice from Lawrence Killian (congas) and Elwood Johnson (bongos/tambourine). Haynes himself handles drums and timpani, because why not add orchestral thunder to your funk?
This wasn't Haynes' first leader date, but it was his boldest pivot yet – trading pure bebop swing for modal explorations, funky Rhodes grooves, and spiritual uplift. As AllMusic's Ron Wynn put it, this "explosive session helped cement the reputations of George Adams and Hannibal Marvin Peterson." And Haynes? His drumming is the glue – powerful, inventive, always propulsive. Humor alert: The man plays with such flair, it's like he's auditioning for a superhero cape while keeping perfect time.
Track-by-Track Breakdown (With Hip Wit and Groove Insights)
The original LP clocks in at a tight ~35 minutes, but recent reissues (shoutout Wewantsounds' 2025 vinyl deluxe) add the bonus "Roy's Tune" – a clavinet-driven funk bomb that's pure blaxploitation swagger.
Equipoise (Stanley Cowell, 4:27)
Opens with a smooth, approachable head – think '70s TV theme with jazz soul. Then Adams eases in on tenor, building to scalar fireworks, Peterson adds trumpet sparkle, and Schroeder's Rhodes flows like liquid gold. Haynes' fills? Crisp and teasing. It's balanced (equipoise, get it?), introducing the ensemble's chemistry. Perfect gateway drug for spiritual jazz newbies.
I'm So High (George Adams, 4:16)
Title says it all – uplifting, soaring vibes without needing substances. Adams' tenor wails ecstatically over funky bass and percussion layers. Peterson's trumpet climbs to the heavens. Haynes drives it with that signature snap-crackle. Feels like floating on a cloud... or maybe just really good coffee.
Tangiers (George Adams, 6:05)
Exotic standout! Latin-tinged percussion (Killian and Johnson earning their keep) evokes North African mystique. Free-ish solos over hypnotic grooves – Adams on flute for ethereal touches, Peterson blazing. Haynes' timpani adds drama. It's the album's psychedelic wanderlust moment – close your eyes and you're in a bazaar, dodging camels while grooving.
Nothing Ever Changes My Love For You (Jack Segal/Jack Fischer, 4:18)
The "ballad" – a standard turned soulful plea. Schroeder's Rhodes shines, horns harmonize tenderly. Uptempo swing with funk undercurrents. Sweet without syrup – Haynes' brushes and light fills keep it breezy. Romantic? Sure. But in this crew's hands, it's got edge.
Satan's Mysterious Feeling (George Adams, 6:35)
Brassy funk juggernaut! Heavy groove, horns blasting like righteous judgment. Adams composed this beast – tense, building to chaotic peaks tempered by melody. Haynes' drums explode here – fills that could wake the devil himself. Psychedelic and trance-inducing; one reviewer called it a "perfect cap-off." Humor note: If Satan's got a mysterious feeling, it's probably jealousy over this track's heat.
You Name It / Lift Every Voice and Sing (9:29)
The epic closer – medley starting free-form ("You Name It" lets everyone stretch wildly), then segueing into the Black national anthem. Spiritual peak: Uplifting horns, percussion frenzy, Haynes anchoring the chaos. Adams vocals? Raw passion. It's cathartic, communal – like a revival meeting with killer solos.
Bonus: Roy's Tune (5:09)
Clavinet funk outtake – breakbeat heaven (strangely unsampled?). Pure groove monster; Haynes' drums pop harder than popcorn. Blaxploitation vibes – imagine Shaft nodding along.
Overall Verdict: A Hip Masterclass in Drumming and Ensemble Fire
Hip Ensemble is Haynes proving age is just a number – blending his bebop roots with '70s innovation: modal freedom, electric keys, Latin spice, and spiritual depth. It's approachable yet adventurous, funky yet profound. Strengths: That killer lineup (Adams and Peterson launchpads to stardom), Haynes' virtuosic yet tasteful drumming (no showboating, just propulsion), and organic grooves that reward repeats. Weaknesses? Short runtime – we want more!
Critics love it: 4/5 stars across boards, hailed as "explosive," "righteous," and a spiritual jazz-funk bridge. In the Mainstream catalog (home to Buddy Terry's gems too), it's a standout. Legacy? Influenced the funk-jazz wave, sampled subtly, and reissued timely (post-Haynes' 2024 passing at 99) as tribute.
Rating: 9/10 – Snap-crackling essential. If you're hip to spiritual jazz or just love drums that dance, drop the needle. Roy Haynes doesn't just keep time – he owns it. Funky, fiery, forever fresh.
Double Bass, Electric Bass, Percussion – Victor Gaskin
Drums – Mickey Roker
Electric Guitar – Roland Prince
Engineer – Carmine Rubino
Photography By – Raymond Ross
Piano, Electric Piano – Stanley Cowell
Tenor Saxophone, Soprano Saxophone, Flute, Percussion – Buddy Terry
Trumpet, Percussion – Cecil Bridgewater
Buddy Terry: The Soulful Newark Sax Sage Who Blew Spiritual Fire (With a Groove)
Edlin "Buddy" Terry (January 30, 1941 – November 29, 2019) was one of those jazz cats who never quite got the superstar spotlight but left a smoky trail of killer recordings and hometown legend status. A lifelong Newark, New Jersey native, Buddy was the epitome of the versatile, hard-blowing tenor (and soprano) saxophonist who could swing soul-jazz grooves one minute and dive into cosmic spiritual quests the next. Think of him as the underrated bridge between gritty organ combos and the elevated vibes of early '70s post-Coltrane jazz – all while keeping one foot firmly in the churchy funk.
Early Days: From Clarinet Kid to Newark Nightlife Prodigy
Born and raised in Newark (aka Brick City), Buddy started young – picking up the clarinet at age 12 in Charlton Street School. By 1955, he switched to tenor sax and was already a teen phenom, sitting in at local clubs like the Howard Bar, Sugar Hill, and Sparky J's. Newark in the '50s and '60s was a jazz hotbed, and Buddy's high school crew at South Side High (later Malcolm X Shabazz) read like a who's-who: organ wizard Larry Young, trumpet firebrand Woody Shaw, and drummer Eddie Gladden. Humor note: Imagine teenage jam sessions with that lineup – homework probably took a backseat to blowing changes!
As a pro, Buddy gigged with big bands around town and became a go-to sideman, playing with heavyweights like Art Blakey and others in the hard bop/soul jazz scene. He was known for his adaptable, gutsy tone – robust on tenor, ethereal on soprano and flute.
The Recording Peak: Prestige to Mainstream Magic (1967–1973)
Buddy's leader discography is compact but potent – two soul-jazz gems on Prestige, then a trilogy of increasingly adventurous albums on Bob Shad's Mainstream label:
Electric Soul! (1967, Prestige): Debut with organ grooves and boogaloo flair.
Natural Soul (1968, Prestige): Featuring his old high school pals Young, Shaw, and Gladden – pure funky joy.
Awareness (1971, Mainstream): Spiritual jazz breakthrough with doubled lineups (e.g., two basses, two drummers) and epic suites.
Pure Dynamite (1972, Mainstream): All-star fusion-leaning blowout with Mwandishi/RTF crew like Woody Shaw, Eddie Henderson, Stanley Clarke, and Airto.
Lean On Him (1973, Mainstream): Gospel-jazz fusion with choir and Bernard Purdie's unbeatable shuffle.
These Mainstream LPs, especially the '71–'73 run, are cult favorites today – reissued and sampled for their deep grooves and cosmic vibes. Buddy assembled monster bands, often doubling instruments for that thick, hypnotic sound. He wasn't afraid to experiment: quoting Wayne Shorter, nodding to African rhythms via Mtume, or turning hymns into funky revivals.
As a sideman, he popped up on sessions with Billy Hawks, Grant Green, and more – always adding that Newark grit.
Later Years: Newark Elder and Swing Revival
After the '70s spotlight faded (jazz economics, amirite?), Buddy stayed active locally. From 2000–2010, he played with Swingadelic, a fun retro-swing band keeping the flames alive. He was honored as one of the "Newark Jazz Elders" – a group of veteran Brick City players preserving the city's rich history (think clubs like the Key Club and Cadillac Lounge).
Buddy passed away at 78 in Maplewood, NJ, leaving behind a legacy as a generous leader, versatile blower, and true hometown hero. WBGO called him "soulful and versatile," and crate-diggers agree: his albums are buried treasures that reward repeated spins.
In a jazz world full of flash, Buddy Terry was the steady flame – blowing with heart, groove, and a touch of the divine. If you're digging spiritual jazz or soul-funk horns, start with Awareness or Pure Dynamite. You'll be "aware" of why Newark still claims him proudly. Rest in power, Buddy – your sax echoes on.
Buddy Terry's Mainstream Trilogy: Unsung Pillars of Early '70s Spiritual Jazz
(With Groove to Spare)
Buddy Terry's three albums for Bob Shad's Mainstream Records—Awareness (1971), Pure Dynamite (1972), and Lean On Him (1973)—represent a compact but explosive peak in his career. Coming off soul-jazz Prestige dates, these LPs mark Terry's bold leap into the spiritual jazz revolution: blending Coltrane's modal quests, Miles' electric edge, African rhythms, and funky soul without ever losing that Newark grit. In an era when labels like Strata-East and Black Jazz were redefining "conscious" jazz, Terry's Mainstream run stands out for its accessibility—deep without being dour, groovy without going commercial. They're cult classics today, beloved by crate-diggers for their hypnotic builds, all-star lineups, and that rare balance of heady spirituality and dancefloor pulse.
The Importance: Capturing a Pivotal Moment in Jazz Evolution
These albums arrived at the perfect storm of post-bop innovation:
Awareness: Often hailed as the strongest, it's pure spiritual jazz—modal suites, Eastern scales, double basses for polyrhythmic depth, and tracks like the epic "Awareness (Suite)" or funky "Abscretions." With Stanley Cowell (Strata-East founder) contributing tunes and Mtume on congas, it echoes Pharoah Sanders' elevation but with more funk. Reviews call it "undiluted spiritual jazz both deep and funky," a bridge from soul-jazz to the Woodstock-generation cool.
Pure Dynamite: The fusion-leaning outlier, featuring a supergroup (Woody Shaw, Eddie Henderson, Stanley Clarke—whose "Quiet Afternoon" debuted here—Joanne Brackeen, Airto, Billy Hart). Extended jams like "Baba Hengates" nod to Herbie Hancock's Mwandishi era, blending post-bop with psychedelic edges. It's subtler than the title suggests but ranks with the best early '70s fusion-post-bop hybrids.
Lean On Him: The gospel pivot—hymns and spirituals jazzed up with choir (including young Dee Dee Bridgewater) and Bernard Purdie's unbeatable drums. Tracks like "Inner Peace" groove hard, fusing church revival with jazz-funk. It's the most "pop" accessible but authentically soulful, anticipating later gospel-jazz crossovers.
Together, they showcase Terry's versatility: from introspective quests to cosmic jams to sanctified joy. Mainstream under Shad gave young players freedom (think Harold Land or Charles Williams parallels), and Terry's trilogy exemplifies this—organic, ensemble-driven, and forward-thinking without pretension. Historic footnote: Clarke credits Terry for first recording his composition, a milestone in the bassist's path to Return to Forever fame.
The Legacy: From Obscurity to Cult Revival
Initially overlooked (Terry never broke big commercially), these albums became "buried treasures" for soul-jazz/spiritual enthusiasts—sought for rare grooves, Purdie breaks, and that elusive '70s vibe. They influenced the spiritual jazz revival: featured in compilations like A Loud Minority: Deep Spiritual Jazz From Mainstream (2010) and Mainstream Funk (2021), highlighting Shad's underrated catalog.
Today, they're essential for fans of Strata-East/Black Jazz eras—rated highly on sites like Rate Your Music (Awareness often tops Terry's discog), praised on Dusty Groove and All About Jazz as "righteous" and "slept-on." Terry's Newark elder status (honored pre-2019 passing) ties them to Brick City's jazz heritage. In short, these three aren't just albums—they're time capsules of jazz waking up to funk, spirit, and freedom. Underrated then, indispensable now. If you're chasing that cosmic groove, start here—you'll emerge more "aware" (and nodding harder).
Buddy Terry's Awareness (1971): Waking Up to Spiritual Jazz with a Funky Groove
1971: The world was dealing with Vietnam winding down, Nixon in the White House, and jazz flipping the script from hard bop to something more... enlightened. Enter Buddy Terry, the soulful Newark tenor/soprano/flute maestro, making his bold leader debut on Mainstream Records with Awareness. After a couple of solid but straight-ahead soul-jazz outings on Prestige (Electric Soul '67, Natural Soul '68), Terry levels up here – diving headfirst into the spiritual jazz wave with Coltrane's Eastern vibes, Miles' electric experiments, and a dash of Sly Stone funk. It's like he attended a yoga retreat with Pharoah Sanders and came back ready to preach through his horn.
This was the first of Terry's three killer Mainstream albums (followed by Pure Dynamite and Lean On Him), produced by the ever-adventurous Bob Shad. Awareness is pure early '70s gold: deep, groovy, hypnotic, and funky without selling out. Think Strata-East meets Black Jazz, but with Mainstream's polish.
The band? A dream team that's basically a spiritual jazz all-stars roster:
The epic opener – a four-part meditation that sets the tone. Starts expansive with Cowell's piano soaring, builds to intense horn dialogues, dips into moody "Babylon," unites in rhythmic ecstasy, and ends humbly. Terry flips between tenor force and soprano serenity. It's Black Jazz vibes all over – deep without dragging. Humor alert: If this doesn't raise your awareness, check your pulse.
Kamili (~8:00)
Hypnotic mid-tempo groover with exotic scales (some say Arabian/Ethiopian nods, à la Mulatu Astatke). Flute floats over congas and electric piano shimmer. Pure trance – reviewers call it "hypnotic" for a reason. Perfect for zoning out... or in. Like a musical massage for your third eye.
Stealin' Gold (Stanley Cowell, ~7:04)
Funkier side emerges! Driving rhythm, Cowell's Rhodes popping, horns trading fiery lines. That double bass interplay steals the show (pun intended). Uptempo joy – you'll be head-nodding like it's 1971 disco, but classier.
Sodom and Gomorrah (~12:20)
The wild one – extended jam with biblical fire (and brimstone solos). Intense builds, free-ish blowing over relentless percussion. Terry wails on tenor, Bridgewater blasts trumpet judgment. It's the album's righteous fury peak – apocalyptic yet danceable. If cities of sin had a soundtrack, this would be it.
Abscretions (Stanley Cowell, ~4:49)
Closer and crowd-pleaser: Short, punchy, ultra-funky Cowell original. Electric piano leads the charge, groove locks in tight. Ends on a high – like a signature tune saying "wake up and boogie." Bonus single edits of "Babylon" and this on reissues for the radio dreamers.
Overall Verdict: A Spiritual Awakening That's Funky Fresh
Awareness nails the balance: soul-jazz roots with forward-thinking spiritual depth. It's restless (Terry hopping instruments), righteous (those themes), and rewarding – organic group interplay over forced fusion. Strengths: Killer rhythm section (double bass + Mtume = unstoppable), Cowell's contributions, and Terry's versatile, emotive leads. Weaknesses: Maybe a tad long in spots if you're not in the mood for enlightenment.
AllMusic gave it 4 stars; modern reviews hail it as an "undisputed buried treasure." If you dig Strata-East, early Black Jazz, or Harold Land's contemporaneous gems, this is essential. Buddy Terry proves he could lead a vision quest without getting lost.
Rating: 8.7/10 – Highly aware-approved. Spin it, and you might just achieve awareness... or at least a killer groove. Namaste and nod along.
Flute, Soprano Saxophone, Tenor Saxophone – Buddy Terry
Percussion – Airto Moreira
Percussion [African] – Mtume
Piano – Kenny Barron
Trumpet – Woody Shaw
Buddy Terry's Pure Dynamite (1972): An Explosive All-Star Jam That's Subtly Nuclear (With a Cosmic Groove)
Ah, 1972 – Nixon's in office, bell-bottoms are mandatory, and jazz is exploding into fusion territory like a supernova on steroids. Enter Newark's own Buddy Terry, the underrated tenor/soprano sax and flute wizard, dropping Pure Dynamite on Mainstream Records. This isn't your grandpa's hard bop; it's post-bop flirting heavily with early fusion, a dash of avant-garde psychedelia, and enough spiritual jazz vibes to make you feel like you're levitating. Think Herbie Hancock's Mwandishi crew meets Freddie Hubbard's groove, but with Buddy as the chill host who lets everyone stretch out without stealing the spotlight.
The title? Bold as brass – "Pure Dynamite" promises fireworks, and it mostly delivers, though it's more like a slow-burning fuse that builds to ecstatic blasts rather than instant BOOM. Terry, coming off his soul-jazzier Awareness (1971), dives deeper into electric keys and extended jams here. It's an overlooked gem, reissued digitally (check Bandcamp or streaming), and perfect for crate-diggers hunting that early '70s cosmic jazz fix.
But the real dynamite? The lineup. Buddy assembled a supergroup that reads like a jazz fantasy draft:
Buddy Terry: Tenor/soprano sax, flute – the leader, blowing with brawny agility.
Woody Shaw & Eddie Henderson: Trumpets/flugelhorn – fire and cosmic flair.
Kenny Barron: Piano – elegant as always.
Joanne Brackeen: Electric piano/piano – exquisite, adding that fusion shimmer.
Stanley Clarke & Mchezaji (Buster Williams?): Bass – young Clarke bringing the thunder (this features one of his early compositions!).
Airto Moreira & Mtume: Percussion – Brazilian spice and African rhythms for that extra polyrhythmic kick.
It's basically the extended Mwandishi family plus Return to Forever/Weather Report all-stars. With this crew, failure wasn't an option – it's like inviting Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman to a pickup game and expecting anything less than epic.
Track-by-Track Breakdown
Quiet Afternoon (Stanley Clarke, 10:09)
Opens serene and reflective, like a lazy Sunday vibe... until the groove kicks in. Clarke's bass anchors it, Airto's percussion dances, and solos from Terry, Henderson, Brackeen, and White build beautifully. It's the "quiet" before the storm – deceptive title, because by the end, it's dynamically charging. Fun fact: Clarke claims this was his first recorded composition. Baby Stanley already slappin'!
Paranoia (Buddy Terry, 10:46)
Moody and swirling, with psychedelic edges – think Wayne Shorter nods (Terry quotes him slyly). Solos fly: Hart's drums rumble, Brackeen's electric piano gets trippy, Shaw blazes on trumpet, Terry wails. It's tense and freeing, like channeling '70s anxieties into cathartic blows. If this track had lyrics, it'd be muttering about wiretaps and black helicopters.
Baba Hengates (Mtume, 17:29)
The epic centerpiece! A 17-minute monster jam with African percussion pulses, Woody Shaw and Clarke stretching wildly, Barron's piano anchoring the chaos. It builds organically – spiritual, rhythmic, almost trance-like. This is where the "pure dynamite" explodes: ensemble freedom meets tight groove. You'll lose track of time... or find enlightenment. Mtume's tune feels like a ritual – pass the talking drum!
"Baba Hengates": The 17-Minute Epic Heart of Pure Dynamite
Ah, "Baba Hengates" – the sprawling, side-long beast that takes up the entire B-side of Buddy Terry's 1972 masterpiece Pure Dynamite. Clocking in at a generous 17:29 (or 17:07 on some pressings – vinyl quirks, amirite?), this track is where the album truly ignites. If the first three tunes are the fuse, this is the full fireworks show: a hypnotic, polyrhythmic ritual that blends spiritual jazz, early fusion, and African percussion into something trance-inducing. Composed by James Mtume (credited for "African percussion" here), it's the longest jam on the record and arguably the most immersive – like a jazz safari that keeps revealing new paths.
First, the name: "Baba Hengates." "Baba" means "father" or "wise elder" in Swahili (and many other languages), often a term of respect. "Hengates"? That's trickier – no clear origin pops up in liner notes or interviews, but given Mtume's deep dive into African rhythms and spirituality (he'd later lead his own Umoja Ensemble with tracks echoing this vibe), it feels like a phonetic nod to an African phrase, a made-up incantation, or perhaps a playful twist on "hang gates" (as in, open the gates to higher consciousness?). Mtume revisited similar territory with his ensemble, recording extended pieces like this one – think of it as a proto-version of his more explicit Afro-centric explorations. Whatever it means, it evokes ancestral wisdom, and the music delivers on that promise.
The Structure: A Slow-Burn Ritual in Three (Loose) Acts
"Baba Hengates" doesn't rush – it's organic, building like a communal ceremony:
The Invocation (Opening Groove, ~0:00–5:00)
It kicks off with Mtume and Airto Moreira layering African percussion and congas over a pulsing bass line from Stanley Clarke (and/or Buster Williams/Mchezaji). Drums from Billy Hart and Lenny White lock in subtly. No horns yet – just rhythm section hypnosis. It's understated but addictive, like the album's saying, "Sit down, we're going on a journey." The polyrhythms overlap in that classic early '70s way: not overly busy, but enough to make your head nod involuntarily.
The Ascension (Solo Build-Up, ~5:00–12:00)
Here comes the fire. Woody Shaw's trumpet erupts first – angular, fiery lines that scream post-bop innovation. Then Buddy Terry on tenor or soprano sax, stretching out with brawny, exploratory wails. Eddie Henderson adds flugelhorn warmth/cosmic flair. Joanne Brackeen's electric piano shimmers psychedelically, while Kenny Barron anchors on acoustic. Solos trade and overlap, building intensity without ever losing the groove. Stanley Clarke gets room to thunder (young RTF-era Clarke slapping early!). It's ensemble freedom meets tight rhythm – pure Mwandishi-sphere magic, but with more earthiness.
The Ecstatic Peak and Release (~12:00–End)
Everything converges: percussion intensifies, horns harmonize in swirling motifs, and it hits trance-like heights. No abrupt end – it fades organically, leaving you blissed out. Humor note: At 17 minutes, this track demands commitment. Put it on during dinner, and you'll either achieve enlightenment or forget the food's burning.
Why It Slaps So Hard
The Personnel Synergy: This supergroup (Herbie's Mwandishi extended family + RTF/Weather Report vibes) clicks perfectly. Mtume's African percussion adds authentic ritual flavor without gimmickry.
The Vibe: Spiritual without preaching, psychedelic without cheesiness. It's in that sweet spot between Herbie Hancock's Crossings, Citizens' Dance of Magic, and Pharoah Sanders' elevation – reflective yet groovy.
Standout Moments: Shaw's trumpet fury, Clarke's bass propulsion, and those endless percussion layers. Terry leads without dominating – generous, like a wise "baba" himself.
Critics (sparse as they are for this gem) call it a highlight alongside "Paranoia," praising the organic builds and freedom. It's not the flashiest track on the album (that might be "Quiet Afternoon"), but it's the deepest – the one you return to for that immersive hit.
In short: "Baba Hengates" is where Pure Dynamite transcends from great session to spiritual journey. Light some incense, crank the volume, and let the gates hang open. You'll emerge 17 minutes later wondering where the time went... or if you've just attended a secret Newark jazz ritual. Highly recommended for headphone meditations or late-night spins.
Overall Verdict: Subtle Explosion in a Velvet Glove
Pure Dynamite lives up to its name with rhythmic complexity that's intricate but never overwhelming – reflective yet down-to-earth, post-bop with fusion edges and avant-garde whispers. It's not as outright funky as some peers, but the organic builds, killer solos, and all-star synergy make it a standout in the early '70s spiritual/fusion wave. Strengths: That insane personnel (seriously, how did Buddy pull this off?), extended jams that breathe, and a vibe that's cosmic without being pretentious. Weaknesses: Only four tracks – we could've used more blasts!
If you love Mwandishi-era Herbie, early Eddie Henderson, or underrated gems like this, hunt it down. It's slept-on for a reason (obscurity), but criminally so. Buddy Terry deserved more spotlight – this album proves he could lead a supernova session.
Rating: 8.5/10 – Pure dynamite indeed, just handle with groove. Light the fuse and let it blow your mind (gently).
01. Lean On Me (Lean On Him) 5:46 02. Holy, Holy, Holy 5:29
03. Climbing Higher Mountains 3:07 04. Amazing Grace 4:42 05. Inner Peace 10:14 06. Precious Lord, Take My Hand 5:36 07. Love Offering 7:24
Bass – Wilbur Bascomb Drums – Bernard Purdie Electric Piano, Piano – Larry Willis Flugelhorn, Trumpet – Eddie Henderson Flute, Saxophone [Soprano, Tenor] – Buddy Terry Guitar – Jay Berliner Organ – Ernie Hayes Percussion – Lawrence Killian Vocals – Alphonse Mouzon, Dee Dee Bridgewater
Buddy Terry's Lean On Him (1973): A Spirited Jazz-Gospel Mashup That's Heaven-Sent
Ah, 1973 – the year of Watergate, bell-bottoms at their widest, and apparently, jazz musicians getting religion. Enter Buddy Terry, a solid tenor/soprano saxophonist from Newark with a resume as a sideman for folks like Art Blakey, and his album Lean On Him on Mainstream Records. This isn't your typical hard-bop blowout or funky soul-jazz groover (though it has elements of both). No, Buddy decided to fuse jazz with gospel, turning traditional hymns and spirituals into swinging, improvisational vehicles – complete with a choir that feels like it wandered in from Sunday service. Think of it as Pharoah Sanders meets Mahalia Jackson, but with Bernard Purdie on drums keeping everyone from floating too far into the ether.
The backstory? As liner notes and Terry himself hinted, this was his take on "pop-gospel" trends, but done more authentically: voices like in church, sax stepping in as the "lead singer." It's spiritual jazz with a capital S, but grounded in funky rhythms. And the personnel? Holy moly – this lineup could make a phone book sound groovy, Vocals from a heavenly crew including Dee Dee Bridgewater (pre-diva stardom), Alphonse Mouzon (yes, the fusion drummer sings!), and Sister Elsie "Peaches" Wilson.
It's like Buddy called in every favor from the Newark jazz scene and threw a revival party in the studio.
Track-by-Track Breakdown:
Lean On Me (Lean On Him) (Bill Withers cover, 5:46)
Kicks off with the hit everyone knows, but jazzed up and sped a tad – like Bill Withers after three espressos. Purdie drops some killer breaks midway, and the choir chimes in soulfully. It's fun, but feels a bit like karaoke at first. Humor alert: If you're leaning on anyone here, it's Purdie to save the day from becoming too syrupy.
Holy, Holy, Holy (5:29)
Traditional hymn gets a soulful gospel treatment. Dee Dee Bridgewater's vocals shine, and Purdie opens with a drum break that could wake the saints. Terry's sax wails over organ swells – pure church revival energy. This one's a banger; imagine your grandma clapping along while head-nodding to funk bass.
Climbing Higher Mountains (3:07)
Short and punchy spiritual. Uptempo groove with call-and-response vocals. Feels like a quick sermon interlude – uplifting, but over before you get too comfy. Cute, like a gospel puppy.
Amazing Grace (4:42)
The classic everyone attempts. Terry's flute floats ethereally, backed by gentle percussion and choir. It's beautiful and reflective, avoiding cheese by keeping it jazzy. Touching without being treacly – grace indeed, especially if you've heard bad versions.
Inner Peace (10:14)
The standout epic! This original grooves hard – pure dancefloor jazz-funk with killer rhythm section interplay (Bascomb and Purdie are unstoppable). Terry stretches out on tenor, Henderson adds trumpet fire, and it builds to ecstatic heights. Critics call it a "killer tune," and they're right. If the album has a peak (pun intended), this is it. You'll find inner peace... or at least want to spin it again.
Precious Lord, Take My Hand (5:36)
Another traditional, slow and prayerful. Vocals lead, sax supports tenderly. Emotional depth here – feels sincere, like a late-night testimony. No jokes; this one's for quiet reflection.
Love Offering (7:24)
Closes with Terry's original – mid-tempo groover blending jazz improv and gospel fervor. Solid solos all around, choir building to a joyful close. It's like tithing with tip-top musicianship.
Overall Verdict: Spiritual Funk That Mostly Delivers
Lean On Him is a bold experiment: gospel meets jazz-funk in the early '70s spiritual jazz wave (think Lonnie Liston Smith or Pharoah's Elevation). It's not always "successful" in seamless fusion – some tracks lean (heh) more churchy, others more groovy – but the highs are heavenly. The rhythm section is unbeatable, vocals add authentic soul (shoutout young Dee Dee!), and Terry's arrangements keep it natural rather than forced.
Strengths: Killer grooves (especially "Inner Peace"), top-tier players, and that Sunday revival vibe without preaching. Weaknesses: A touch uneven; the covers can feel safe compared to the originals.
If you dig spiritual jazz, soul-jazz with gospel twists, or just Purdie's drums making everything better, this is a hidden gem. It's reflective yet danceable, complex but accessible – and in 2025, with reissues floating around (check Bandcamp or streaming), it's easier to find than enlightenment.
Rating: 8/10 – Worth leaning on for a spin. Just don't expect it to solve all your problems... unless your problem is needing more funk in your faith. Amen to that!
Bass Guitar, Lead Vocals, Percussion – Ehima Ottay
Chorus – Amoia, Bassey Black, Bayo
Congas – Friday Jumbo
Drums – Candido Obajimi, Mike Umoh (tracks: A1, A2)
Guitar, Lead Vocals, Percussion – Sam Abiloye
Keyboards – Collins
Organ – Sega Gafatchi
Tenor Saxophone – Chike Ekwe
Trumpet – Idowu Ogunbamowo
Buckle up, groove enthusiasts—this one's a bit of a wild card. Released in 1978 on the obscure Nigerian imprint Shanu Olu Records (catalog SOS 035), Freedom Anthem is credited to S. Job Organization (a cheeky contraction of the original SJOB Movement). But here's the punchline: according to Prince Bola Agbana himself—the drummer, vocalist, and spiritual heart of the original quartet—this album is basically the band's "apocryphal" third child. Born without the full core lineup (no Prince Bola on drums/vocals, no Jonnie Woode on cosmic Moog/keys), it's more like a funky cousin crashing the family reunion with session players in tow. Remaining members Spark Abiloye and Blackie Ottay pushed it out to keep the momentum going after the egalitarian dream started fraying. Think of it as the SJOB side project that forgot to invite half the band to the studio.
Still, what we get is deep, dark, and undeniably funky—a shift from the sunny, psychedelic spaciness of Friendship Train toward something moodier, more political, and tinged with reggae riddims. Influences from Black America (think emerging disco-funk edges) mix with local folk elements and afrobeat grit. No Odion Iruoje production polish here; it's rawer, like a late-night Lagos jam session that got serious about continental unity. Seven tracks across about 35-40 minutes, with the music credited collectively to "S. Job Organisation." Reissued in 2016 by PMG (Austria), it found new life among crate-diggers who love that "hidden gem" vibe.
Track-by-Track Breakdown
Side A: The Call to Arms
Oya
Opens with invoking Oya (the Yoruba goddess of winds and change—fitting for a "freedom" theme). Heavy percussion, folk-infused melodies, and a reggae-ish sway that feels like Bob Marley teleported to Benin City. It's hypnotic and earthy, blending traditional sounds with funk bass. Humorously, it's the track that says, "Change is coming... but let's dance slowly about it."
My Friend (aka "My Friend (African Reggae)") (~6:17)
The standout—a smooth, dubby reggae groover with heartfelt lyrics about friendship (ironic, given the band's splintering). Laid-back rhythms, echoing vocals, and a bassline that slinks like it's avoiding drama. This one's been YouTube gold for afro-reggae fans. Funny bit: In a band built on equality and pals, this feels like a passive-aggressive postcard: "My friend... where'd you go?"
Ayamato (~5:11)
Political fire ignites here—"Ayamato" (roughly "Stand up for your rights") is a direct call for Africans to rise against oppression. Darker funk grooves, urgent horns, and lyrics that pack more punch than the earlier albums' philosophy. It's the album's wake-up call, funky yet fierce. Chuckle-worthy: Finally, some Fela-level activism... from the chillest collective ever.
Side B: Deeper into the Darkness
Kukelu
Mid-tempo funk with intricate percussion and layered guitars. Mysterious vibes, perhaps drawing on folk tales—it's groovy but enigmatic, like the band teasing secrets. Solid jammer that keeps the energy simmering without boiling over.
Efin Ogiso
Another deep cut with possible Edo/Benin influences (Ogiso referring to ancient kings). Smoky, atmospheric funk with reggae dub echoes and swirling instrumentation. It's the moodiest track, perfect for late-night contemplation... or plotting your own mini-revolution.
Freedom Anthem
The title track—a rousing, horn-driven call to arms with anthemic choruses demanding liberty. Funky breakdowns, collective chants, and that dark edge make it empowering. Humor alert: It's like the band shouting "Freedom!" right as their own freedom (from each other) was pulling them apart.
Wombiliki
Closer with more folk-reggae fusion—"Wombiliki" incorporates local sounds into a bouncy, infectious rhythm. Lightens the mood at the end, like a tinge of hope after the heavier messages. Danceable and fun, it's the track that reminds you: even in dark funk, there's room to wiggle.
Overall Sound and Legacy
Compared to the Moog-heavy psychedelia of the proper SJOB albums, Freedom Anthem goes deeper and darker: less cosmic synths, more raw percussion, reggae/dub infusions, and overt political bite. It's still unmistakably Nigerian afro-funk—tight ensemble playing, polyrhythms for days—but feels like a transitional beast, bridging highlife roots with emerging global black sounds. Without Bola's charismatic vocals or Jonnie's spacey keys, it loses some signature sparkle, but gains grit and urgency.
With a touch of humor: This is the album where the "movement" became a splinter group, proving that too much democracy in a band is like too much pepper in jollof—exciting, but eventually someone leaves the kitchen. Prince Bola disowning it adds legendary drama: "Not a real SJOB album!" Yet, it endures as a cult favorite, reissued and praised for its "deep, dark funk" on platforms like Bandcamp and Discogs. Original pressings? Rarer than an egalitarian band that lasts forever.
Freedom Anthem might be the black sheep (or apocryphal cousin) of the SJOB family, but it's a damn funky one—darker, more political, and reggae-kissed than its predecessors. Essential for afro-funk completists chasing that raw 1978 Lagos edge. Just don't tell Prince Bola you love it more than Friendship Train... he might revoke your groove privileges!
