Barney Wilen - 1972 - Moshi

Barney Wilen

1972

Moshi

01. Moshi

02. Guilde's Song To Binkirri

03. Gardenia Devil

04. 14 Temps

05. Bamako Koulikaro

06. Afrika Freak Out

07. Zombizar

08. El Hadji

09. Chechaoun

10. Tindi Abalessa

11. El Hadji

12. Balandji In Bobo

13. Sannu Ne Gheinyo

14. El Hadji

Recorded: 1969-1970 in Africa.

Barney Wilen: Tenor Saxophone

Pierre Chaze: Electric Guitar

Michel Graillier: Electric Piano

Didier Léon: Lute

Christian Tritsch: Bass

Simon Boissezon: Bass

Micheline Pelzer: Drums

Caroline de Bendern: Vocals

Babeth Lamy: Vocals

Laurence Apithi: Vocals

Marva Broome: Vocals

Plus uncredited African musicians

Around 1969-1970 Barney Wilen assembled a team of filmmakers, technicians and musicians to travel to Africa for the purpose of recording the music of the native pygmy tribes. Upon returning to Paris two years later, he created Moshi, cut with French and African players. Documenting this African journey, Wilen's partner Caroline de Bendern made a movie titled À L’intention De Mlle Issoufou À Bilma which was first released as part of the 2017 reissue of Moshi. In 2012 more material from the project was released as Moshi Too.

Barney Wilen’s Moshi, recorded between 1969 and 1970 and released in 1972 by Saravah Records, is a wild, genre-defying beast of an album that feels like a fever dream cooked up in a Saharan sandstorm. This double LP, reissued in 2017 by Souffle Continu Records with a bonus DVD and lavish booklet, is the result of Wilen’s ambitious two-year expedition across Africa to record indigenous music, only to return to Paris and churn out a psychedelic, avant-jazz-funk collage that’s as bewildering as it is beguiling. Priced like a rare truffle in its original form (good luck finding one under $500), Moshi has earned a cult following among crate-diggers and jazz adventurers alike. But does it live up to the hype, or is it just a pretentious mishmash from a jazzman who got lost in the desert and found a tape recorder? 

Barney Wilen (1937–1996), a French saxophonist born in Nice, was no stranger to the jazz elite before Moshi. A prodigy who played with Miles Davis on the Ascenseur pour l’échafaud soundtrack in 1957, Wilen rubbed shoulders with giants like Thelonious Monk and Art Blakey during the 1950s. His early work was rooted in hard bop, but by the 1960s, he was flirting with free jazz and psychedelic rock, as evidenced by albums like Dear Prof. Leary. In 1969, at the height of his restless creativity, Wilen set off for Africa with a motley crew of filmmakers, technicians, and musicians, including his partner Caroline de Bendern, aiming to capture the music of Pygmy tribes and other indigenous sounds. The result was Moshi (a Fulani term for a trance-like state), a project that blends field recordings with avant-jazz, funk, and blues, reflecting Wilen’s fascination with non-Western music. After Moshi’s commercial flop, Wilen retreated from recording, dabbling in punk and event production in Nice before returning to jazz in the 1980s. He died in 1996, leaving Moshi as his most audacious, if divisive, legacy.

Wilen assembled a diverse crew for Moshi, blending French jazz stalwarts with African musicians and vocalists. The lineup is a testament to the album’s cross-cultural ambitions, though some players remain shadowy figures in jazz history.

Barney Wilen (Tenor Saxophone): The ringleader, Wilen’s tenor sax is the album’s guiding force, weaving through free jazz squalls, bluesy moans, and hypnotic grooves with a restless, searching energy.

Pierre Chaze (Electric Guitar): Chaze’s guitar work ranges from funky riffs to dissonant, psychedelic flourishes, adding a rock edge that keeps Moshi grounded yet unpredictable.

Michel Graillier (Electric Piano): A respected French jazz pianist, Graillier brings a shimmering, atmospheric quality to the album, his electric piano providing harmonic depth and occasional moments of serenity.

Didier Léon (Lute): Léon’s lute contributions add an exotic texture, bridging African traditions with the album’s avant-garde leanings. His presence is subtle but crucial to the album’s global vibe.

Christian Tritsch and Simon Boissezon (Bass): The dual bassists provide a pulsating foundation, with Tritsch leaning into funky grooves and Boissezon offering a more traditional jazz pulse.

Micheline Pelzer (Drums): Pelzer’s drumming is loose and expressive, driving the album’s rhythmic intensity with a free-spirited approach that complements the improvisational chaos.

Caroline de Bendern, Babeth Lamy, Laurence Apithi, Marva Broome (Vocals): This vocal quartet, led by de Bendern (Wilen’s partner and a filmmaker on the African expedition), adds haunting chants and soulful wails, blending African-inspired vocals with experimental flourishes.

This ensemble, a mix of jazz pros and cross-cultural experimenters, creates a sound that’s as eclectic as a bazaar and twice as disorienting.

Moshi spans 14 tracks across two LPs, clocking in at roughly 80 minutes. It’s a sprawling, collage-like work that juxtaposes African field recordings with jazz-funk, free improvisation, and ambient soundscapes. Below is a track-by-track breakdown, laced with a touch of irony for those moments when Wilen’s ambition outpaces coherence.

1. Moshi (16:09)

The title track kicks things off with a 16-minute epic that’s equal parts Eddie Harris funk and Pharoah Sanders spiritual odyssey. Wilen’s tenor sax wails over a driving bassline from Tritsch, with Pelzer’s drums and Chaze’s electric guitar adding a gritty, almost rock-like edge. Field recordings of African chants and ambient sounds weave in and out, creating a sense of place that’s both vivid and disorienting. It’s a bold opener, but at times it feels like Wilen’s trying to cram an entire continent into one track. Patience is required, but the groove is infectious, and the sax solos are worth the price of admission. Just don’t expect a tidy resolution—this is jazz, not pop.

2. Guilde’s Song to Binkirri (3:23)

This shorter track feels like a palate cleanser after the marathon of “Moshi.” A gentle, almost pastoral piece, it features de Bendern’s vocals and Léon’s lute, evoking a campfire singalong in the Sahel. Graillier’s electric piano adds a dreamy quality, but the track’s brevity makes it feel like a sketch rather than a fully realized idea. It’s charming, if a bit like stumbling into a folk song at a jazz festival.

3. Gardenia Devil (5:50)

Here, Wilen leans into bluesy, funk-inflected territory, with Chaze’s guitar laying down a riff that wouldn’t be out of place on a Grateful Dead live cut. The rhythm section (Tritsch and Pelzer) keeps things tight, while Wilen’s sax slinks through like a mischievous spirit. The title suggests something sinister, but the vibe is more playful than demonic. It’s a highlight, though one wonders if Wilen was winking at his own pretensions with that name.

4. 14 Temps (3:25)

A brief, frenetic burst of free jazz, “14 Temps” is all jagged sax lines and chaotic percussion. Pelzer’s drums sound like they’re trying to escape, while Graillier’s electric piano adds a layer of cosmic unease. It’s exhilarating but exhausting, like trying to keep up with a hyperactive toddler in a music shop. Not for the faint of heart.

5. Bamako Koulikaro (4:12)

This track dives back into African rhythms, with field recordings of chants and percussion layered over a funky bassline. Wilen’s sax takes a backseat, letting the vocalists (Lamy, Apithi, Broome) shine with soulful, call-and-response vocals. It’s a vibrant, danceable cut that feels like a street party in Mali—until the ambient sounds creep in, reminding you this is still an avant-garde experiment. Fun, but it leaves you wondering where the party went.

6. Afrika Freak Out (5:46)

The title says it all. This is Wilen at his most unhinged, with a Pharoah Sanders-esque sax meltdown over a frenzied rhythm section. Chaze’s guitar goes full acid-rock, and the African percussion samples add a primal energy. It’s thrilling, but also a bit like being stuck in a psychedelic traffic jam—exhilarating until you realize there’s no exit. A standout for those who like their jazz with a side of chaos.

7. Zombizar (7:17)

“Zombizar” is a slow-burning, hypnotic groove that feels like a voodoo ritual meets a jazz-funk jam. Tritsch’s bass and Pelzer’s drums lock into a trance-like pulse, while Wilen’s sax weaves haunting melodies. The field recordings here are particularly evocative, with distant chants adding an eerie vibe. It’s one of the album’s strongest tracks, though the title sounds like a B-movie Wilen might’ve giggled at while naming.

8. El Hadji (0:26)

The first of three “El Hadji” interludes, this 26-second snippet is a field recording of a Muslim prayer or chant. It’s a stark, unadorned moment that feels like a postcard from Wilen’s travels. Nice, but it’s over before you can say “What was that?”

9. Chechaoun (11:55)

A sprawling, meditative track, “Chechaoun” is where Wilen’s spiritual jazz influences shine. Graillier’s electric piano creates a shimmering backdrop, while Wilen’s sax explores modal territory with a Coltrane-like intensity. The rhythm section keeps things loose, and the African vocal samples add depth. It’s a gorgeous, immersive piece, though at nearly 12 minutes, it tests your attention span. Perfect for zoning out, less so for casual listening.

10. Tindi Abalessa (5:07)

This track leans into a bluesy, almost rock-like groove, with Chaze’s guitar taking center stage. Wilen’s sax is restrained, letting the rhythm section and vocals drive the mood. It’s accessible and soulful, but it feels like a detour from the album’s more experimental moments. Think of it as the band taking a breather at a roadside diner.

11. El Hadji (0:22)

Another brief interlude, this second “El Hadji” is another slice of field-recorded vocals. It’s atmospheric but fleeting, like a Polaroid that didn’t fully develop. Wilen’s clearly trying to weave a narrative, but these snippets feel more like teasers than full chapters.

12. Balandji in Bobo (3:04)

A lively, percussion-heavy track, “Balandji in Bobo” is built around African rhythms and chants, with Wilen’s sax adding jazzy flourishes. It’s upbeat and infectious, though the abrupt shifts between field recordings and studio jams can feel jarring. It’s like flipping between a documentary and a jam session on your TV remote.

13. Sannu Ne Gheinyo (3:24)

This track is a mellow, vocal-driven piece with a strong African folk influence. The vocalists take the lead, with minimal instrumentation from the band. It’s a beautiful, understated moment, though it feels more like a field recording with jazz garnish than a fully integrated track. Lovely, but it leaves you wanting more Wilen.

14. El Hadji (0:21)

The final “El Hadji” interlude is, you guessed it, another brief vocal snippet. At this point, these interludes feel like Wilen’s attempt to remind us, “Hey, I was in Africa!” They’re evocative but repetitive, like getting the same postcard in the mail three times.

Moshi is a bold, boundary-pushing work that defies easy categorization. Its fusion of avant-jazz, African rhythms, funk, and field recordings creates a soundscape that’s both immersive and disorienting, a testament to Wilen’s ambition and curiosity. The album’s strengths lie in its best tracks—“Moshi,” “Zombizar,” and “Chechaoun”—where the blend of studio improvisation and African elements feels organic and inspired. Wilen’s sax work is consistently compelling, balancing technical prowess with emotional depth, while the ensemble’s eclectic contributions add color and texture.

However, Moshi isn’t flawless. The collage-like structure can feel directionless at times, with some tracks (like the “El Hadji” interludes) serving more as atmosphere than substance. The album’s length and experimental nature make it a challenging listen, even for seasoned jazz fans, and its reliance on field recordings can feel like a gimmick when not fully integrated. Compared to spiritual jazz landmarks like Pharoah Sanders’ The Creator Has a Master Plan, Moshi is less cohesive but equally adventurous, a snapshot of an artist pushing boundaries at the expense of accessibility.

The 2017 reissue, with its remastered audio, 20-page booklet, and bonus DVD of de Bendern’s film À l’intention de Mlle Issoufou à Bilma, elevates the album’s historical value, offering context for Wilen’s African journey. Yet, the original’s rarity (and exorbitant price) adds a layer of mystique that the music itself doesn’t always justify. It’s a fascinating artifact, but not quite the masterpiece some claim.

Moshi emerged during a period of global musical exploration, when jazz artists like Don Cherry and Yusef Lateef were incorporating non-Western influences into their work. Wilen’s African expedition, undertaken in 1969–1970, reflects the era’s fascination with cultural “otherness,” though it risks the exoticism that plagued similar projects. The album’s blend of avant-jazz, funk, and African music places it in conversation with the 1970s French avant-garde and the broader “world music” movement, though its commercial failure relegated it to cult status until its rediscovery. The accompanying film and field recordings add a documentary layer, making Moshi as much an ethnographic project as a musical one.

Barney Wilen’s Moshi is a thrilling, maddening, and utterly unique album that captures a moment of fearless experimentation. It’s not for everyone—its sprawling structure and eclectic influences demand patience and an open mind. Tracks like “Moshi” and “Zombizar” showcase Wilen at his most inspired, blending African rhythms with jazz-funk in a way that feels both alien and earthy. The ensemble, from Graillier’s shimmering keys to Chaze’s gritty guitar, brings the project to life, though the field recordings sometimes feel like an afterthought. Is Moshi a masterpiece? Not quite—it’s too messy for that. But it’s a bold, beautiful mess, a sonic postcard from a jazzman who dared to wander off the map. Just don’t expect it to hold your hand or make sense on the first listen.