Thursday, August 21, 2025

Kenny Cox - 1974 - Clap Clap! The Joyful Noise

Kenny Cox
1974
Clap Clap! The Joyful Noise




01. Clap Clap! The Joyful Noise 7:25
02. Samba de Romance 5:21
03. Island Song 9:12
04. Lost My Love 4:26
05. Beyond The Dream 13:22

Guitars, Bass Guitar – Ron English
Backing Vocals – Fito Foster
Drums – Victor Reeves
Drums, Percussion – Ronald Johnsons
Electric Guitar – Skeets Curry (tracks: A1)
Soprano Saxophone, Flute – Buzz Jones
Vocals – Ursula Walker
Keyboards - Kenny cox

Recorded May-June 1974 and February-March 1975 at STRATA SOUND STUDIOS, 45 Seldon, Detroit.



Kenny Cox, a Detroit-based jazz pianist and keyboardist, was a key figure in the city's vibrant jazz scene during the 1960s and 1970s. He founded the independent label Strata Records in 1969, which included a recording studio and concert gallery, aiming for creative and financial autonomy for Afro-American musicians away from major industry players. Strata released several albums before folding in 1975, inspiring similar ventures like Strata-East in New York. "Clap Clap! The Joyful Noise" was recorded between May-June 1974 and February-March 1975 at Strata Sound Studios in Detroit but remained unreleased until 2012, when DJ Amir (of Kon & Amir) acquired the catalog rights and issued it via his 180 Proof Records label. The 2013 vinyl release was a limited-edition remaster (1,000 numbered copies on 180-gram vinyl in a gatefold jacket), marking it as a "lost" gem excavated after nearly 40 years.

The album draws heavily from Latin and Caribbean influences, reflecting Cox's fascination with regions he had never visited, emphasizing themes of joy, vigor, and living in the moment. Cox handles Fender Rhodes, Hohner D6 Clavinet, Mellotron, and ARP Odyssey synthesizer, creating a blend of jazz, Latin rhythms, and spacey, futuristic elements. Supporting musicians include Ursula Walker on vocals, Ronald Johnson and Nengue Hernandez on percussion, Buzz Jones on soprano sax, and Charles Moore on flugelhorn. The sound evokes a summery, feel-good vibe, with laid-back grooves that wash over the listener, incorporating bossa nova, salsa, and spiritual jazz touches reminiscent of artists like Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea, and Flora Purim.

"Clap Clap! The Joyful Noise" is a five-track album spread across a double-LP format, totaling around 40 minutes. It embodies a "joyful noise" through its warm, inviting production—think bottled sunshine with effortless musicianship that feels timeless, as if recorded yesterday despite its 1970s origins. The style merges post-bop jazz with Latin percussion, funky horns, and electronic experimentation, creating a mellow yet vibrant exploration of grooves. Influences range from Brazilian bossa (e.g., Bebeto's self-titled debut) to cosmic spiritual jazz (e.g., Pharoah Sanders) and fusion (e.g., Return to Forever-era Chick Corea or George Duke). The album's nonchalance sets a tone of dreamy strings at walking speed, interspersed with furious Rhodes and horn solos, making it a rare groove artifact that prioritizes healing and positivity over aggression.

Cox's liner notes highlight the music's inspiration from Caribbean and Latin cultures, permeated with a vigor declaring "Life’s best moment is today." This manifests in light, breezy arrangements that prioritize space and synergy among players, resulting in loose, relaxed tracks that shimmy with understated dexterity. The production, remastered digitally for the 2013 release, preserves the analog warmth while enhancing clarity.


The tracks are sequenced to build a cohesive, sun-drenched narrative, starting with upbeat joy and evolving into introspective depth. Here's a breakdown:

Clap Clap! The Joyful Noise (7:25)
The opener sets a perfect tone with tinkling keys riding a loping bassline, bubbling sea sounds underneath, evoking a beachside reverie—sun-blinded and surf-ready. Percussion by Johnson and Hernandez adds rhythmic vitality, while Ursula Walker's light, breezy vocals emerge around the five-minute mark, jazzifying salsa elements. It's pure joy, reminiscent of Stanley Turrentine's "Storm," with a nonchalant warmth that fades out like rolling waves. This track encapsulates the album's healing ethos, bottled sunshine in musical form.

Samba de Romance (5:21)
Continuing the Latin theme, acoustic guitar licks tumble alongside keys, with spacey synth pads floating ethereally and a pulsing bottom end driving the melody. It bridges jazz and late-60s space-age sounds via quirky string arrangements and a pulsating Rhodes solo. The bossa-inspired groove recalls bucolic Brazilian classics, effortlessly summery and inviting.

Island Song (9:12)
This mid-album highlight breaks out flugelhorn (Charles Moore) for fiercely funky blowing, with rattling percussion creating a mellow exploration of shapes and shimmies. It delves into salsa mode with great horn solos, including Buzz Jones on soprano sax, before Rhodes takes center stage. The players vibe loosely, kicking back in an effortlessly funky, timeless manner—feel-good music at its core.

Lost My Love (4:26)
A lighter bossa groove with exotic chords echoing standards like "Save Your Love For Me" or "Feel Like Makin’ Love." Cox's multi-keyboard work shines, and a 2022 remix by DJ Amir and Re.Decay updates it with disco drums and hip keys while staying true to the original's effortless charm. It's concise yet evocative, blending nostalgia with forward-thinking production.

Beyond The Dream (13:22)
The epic closer, written by Maria Martin, starts introspectively with Flora Purim-like vocals mixed into cosmic spirituals (Pharoah Sanders vibes), before exploding into carnevalesque energy. It equals Chick Corea's fusion intensity and Herbie Hancock/George Duke arrangements, with a vocal flourish proclaiming "love is for you and me." Meditative at first, it builds to a triumphant, life-affirming climax—love as the ultimate message.


Critics hail "Clap Clap! The Joyful Noise" as an unmissable rarity, a rough diamond unearthed from the rare-groove mine, destined for countless collections. It's praised for its timeless appeal, blending warmth and dexterity into an antidote to negativity—music that heals with love, laughter, and groove. Not just for Rhodes enthusiasts, its luxury reissue format elevates it as a collector's item, with Latin vigor making it essential for jazz-fusion fans.

On social media, the album sees niche appreciation, with French radio station FIP frequently playing tracks like "Lost My Love" and "Samba de Romance" in 2023, indicating ongoing airplay. Listeners spin it alongside electronic soul compilations, underscoring its eclectic vibe. Overall, it's celebrated as a holy trinity of groove (Cox, Amir, and reissue labels), a beautiful testament to joy in turbulent times.

In summary, this album is a masterful, overlooked fusion of jazz and Latin soul—timeless, uplifting, and richly deserving of its rediscovery. If you're into spiritual jazz or rare grooves, it's a must-listen that rewards repeated plays with its subtle depths and infectious positivity.

Almendra - 1968 - Amendra

Almendra
1968
Amendra



01. Muchacha (Ojos De Papel)
02. Color Humano
03. Figuración
04. Ana No Duerme
05. Fermín
06. Plegaria Para Un Niño Dormido
07. A Estos Hombres Tristes
08. Que El Viento Borró Tus Manos
09. Laura Va

Bass, Flute, Vocals – Emilio
Drums, Piano, Vocals – Rodolfo
Guitar, Organ, Vocals – Edelmiro
Organ – Santiago Giacobbe (tracks: A4)
Vocals, Guitar, Harmonica – Luis Alberto



The Nutty Saga of Almendra: Argentina’s Rock Pioneers

Picture Buenos Aires in the late 1960s: mate flowing, tango in the air, and a bunch of shaggy-haired teens deciding to rewrite the rules of rock. Enter Almendra, the band that cracked open the Argentine rock nacional scene like a walnut under a sledgehammer. Formed in 1967, this quartet—Luis Alberto Spinetta, Edelmiro Molinari, Emilio Del Guercio, and Rodolfo García—became the poster boys for a generation of dreamers, poets, and kids who wanted to stick it to the man with guitars instead of protest signs. From their Belgrano beginnings to their status as Argentina’s rock royalty, complete with the chaos, camaraderie, and occasional mate-fueled meltdowns that made them legends.

The Origin Story: Kids from Belgrano with Big Dreams

Almendra sprouted in 1967 in the leafy, middle-class neighborhood of Belgrano, Buenos Aires, where teenagers were more likely to be found sipping mate than staging revolutions. Luis Alberto Spinetta, a skinny, bookish 17-year-old with a poet’s soul, was the ringleader. He’d been messing around in school bands like Los Larkins and Los Sbirros, covering Beatles and Stones tunes, but he wanted something more—something that screamed “Buenos Aires” instead of “Liverpool.” Enter his childhood pals: Emilio Del Guercio, the bassist with a knack for melody; Rodolfo García, the drummer who kept things steady; and Edelmiro Molinari, the guitarist whose solos could make your hair stand up like a startled guanaco.

The four bonded over a shared love of music, literature, and a vague sense that the world was theirs to conquer. They named the band Almendra (Spanish for “almond”) after a line from a poem Spinetta misheard, which is peak teenage logic—pick a name that sounds cool, even if it’s a bit nutty. By 1967, Argentina’s rock scene was a fledgling thing, dominated by cover bands and English lyrics. Almendra said, “Nah, let’s sing in Spanish about our lives,” and thus began their quest to make rock as porteño as a milanesa sandwich.

The Rise: From Garage Jams to Rock Nacional Pioneers

Almendra’s early days were pure DIY chaos. They rehearsed in basements, borrowed gear, and played gigs at school dances and local dives, where half the audience was probably just there for the empanadas. Their big break came in 1968 when they landed a deal with RCA Vik, thanks to producer Ricardo Kleinman, who saw potential in their weird mix of folk, rock, tango, and psychedelia. Their debut single, “Tema de Pototo (Para saber cómo es la soledad),” dropped in June 1968, a moody ballad that hit the charts and made Buenos Aires teens swoon. It was like Spinetta was singing directly to their angsty souls.

Their self-titled debut album, Almendra (November 1968), was a game-changer. With tracks like “Muchacha (ojos de papel)” and “Color humano,” it blended poetic lyrics with melodies that were both delicate and explosive. The album’s iconic cover—a crying man with a toy arrow through his head, drawn by Spinetta—was so bizarre it made record store clerks double-take. Recorded in RCA’s studios with minimal gear (think tinny mics and amps that buzzed like angry bees), the album captured the band’s raw energy. It sold modestly at first—around 10,000 copies—but its influence was seismic, earning them a cult following and the title of rock nacional’s founding fathers.

By 1969, Almendra was playing bigger venues, like the Instituto Di Tella and early rock festivals, where Spinetta’s intense stage presence and Molinari’s wild solos turned heads. They were the coolest kids in Buenos Aires, but cracks were forming. Spinetta’s perfectionism clashed with Molinari’s free-spirited vibe, and the band’s relentless schedule—gigs, rehearsals, and the pressure to top their debut—started to feel like a mate overdose.

The Breakup: When the Nut Cracked

By 1970, Almendra was falling apart faster than a poorly rolled empanada. Spinetta, ever the restless artist, wanted to push the band into weirder, more experimental territory, while Molinari leaned toward heavier, bluesier sounds. Del Guercio and García were caught in the middle, probably wishing they could just play mate pong and call it a day. The band’s second album, Almendra II (1970), a double LP, was a sprawling mess of brilliance and chaos, with tracks like “Rutas argentinas” showing their ambition but also their fraying unity. Tensions boiled over during a disastrous tour, and in September 1970, Almendra split up, leaving fans crying into their mate gourds.

Post-breakup, each member took their own path, like rock star Avengers scattering after a mission. Spinetta went soul-searching in Brazil, Europe, and the US, then formed Pescado Rabioso, a grittier outfit that gave us Artaud (1973). Molinari launched Color Humano, channeling his guitar wizardry into psychedelic rock. Del Guercio and García teamed up with other projects, including Aquelarre, before reuniting with Spinetta for later ventures. The breakup was messy, but it birthed a new wave of Argentine bands, proving Almendra’s influence was bigger than their short lifespan.

The Reunion: Nutty Nostalgia

Fast-forward to 1979, when nostalgia hit Buenos Aires like a wave of dulce de leche. Almendra reunited for a series of concerts, including a legendary show at Obras Sanitarias, where 30,000 fans packed in to hear “Muchacha” live. The reunion album, El Valle Interior (1980), was a solid effort but lacked the debut’s magic—think of it as a sequel that’s fun but not Star Wars level. The band toured briefly, but old tensions resurfaced, and they split again in 1981. Still, those reunion gigs cemented their legend, with  fans recalling how their parents wept during “Plegaria para un niño dormido.”

The Members: Biographies with a Wink

Let’s meet the nutty quartet who made Almendra a household name in Argentina.

Luis Alberto Spinetta (vocals, guitar, songwriting, resident genius): Born January 23, 1950, “El Flaco” was the skinny poet who dreamed bigger than a Buenos Aires skyline. Raised in Belgrano, he was a bookworm obsessed with Rimbaud, Van Gogh, and The Beatles. By 15, he was writing songs that made his teachers wonder if he was okay. Almendra was his first big canvas, but his restless spirit led to Pescado Rabioso, Invisible, Spinetta Jade, and a solo career that spanned decades. Known for his cryptic lyrics and soulful voice, Spinetta was Argentina’s rock shaman until his death in 2012. Picture him as a guy who’d write a masterpiece on a napkin, then lose it in a mate spill. Fun fact: He once painted a mural on his bedroom wall, probably while humming “Muchacha.”

Edelmiro Molinari (guitar, vocals, shredder supreme): Born in 1947, Molinari was the band’s secret weapon, a guitarist whose solos could make a tango dancer jealous. Raised in Buenos Aires, he brought a raw, psychedelic edge to Almendra, especially on tracks like “Color humano.” After the breakup, he formed Color Humano, then moved to the US in the 1980s, where he kept a lower profile, jamming in obscurity like a rock star hermit. Think of him as the guy who’d show up to rehearsals with a new riff and a mischievous grin. Anecdote: During one session, he reportedly cranked his amp so loud it blew out a studio speaker, earning a scolding from the engineer and a high-five from Spinetta.

Emilio Del Guercio (bass, vocals, mate enthusiast): Born in 1950, Emilio was Spinetta’s childhood buddy, a bassist with a knack for melodic lines that grounded Almendra’s wilder moments. His soft-spoken demeanor and folk sensibility made him the band’s glue, though he probably spent half his time refereeing Spinetta and Molinari. Post-Almendra, he joined Pescado Rabioso for Artaud and pursued solo work, always with a mate gourd in hand. He’s like the bassist who’d bring homemade alfajores to rehearsals to keep everyone chill. Anecdote: Emilio once got lost on the way to a gig, arriving just in time to plug in and play, claiming he was “following the rhythm of the city.”

Rodolfo García (drums, percussion, steady hand): Born in 1946, Rodolfo was the oldest and the band’s anchor, keeping time while the others spiraled into psychedelic chaos. A Belgrano native, he was a jazz enthusiast whose drumming added swing to Almendra’s folk-rock. After the breakup, he played with Spinetta in Pescado Rabioso and Invisible, and later Tantor, becoming a rock nacional mainstay. Picture him as the drummer who’d calmly tap out a beat while the band argued over who ate the last empanada. Anecdote: During a 1969 gig, Rodolfo’s drum kit collapsed mid-song, but he kept playing on the floor tom like nothing happened, earning cheers from the crowd.

Legacy: The Almond That Keeps on Giving

Almendra’s impact on Argentina is like mate to a porteño—essential, ubiquitous, and a little addictive. Their debut album is ranked among the greatest in rock nacional, with “Muchacha (ojos de papel)” practically a second national anthem. They inspired bands like Manal, Los Gatos, and later Soda Stereo, proving you could sing in Spanish and still rock the world. Fans gush about Almendra as “the soul of Buenos Aires,” with one joking, “I played Almendra for my dog, and now he’s writing poetry.” The band’s influence lives on in covers, tributes, and every Argentine kid who picks up a guitar dreaming of being Spinetta. Their reunion shows in 1979–80 are still the stuff of legend, with grainy bootlegs traded like rare Pokémon cards.

Almendra was more than a band—they were a revolution in bell-bottoms, a group of Belgrano kids who turned Argentine rock into an art form. From their scrappy beginnings to their iconic debut, they proved that passion, poetry, and a touch of chaos could change the game. Spinetta’s genius, Molinari’s riffs, Del Guercio’s grooves, and García’s beats created a sound that’s still fresh over 50 years later. They broke up too soon, but their legacy is as enduring as a well-brewed mate. So raise a gourd to Almendra, the nutty quartet who showed Argentina how to rock, dream, and maybe cry a little—snotty album cover and all.



A Deep Dive into Almendra’s 1968 Debut Almendra: The Nut That Started It All

Gather ‘round, rock fans, for a journey back to 1968, when Buenos Aires was buzzing with mate, rebellion, and a band called Almendra, whose self-titled debut album cracked open the shell of Argentine rock nacional like a well-aimed hammer. This isn’t just an album—it’s a cultural cornerstone, a psychedelic folk-rock gem that’s equal parts poetic, quirky, and “did they really record this in a garage?” With a light sprinkle of humor, let’s dig into the album, the band members’ backstories, its monumental legacy in Argentina, and some juicy anecdotes about its creation that’ll make you wish you were a fly on the studio wall.

Released in November 1968 on RCA Vik (and later repressed in 1969 on RCA Victor), Almendra is the debut album by the Buenos Aires quartet of Luis Alberto Spinetta, Edelmiro Molinari, Emilio Del Guercio, and Rodolfo García. It’s a 40-minute trip through nine tracks that blend folk, rock, tango, jazz, and a dash of “what the heck is going on here?” It’s like if The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and a street band from San Telmo got stuck in a blender with a mate gourd. Recorded in the nascent days of Argentine rock, when the genre was still shaking off its British Invasion covers, Almendra dared to be original, singing in Spanish about local life with a poetic flair that made teenagers swoon and parents scratch their heads.

The album’s vibe is a mix of youthful idealism and existential musing, wrapped in melodies so catchy they should come with a warning label. The iconic cover art—a teary-eyed, snot-dripping man with a toy arrow through his head, designed by Spinetta himself—is peak 1960s weirdness. It’s like the album is saying, “Welcome to my heart, but watch out for the absurdity.” Let’s break down the tracks and see why this nutty record still resonates.

Track-by-Track Breakdown

“Muchacha (ojos de papel)” (3:05): The crown jewel, a tender folk ballad about a girl with paper eyes. Spinetta’s delicate vocals and acoustic strumming are so heart-melting, it’s practically a national anthem for hopeless romantics. Muchacha was written by Spinetta in a single night, inspired by his girlfriend Cristina Bustamante. He scribbled the lyrics on a napkin while sipping mate at a café, and the band nailed it in one take. Emilio later joked, “Luis wrote it faster than it takes me to tune my bass.”Legend has it, this song alone caused a spike in Buenos Aires’ tissue sales.

“Figuración” (3:29): A jazzy, upbeat track with surreal lyrics about dreaming and reality. It’s like Spinetta read a philosophy book, got confused, and wrote a banger instead. The band’s tight interplay shines here, with Molinari’s guitar adding a zesty edge.

“Ana no duerme” (2:47): A psychedelic romp about a sleepless girl, complete with trippy guitar riffs and a rhythm section that feels like it’s running on pure espresso. It’s the kind of song you’d dance to at a 1960s Buenos Aires dive bar, if dive bars had existential crises.

“Fermin” (3:19): A whimsical tale of a character named Fermin, with a melody that’s half lullaby, half tango. It’s quirky, charming, and proof that Spinetta could make even a random dude’s story sound profound.

“Plegaria para un niño dormido” (4:04): A haunting lullaby with a spiritual undertone, this one’s like a warm hug from a poet who’s secretly worried about the universe. The flute and gentle percussion make it feel like a dream you don’t want to wake up from.

“A estos hombres tristes” (6:00): A sprawling, melancholic epic that’s part folk, part prog. It’s Spinetta at his most introspective, singing about sad men with a weight that suggests he’s seen some things. The band stretches out here, showing they could jam with the best of them.

“Color humano” (9:09): Molinari’s moment to shine, this nearly ten-minute track is a psychedelic beast with driving rhythms and searing guitar solos. It’s like the band said, “Let’s go full Pink Floyd, but make it Argentine.” A fan favorite for air-guitar enthusiasts.

“Laura va” (2:36): A bittersweet goodbye to a girl named Laura, with a melody so fragile it feels like it might break. It’s Spinetta at his most vulnerable, and you can almost hear the porteño sunset in the chords.

“El mundo entre las manos” (2:51): The closer is a hopeful, upbeat track about holding the world in your hands. It’s the musical equivalent of a pep talk from your coolest friend, with a catchy chorus that sticks like mate stains on a gourd.


The production, handled by RCA’s team, is raw and unpolished, which only adds to the album’s charm. It’s not perfect—some tracks sound like they were recorded in a broom closet—but that DIY spirit captures the band’s youthful energy. Almendra is a snapshot of a band figuring itself out while accidentally creating a masterpiece.

The Cover Art: Spinetta, ever the artist, insisted on designing the album cover himself. His vision? A crying man with a toy arrow through his head, dripping snot. RCA executives reportedly looked at it and said, “Uh, Luis, are you sure?” But Spinetta stood his ground, and the bizarre image became iconic. Rumor has it, the band spent hours debating whether the snot was “too much” (spoiler: it wasn’t).

In Argentina, Almendra isn’t just an album—it’s the Big Bang of rock nacional, the moment Argentine musicians realized they could sing in Spanish, tell local stories, and still rock harder than a gaucho on a wild horse. Its legacy is as towering as the Obelisk in Buenos Aires, and here’s why.

Released during a time when Argentina was under military rule and rock was seen as a rebellious import, Almendra proved that local kids could create world-class music. Its Spanish lyrics, rooted in porteño life, gave voice to a generation craving identity. Songs like “Muchacha” became anthems, played at every Buenos Aires gathering from hippie communes to family asados. It’s like the album said, “Move over, Beatles—Argentina’s got this.”

Almendra is consistently ranked among the greatest Argentine albums. Rolling Stone Argentina and other outlets place it in their top five, and on Rate Your Music, it’s a fan favorite with a 4.1/5 rating. Critics praise its blend of innocence and sophistication, calling it “the sound of Buenos Aires dreaming.” Even today, it’s the album you play to impress your cool Argentine uncle.

Almendra paved the way for bands like Manal, Los Gatos, and later Soda Stereo, showing that Argentine rock could be poetic, eclectic, and distinctly local. Spinetta’s later work with Pescado Rabioso and Invisible built on this foundation, but Almendra was the spark. It’s like the album handed a megaphone to every aspiring rocker in Buenos Aires.

Almendra’s 1968–69 shows, like their performances at the Instituto Di Tella and early rock festivals, were electric. Fans recall Spinetta’s intense stage presence and Molinari’s wild solos, with one X user sharing a story of their dad sneaking into a show at 16, only to be blown away by “Color humano.” The band’s breakup in 1970, followed by a 1979 reunion, only added to the mythos, with bootlegs from those early gigs traded like sacred relics.

Fans call Almendra “the soul of Argentine rock” and “Spinetta’s first love letter to the world.” Covers of “Muchacha” by everyone from Mercedes Sosa to indie bands keep it alive, and its influence echoes in modern acts like El Mató a un Policía Motorizado. One X post summed it up: “Almendra is why I learned guitar instead of accounting.”

Almendra is a beautiful, nutty masterpiece that captures the heart of 1960s Buenos Aires—dreamy, rebellious, and a little unhinged. It’s not flawless; the production can be rough, and some tracks, like “Fermin,” might make you wonder if Spinetta was just messing with you. But the highs—“Muchacha,” “Plegaria,” “Color humano”—are pure magic, blending folk, rock, and tango into a sound that’s both universal and unmistakably Argentine. The album’s creation was a chaotic labor of love, born from 
teenage passion and a knack for breaking rules. In Argentina, it’s more than music—it’s a cultural touchstone, a reminder that a bunch of kids from Belgrano could change the game forever. So grab a copy (watch out for that snotty cover), sip some mate, and let Almendra take you back to a time when rock was young and Buenos Aires was dreaming big.


The Skinny Legend: A Biography of Luis Alberto Spinetta, Argentina’s Rock Poet.

If Argentina’s rock nacional scene were a solar system, Luis Alberto Spinetta would be the sun—radiant, slightly mysterious, and impossible to ignore. Known as “El Flaco” (The Skinny One), Spinetta was a poet, guitarist, and visionary who didn’t just make music—he rewrote the rulebook for what rock could be in Argentina, all while looking like he survived on mate and existential musings. From his teenage days with Almendra to his genre-hopping solo career, Spinetta’s life was a wild ride of creativity, heartbreak, and enough albums to fill a Buenos Aires record store. Here’s an extended biography of the man who turned rock into poetry, with a sprinkle of humor to keep it as lively as a Spinetta guitar riff.

Early Days: The Skinny Kid from Belgrano

Born January 23, 1950, in Buenos Aires’ Belgrano neighborhood, Luis Alberto Spinetta was the kind of kid who’d rather scribble poetry than kick a soccer ball—though, being Argentine, he probably did both. Raised in a middle-class family, his dad was a tango singer, which explains why Luis had music in his veins and a knack for dramatic flair. As a teen, he was a bookworm, devouring Rimbaud, Van Gogh’s letters, and Antonin Artaud’s surrealist rants, all while listening to The Beatles, Dylan, and whatever jazz records he could snag. Picture young Luis as a skinny dreamer with a mop of hair, strumming a guitar in his bedroom while plotting to revolutionize Argentine music.

By 15, Spinetta was already forming bands like Los Larkins and Los Sbirros, playing covers at school dances and dreaming of something bigger. He’d scribble lyrics on napkins, lose them in mate spills, and charm his mates with his quiet intensity. In 1967, at the ripe age of 17, he teamed up with pals Emilio Del Guercio, Rodolfo García, and Edelmiro Molinari to form Almendra, named after a misheard line from a poem (because why pick a normal band name?). This was no garage band—it was the spark that ignited rock nacional, and Spinetta was the match.

Almendra: The Nutty Beginning (1967–1970)

Almendra was Spinetta’s first love, a band that blended folk, rock, tango, and psychedelia into something distinctly Argentine. Their 1968 debut single, “Tema de Pototo,” was a hit, and their self-titled album, Almendra (1968), was a revelation, with tracks like “Muchacha (ojos de papel)” making Buenos Aires teens weep into their mate gourds. Spinetta, barely 18, wrote songs so poetic they made his teachers wonder if he was secretly a 40-year-old philosopher. He also drew the album’s iconic cover—a crying man with a toy arrow through his head—because, apparently, snotty surrealism was his vibe.

But being a teenage rock star isn’t all empanadas and applause. By 1970, Almendra was cracking under the pressure of Spinetta’s perfectionism and clashing egos. Their second album, Almendra II (1970), was a sprawling double LP that showed their ambition but also their fraying bonds. Spinetta wanted to go artsier, Molinari wanted to rock harder, and the band split faster than you can say “mate amargo.” Luis, undeterred, took a soul-searching trip through Brazil, Europe, and the US, probably writing lyrics on every café napkin he could find.

Pescado Rabioso: The Raw and Rowdy Years (1971–1973)

Back in Buenos Aires, Spinetta wasn’t about to sit around moping. In 1971, he formed Pescado Rabioso, a grittier, bluesier outfit with Black Amaya on drums and Osvaldo “Bocón” Frascino on bass (later joined by David Lebón and Carlos Cutaia). This was Spinetta channeling his inner rock beast, trading Almendra’s dreamy folk for raw riffs and existential howls. Their debut, Desatormentándonos (1972), was like a punch to the face of Argentina’s military dictatorship, and Pescado 2 (1973) doubled down with sprawling jams.

But Pescado was as stable as a house of cards in a Buenos Aires windstorm. By 1973, the band imploded, leaving Spinetta to record Artaud (1973), a solo masterpiece disguised as a Pescado album. Inspired by Antonin Artaud’s surrealist writings, Artaud was a poetic, acoustic fever dream with tracks like “Cantata de puentes amarillos” and “Todas las hojas son del viento.” Its weird, irregularly shaped sleeve was Spinetta’s way of saying, “Good luck shelving this, conformists.” Artaud is now considered the holy grail of Argentine rock, but back then, it confused as many fans as it converted.

Invisible: The Prog-Rock Wizard Phase (1973–1977)

Never one to stay still, Spinetta formed Invisible in 1973 with Héctor “Pomo” Lorenzo on drums and Carlos “Machi” Rufino on bass. This was his prog-rock era, complete with jazzy flourishes and lyrics that made you wonder if he was secretly a wizard. Albums like Invisible (1974), Durazno sangrando (1975), and El jardín de los presentes (1976) were masterpieces of layered instrumentation and poetic depth. Tracks like “Durazno sangrando” (about a bleeding peach, because why not?) blended rock with tango and folklore, proving Spinetta could make anything sound profound.

Invisible’s live shows were legendary, with Spinetta’s intense stage presence and the band’s tight jams drawing crowds despite Argentina’s growing political turmoil. But by 1977, Spinetta’s restless spirit struck again, and Invisible disbanded. Rumor has it, he broke up the band because he wanted to write songs about clouds next, and who can argue with that?

Spinetta Jade and Beyond: The Chameleon Years (1977–1985)

In 1980, Spinetta launched Spinetta Jade, a jazz-rock fusion project that was like Invisible on a mate-fueled sugar high. With rotating members like Diego Rapoport and Juan del Barrio, albums like Alma de diamante (1980) and Bajo Belgrano (1983) were slicker and more experimental, blending synths, jazz, and Spinetta’s signature poetry. He also released solo albums like Only Love Can Sustain (1980), recorded in English in the US, which was his attempt to go international but ended up sounding like a love letter to Buenos Aires anyway.

This period was Spinetta’s chameleon phase, hopping between genres like a kid in a candy store. He reunited with Almendra for a nostalgic 1979–80 run, producing El Valle Interior (1980), and collaborated with Charly García in Seru Giran’s early days. He was everywhere, like a musical mate gourd passed around at an asado. But the 1980s also brought personal struggles—divorces, financial woes, and the pressure of being Argentina’s rock messiah. Still, Spinetta kept creating, because stopping wasn’t in his DNA.

The Later Years: Rock’s Elder Statesman (1985–2012)

By the late 1980s, Spinetta was a living legend, though he’d probably roll his eyes at the title. Albums like Privé (1986) and Téster de violencia (1988) tackled Argentina’s post-dictatorship angst with raw emotion, while Pelusón of milk (1991) was a tender nod to his kids. His 1990s and 2000s output, like Los ojos (1999) and Para los árboles (2003), showed him embracing electronic sounds and folk, always evolving like a musical shapeshifter.

Spinetta’s live shows remained electric, from massive Buenos Aires gigs to intimate club sets. His 2008 album Un mañana was a late-career gem, and his 2009 marathon concert, “Spinetta y las Bandas Eternas,” saw him reunite with Almendra, Pescado, and Invisible for a five-hour love fest that left fans crying harder than the Almendra album cover. The show is still referred to as “the night Buenos Aires stopped to worship Flaco.”



Spinetta was as human as he was genius. He married Patricia Salazar in 1976, had four kids (Dante, Catarina, Valentino, and Vera), and later separated, though he remained a devoted dad. His love for mate, literature, and painting (he once muraled his bedroom) kept him grounded, even as fame tried to sweep him away. He was famously shy, dodging interviews like they were tax collectors, but could talk for hours about Artaud or Van Gogh. Health issues plagued him later—lung cancer took him on February 8, 2012, at 62.

Spinetta’s legacy is Argentina itself. He didn’t just create rock nacional—he gave it a soul, blending tango, folklore, and poetry into a sound that was both universal and unmistakably porteño. His discography—over 40 albums across Almendra, Pescado Rabioso, Invisible, Spinetta Jade, and solo work—is a treasure trove fans still mine. X users call him “the father of our music,” with one joking, “I played Spinetta at my wedding, and even my grandma cried.” Songs like “Muchacha,” “Cantata de puentes amarillos,” and “Seguir viviendo sin tu amor” are woven into Argentina’s cultural fabric, covered by everyone from Soda Stereo to street buskers.

His influence spans generations, inspiring bands like Divididos and La Renga, and his manifesto, Rock: Música dura, la suicidada por la sociedad (1973), is still quoted by music nerds. The 2015 Artaud vinyl reissue outsold The Beatles in Argentina, and his Buenos Aires statue is a pilgrimage site for fans. Spinetta wasn’t just a musician—he was a poet who made Argentina dream bigger, cry harder, and rock louder.

Luis Alberto Spinetta was a skinny kid from Belgrano who became Argentina’s rock shaman, turning mate-fueled musings into songs that broke hearts and borders. From Almendra’s dreamy folk to Artaud’s surreal poetry, Invisible’s prog wizardry to Spinetta Jade’s jazzy experiments, he never stopped reinventing himself. He was a poet, a painter, a dreamer who’d write a masterpiece then lose it in a mate spill. His life was a testament to art’s power to defy dictators, inspire kids, and make even the toughest porteño shed a tear. So raise a gourd to El Flaco, the man who proved you could rock the world while staying true to Buenos Aires’ soul.

Pescado Rabioso - 1973 - Artaud

Pescado Rabioso
1973
Artaud



01. Todas Las Hojas Son Del Viento
02. Cementerio Club
03. Por
04. Superchería
05. La Sed Verdadera
06. Cantata De Puentes Amarillos
07. Bajan
08. A Starosta, El Idiota
09. Las Habladurías Del Mundo

Original copies contained a small (14,6x15,7cm) six panel booklet with recording notes and full lyrics. Two of the six panels are blank.


Let’s dive into Artaud, the 1973 album by Pescado Rabioso that’s less a record and more a cosmic diary scribbled by an Argentine rock poet with a penchant for surrealism. Named after the French poet Antonin Artaud, this album is a wild, introspective ride that’s both a middle finger to commercial rock and a love letter to existential musings. It’s like if Bob Dylan and Salvador Dalí got stuck in a Buenos Aires elevator together and decided to jam. Here’s a deep dive into the album, the band members’ backstories, and its towering legacy in Argentina.

Artaud is Pescado Rabioso’s third and final studio album, released in October 1973 on Talent-Microfón. But calling it a “band album” is like calling a Picasso painting a group project—it’s essentially a solo effort by Luis Alberto Spinetta, the band’s mastermind, after the rest of the group bailed faster than rats off a sinking ship. Spinetta, undeterred, grabbed his acoustic guitar, some old mates from his previous band Almendra, and his brother Gustavo, and crafted an album that’s equal parts folk rock, art rock, and “what did I just listen to?”

The album’s nine tracks clock in at a tight 37 minutes, but don’t let the brevity fool you—this thing is denser than a Buenos Aires steak. Inspired by Antonin Artaud’s writings, particularly his ideas about the “theatre of cruelty” (think art that slaps you awake with life’s raw brutality), Artaud is a reaction to the bluesy, punch-you-in-the-face energy of Pescado Rabioso’s earlier albums, Desatormentándonos (1972) and Pescado 2 (1973). Instead, it leans into a more delicate, poetic sound, with moments of electric grit to keep things spicy. The album’s packaging, with its bizarre, irregularly shaped sleeve, was Spinetta’s way of saying, “Good luck fitting this on your IKEA shelf, conformists.”

“Todas las hojas son del viento” (2:17): A tender folk opener about maternal love and life’s fleeting nature. It’s like Spinetta’s whispering sweet nothings to the universe, with a melody so warm it could thaw an Antarctic winter. For Argentinians, this is basically a national lullaby.

“Cementerio Club” (5:02): A bluesy, riff-heavy track that’s like a haunted tango in a graveyard. Spinetta’s raw vocals and existential lyrics about mortality make it a standout, though it’s not exactly the tune you’d play at a kids’ birthday party.

“Por” (1:44): A surreal word salad of disconnected nouns and prepositions. It’s like Spinetta threw a dictionary into a blender and set it to music. Forgettable? Maybe. But it’s weirdly captivating, like overhearing a poet’s fever dream.

“Superchería” (4:26): This one’s a groovy bridge between Almendra’s melodic vibes and the rhythmic punch of Aquelarre. It’s got a swagger that makes you want to strut down Avenida Corrientes with a leather jacket and zero plans.

“La sed verdadera” (3:38): A reflective, almost meditative track that feels like Spinetta staring into the void and finding a nice cup of mate instead. It’s hauntingly beautiful, with minimal instrumentation that lets his voice shine.

“Cantata de puentes amarillos” (9:18): The sprawling centerpiece, a poetic lament weaving Van Gogh, Heliogabalus, and Artaud’s philosophies into a folk-prog epic. It’s like a nine-minute therapy session with a side of yellow bridges. The maracas are slightly off-beat, which is either genius or a happy accident.

“Bajan” (3:35): A catchy, radio-friendly bop with Gustavo Spinetta’s drums giving it a bouncy vibe. It’s the kind of song you hum while stuck in Buenos Aires traffic, dreaming of simpler times.

“A Starosta, el idiota” (3:21): This track is peak Spinetta weirdness—complete with reversed Beatles samples and Spinetta sobbing like a baby in a sound collage. It’s artsy, it’s pretentious, it’s Argentina’s sociopolitical turmoil in audio form. Love it or hate it, it’s unforgettable.

“Las habladurías del mundo” (4:08): The closer is a riff-heavy rocker that brings back some of Pescado’s early feral energy. It’s like Spinetta saying, “I’m done being deep—let’s crank it up and annoy the neighbors.”

The album’s flow is like a conversation with a brilliant but slightly unhinged friend—moments of profound beauty (like “Todas las hojas”) bump up against quirky experiments (hello, “Por”). Spinetta’s voice, with its emotive timbre, ties it all together, making even the oddball tracks feel cohesive. The production is raw, sometimes to a fault, but it’s that unpolished edge that gives Artaud its soul.

Pescado Rabioso was less a band and more a revolving door of musicians orbiting Spinetta’s genius. By the time Artaud was recorded, the original lineup had scattered like confetti at a rock funeral. Here’s the lowdown on the key players involved.

Luis Alberto Spinetta (guitar, vocals, maracas, cymbal, piano, everything else): The man, the myth, the “Flaco” (Skinny). Born January 23, 1950, in Buenos Aires, Spinetta was the heart and soul of Argentine rock. Before Pescado Rabioso, he fronted Almendra, one of the founding bands of rock nacional, with its psychedelic folk vibes. After a soul-searching trip through Brazil, the US, and Europe in 1970, he formed Pescado Rabioso as a grittier, bluesier outlet. By Artaud, he was in full auteur mode, writing and playing most of the album himself. Spinetta’s career spanned Invisible, Spinetta Jade, and a slew of solo works until his death in 2012. Think of him as Argentina’s answer to Dylan, Bowie, and a shaman rolled into one.

Gustavo Spinetta (drums): Luis’s younger brother, Gustavo, was drafted for Artaud to bang on the drums for tracks like “Bajan” and “Cementerio Club.” Not much is documented about Gustavo’s musical career beyond his contributions here, but imagine being the sibling of a rock god—probably equal parts pride and “Luis, stop hogging the spotlight.” He added a catchy, grounded rhythm to the album’s more accessible tracks.

Emilio Del Guercio (bass): A former Almendra bandmate, Emilio was one of the OGs of Argentine rock. Born in 1950, he brought his bass skills to Artaud after Pescado’s original lineup imploded. His work with Almendra gave him a knack for melodic, folk-infused basslines, which fit Artaud’s softer moments like a glove. Post-Artaud, he pursued solo projects and stayed active in the Argentine music scene. Think of him as the reliable friend who shows up with a bass when your band falls apart.

Rodolfo García (drums): Another Almendra alum, Rodolfo (born 1946) was a drummer with a knack for keeping things tight yet expressive. He joined Artaud to help Spinetta realize his vision, adding subtle percussive flourishes. After Artaud, he played with Invisible and other projects, cementing his status as a rock nacional stalwart. Picture him as the cool uncle who always has your back in a jam session.

In Argentina, Artaud isn’t just an album—it’s a cultural artifact, a sonic manifesto, and a collector’s nightmare thanks to that wonky sleeve. Widely regarded as the pinnacle of rock nacional, it’s the kind of record that makes Argentine music nerds misty-eyed and vinyl collectors weep over their scratched copies. Here’s why it’s such a big deal.

Released during a turbulent time in Argentina—think military dictatorships, social unrest, and a rock scene fighting for legitimacy—Artaud was a bold statement of artistic freedom. Spinetta’s manifesto, Rock: Música dura, la suicidada por la sociedad (Rock: Hard Music, Suicided by Society), handed out at the Teatro Astral shows, argued that rock was a countercultural force against societal oppression. It’s like Spinetta was saying, “Screw the man, let’s make art!” The album’s raw honesty and rejection of commercial norms resonated with a generation of alienated youth, making it a touchstone for Argentina’s rock identity.

Artaud is often ranked as the greatest Argentine rock album ever. Rolling Stone Argentina and other publications put it at the top of their lists, and it’s rated #6 among 1973 albums and #219 all-time on Rate Your Music. Fans call it a “mythos” of surrealism and existentialism, blending folk, blues, and art rock in a way that feels timeless yet distinctly Argentine. It’s like the musical equivalent of a Malbec—complex, bold, and unmistakably local.

The 2015 vinyl reissue was a smash hit, outselling even AC/DC and The Beatles in Argentina. Why? That iconic, impossible-to-store sleeve, which Spinetta fought tooth and nail to keep intact. Collectors lost their minds, and stories abound of record stores chopping the edges to fit shelves, only for Spinetta to throw a fit and demand they stop. It’s like the album itself is a rebellious teenager refusing to fit in.

Artaud inspired countless Argentine artists, from Soda Stereo to Los 7 Delfines, who covered Pescado’s tracks. Its poetic lyricism and genre-blending set a blueprint for rock nacional’s evolution, proving you could be artsy without losing grit. Spinetta’s later bands, like Invisible and Spinetta Jade, built on Artaud’s experimental spirit, but none matched its raw, unfiltered magic. It’s like the album whispered to every Argentine rocker, “Be weird, be free.”

Fans call it “one of the most original albums in any language” and a “masterpiece” that taught generations “todo camino puede andar” (every path can be walked). Some admit its quirks—like the off-sync maracas or Spinetta’s baby sobs—make it an acquired taste, but the devotion is real. One user gushed it’s “fascinatingly corny and cringe” yet “extremely raw and honest,” which sums up its charm perfectly.

Artaud is a glorious mess of a masterpiece—part folk hymn, part surrealist fever dream, all Spinetta. It’s not always an easy listen; tracks like “Por” and “A Starosta” might make you wonder if Spinetta was trolling. But its highs—“Cantata de puentes amarillos,” “Todas las hojas,” “Cementerio Club”—are transcendent, capturing the beauty and chaos of life in 1970s Argentina. It’s a reminder that great art doesn’t need to make sense; it just needs to make you feel. For Argentina, it’s more than an album—it’s a cultural beacon, a vinyl-shaped rebellion that still resonates 50 years later. So grab a copy (good luck storing it), pour some mate, and let Spinetta’s poetry wake you up. Just don’t expect it to fit neatly anywhere—neither the album nor its legacy ever did.

Monday, August 18, 2025

Various - 2016 - New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle (New Jazz 1974 & 1975)

Various
2016 
New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle (New Jazz 1974 & 1975)




Samstag, 27. Juli 1974 / Saturday, July 27, 1974

1-1 Contact Trio– Improvisation
Bass – Alois Kott
Drums – Michael Jüllich
Guitar – Evert Brettschneider
26:52

1-2 Brötzmann - van Hove - Bennink – Improvisation 1        
1-3 Brötzmann - van Hove - Bennink – Improvisation 2        
1-4 Brötzmann - van Hove - Bennink – Improvisation 3        
1-5 Brötzmann - van Hove - Bennink*– Improvisation 4       
Drums – Han Bennink
Piano – Fred Van Hove
Tenor Saxophones, Clarinet – Peter Brötzmann


2-1 Jasper van't Hof - Pork Pie – Improvisation 1    
2-2 Jasper van't Hof - Pork Pie – Improvisation 2    
Alto Saxophone, Flute, Nadaswaram, Soprano Saxophone – Charlie Mariano
Bass – John Lee 
Drums – Aldo Romano
Guitar – Philip Catherine
Keyboards – Jasper van't Hof


3-1 SOS (Surman - Osborne - Skidmore) – Improvisation 1        
3-2 SOS (Surman - Osborne - Skidmore) – Improvisation 2        
3-3 SOS (Surman - Osborne - Skidmore) – Improvisation 3        
3-4 SOS (Surman - Osborne - Skidmore) – Improvisation 4        
Alto Saxophone – Mike Osborne
Baritone Saxophone, Bass Clarinet, Soprano Saxophone, Electronics – John Surman
Tenor Saxophone, Soprano Saxophone [, Drums – Alan Skidmore


Sonntag, 28. Juli 1974 / Sunday, July 28, 1974

4-1 Dieter Scherf Trio– Improvisation
Bass – Jacek Bednarek
Drums – Bulent Ates
Saxophone [Sax] – Dieter Scherf

4-2 Franz Koglmann Quintet - Steve Lacy Quintet– Flaps
4-3 Franz Koglmann Quintet - Steve Lacy Quintet– Der Vogel Opium
4-4 Franz Koglmann Quintet - Steve Lacy Quintet– Wünschelrute
4-5 Franz Koglmann Quintet - Steve Lacy Quintet– Weanerisch Dearn
4-6 Franz Koglmann Quintet - Steve Lacy Quintet– Life On Its Way
Bass – Toni Michlmayr
Computer, Electronics – Gerd Geier
Drums, Soprano Saxophone [Soprano Sax] – Muhammad Malli
Soprano Saxophone [Soprano Sax] – Steve Lacy
Trumpet – Franz Koglmann



5-1 Misha Mengelberg - Han Bennink - Duo*– Suite
5-2 Misha Mengelberg - Han Bennink - Duo*– Impro One
Drums – Han Bennink
Piano – Misha Mengelberg

5-3 Unknown Artist– Announcement 0:57

5-4 Jazzcrew Stuttgart– Improvisation 1
5-5 Jazzcrew Stuttgart– Improvisation 2

6-1 Jazzcrew Stuttgart– Improvisation 1
6-2 Jazzcrew Stuttgart– Improvisation 2
Bass – Jan Jankeje
Bass Saxophone [Bass Sax] – Bernd Konrad
Drums – Martin Bues
Keyboards – Paul Schwarz
Tenor Saxophone [Tenor Sax], Soprano Saxophone [Soprano Sax] – Walter Hüber
Trumpet, Flugelhorn [Flugel Horn] – Frederic Rabold, Herbert Joos


6-3 Polish Jazz Summit– Improvisation
Bass Clarinet [Uncredited], Tenor Saxophone [Uncredited] – Tomasz Szukalski
Bass [Uncredited] – John Lee (3)
Drums [Uncredited] – Cees See
Saxophone [Sax], Cello, Piano [Uncredited] – Zbigniew Namyslowski*
Trumpet – Tomasz Stanko*
Violin – Zbigniew Seifert


7-1 Gary Burton Quintet– Improvisation 1
7-2 Gary Burton Quintet– Improvisation 2
7-3 Gary Burton Quintet– Improvisation 3
Bass – Steve Swallow
Drums – Bob Moses
Guitar – Mick Goodrick, Pat Metheny
Vibraphone [Vibes] – Gary Burton


Samstag, 31. Mai 1975 / Saturday, May 31, 1975

8-1 Jan Wallgren Orkester– Love Chant
8-2 Jan Wallgren Orkester– Drone Piece
8-3 Jan Wallgren Orkester– Wallgren Et Sueco

Bass – Ivar Lindell
Drums – Ivan Oscarsson
Flugelhorn, Trumpet – Hakan Nyqvist
Flute, Soprano Saxophone [Soprano Sax], Tenor Saxophone [Tenor Sax] – Tommy Koverhult
Piano – Jan Wallgren

8-4 Unknown Artist– Announcement 0:37

8-5 Jiri Stivin - Rudolf Dasek - System Tandem– Improvisation 1
8-6 Jiri Stivin - Rudolf Dasek - System Tandem– Improvisation 2

9-1 Jiri Stivin - Rudolf Dasek - System Tandem– Improvisation 1
9-2 Jiri Stivin - Rudolf Dasek - System Tandem– Improvisation 2
9-3 Jiri Stivin - Rudolf Dasek - System Tandem– Improvisation 3
9-4 Jiri Stivin - Rudolf Dasek - System Tandem*– Improvisation 4
9-5 Jiri Stivin - Rudolf Dasek - System Tandem*– Improvisation 5
Alto Saxophone [Alto Sax], Flute, Soprano Saxophone [Soprano Sax], Piccolo Flute [Piccolo] – Jiri Stivin
Guitar – Rudolf Dasek

9-6 Unknown Artist– Announcement 1:00

9-7 Krzysztof Zgraja - Barre Phillips - Duo– Improvisation 1

10-1 Krzysztof Zgraja - Barre Phillips - Duo– Improvisation 1
Bass – Barre Phillips
Flute – Krzysztof Zgraja

Sonntag, 1. Juni 1975 / Sunday, June 1, 1975

10-2 Unknown Artist– Announcement 0:07

10-3 Brom Gustav Big Band– Blues
Alto Saxophone [Alto Sax] – Frantisek Navratil
Baritone Saxophone [Baritone Sax] – Josef Audes
Flute – Zdenek Novak
Piano – Milan Vidlak
Trombone – Mojmir Bartek
Trumpet – Jaromir Hnilicka

10-4 Unknown Artist– Announcement 0:57

10-5 Brom Gustav Big Band– Semper Ignotus
Alto Saxophone [Alto Sax] – Frantisek Navratil
Baritone Saxophone [Baritone Sax] – Josef Audes
Flute – Zdenek Novak
Trombone – Mojmir Bartek
Trumpet – Jaromir Hnilicka

10-6 Unknown Artist– Announcement 1:55

10-7 Brom Gustav Big Band– D-E-F-G-A-H-C
Alto Saxophone [Alto Sax] – Frantisek Navratil
Baritone Saxophone [Baritone Sax] – Josef Audes
Flute – Zdenek Novak
Piano – Milan Vidlak
Trombone – Mojmir Bartek
Trumpet – Jaromir Hnilicka

10-8 Unknown Artist– Announcement 0:59
10-9 Brom Gustav Big Band– Suite For Gustav Brom
10-10 Brom Gustav Big Band*– Calling Up The Rain
Alto Saxophone [Alto Sax] – Frantisek Navratil
Baritone Saxophne [Baritone Sax] – Josef Audes
Composed By [Composer] – Karel Blatny
Flute – Zdenek Novak
Piano – Milan Vidlak
Trombone – Mojmir Bartek
Trumpet – Jaromir Hnilicka

11-3 Eero Koivistoinen Quartet– Clear Dream
11-4 Eero Koivistoinen Quartet– Spanish Dance
Bass – Pekka Sarmanto
Drums – Raino Laine*
Electric Piano [E-Piano], Piano – Olli Ahvenlahti
Soprano Saxophone [Soprano Sax], Tenor Saxophone [Tenor Sax] – Eero Koivistoinen

11-5 Emil Viklicky Trio*– Choral

11-6 Emil Viklicky Trio*– For My Sister



Bass – František Uhlir*

Drums – Milan Vitoch

Piano – Emil Viklicky*



Liner Notes [Festival Announcement] – Karlheinz Klüter
Photography By – W. Tiede

Excerpts were [previously] released on the 4-LP set Jazzfestival Balver Höhle Ausschnitte Vom New Jazz Programm 1974 & 75.



Thanks to Udo Sawinski for help and forwarding stuff from his collection.

Special thanks to Lutz Klüter for rights and tapes.

Box includes a 32-page booklet with press clippings and reviews originally published in local newspapers.

Some artists mentioned in the articles, on posters and flyers are not included in thís set because they didn't perform or the tapes didn't survive.

On track 4-1 Dieter Scherf plays alto saxophone.

The musicians of the Polish Jazz Summit differ from those listed in the booklet. According to the announcer on the recording, Adam Makowicz couldn't make it to the festival, Cees See replaces Janusz Stefanski, and Tomasz Szukalski and John Lee ("from America") were added to the group. No pianist is announced but there clearly is a piano (though not electric). Best guess is that Zbigniew Namyslowski plays the piano himself.





Echoes from the Depths: The New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle of 1974 and 1975

Introduction

In the annals of European jazz history, few events capture the spirit of innovation and rebellion quite like the New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle. Held in the cavernous depths of the Balve Cave (Balver Höhle) in Germany's Sauerland region, this festival emerged as a beacon for avant-garde and free jazz during the mid-1970s. The years 1974 and 1975 marked its inaugural editions, showcasing a eclectic array of performers from across Europe and beyond, all unified by a commitment to pushing the boundaries of jazz beyond traditional structures. The cave itself, a natural amphitheater with prehistoric roots, provided an acoustically unique—and occasionally challenging—backdrop, where echoes amplified improvisations into ethereal symphonies or, humorously, turned solos into unintended duets with the stone walls (one might imagine the bats overhead critiquing the vibrato as overly "chiropteran").

This article explores the festival's origins, its organizers, the lineups and performances of those pivotal years, and its lasting legacy. Drawing on archival recordings, contemporary reviews, and historical context, it situates the event within the broader socio-cultural ferment of 1970s Germany, where jazz became a vehicle for generational defiance. While scholarly in tone, we intersperse humorous notes to reflect the festival's playful, anarchic energy—after all, what better way to honor free jazz than with a dash of irreverence?

Background on the Organizers and the German Jazz Scene

The New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle was the brainchild of Karlheinz Klüter, a pivotal figure in Germany's post-war jazz landscape. Often described as a "one-man show," Klüter handled everything from booking artists to serving drinks at the bar, operating without public funding in a testament to grassroots tenacity. His involvement in earlier festivals, such as the Burg Altena event organized by Heinz Bonsack, equipped him with the networks and vision to launch Balver Höhle in 1974 at remarkably short notice. Klüter's approach emphasized inclusivity, inviting musicians from behind the Iron Curtain and blending European free jazz with American influences, continuing themes from Altena.

The festival's genesis must be understood against the backdrop of 1970s German jazz, a "golden age" of free improvisation that mirrored societal upheavals. Young Germans, rejecting the conservative values of their parents' generation—tainted by the Nazi era—embraced jazz as a form of cultural rebellion. Festivals like Moers (organized by Burkhard Hennen) and Wuppertal became hubs for this movement, featuring luminaries such as Peter Brötzmann and Alexander von Schlippenbach. Balver Höhle fit neatly into this ecosystem, its cave venue symbolizing a literal underground resistance. Humorously, one could quip that Klüter's choice of location was a sly nod to Plato's allegory—musicians emerging from the shadows to enlighten the masses, though the damp air likely enlightened more than a few instruments about rust.

The broader Festspiele Balver Höhle, encompassing theater and music since the 1980s, traces its roots to earlier cultural initiatives in the cave, including jazz and blues events from 1970 onward. However, the "New Jazz" focus in 1974-1975 was distinctly Klüter's imprint, prioritizing experimental forms over mainstream appeal. By 1984, the festival had shifted toward more accessible genres, but its early years remain a high-water mark for avant-garde expression.

The 1974 Edition: A Cavernous Debut

The inaugural New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle unfolded over a weekend in late July 1974, drawing enthusiastic crowds that filled the cave with the clamor of a rock concert—cheers echoing like thunderclaps. Friday featured traditional "Hot Jazz," but the core "New Jazz" programming commenced on Saturday and Sunday, spanning genres from jazz-rock to unbridled free improvisation. The lineup was a who's who of European and American innovators, reflecting Klüter's internationalist ethos.

Saturday kicked off with the Contact Trio (Evert Brettschneider on electric guitar, Alois Kott on double bass, Michael Jüllich on drums), whose fluid, ensemble-driven jazz-rock set clocked in at over 26 minutes of seamless improvisation. They were followed by the explosive trio of Peter Brötzmann (saxophones and clarinet), Fred van Hove (piano), and Han Bennink (drums), whose four improvisations totaled nearly 45 minutes of raw energy. Brötzmann's shrieking clarinet and Bennink's parodic military marches injected humor and chaos, as if the group were waging a mock battle against tonal convention—perhaps the cave's acoustics added an unwitting fourth member, "Echo the Stalactite."

Jasper van't Hof's Pork Pie, a multinational ensemble featuring Charlie Mariano (reeds and Nadaswaram), Philip Catherine (guitar), John Lee (bass), and Aldo Romano (drums), delivered two extended pieces blending fusion and ethnic influences, with Mariano's Nadaswaram evoking Eastern mysticism amid the Western cave. The British trio SOS (John Surman, Mike Osborne, Alan Skidmore on saxophones) innovated with EMS synthesizers, looping sounds in four improvisations that drew from Renaissance polyphony and even included a Bach encore— a scholarly fusion of old and new, though one wonders if the cave's humidity warped the electronics into accidental dub effects.

Sunday opened with the Dieter Scherf Trio (Scherf on saxophone, Jacek Bednarek on bass, Bulent Ates on drums), offering a modulated, Coltrane-inflected energy in a 28-minute improvisation. The Franz Koglmann-Steve Lacy Quintet (with Lacy on soprano saxophone, Koglmann on trumpet, Toni Michlmayr on bass, Muhammad Malli on drums/percussion, and Gerd Geier on electronics) performed pieces like "Flaps" and "Der Vogel Opium," blending cerebral composition with electronic experimentation.

Other highlights included the Gary Burton Quintet (featuring dual guitars by Mick Goodrick and Pat Metheny), opening with "Phase Dance"; the Jazzcrew Stuttgart septet with its varied post-bop; Misha Mengelberg and Han Bennink's ICP "Suite," mixing ragtime and free jazz; and the Polish Jazz Summit (Tomasz Stanko on trumpet, Zbigniew Namyslowski on saxophone/cello, Zbigniew Seifert on violin, Adam Makowicz on piano, Janusz Stefanski on drums), whose set grappled with amplification issues but shone in mournful dirges. The festival's success was immediate, with crowds reveling in the subterranean vibe—though, humorously, the lack of natural light might have left some attendees pondering if they'd emerged into a new era or just forgotten their sunglasses.

The 1975 Edition: Triumph Amid Turmoil

Building on 1974's momentum, the 1975 festival (May 31-June 1) faced logistical hurdles, including contractual disputes that excluded German musicians and a last-minute cancellation by the Howard Johnson Tuba Ensemble due to unpaid flight costs. This shifted focus to Eastern and Northern European acts, underscoring Klüter's commitment to cross-cultural exchange despite challenges.

The lineup emphasized duos and smaller ensembles. Czechoslovakia's System Tandem (Jiri Stivin on reeds/woodwinds, Rudolf Dasek on guitar) performed seven improvisations blending folk, jazz, and rock. The Gustav Brom Big Band delivered a "Suite for Gustav Brom," oscillating between big-band swing and free jazz anarchy. Emil Viklický's piano trio offered a short, Bill Evans-inspired set, hampered by the festival's out-of-tune piano— a humorous reminder that even caves can't escape entropy.

The Krzysztof Zgraja-Barre Phillips duo (flute and double bass) crafted two half-hour improvisations with dynamic shifts, while Sweden's Jan Wallgren Orkester (quintet with Wallgren on piano, Tommy Koverhult on saxophones/flute, Hakan Nyqvist on flugelhorn, Ivar Lindell on bass, Ivan Oscarsson on drums) explored post-bop in pieces like "Love Chant." Finland's Eero Koivistonen Quartet closed with sparse Euro-jazz, their 20-minute set evoking dreamlike minimalism.

Anecdotes from 1975 highlight the festival's improvisational spirit: Amplification woes turned sets into acoustic adventures, and the enthusiastic, raucous audience amplified the cave's natural reverb into a collective roar. One can't help but chuckle at the irony— a free jazz festival plagued by "contractual chains," leaving the tuba ensemble grounded while the music soared underground.

Legacy and Reflections

The New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle's 1974-1975 editions are preserved in an 11-CD box set released in 2016 by B.Free/Be! Jazz, capturing over 13 hours of live recordings. Reviews praise its breadth, from Pork Pie's fusion to Brötzmann's ferocity, though some note the variable sound quality due to the cave's acoustics. The festival influenced subsequent events, embodying the era's experimental ethos.

In conclusion, under Klüter's stewardship, Balver Höhle transcended its stony confines to become a crucible for jazz innovation. Its humorous quirks—the echoing cave, the piano's detuning, the cancellations—only underscore its humanity. As echoes fade, the music endures, reminding us that true art often thrives in the shadows.





Overview of the Box Set

The "New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle (New Jazz 1974 & 1975)" is an 11-CD box set released in 2016 by B. Free (catalog number 6233/43), capturing live recordings from the inaugural and second editions of the New Jazz Festival held in the resonant acoustics of Balve Cave in Germany's Sauerland region. Organized by Karlheinz Klüter at short notice in 1974, the festival featured a mix of European and American artists across "New Jazz" styles, including free improvisation, fusion, modal jazz, and big band elements. Each festival ran Friday to Sunday, with Friday dedicated to traditional "Hot Jazz" (omitted here) and the weekends to innovative "New Jazz." The recordings, made by Cologne's WDR radio, total over 13 hours and include a 32-page booklet with photos, posters, flyers, and newspaper clippings (some in English). The set presents performances chronologically by day, though not always in original order, with many tracks simply titled "Improvisation" due to unspecified or unknown names. Sound quality is vivid and high, capturing the cave's natural reverb without excess echo, and the enthusiastic audiences—often sounding like rock crowds—reflect the era's youth-driven interest in alternative music in West Germany.

Critically, this collection serves as a valuable snapshot of the vibrant 1970s European jazz scene, blending high-energy free jazz with more structured fusion and post-bop. Reviewers praise its historical significance, though note some quirks like track mislabeling (e.g., CD5's tracks 6-8 are actually on CD6) and the 1975 edition's relative weakness due to cancellations and contractual issues excluding German acts. Overall, it's rated highly for its breadth and archival value, with standout moments in collective improvisation and individual virtuosity, though some sets lose visual context in audio form.

General Review of the "New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle 1974 & 1975" 11-CD Box Set

The "New Jazz Festival Balver Höhle (New Jazz 1974 & 1975)" 11-CD box set, released in 2016 by B. Free, is an ambitious and historically significant collection capturing the inaugural and second editions of the New Jazz Festival held in the acoustically unique Balve Cave in Germany’s Sauerland region. Spanning over 13 hours of live recordings from 1974 and 1975, this set showcases a vibrant cross-section of European and American jazz artists pushing boundaries in free improvisation, fusion, modal jazz, and big band styles. Recorded by Cologne’s WDR radio, the audio quality is consistently high, leveraging the cave’s natural reverb to create a vivid, immersive listening experience without excessive echo. The set is accompanied by a 32-page booklet featuring photos, posters, flyers, and newspaper clippings (some in English), adding valuable context to the festival’s cultural moment.

Strengths

The box set excels as a time capsule of the 1970s European jazz scene, a period marked by bold experimentation and cross-cultural collaboration. The 1974 recordings, in particular, are a high point, featuring standout performances from groups like Jasper van’t Hof’s Pork Pie, with its eclectic fusion and Charlie Mariano’s versatile reeds, and the British trio SOS (Surman-Osborne-Skidmore), whose innovative use of electronics and polyphonic reeds creates a rich, layered sound. The Peter Brötzmann Trio’s raw, chaotic free jazz and the Franz Koglmann Quintet with Steve Lacy’s cerebral compositions further highlight the diversity of styles, from high-energy improvisation to melodic sophistication. The 1974 sets benefit from a strong lineup and the festival’s fresh, enthusiastic energy, reflected in the rock-concert-like audience responses that capture the era’s youth-driven embrace of avant-garde music in West Germany.

The 1975 recordings, while less consistent due to cancellations and contractual issues limiting German acts, still offer gems, particularly from Eastern European groups like the Gustav Brom Big Band and the Jiri Stivin-Rudolf Dasek duo, which blend jazz with folk influences. The set’s chronological organization by festival day provides a clear narrative arc, and the sound quality enhances the listening experience, making even sprawling improvisations feel immediate and engaging. For jazz historians and enthusiasts of free jazz and fusion, the collection is a treasure trove, documenting lesser-known groups like the Contact Trio and Jazzcrew Stuttgart alongside established names.

Weaknesses

Despite its strengths, the box set has some drawbacks. The 1975 edition feels weaker overall, with some performances, like the Polish Jazz Summit, suffering from technical issues (e.g., an out-of-tune piano) or less cohesive interplay. The sheer volume of material—over 13 hours—can be daunting, and the frequent use of generic titles like “Improvisation” (due to unspecified or unknown track names) makes navigation challenging, especially for casual listeners. Minor production errors, such as track mislabeling (e.g., CD5’s tracks 6-8 appearing on CD6), add confusion. Some sets, like the Misha Mengelberg-Han Bennink duo, lose impact without the visual context of their theatrical live performances, as their anarchic humor and physicality don’t fully translate to audio. Additionally, the set’s focus on extended improvisations may overwhelm listeners unaccustomed to the free jazz idiom, and the 1975 discs, particularly CD11, feel like a less climactic close due to their brevity and uneven quality.

Overall Assessment

This box set is a remarkable archival achievement, offering a deep dive into a pivotal moment in European jazz history. Its strengths lie in its comprehensive scope, excellent sound quality, and the inclusion of both iconic and obscure artists, making it essential for collectors and scholars. Highlights like Pork Pie’s fusion mastery and SOS’s innovative textures justify its hefty runtime, though the 1975 recordings don’t always match 1974’s intensity. Minor flaws like track mislabeling and the occasional lack of visual context don’t detract significantly from its value. For dedicated fans of free jazz, fusion, and 1970s avant-garde music, this set is a rewarding, if demanding, journey, rated highly (around 4/5 stars) for its historical and musical significance. It’s less accessible for casual listeners but a must-have for those invested in the era’s experimental spirit.

Tuesday, August 12, 2025

William Onyeabor - 1979 - Tomorrow

William Onyeabor
1979
Tomorrow



01. Tomorrow
02. Why Go To War
03. Love Me Now
04. Fantastic Man
05. Try And Try

May I seize this opportunity to thank those who rendered relentless efforts to make this Album a grand success. Special thanks to all members fo the staff of WILFILMS LIMITED.

Emma, Shirley, Justin, Paul, Charlie, Franqui, Ngozi, Akpononu, Christy, Menakaya, Ipere, Eneanya, Caroford, Onukegbe, David and my beloved mother Mrs. E. N. Onyeabor.




William Onyeabor’s Tomorrow (1979), released on his Wilfilms Records, is a captivating showcase of the enigmatic Nigerian artist’s genre-blending prowess, merging Afro-Funk, Synth Funk, and Boogie into a distinctive, lo-fi sound. With just five tracks, the album is concise yet impactful, delivering infectious grooves, quirky synths, and socially conscious lyrics that linger with listeners.

The title track, Tomorrow, opens with an ethereal, synth-driven vibe, where Onyeabor’s sermon-like vocals urge listeners to “do it well, for no one knows tomorrow,” backed by hypnotic rhythms and fuzzy keyboards. It sets a reflective yet danceable tone. Why Go to War follows, a standout for its bold social commentary on the futility of conflict, channeling Curtis Mayfield’s protest energy with pulsating Afrobeat rhythms, female harmonies, and Onyeabor’s commanding delivery. Love Me Now shifts to a sensual, boogie-inflected groove, its under-mixed harmonies and playful vocals creating a warm, romantic vibe. Fantastic Man, often hailed as the album’s peak, is an infectious, synth-heavy banger with relentless energy and eccentric vocal flourishes, making it a favorite among DJs. Closing with Try and Try, the album maintains its upbeat tempo, delivering a mantra-like message of perseverance through layered synths and a hypnotic feel.

Onyeabor’s innovative use of synthesizers, groundbreaking for Nigerian music in the late ’70s, gives Tomorrow a futuristic edge while staying rooted in Afrobeat traditions. Tracks like Why Go to War weave meaningful messages into danceable rhythms, striking a balance between intellectual depth and visceral energy. The album’s short length and raw, authentic production enhance its replay value, though the lo-fi quality, with occasionally murky sound and under-mixed harmonies, may not appeal to those preferring polished recordings. As Onyeabor’s third album in three years, it refines his formula from Atomic Bomb (1978) rather than reinventing it, which might leave some listeners wanting more evolution. The album cover, featuring a formal portrait of Onyeabor with garish text, feels oddly mismatched with his cool, innovative sound, adding to its quirky charm.

Reissued by Luaka Bop in 2015, Tomorrow has earned a cult following. On Rate Your Music, it scores 3.61/5 from 502 reviews, ranking #174 for 1979 albums, with praise for its melodic energy and synth innovation, though some note the raw production’s divisive nature. Album of the Year gives it a 76/100 from 16 reviews, with Fantastic Man and Try and Try earning high marks. Sputnikmusic users rate it 3.6/5, celebrating its unique Afro-Funk-electronic blend, while Amazon reviews average 4.7/5 from four ratings, commending Onyeabor’s consistency.

A self-taught musician and independently wealthy industrialist, Onyeabor self-released Tomorrow during a prolific period before retreating from music, adding to his mystique. Its rediscovery in the 2000s by crate-diggers and DJs has solidified its status as a Nigerian funk gem, influencing modern artists. Tomorrow is a must-listen for fans of Afrobeat, funk, or early electronic music, offering a blend of infectious rhythms and thought-provoking lyrics. While its lo-fi quirks may not suit all, its raw energy and visionary spirit make it a rewarding experience, perfect for late-night listening or dancefloor revivals.