Doug Hammond - 1975 - Reflections In The Sea Of Nurnen

Doug Hammond 

1975 

Reflections In The Sea Of Nurnen

01. Fidalgo Detour 7:32
02. Space II 0:35
03. Wake Up Brothers 3:05
04. Reflections 4:23
05. For Real 2:56
06. Space I 2:00
07. Sea Of Nurnen 4:34
08. Moves 4:29

Alto Saxophone – Otis Harris
Bass – Charles Metcalf
Percussion – Frederick Boon, Thomas (Turk) Trayler
Piano, Electric Piano, Synthesizer – David Durrah
Violin – Charles Burnham, Trevis Mickeel
Vocals, Drums, Melodica, Synthesizer – Doug

Doug Hammond's Reflections in the Sea of Nurnen (1975): A Laid-Back Spiritual Jazz Gem from the Tribe Vaults

Ah, Reflections in the Sea of Nurnen—the album with a title that sounds like J.R.R. Tolkien got lost in a Coltrane meditation and emerged with a jazz record. Released in 1975 on Detroit's legendary Tribe Records, this is the debut leader effort from drummer/vocalist/composer Doug Hammond, co-credited to keyboard wizard David Durrah (sometimes spelled Durra or Durrah—jazz spelling bees are brutal). It's a serene, synthesizer-kissed slice of spiritual jazz that feels like a warm bath after the fiery political broadsides of some other Tribe releases. Recorded back in 1971–72 in San Francisco but shelved until Tribe gave it a home, it's often hailed as a "masterpiece" today, though back then it probably sold about as many copies as a hobbit sells pipe-weed in Detroit. Let's dive deep into this underrated beauty, with a biography detour, some Tribe context, the lineup, a track-by-track-ish romp, and why it still matters—all with the gentle ribbing it deserves for being so chill in an era of revolution.

Who Is Doug Hammond, Anyway? (The Man Who Could Do It All, Except Stay in One Place)

Born December 26, 1942, in Tampa, Florida, Douglas Hammond grew up in a musical hotbed but started humbly: a year on trombone at age 9 (he wisely switched to drums before embarrassing himself forever). By high school, he was banging away in marching bands, then headed north for the jazz life. Hammond is one of those quietly ubiquitous figures in avant-garde and free jazz—drummer, vocalist (with a warm, spoken-sung style that's more poetic than belting), composer, poet, producer, and even professor later in life.

He's played with everyone who matters: Earl Hooker, Sonny Rollins, Nina Simone, Betty Carter, Donald Byrd, Ornette Coleman, James "Blood" Ulmer, Arthur Blythe, Paquito D'Rivera... the list reads like a who's-who of jazz rebels. Most famously, Charles Mingus recorded Hammond's tune "Moves" on his 1974 album Mingus Moves—a moody closer that Hammond himself reprises here (spoiler: his version slaps harder). In the '80s, he formed a groundbreaking trio with a young Steve Coleman (yes, that Steve Coleman of M-Base fame), releasing the influential Spaces (1982). Later work includes tentets, tributes, and even techno crossovers with Carl Craig. Hammond's career is a masterclass in versatility: free funk one day, heartfelt ballads the next. At 82 (as of late 2025), he's still active, with documentaries and reissues keeping his flame alive. The guy's like jazz's Forrest Gump—always popping up in the right revolutionary moment, drumsticks in hand.

Tribe Records: Detroit's DIY Jazz Revolution (Because Motown Wouldn't Return Their Calls)

Picture Detroit in the early '70s: auto industry crumbling, riots still echoing from '67, Black empowerment in the air thicker than exhaust fumes. Enter Tribe—a collective/magazine/label founded in 1971–72 by trombonist Phil Ranelin and saxophonist Wendell Harrison (both ex-Motown session cats tired of the assembly line). Inspired by Chicago's AACM and New York's Strata-East, Tribe was full-on self-determination: musicians controlling their art, distribution, and message. They published a magazine (also called Tribe) with Afrocentric editorials, concert listings, and calls to action—circulation hit 25,000 at its peak. The label released about a dozen albums from 1973–77, heavy on spiritual jazz, socio-political fire, and community vibes: Ranelin's The Time Is Now!, Harrison's An Evening with the Devil, Harold McKinney's cosmic explorations.

Tribe wasn't just records; it was education programs, concerts with dancers and poets, a blueprint for Black artistic independence in a city bleeding jobs. It folded by '77 (money, life, the usual), but morphed into Rebirth Inc., keeping the spirit alive. Today, thanks to reissues (shoutout Now-Again's deluxe box sets), Tribe is canonized as one of the great underground imprints—proof that Detroit could birth more than cars and techno.

Reflections is a bit of an outlier: not Detroit-recorded, not as overtly militant as, say, Ranelin's anthems. Hammond and Durrah cut it on the West Coast, shopped it to Strata-East (deal fell through), then trumpeter Marcus Belgrave (a Tribe affiliate) nudged them toward Detroit. It became one of Tribe's mellowest entries—perfect for late-night reflection rather than raising fists.

The Musicians: A Tight Crew of Unsung Heroes (Plus Enough Synthesizer to Make Herbie Hancock Jealous)

This is very much a Hammond/Durrah co-lead, with Hammond on drums, vocals, melodica, and Arp synth; Durrah manning piano, Fender Rhodes, Moog, and more Arp (early electronic jazz experimentation alert!). The core band:

Otis Harris: Alto saxophone—soulful, Coltrane-tinged lines that weave like smoke.

Charles "Chuck" Metcalf: Acoustic bass (sometimes called "bass violin") and electric bass—steady, walking heart of the groove.

Charles Burnham: Violin (improvisations that add ethereal string magic).

Trevis Mickeel: Second violin for extra texture.

Frederick Boon and Thomas "Turk" Trayler: Percussion—congas and shakers for that Afro-Latin pulse.

Art by Grace Williams, photos by Karma Stanley—vibes immaculate.

Recorded at Different Fur Trading Co. in San Francisco (a haven for experimental sounds), engineered by John Viera and David Litwin. Produced by Hammond himself. It's intimate: no big horns, no screaming solos—just hypnotic interplay.

The Album Itself: Chill Vibes in a Sea of Cosmic Calm (With a Tolkien Title for Extra Nerd Points)

Clocking in at under 30 minutes (vinyl efficiency!), Reflections blends soul jazz, modal exploration, early fusion, and spiritual introspection. It's laid-back where peers like Pharoah Sanders went full ecstasy—no yodeling here, folks. Think Alice Coltrane's serenity meets Lonnie Liston Smith's cosmic keys, but with Hammond's gentle vocals adding a poetic, almost folk-jazz touch.

Track highlights:

Fidalgo Detour (7:32): Opens with a killer alto riff you'll hum for days. Groovy mid-tempo funk, bossa hints—pure earworm.

Space II and Space I (short interstitials): Pure synthesizer weirdness—Moog/ARP doodles like floating in zero gravity. Hammond and Durrah geeking out.

Wake Up Brothers (3:05): Righteous vocals over percolating percussion. The closest to a "message" track—uplifting without preaching.

Reflections (4:23): Lush Rhodes reverie. Meditative title track; close your eyes and float.

For Real: Funky, vocal-led swing—Hammond's voice shines, warm and sincere.

Sea of Nurnen (4:34): Title homage to Tolkien's salty slave sea in Mordor. Moody, oceanic groove—ironic for such a peaceful tune.

Moves (4:29): Hammond's own composition, later gifted to Mingus. Brooding closer, full of tension and release.

Overall sound: Warm, skittering rhythms; electric keys that shimmer; acoustic bass anchoring the spirituality. It's "spiritual jazz" without the fire-and-brimstone—more healing force than revolution. Critics call it hypnotic, comforting, freeing. One reviewer nailed it: memorable hooks that'll "rattle around your brain for months."

The Quiet Giant of the Tribe Catalog

In 1975, this flew under radar—spiritual jazz was niche, Tribe was hyper-local. But today? A cult classic, reissued multiple times (Now-Again's versions are gorgeous). It's prized for bridging '70s soul jazz with electronic experimentation, influencing everyone from floating-point cosmic revivalists to crate-diggers. "Moves" alone links it to Mingus lore. In the broader spiritual jazz canon (think Strata-East, Impulse!'s late era), it's the mellow counterpoint—proof the genre could be introspective, not just ecstatic.

Legacy-wise, it underscores Tribe's ethos: artist control in turbulent times. Hammond's career arc (from this to mentoring Steve Coleman) shows its ripple. And in a world still needing "wake up" calls, its gentle positivity feels timeless. Plus, any album named after a Tolkien inland sea deserves props for sheer whimsy.

If you love Pharoah, Lonnie Liston, or just good vibes with your avant-garde, spin this. It's not the loudest Tribe record, but sometimes the quiet ones heal deepest. Namaste, jazz nerds—or as they'd say in Nurnen, "Pass the melodica."