East New York Ensemble de Music - 1974 - At the Helm

East New York Ensemble de Music

1974

At the Helm

01. Mevlana (based on Turkish religious melody) 12:01
02. Ti-Ti (Ameen Nuraldeen) 7:17
03. Sun Flower (Freddie Hubbard) 13:30
04. Bent-el-Jerusalem (Ameen Nuraldeen) 5:20

Bilal Abdurahman – Soprano Sax, Korean Reed
Ameen Nuraldeen – Vibraphone

guests :
Qasim Ubaindullah – Drums
James Smith – Bass
Jay Rose – Turkish Drum
Bobby Harvey – Conga Drums
Rahkiah Abdurahman – African Twin-Gong

At The Helm, the sole recorded document by the East New York Ensemble de Music from 1974, is a delightfully eccentric, globe-spanning spiritual jazz gem that sounds like it was beamed in from a parallel universe where Sun Ra’s Arkestra took a wrong turn at the Suez Canal and ended up jamming in a Brooklyn basement with some Turkish mystics and African percussionists. It’s loose, joyous, percussive, and unapologetically eclectic—less a polished studio product than a living room ritual that somehow got captured on tape. In the fertile 1970s underground where spiritual jazz, world music fusions, and community-driven experimentation bloomed, this album stands as a charmingly oddball one-off that rewards repeated listens with new layers of hypnotic groove and unexpected instrumental color.

The Ensemble was the brainchild of multi-reedist and cultural polymath Bilal Abdurahman (sometimes spelled Abdurrahman), a Brooklyn-born (1927) pioneer who had already logged serious miles in the jazz and world music worlds. Abdurahman partnered with trailblazing bassist/oudist Ahmed Abdul-Malik in the late ’50s and early ’60s, contributing to groundbreaking albums like Jazz Sahara and Eastern Moods that mixed jazz with Middle Eastern, African, and Asian elements years before such fusions became trendy. A community activist, educator, percussionist, illustrator, and more, he ran cultural spaces in East New York that hosted figures like Malcolm X and emphasized Black Magical Music—a holistic, spiritually charged approach blending heritage, improvisation, and enlightenment. Collaborating here with vibraphonist and composer Ameen Nuraldeen, Abdurahman formed the group around 1972 as a vehicle for these expansive ideas. Influences draw heavily from Coltrane’s spiritual quests, Abdul-Malik’s cross-cultural experiments, Sun Ra’s cosmic eccentricity, and the broader Black Arts Movement, all filtered through a street-level Brooklyn eclecticism that embraces everything from Turkish religious melodies to funky modal grooves without a hint of pretension.

Released originally on the Folkways Records label (FTS 33867), a not-for-profit imprint famous for its vast, documentary-style catalog of folk, ethnic, and vernacular musics, At The Helm perfectly fit the label’s mission of preserving cultural expressions outside the commercial mainstream. It was a small-pressing affair that largely flew under the radar at the time but has since found new life through reissues on Ikef Records and Smithsonian Folkways. The core ensemble features Abdurahman on soprano saxophone and an exotic Korean reed instrument, Nuraldeen on vibraphone, with a rhythm section of Qasim Ubaindullah on drums, James Smith on bass, Jay Rose on Turkish drum, Bobby Harvey on congas, and Rahkiah Abdurahman on African twin-gong. This percussion-heavy lineup creates a rich, tactile bed that feels both ancient and immediate.

The album opens with the nearly 12-minute “Mevlana,” based on a Turkish religious melody. It unfolds like a slow-building trance: shimmering vibes, layered percussion, and Abdurahman’s searching soprano lines weaving through modal spaces with a devotional intensity that’s equal parts hypnotic and invigorating. “Ti-Ti” keeps the energy percolating with tighter, more danceable rhythms and playful interactions between the vibes and reeds. The centerpiece is a bold, 13-plus-minute take on Freddie Hubbard’s “Sun Flower” (listed as “Sun Flower”), which daringly launches with extended improvisation on that mysterious Korean reed—raw, untamed, and soulful—before blossoming into a gorgeous, groove-oriented exploration that turns the familiar standard into something delightfully otherworldly. Closer “Bent-El-Jerusalem” brings a shorter, punchier Middle Eastern-inflected closer with soaring lines and propulsive percussion. All but one track are Nuraldeen originals, showcasing a composer who blends exotica, Afro-modal jazz, and a touch of prog/psych looseness into something utterly distinctive.

Technically and sonically, the music is a masterclass in organic collective improvisation. Abdurahman’s soprano tone is passionate and vocal, capable of both lyrical purity and raw-edged cries, while his Korean reed excursions add a thrilling, microtonal wildness that never feels like gimmickry. Nuraldeen’s vibraphone work is bright, percussive, and melodically inventive—avoiding the overly metallic clang that can plague the instrument and instead delivering bell-like sparkle and rhythmic drive. The rhythm section locks in with a loose-but-deep pocket: hand drums and gongs give the music a ritualistic, earthy pulse that supports rather than overwhelms the melodic elements. There’s plenty of space for spontaneous dialogue, yet everything circles back to groove and mood. The Folkways recording has a crisp, natural room sound—surprisingly clear and present for the era and label—letting every percussion hit and reed breath breathe. It’s spiritual jazz with strong world music DNA: funky when it wants to be, meditative elsewhere, and always suffused with a sense of joyful discovery. If Coltrane went on a pilgrimage to Istanbul and brought back some Brooklyn conga players, this might be the result.

The artwork, with cover design based on Bilal Abdurahman’s own vision, radiates that classic 1970s underground jazz ethos—evocative, symbolic, and proudly Afrocentric/spiritual without corporate gloss. Expect warm, earthy tones, perhaps ancestral or cosmic imagery that signals this is more than music; it’s a cultural and mystical transmission. It has that handmade, intentional feel typical of Folkways releases: inviting exploration rather than slick salesmanship, perfectly mirroring the album’s kitchen-sink eclecticism and community roots.

Upon its quiet 1974 release, At The Helm didn’t exactly set the charts ablaze—Folkways releases often found their audience through libraries, educators, and dedicated crate-diggers rather than radio airplay. Over the decades, however, it has earned deep respect from connoisseurs of spiritual jazz, global fusions, and underground ’70s sounds. Reissues have brought it to new generations, with critics praising its genuine cross-cultural synthesis, fiery yet accessible playing, and refreshing lack of pretension. In a scene full of heavy hitters, this obscure gem stands out for its unforced joy and kitchen-sink approach that somehow coheres beautifully. Its legacy is that of a hidden treasure: proof that profound musical conversations across continents and traditions could happen in East New York living rooms, driven by community rather than industry hype. For Abdurahman, whose multifaceted life included children’s music, education, and activism alongside these jazz explorations, it captures a peak of his “Black Magical Music” vision. At The Helm remains a funky, hypnotic invitation to loosen your expectations and let the rhythms carry you eastward—and inward. Dig in; the groove is timeless, the spirit infectious, and the journey well worth captaining.