Rearview Mirror (3):
Rockers (and Jazzmen and Bluesmen) Uptown
by Tom Hull
Augustus Pablo
King Tubbys Meets Rockers Uptown
1976, Shanachie
Augustus Pablo
East of the River Nile
1977, Shanachie
Augustus Pablo
Rockers Meet King Tubbys in a Fire House
1980, Shanachie
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Instrumentals were common in Jamaica in the '60s, but around 1970,
thanks to the kind of remixing King Tubby was doing (extreme
drop-outs, constantly shifting instrumental focus, foregrounding the
bass line till it dominated the mix), they became a distinctive stream
within the music: dub. Augustus Pablo, the most interesting musician
to come out of dub, started playing organ, but he also took up the
melodica -- a toy wind instrument with a small keyboard -- and got out
of it an eerie, flighty, dreamlike tonality often referred to as his
"Far East sound." Pablo's genius was how he wove his simple melodies
into utterly beguiling tapestries of sound. This is clearest on
East of the River Nile, perhaps because his dub-free
self-production lets the music speak for itself. The earlier and later
meet-ups with King Tubby do much the same, with Tubby's echo-laden
effects merely accenting Pablo's mystic grooves. Uptown is
widely touted as the greatest dub album ever, and I'm not about to
quibble. But Fire House's slightly more spacious sound, as well
as some newer rhythm tricks, matches up notably well.
Sam Rivers
Fuschia Swing Song
1964, Blue Note
The Jaki Byard Quartet With Joe Farrell
The Last From Lennie's
1965, Prestige
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Sam Rivers has eked out a very long career on the tattered fringe of
the avant-garde, making free-blowing solo and duo albums, and whenever
he's gotten the chance, indulging his real love: big bands. However,
his first album is remarkably straightforward: His is the only horn,
and the Tony Williams-Ron Carter-Jaki Byard rhythm section provides
exceptionally brisk support. What's astonishing about this album is
how fresh Rivers' saxophone sounds 40 years after the fact, like he's
mastered all the invention of the era's free-saxophone styles while
giving them his own distinctive stamp. All of the sidemen are superb,
but Byard comes closest to matching Rivers' achievement -- like
Rivers, he started in R&B bands, perhaps why even his most avant
moves seem rooted in rhythm. Byard leads a similar group on The
Last From Lennie's -- the previously unreleased conclusion to two
live LPs released in the '60s. The live setting makes for both a
rougher and more spontaneous encounter, with Byard squaring off
against a vigorous, modal-influenced Joe Farrell on sax and
flute. Farrell isn't well known these days, but before the fusion bug
bit him, he was one of the first saxophonists to see the future as
revealed to St. John Coltrane, and Byard was sharp enough to bring out
some of Farrell's best playing ever.
Mal Waldron
Soul Eyes: The Mal Waldron Memorial Album
1957-62, Prestige
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Mal Waldron was always most famous for having accompanied Billie
Holiday in her waning years, but his own career survived Holiday by
more than 40 years, and the 80-plus albums that he released under his
own name make up one of the most impressive résumés in all of jazz
piano. Early on, Waldron had a rare knack for crafting ballads and was
exceptionally skillful accompanying players as diverse as Gene Ammons
and Eric Dolphy. Later, he moved in more adventurous circles, cutting
intimate duos with Marion Brown and Steve Lacy and leading larger
groups to a Mingus-like fury -- cf., 1986's The Git Go, on Soul
Note -- but his deep musicality always seemed to steady whatever
mischief his sharp mind led him into. Waldron died in late 2002, and
Soul Eyes, culled from the early work in the label's catalog, is a
fine memento, pulling in sideman work that was imprinted with his
indelible mark, spotlighting his songs, and, above all, showing his
protean range: Holiday's "God Bless the Child" for Webster Young,
Monk's "Bye-Ya" for Steve Lacy, and ending with a gorgeous Gene Ammons
take on Waldron's own "Light'n Up."
B.B. King
Blues Kingpins
1951-62, Virgin/The Right Stuff
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Most bluesmen sounded old even when they weren't -- cf., the early work
from John Lee Hooker and Lightnin' Hopkins in this same series. On the
other hand, when King was a strapping young buck, he sounded it. His
singing gave Otis Redding a monumental challenge to top, and his
guitar gave Eric Clapton a lifelong career to follow. He was
recognized as a legend only later, but in the '50s he was the
hardest-working bluesman in Memphis. This intersects heavily with
previous period comps, but is as solid as any.
Seattle Weekly, Mar. 10-16, 2004
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