‘Finally available on vinyl, Grant Green’s near perfect slice of jazz funk and soul, recorded live on two cold January nights in 1971. Powerhouse drummer Idris Muhammad and soulful tenor star Houston Person were brought in to supplement Green’s current band featuring Ronnie Foster on organ and Clarence Thomas on soprano and tenor sax; and Blue Note producer Francis Wolff recorded. This treasure was never released, though, till a 2006 CD issue. Sounding incredibly fresh and live, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more real stamping of Grant Green at the top of his game. The LP blends extremely hypnotic and wild funk such as their opening cover of a local funk hit Jan Jan by the Fabulous Counts next to laidback renditions of early 70’s soul favorites Walk On By, Patches, and One More Chance by the Jackson 5. It perfectly captures the magic of hearing a legendary band effortlessly doing their thing in a small club while the audience unwinds after a long work day. Green pulls it all together with his melodic genius and perfect delivery. Great artists make it seem so easy. No pretensions here, just a killer band burning up the stage with unmistakable chemistry. Maybe you can’t go back in time, but if you close your eyes and light a cigarette, you might be convinced you’re sitting in a wood-paneled club on Detroit’s Westside enjoying Grant Green and his band tear it up.’
LP reissue supervised by Third Man, in Detroit.

Sweet rocksteady — expertly arranged, with boss guitar, horns and harmonies.
“We’re going to put it on… we are loaded… (long pause)... with soul music.”

With Michael Smith on piano, Noel McGhie on drums, and Bob Reid on bass, in April 1974; originally released by Calumet Records.

His trio with Chuck Israels and Larry Bunker, performing live at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club in early March, in the selection broadcast by WBGO-FM and PBS-TV later that month. Properly restored and remastered.

Not for the faint-hearted — dark and dirty psych improv from Chie Mukai, Eric Cordier and Seichi Yamamoto (Boredoms). Moody, subterranean squalls and drones, blowing up like a bad-tempered Fushitsusha.

It’s Gonna Rain is a total knockout.
Steve Reich’s first official piece is spun out of a chance encounter with a Pentecostalist preacher at work in San Francisco’s Union Square Park in 1964.
“He’s talking about the flood in the Bible and Noah and the ark, and you’ve got to remember the Cuban missile crisis was in ‘62, and this was something hanging over everyone’s head ... that we could be so much radioactive dust in the next day or two. So this seemed very appropriate…. There are two loops of his voice, starting in unison. And then one slowly creeps ahead of the other — I just did it with my thumb on the recording reel of one of the machines. And so they go out of phase. It’s like a canon or a round, like Row, Row, Row Your Boat. And you get first a kind of shaking, a reverberation, and then you get a sort of imitation and gradually you begin to hear it as a round. And that’s exactly what happens in this piece.”
Apocalyptic, riveting, banging, urgent, game-changing… it’s killer.

With Eric Dolphy, Richard Williams, Roy Haynes and George Duvivier in 1960, Van Gelder at the controls.

‘Originally released in 1970, Black, Brown and Beautiful saw legendary composer and arranger Oliver Nelson musically address the state of black America in the wake of the assassination of Martin Luther King. Tracks like Requiem, Lamb Of God and Martin Was A Man, A Real Man directly address the passing of King, whereas Self Help Is Needed and I Hope In Time A Change Will Come passionately ask questions still unanswered today.
“I have always felt that the Federal Government wasn’t going to do a damn thing and American Blacks were going to have to do it themselves. However, you can’t have a foot on your neck making it impossible for you to help yourself. That seems logical – doesn’t it?”
‘Musically, this is a sumptuous big band banquet with Nelson himself talking the soprano sax solo on the aching I Hope In Time A Change Will Come. Those who are fans of classic Nelson albums like The Blues And The Abstract Truth (1961) and the equally polemical The Mayor And The People (1971) will find much to enjoy here.’

Her classic Rojac and Tay-Ster sides.

Scintillating recordings by Giuffre, Swallow and Bley, in the early winter of their annus mirabilis; mostly drawn from studio work earlier in the year, but exhilaratingly transformed, freshly spontaneous.
Hotly recommended.