‘Recordings from early 2025, while Johnny was bed-bound in an assisted living facility with multiple sclerosis. He speaks into an iPhone laid gently on his chest, in remarkably tender and emotive form. Love in all its permutations. The tangled, but caring nature of familial love, to the anguish and euphoria of romantic connection. Johnny has a remarkable ability to pose questions, and answers, that reflect the truest of realities, without cliche.
‘Joel Nelson nimbly helms the nearly entirely electronic backdrop, with Buchla Music Easel bubbling up between Johnny’s stream of consciousness. At times, Broadcast’s fuzzed out ballads come to mind, while at others, early Oneohtrix Point Never’s gauzy, distant drones cast anchor beneath the slippery syntax.’

This 1954 vocal LP was the trumpeter’s idea. Pretty much everyone in the studio was sceptical, but Baker stuck to his guns during the numerous takes required to iron out his tuning. ‘I thought it was bullshit,’ recalled his close collaborator, pianist Russ Freeman. ‘Louis Armstrong and Jack Teagarden sang like jazz singers. This was ballads. Totally meaningless.’ Metronome magazine pilloried Baker’s ‘abysmal vocal deficiencies’, like ‘a four-month-old baby’s lack of coordination because he can’t walk.’
Punters loved it. The same year, audience polls in Down Beat magazine made him best trumpeter and best vocalist, above Miles Davis and Nat King Cole. This LP became his best-seller, over the decades. Its version of My Funny Valentine is arguably definitive.

The sexual and racial politics of its reception run fascinatingly deep. Baker’s singing style coolly declined a throw-down with machismo. (Bob Dorough and Mose Allison are fellow travellers.) Pacific Jazz producer Dick Bock conducted a marketing survey in 1955 which found that most of Baker’s fans were women who wanted to hear him sing. ‘A lot of people thought — foolishly so — that because of the way I sang, I, y’know, liked fellas or something, Baker remembered, nervously.’ According to his biographer James Gavin, the album made him the first jazz musician with a ‘strong homosexual following’. It was a massive hit in Brazil, too, coursing into the bossa nova movement via admirers like Joao Gilberto and Nara Leao.

Her debut as leader, a year after John’s death, with Pharoah Sanders, Jimmy Garrison, Ben Riley and Rashied Ali steeply conjuring an ecstatic blend of JC and Bud Powell, blues, gospel and free jazz, trained unflinchingly on Nature and Truth, witches and devils, the Mystical and the Divine.
Tremendous music — deeply rooted, rawly searching, still thrillingly uplifting.
‘Verve By Request.’

Kicking off with a definitive, thunderous, thrilling version of the title track; with Lee Morgan and Wayne Shorter.
‘Classic Vinyl’ series.

With Freddie Hubbard trumpet, Herbie Hancock piano, Ron Carter bass, Joe Chambers drums. 1965. Miles Smiles kind of thing.

‘Listeners expecting unrelenting blasts of ‘energy music’ might be surprised to find a cohesion atypical of free jazz: amidst the wild, impassioned solos, Howard weaves in Latin rhythms and fat-bottomed grooves. On the first side, Domiabra and Ole Negro sound as if they could have appeared on some of Blue Note’s proto-spiritual jazz, groove-heavy releases — evoking the likes of Horace Silver or Bobby Hutcherson — before ceding the floor to the horn players’ anarchic firepower. As John Corbett writes in the liner notes, ‘Two players stand out. Bassist Norris Jones — aka Sirone — is given ample room, largely unaccompanied; his corporal approach foreshadows later work with the Revolutionary Ensemble. But the secret weapon on The Black Ark is Arthur Doyle. Straight from basement rehearsal sessions with Milford Graves, whose ensemble he had joined and who remained a favorite of the drummer for decades, Doyle is a human flamethrower.’ Trumpeter Earl Cross’ guttural, vocal effects complement Doyle’s take-no-prisoners approach, while the estimable combination of Muhammad Ali (Rashied’s brother) on drums and Juma Sultan on congas adds an ever-shifting propulsion. The septet is rounded out by the enigmatic pianist Leslie Waldron, who anchors the group with imaginative accompaniment and occasional boppish flourishes. Every bit worthy of its reputation as an ‘out-jazz’ holy grail, The Black Ark only sounds better with age.’

‘Classic Vinyl.’

Ace hard bop from 1967, elegantly alternating bluesy with modal. Cedar Walton, Billy Higgins, and the excellent Sonny Red. The title track is extended, sultry and grooving; and there’s a version of the dancer Book’s Bossa.

With Pharoah Sanders, Henry Grimes and Ed Blackwell, in 1966.
‘Sanders’ mix of Coltrane’s yearning long notes, Ayler’s ghostly, fluttering wail, Coleman’s fast, bumpy phrasing and his own manic bagpipe screams certainly separates the faint-hearted from the stayers on the opening Awake Nu. But the conversation between Sanders and Cherry is light, lyrical and engaging on The Thing, and the saxophonist even gets into a stubborn, Sonny Rollins-like repeating Latin vamp on There Is the Bomb. An unflinchingly quirky classic’ (The Guardian).