Nutritious jazz duets between flautist LM (who has worked with everyone from Nina Simone to Mulatu) and bassist Marshall Hawkins (who took over from Ron Carter for Miles, and played on Donny Hathaway’s Everything Is Everything, the year after this recording, in 1970). Engrossing, gorgeous, good for the soul. Warmly recommended.

With the arrival of clarinettist-saxophonist Louis Sclavis in 1973 (and the departure of trumpeter Jean Mereu in 1975), the Workshop De Lyon was born of the Free Jazz Workshop.
A warmly accessible, beautifully performed, joyous mixture of wailing improv and propulsive, rootical preparations, this second album derives its upful, digressive theatricality from the Arts Ensemble Of Chicago, and its urgent sublimification of vernacular rhythms and melodies from Albert Ayler. Wild and free, but grounded in stuff like Bechet, Monk and George Russell.
Terrific.

The outstanding trumpeter with Triveni cohorts Omer Avital and Nasheet Waits… also featuring his sister Anat brilliantly playing clarinet, and vocalist Keren Ann ravishingly invoking Chet Baker. A Mingus, a Strayhorn, Frank Foster’s Shiny Stockings and an Ornette tribute, in amongst the originals.

Excellent rock steady from 1966, with nothing much to do with the Lion of Judah; and a lush, tropical Tommy McCook, with nothing much to do with James Bond.

Terrific close-harmony rocksteady bad tidings from 1967.
The flip doubles the murder rate: Tommy McCook’s Persian Ska, from the previous year.

Their first LP, released in 1973 after six years together, with the first drummer Pierre Guyon having been replaced by Christian Rollet in 1970. Brilliant, roiling and free, with a celebratory lyricism to its grapplings with Cecil Taylor, Gary Peacock, Milford Graves and co, and a wheeling melancholia straight from Ornette.

Melodic, texturally-inventive, often mesmeric pieces for both piano and prepared piano, including SB’s own compositions and spontaneous improvisations, as well as two versions of the traditional Arab song Lamma Bada Yatathanna.

Rough, wild slide-guitar blues. “He couldn’t play shit, but he sure made it sound good,” was the guitarist’s verdict on himself.
Halfway through Sadie, his ex tells him straight: ‘Hound Dog, I can’t use you any more.’ Taylor cries his heart right out into three solos. Terrific.