Killer deep soul from Louisiana.

Brothers Nkululelo and Siyabonga Mthembu reworkimg the music of Mongezi Feza, Johnny Dyani, the Malopoets, Batsumi, and Philip Tabane.
Old wisdom in new voices, new wisdom in old voices. Tolika Mtoliki, ‘Interpret Interpreter’.
“Just brilliant,” says Gilles.

Opening in 1973, tucked into a tangle of railway parts scattered across an industrial park at the western edge of Orlando East, Club Pelican was Soweto’s first night-club, and its premier live music venue throughout the seventies.
Pretty much everyone on the scene passed through its doors — to sing, or perform in the house band, or hang out. Schooled in standards, and fluent in the local musical vernacular, the music would take off in different directions at a moment’s notice — SA twists on jazz, funk, fusion, disco — spurred by the sounds coming in from Philadelphia, Detroit and New York City.
One Night In Pelican encapsulates these halcyon times, with a musical roll call of all the key groups and players, besides evocative, previously-unseen photographs, cover artwork by Zulu ‘Batsumi’ Bidi, and notes by Kwanele Sosibo, lit up by a gallery of first-person testimony.

Remastered from the original tape reels, this is the first official release of the legendary guitarist’s live recordings at the Penthouse jazz club, alongside bassist Sebastiao Neto and drummer Paulinho Magalhaes. With an extensive forty-page booklet containing rare photos of the performances; an essay by jazz critic Greg Caz; new statements by Carlos Santana, Lalo Schifrin, and others; and an effusive tribute by the John Fahey.

The fruits of a recording session deftly convened by Jef Gilson, to take advantage of Serge Rahoerson’s visit to Paris from Madagascar for just a few days in November 1976. Though a saxophonist by training, Serge had played drums on The Creator Has A Master Plan for the Malagasy album. To establish rhythmic foundations, Gilson reunited him in this capacity with Baroque Jazz Trio bassist Jean-Charles Capon. Recruited from Gilson’s current big band, Saravah saxophonist Philippe Maté and cornetist Butch Morris — on the verge of hooking up with David Murray — added their contributions later.

Chinafrica was Wayne Chin’s next project, after his group Creole disbanded in the early-eighties.
Two shark-attack do-overs of foundational tunes, startlingly different: a deadly, sick, atmospheric Declaration Of Rights, with shades of Wackies; and a sprightly, in-your-face, digi Baba Boom Time, originally stepping out on Thunderbolt in 1987.