Night Life - Ray Price

This is the second day in a row that we’ve had an album from someone named Price, and if yesterday’s Alan Price LP offered an interesting glimpse into the concerns of the British everyman in the early 70’s, this country gem from Ray Price gives us an equally revealing view of the end of the honky tonk era in America in the early 60’s. This is a profoundly intimate country album, and it almost seems to take on a life of its own as it wistfully evokes the end of the era brought about by Hank Williams, with whom Price briefly shared a room in the early 50’s. But it seems pointless to bemoan the death of honky tonk when Night Life foreshadows so much incredible music to come. Night Life is one of country’s first concept albums, and even if Marty Robbins made a more fully-realized concept album a few years earlier with Gunfighter Ballads and Trail Songs, Price’s set of odes to loneliness, lost love, and, sure ‘nuff, the night life itself, is a much more timeless set of tunes. The title track alone is, pardon my excessive enthusiasm, one of the all-time greatest American songs ever written, period. At the juncture of country and jazz (which would be further explored throughout the 60’s and eventually turned into the crystalline twangy pop of the Nashville “countrypolitan” sound), “Night Life” is a beauteous tribute to those shadowy characters that inhabited the musical underworld of the pre-outlaw generation South. Featuring some of the most heartbreaking pedal steel ever put to wax (courtesy of the god-like Buddy Emmons), it was written by Willie Nelson years before his pot-smokin’ hillbilly image would make him a superstar. The rest of the album is almost as stellar, as Price’s semi-legendary backing group, the Cherokee Cowboys, pretty much invent the “Nashville sound” that would characterize country music in the 60’s. This album was not a success for Price upon its initial release. Yet time has been kind to it, and it’s now rightly viewed as one of country music’s greatest moments. Price would go on to become a superstar in his own right with some schlockier, strings-laden material later in the decade, but Night Life is his finest moment. (For some reason, the reissue of this album that I’m working with only includes “Night Life” with a rather tedious spoken introduction, so I’ve included the Columbia single release as well.)

The night life ain’t no good life, but it’s my life.

The Malcolm X Memorial: A Tribute In Music - Philip Cohran & The Artistic Heritage Ensemble

One of the best things about the late 60’s and early 70’s was the wealth of bizarre concept albums that never really took off. For every Tommy there was a God Bless Tiny Tim, and, in terms of jazz, for every universally applauded masterpiece (like Pharoah Sanders’s Karma or Alice Coltrane’s Journey in Satchidananda) there was some sort of interesting, odd, and woefully anti-commercial project like The Malcolm X Memorial: A Tribute in Music. Philip Cohran made his name as a trumpeter with Sun Ra’s Arkestra (Sun Ra, of course, being the Egyptian god of bizarre concept albums), so it’s almost surprising that the music on Malcolm X is as coherent as it is. The album consists of four tracks, each representing a different stage of the former Malcolm Little’s life. The first track, “Malcolm Little” is a slow-burning blues with some nifty jazz flute, emulating Malcolm’s coming of age as his family moved throughout the Midwest. It’s groovy mood music, though it’s not particularly incendiary, especially in light of the innovation to be heard later in the album. The next track, “Detroit Red”, is a brassy big-band number, reminiscent of Sun Ra’s early Sound of Joy-era material. “Detroit Red” is ace old-school bop, the perfect evocation of Malcolm’s time as a conk-haired Harlem hustler, and, at ten minutes, it’s easy to get lost in the ballsy groove and forget just what this album’s all about. Oddly, the track titled “Malcolm X” is the shortest on the album, but it’s a slab of valiant soul-jazz that draws on the dignity of the Malcolm X legend itself. The final track, “El Hajj Malik El Shabazz”, is the only track here that sounds like an elegy for the late civil rights leader, and, with its layers of syncopation, it’s the song that most closely spiritually approaches Malcolm’s controversial doctrine. All in all, this is a well-done concept album, even if it is a bit dated and uneven in spots. For what it’s worth, however, I feel it to be a fitting tribute to one of the civil rights era’s greatest Americans.

Always talkin’ brotherhood, white man, you just ain’t no good.

In The Christmas Spirit - Booker T & The MG's

Well, ladies and gents, I'm going to be taking a break from Solid Gold Easy Action for a couple weeks, occupied as I am with doing last minute Christmas shopping, eating obscene amounts of home cookin', and driving across America in my noble and never-ending quest for a good time. But just to tide you cats and dogs over until I return, here's a little Christmas present from the inimitable Booker T & The MG's, Stax Records' house band and without a doubt the greatest instrumental soul combo of all time. There ain't much I can write about this album: it's twelve southern-fried Christmas carols, given a soul makeover by Booker T. Jones, Steve Cropper, Al Jackson Jr., and Donald "Duck" Dunn. At the very least, it ought to make those of you in the frozen North feel a bit warmer, and it's a hell of a lot better than a Wyndham Hill Christmas sampler, I can tell you that. See y'all in 2010!

Merry Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa/etc!

Friday At The Hideout: Boss Detroit Garage 1964-67 - Various Artists

They don't call Detroit "Rock City" for nuthin'. Back in the mid 60's, when, for a few brief minutes, the world's eyes turned to Detroit during Motown's heyday, a homegrown garage rock/maximum R&B scene was just beginning to take form. This scene would eventually see the rise of proto-punk legends The Stooges and The MC5, who in turn would watch acts like Bob Seger, Grand Funk Railroad, and Ted Nugent rise to superstardom in the 70's. But before the long, greasy hair, endless riffage, and drunken ribaldry of "Detroit rock", Hideout Records and its accordingly named dance club provided an outlet for southeast Michigan's hep teens to shimmy and shake every weekend. Dave Leone's small garage rock imprint was just one of literally hundreds of its type across the nation, but it's notable for two reasons: the future stars that got started there, and the pure quality of the music released. Unfortunately, none of the tracks cut by Bob Seger for Hideout were included on this compilation due to some legal mumbo-jumbo, but his brand of workin' man's blues is well-represented nonetheless. This comp offers up some serious frat-rock breakdowns from Doug Brown & The Omens, some Kinks-y groovers from The Underdogs, and some poppier psych gems from Four Of Us and The Mushrooms (both featuring a teenage Glen Frey). But the real gems here are the two cuts from The Pleasure Seekers, an all-girl housewreckin' combo starring a sweet young Suzi Quatro. "Never Thought You'd Leave Me" sounds like a girly version of The Dovers, full of plunky bass, jazzy Fender Rhodes piano, and the kind of "California Sun" guitar riff that 60's garage bands just couldn't get enough of. And then there's "What A Way To Die", yet another song to add to the list of tunes that should've made it onto Nuggets but somehow didn't. Sounding like a deranged gutbucket punk version of The Tammys' girl-group classic "Egyptian Shumba", "What A Way To Die" goes straight for the jugular, making Suzi's later glam rock stuff sound tame and bland by comparison. For anyone interested in Detroit's thriving garage rock history, this comp is a killer.

Well I may not live past twenty-one, but what a way to die!

African Jazz 'n' Jive - Various Artists

Aside from the occasional "world music" crossover act, African music gets very little attention here in the States. That's not entirely surprising, as African music seldom contains the sort of glossy pop appeal that makes for hit records in the US of A. But what most American consumers don't realize is that since the 1920's, African musical trends have been inextricably bound with those of the United States, particularly the black population. Beginning with the early days of jazz, when Dixieland reverberations were felt around the world, African urban centers, particularly those in Nigeria, Cameroon, and Ghana, responded with their own energetic adaptations of black American music. As time went on, West African musicians began to develop their own permutations of American music that was, in turn, born of traditional African music. The first really noteworthy movement of this type was the "township" jazz craze that dominated radio airwaves from the late 40's to the early 60's and paved the way for the popular "highlife" and Afrobeat styles that became world-famous through the work of Fela Kuti, King Sunny Ade, and others. This compilation focuses on the later days of township jazz, once it was firmly established as Africa's hippest musical force. The casual listener might be surprised at how stylistic close this is to classic American swing and bop. Indeed, only the occasional non-English lyric distinguishes it from early Charlie Parker orlate Duke Ellington. But inventive tracks like Kippie Moeketsi's "Clarinet Kwela" sound wholly unique, while Lemmy "Special" Mabase's "Kwela Blues" has a folksy, amateurish charm that's rare in American jazz from the 50's. Sure, this isn't as dynamic as Fela's Afrobeat or the percussive sounds of jùjú, but for jazz aficionados, it's a pleasant and interesting look at jazz from the heart of the groove.

Something new in Africa!

Orgasm - Cromagnon

Here's a special treat for those of you thoroughly irritated by the whole "new weird America" thing that's goin' on out there in the big ol' world of music. College kids dressing up in crazee clothes and making noise in the name of "freak folk" or whatever is not a new concept, and it seems to me that most of the new crop of freaky bands sound much more restrained than the original LSD/mescaline-tormented masters they wish to emulate. Cromagnon, ladies and gents, is as weird as it ever got. Cromagnon took the inanity of 60's psychedelia to practically unthinkable extremes, and when they were done, simply packed up and went home (The Residents took over soon afterward and kept the freak flame a-burnin'). The roots of Cromagnon lie in bubblegum pop songwriters Austin Grasmere and Brian Elliot's desire to create a truly "psychedelic" album, something that would combine the American acid rock of the era with primitive folk and what they called "cave rock", which essentially amounted to clattering on rocks with sticks. The resulting album is possibly the zaniest freak-out album of all time. Julian Cope wrote of the album, "now, when you stick the needle into the groove that is opener, 'Caledonia', you'll immediately think you're listening to Einstürzende Neubauten gone black metal, then you'll realize you're WRONG and that there was no reference points such as that available in 1968," but Julian Cope is a pretentious loser, and in this case, he appears to be just namedropping. Nah, "Caledonia" doesn't sound like Einstürzende Neubauten or black metal. It sure sounds great though; something like an ancient Scottish funeral march, complete with bagpipes and occult whisperings. It's easily the best and most accessible track to be found here, which speaks volumes about how fucking crazy this album really is. "Ritual Feast of the Libido" sounds like a caveman being tortured, "Organic Sundown" retains all the percussive clatter of a voodoo ritual, "Fantasy" sounds like musique concrète in Hell, and "Crow of the Black Tree" sounds like the kind of underworldly folk that Devendra Banhart wishes we was creative enough to dream up. This is old weird America, and it never got weirder.

Cave rock.

Il Grande Silenzio - Ennio Morricone

There's nothing typical about Ennio Morricone. As a composer, he is one of the 20th century's foremost talents. As a film maestro, he's fucking untouchable. Only Bernard Hermann can be said to have had the same degree of influence on film music, and not even he can compete with Ennio Morricone's track record: Maestro Morricone has written and recorded soundtracks for over 500 movies. He is, of course, best known for his work in the "spaghetti western" genre (a genre he bloody well invented, I might add), though only forty of his movies were westerns. The achingly expressive soundtracks accompanying The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly and Once Upon A Time In The West remain cornerstones of 20th century inventiveness, but it's Il Grande Silenzio that, in my opinion, stands up as Morricone's most magnificent spaghetti western recording. Sergio Corbucci's uncompromising film is about as atypical within the western genre as Morricone's work is within his chosen field: French dramatic actor Jean-Louis Trintignant stars, although he does not speak a single line throughout the entire movie. Meanwhile, a ferocious Klaus Kinski wreaks havoc on a small town in Utah during a cataclysmic blizzard. The film's finale is about as harrowing as anything in cinematic history, due in no small part to Morricone's tense, atmospheric score. What makes the maestro's recordings for Il Grande Silenzio so much more powerful than, say, The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly, is its avoidance of spaghetti western clichés (clichés Morricone admittedly invented). There aren't any cod-Native American chants here, no down-tuned Spanish guitars, and no ominous whistling. Instead, a sparse orchestra of bells, acoustic guitars, and cellos evoke the film's melancholic, wintry landscape. "Il Grande Silenzio (Restless)" is one of the finest songs in Morricone's entire canon, as much folk rock as it is grand symphonic poetry. "Prima Che Volino I Corvi" and "Immobile" are both eerie and tense as hell, providing the perfect stylistic foil to Klaus Kinski's (as always) deranged performance. And if you're looking for that vintage Morricone sound, "Voci Nel Deserto" ought to do it for you: the maestro's inimitable muse Edda Dell'Orso provides yet another magnificent wordless vocal performance that's church-like in its beauty. Unbelievably well-done.

The Old West is finished.

Agilok & Blubbo - The Inner Space

The German krautrock group Can is one of the greatest musical ensembles to grace our planet with its presence (forgive me for gushing), and though they reached the summit of rhythmic psychedelic awesomeness in the early 70's, their embryonic mid to late 60's releases are full of the type of acid-fried Teutonic rock craziness that made bands like Amon Düül II and Guru Guru such anarchic thrills in their times. Can devotees will already be well aware of Czukay, Karoli, Schmidt, and Liebezeit's early work with Malcolm Mooney on Monster Movie and Soundtracks (one of the most underrated platters of the 60's, in my opinion), and have probably even heard the unearthed treasures of Delay 68, issued as a compilation in 1981. However, only seriously hardcore krautrock acolytes will be aware of the existence of "Kamera Song", a trippy pop ditty auf deutsch released as a single under the moniker The Inner Space. The Inner Space was comprised of Can's core group (prior to both the Mooney and Damo Suzuki eras) and sounded exactly like what it was: a primitive, tense incarnation of what would later become one of the most innovative groups of all time. "Kamera Song", featuring vocals from actress Rosemarie Heinikel, was one of only two single releases from The Inner Space's soundtrack recordings for Agilok & Blubbo, a whacked-out pseudo-revolutionary political satire that barely saw the light of day in conservative late 60's West Germany. The rest of the soundtrack is as eccentric and groovy as "Kamera Song", though it lacks the twitchy funk that made Can such an art-rock powerhouse in the 70's. The title track is, along with "Kamera Song", an obvious highlight, hinting at a form of spacey jazz-pop that Can would not dabble in for nearly another decade. Jawohl!

Komm hier, komm ganz nah, komm hier, Kamera.

Fantasia Flamenca - Paco De Lucía

It's admittedly tough to write a well-informed review of a Paco De Lucía album, firstly because I know very little about Spanish flamenco music, and secondly, because everything here sounds so sublime that it's difficult to describe this album any way other than "Fuck yeah, this is awesome!!" With that said, this is one of Paco's early albums, from a time before he grew his hair long and started to look more and more like David Carradine in Kill Bill with each passing day. This is Paco solo, just a man and his guitar, as he had not yet started recording with gypsy vocalist Camarón de la Isla. As I've said, my knowledge of Spanish music is pretty slim, but it ought to be obvious to even the most uncultured ears that this man is a bona fide master of his craft. Melodies weave around melodies weaving around even more melodies, all conjured out of one six-string guitar. But what sets Paco apart from other flamenco guitarists, at least in my mind, is not his virtuosity or his mind-blowing speed, but his ability to adapt any melody to his personal, highly-developed style. There's not a single forgettable tune here, and none of them feel like indulgent skill showcases. Each song manages to evoke its own distinct vibe: "Mantilla de Feria" is alternately festive and plaintive, "Panderos Flamencos" is stately and noble, and "Lamento Minero" is heartbreaking in its minor-key beauty. Hear a master at work.

The hand finds a way to do what the heart wants to say.

Zorba The Greek - Mikis Theodorakis

Firstly, a brief word on film: Michael Cacoyannis's exuberant adaptation of Nikos Kazantzakis's magnificently life-affirming novel Zorba The Greek is one of the great unheralded film classics of the 1960's. Anthony Quinn (an underrated star of the silver screen if there ever was one) is marvelous in his Oscar-nominated performance as the titular protagonist, and Walter Lassally's spacious cinematography is beautiful to behold. At the front and center of this movie, however, is one of its most important aspects: Mikis Theodorakis's bold and brassy score; hundreds of years of Greek folklore condensed into a bare twenty-seven minutes of music. Awash in joyous strings - guitars, zithers, and bouzoukis all vie for supremacy - Zorba The Greek is the sound of a supremely talented modernist composer indulging his love of both folk and pop music forms. Consistent with Theodorakis's illustrious record as a freedom fighter, rebetiko, the "Greek blues" of the 1930's, is well-represented here, providing the perfect accompaniment to Zorba's lustrous adventures. However, this isn't pure Greek folk music; aspects of Hollywood-esque film score production are apparent, particularly in melodramatic tracks like "The Fire Inside" and "Clever People & Grocers", and even vaguely exotica-esque pop textures pop up, as on "Theme From Zorba The Greek", which Herb Alpert would later cover for a huge instrumental hit, effectively proving that in 1965 American audiences had not yet tired of ethnic-ish instrumental pop music. Yet Theodorakis's remains the superior version, a definite highlight in this brief but beautifully effusive soundtrack album.

"Me, I got up and I danced. They said, 'Zorba is mad!'"

Colombia! The Golden Age Of Discos Fuentes - Various Artists

When talking Colombian music, or Latin music in general, it doesn't get much better than Discos Fuentes. Antonio Fuentes Estrada's labor of love became the first Colombian-owned record label when it opened for business in the 30's and continues today as one of the world's foremost exponents of greasy, ass-shaking Latin grooves. Although marvelously consistent, Discos Fuentes experienced its greatest successes in the 60's and 70's as it strove to legitimize the African rhythms of cumbia and the pan-Latin soul of salsa for a global record-buying public. This collection of swaggering cumbia dancefloor fillers and sly nightclub vamps focuses on the years 1960 to 1976; the years in which American record buyers hungry for a new craze were eager to snap up anything tangibly similar to the Latin music popularized by Afro-Cuban jazz, Tito Puente, and Fania Records. The tracks contained herein, however, still sound gloriously unbound by American dancefloor trends: this is pure Colombian cumbia. Fruko & Sus Tesos and Michi Sarmiento are the most well-represented artists here, with three tracks apiece, and together they manage to steal the entire show. Fruko and his compadres were houserockin' innovators, integrating aspects of tribal folk music and pop harmonies into their spicy salsa, while Sarmiento and his band specialized in a more traditional and laid-back brand of cumbia, stretching out brilliantly on paradisiac cuts like "La Primavera". The most stunning track here, however, belongs to Los Corraleros De Majagual. "El Mondongo" is a ten minute-plus epic of jazzy piano frills, insistent percussion, and spectacular trumpet solos. If you can't get down to this, you had better get your hips checked.

Qué soda!

Tramp - Lowell Fulson

Is it possible to find a record more houserockin' than this one? Straight-up barnstormin' blues, that's what this is. Lowell Fulson's hootenanny holler and chicken stratch guitar-pickin' put lesser R&B up-and-comers to shame in 1966 with the electrified stomp of the title track (covered later by artists as diverse as Otis Redding and Carla Thomas, ZZ Top, and Salt 'n' Pepa). In fact, "Tramp" puts 99% of R&B to shame; this classic is blues at its most loose and jerky, and the rest of the album follows in the same vein. Fulson's country blues past behind him, he hunkers down and churns out a sweaty Southern soul groove through swaggering cuts like "Get Your Game Up Tight" and "Back Door Key". Fulson's voice is majestic; warm and booming like Howlin' Wolf's kid brother, and his guitar-pickin' is purely sublime, never falling into the more predictable patterns sometimes trawled by other "cosmopolitan" blues twangers of the same era. "Two Way Wishing" cuts like a knife, sounding for all the world like what The Rolling Stones aspired to but could never quite reach, while "Year of 29" is so hot that it's likely to leave your speakers smellin' like burnin' rubber. (Note: Fulson is billed as "Lowell Fulsom" on this record sleeve, which is a name he sometimes recorded under for reasons unbeknownst to me. Generally people now refer to him as "Fulson".)

Call me country, right from the woods!

The Magic of Ju-Ju - Archie Shepp

Archie Shepp is jazz's favorite cantankerous firebrand - a rebel with a very noble cause, willing to preach to anyone who will listen. Shepp's battle against racial injustice has taken the form of several radicals brands of jazz music, all of them equally intense and personal. The Magic of Ju-Ju, one of Shepp's most treasured entries into the free jazz canon is exactly what the title evokes: music as fearsome ritual, albeit a ritual that's as fun as it is fearsome. The real magic here, almost needless to say, lies within the nearly nineteen minute title track, a righteous voodoo ceremony of sax skronk and relentless African percussion; it's soul jazz at its most gloriously soulful. Shepp is at the top of his game here: not content to simply groove in tune with the rhythm, he shrieks and stabs like the chief houngan in this primitive ritual. And while the rest of the album doesn't quite match the power of the title track, the unconventional waltz of "You're What This Day Is All About" is a brief pleasure, "Shazam" careens back and forth across frantic and desperate drumming from Norman Connors, and "Sorry 'Bout That" revisits the Afrocentric pulse of the title track. This remarkable album is Shepp at his most playful and original. Have a listen.

Nothing is sacred.

Äänityksiä 1963-1973 - Erkki Kurenniemi

When it comes to avant-garde minimalist electronic composition, one must either live in awe of it or completely fail to understand it. Most people fall into the latter category, and there's probably a good reason why: the uncompromising noise of Karlheinz Stockhausen or Olivier Messiaen hardly sound as good as The Rolling Stones or Led Zeppelin when you're crusin' for chicks. It's easy to miss the genius of the avant-gardists. Finnish nutcase Erkki Kurenniemi, however, belongs to a category somewhat removed from those anti-classicist pariahs. While Iannis Xenakis and György Ligeti spent their careers battling common notions of what comprises "music", Kurenniemi was screwin' around at the University of Helsinki, looking boldly into the future like a musical mad scientist. Kurenniemi could not be satisfied with simple sound textures (which renders this compilation somewhat less fascinating than video evidence of his work). He was busying himself with inventing synthesizers that responded to movements sensed by a video camera, another that generated sounds through skin contact, based on a participant's emotions, developing the first commercial microcomputer, and collaborating with progressive rock band Wigwam. This collection consists of some of his primitive synthesizer experiments from the 1960's, and while it might not be much good as party music, for those interested in the pure science of sound, it's indispensable.

The future is not what it used to be.

FabricLive.27 - DJ Format

The Fabric nightclub's ever-expanding series of DJ mix albums released under the names of Fabric and FabricLive focus primarily on IDM, trance, electro, and a number of other electronic dance music permutations, which is perhaps why DJ Format's entry into the FabricLive canon feels simultaneously like a fly in the electro-oriented ointment and a welcome departure from programmed dance beats. DJ Format, you see, does not spin electro. His gift to the Fabric community is a saucy platter of finger-lickin' R&B - rhythm and blues in many incarnations. The first half of this house-rockin' compilation is comprised primarily of the funkiest hip-hop this side of the "Funky Drummer" break - Ugly Duckling, Lyrics Born, Cut Chemist, Coldcut and DJ Format himself all make appearances. Dropping two of his own tracks might seem a bit indulgent if Format didn't coast on such an ace groove from start to finish; in fact, his collaboration with Abdominal, "3 Ft. Deep" is an unmatched highlight. But it's not the hip-hop side of this platter that contains FabricLive.27's chief appeal. From Ella Fitzgerald's dynamite cover of "Sunshine Of Your Love" onward, it's pure soul fire. Nina Simone and Julie Driscoll tear the roof off with their respective monster dancers, and eccentric slide-guitarist Ellen McIlwaine steals the show with a barnstorming rendition of "Toe Hold". Elsewhere, retro-funk revivalists Karachi Prison Band conjure up a tempest of percussion on "Put Some Grit In It" and Cleo Laine just about wraps everything up with the Northern soul nectar of "Night Owl" leaving our old friend Edan to bring this party to a close with a magnificent finale on "Rock and Roll".

We're ready to begin so grab your spot on the floor.

Knef - Hildegard Knef

German glamour queen Hildegard Knef is one of those European household names that inspires reverence and adulation at home but seems hopelessly corny to American ears. Knef was always more of an actress than a chanteuse, and most of her early 60's recordings are rather tedious exercises in Europop. Yet here we have one of those late 60's oddball one-offs that flourished in Europe under the influence of Burt Bacharach and his lush pop orchestration. Naturally, Knef is pretty damn corny, and Hildegard's supremely Teutonic intonation might alienate most American listeners. But for those open to a little bit of continental kitsch, Knef might provide the perfect tonic for ears tired from "serious" German music. Hildegard could easily pass for one of Serge Gainsbourg's yé-yé protégés (think France Gall, Anna Karina, especially Brigitte Bardot), with baroque-psych-funk jams such as "Wieviel Menschen waren glücklich, dass du gelebt", melodramatic classical-inspired arias like "Friedenskampf und Schadenfreude", and tender acoustic ballads like the elegaic closer, "Eisblumen".

Nichts geht verloren, kein Traum und kein Wunsch.

Black Christ Of The Andes - Mary Lou Williams

Jazz and spirituality have, at times, gone together like peanut butter and jelly, but certain jazz sectors have sought to distance faith and piety from the secular swing of black America's national music. There have always been, of course, jazz musicians willing to flip detractors the bird and forge ahead in creating intensely personal spiritual statements; Archie Shepp, Pharoah Sanders, and Sun Ra all developed distinctive voices through their integration of "church" music. However, a statement on the level of Black Christ Of The Andes from an artist like Mary Lou Williams was almost guaranteed to stir controversy. Williams had been making her name as the top woman composer in jazz since the late 20's, but no one really expected her to come up with anything like this in 1963: an eerie combination of a capella hymns performed like The Swingle Singers on a serious death trip and snappy piano runs complimented by a bold rhythm section. "St. Martin De Porres" comes up first: a dirge-y spiritual with a series of vocal whoops and harmonies eventually giving way to the sly bop of "It Ain't Necessarily So". Williams caresses her ivories most satisfyingly on innovative numbers like "A Fungus A Mungus" and "Forty-Five Degree Angle" until the fractured gospel-soul-jazz of "Praise The Lord" comes along and steals the show at disc's end. Artists such as Sun Ra and Albert Ayler always attracted controversy for their avant-garde tendencies, but only Mary Lou Williams, 53 years old at the time of this album's recording, could have created an album so eerie and uncompromising that it simultaneously delights and perplexes forty-six years later.

Praise the Lord from Heaven.