Three Types Of Fusion

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If reissues are one means a label uses to reuse material, then it seems only fair that a review of reissued material should be allowed to reuse a device that has been a time-honored tool of reviewers for years, namely, beginning a review with a dictionary definition, in this case "fusion".

My dictionary defines "fusion" as:

The merging or blending of two or more things, for example, materials or ideas.

Granted, this is hardly a great revelation, and it is more than a bit of a cliché to begin a review like this. Nevertheless, the concept of "fusion" as defined above is very relevant to the music contained in three recent reissues from the Fantasy/OJC organization, because the music of each, although superficially inhabiting different realms of the jazz spectrum, contains players and concepts that all represent fusions of one type or another.

Take Johnny Griffin, for instance. It would be easy to classify him as a "hard bop tenor great" and take it from there (or just leave it at that). That would be right as far as it goes, but that would be overlooking the fusion of elements that makes Griffin not just a great player, but also one of the most distinctive, personal, and virtuosic voices in the annals of jazz (I seriously doubt that there is anything that Griffin cannot play on his instrument). Certainly, Griffin is a master of the bop/hard bop language, but he also brings a deeply natural and genuinely nasty blues feeling (honed by spending many of his formative years playing in R&B bands, as well as Lionel Hampton's near-R&B orchestra), as well as a sense of humor that often borders on the surrealistic. The result is a player whose playing, although definitely bop/hard bop at its root, is liberally sprinkled with extremely vocal moans, groans, shouts, screams, as well as with quotations and "outside" passages that are often as startling as they are hilarious. Griffin, like his former employer Thelonious Monk, is a master of the "serious joke".

The music contained on Bush Dance (Galaxy GCD-95004-2) was recorded in 1978 and 1983, during a period when Griffin had followed the lead of fellow expatriate Dexter Gordon and returned to the U.S. after a decade or so abroad. Unlike Gordon, Griffin did not permanently settle in America, yet he did play almost as many gigs (including at least one with Dexter himself at New York Carnegie Hall), and even assembled a regular working band for them.

That band, consisting of Mulgrew Miller (piano), Curtis Lundy (bass), and Kenny Washington (drums) is heard on the disc's 1983 date, originally released (with one tune not included here for timing reasons) on Galaxy as Call It Whachawana. The program is a varied, if not particularly innovative, one, and the playing by all is about as good as it gets. Griff's band is young but able, and the tenor saxophonist spends the date molding and re-molding them into a highly sensitive and responsive unit, one that gives him exactly the type of support he needs. Indeed, while they play about as well as they can and you would expect, they remain a supporting cast, and they do what a supporting cast is supposed to do – rise to the challenge, soak it all in, and take a series of lessons in the finer points of life and music. Meanwhile, Griffin hangs out the "master at work" sign, assuming the role of elder statesman and playing it for all its worth. He lets his spirit soar and his chops fly in the service of his muse.

The 1978 session is different in concept, but not, ultimately, in quality. Here, Griffin is backed by a veteran cast of Cedar Walton, George Freeman (another highly idiosyncratic voice out of Griffin's hometown of Chicago), Sam Jones, Albert "Tootie" Heath, and percussionist Kenneth Nash. The program here is, if anything, more varied than on the '83 session, and the fare is not at all typical or simply straight-ahead. Yes, the group plays "A Night In Tunisia", but here it is prefaced (and post-scripted) with a lengthy African-tinged vamp, chant, and melody (the fusion continues...) that will have you wondering if this might not be a new tune that just happens to have the same name as the Dizzy Gillespie classic. There's also a "Since I Fell for You" that is about as stone-R&B in flavor as anything Griffin's ever done since he began recording as a leader; a Griffin original, "Bush Dance", that combines the sensibilities of Hard Bop with the feel of ‘70s dance music; and two more pieces that are more traditionally "jazz"-oriented. All of it is played with fire and abandon, and until we are blessed with a complete collection of Griffin's Galaxy recordings – which will hopefully include plenty of yet-unissured material from his 1979 live date at The Village Vanguard – this release must be considered a definitive example of Johnny Griffin's post-"homecoming" work. Whatever the case, its a "must have" for fans and novices alike.

Musically, Joe Henderson represents one kind of fusion all by his lonesome, and the 1970 performances to be heard on Joe Henderson Quintet At The Lighthouse (Milestone MCD-47104-2) are another type of fusion altogether. The observation that Henderson's recording career in the 1960s found him making meaningful and lasting contributions to sessions led by everybody from Grant Green to Andrew Hill to Lee Morgan to Larry Young. He also made series of "conservatively progressive" albums under his own name that still represent the core of his legacy. Truly a man for all seasons (and sessions), a man who even in the first stages of his career was synthesizing all the various then-current currents of modern jazz. The tenor saxophonist took bop, hard bop, modal, free, Bird, Rollins, Trane, all of it, as well as his own personal concepts of tone and rhythm, and made of this mélange a single (and singular) voice that made him one of those rare players who, though he could play in almost any setting, fit into it with a perfect and unforced appropriateness, still sounded like nobody but himself whatever the circumstances.

It should be no surprise, then, that when Henderson formed his own working group in the late 60's, he continued his natural tendencies to assimilate and transform whatever trends, materials, and ideas he found useful and to adopt / adapt them to his own ends. Among these incorporations will be obvious to even the casual listener: the use of electric piano; a heavy emphasis on Latin percussion. But others are less obvious, such a the leader's careful assembling of rhythm sections that are conversant with both the loose, open ended swing of post-Trane Miles Davis groups and a strong dance pulse (although this music is in no way "funk", it nevertheless consistently throbs with the dance impulse). The repertoire on At The Lighthouse consists almost exclusively of pieces drawn from Henderson's 1960s Blue Note recordings, but the feel and sound of the group is far removed from that of the groups that originally recorded them. Actually, it would not be too big a stretch to view this period in Henderson's career as a fusion between the advanced Hard Bop of the 60s, the stretched harmonies and sprung rhythms of Miles' 60s quintet, and the electric elements that Miles' then-brand new bands had been utilizing.

It is precisely this fusion that made these recordings (and others by Henderson from roughly the same time, with much the same approach) so influential among a certain sector of younger musicians. Here was a way to be "contemporary", "inside", and "populist" all at once. If it wasn't "new" music, it was definitely a new way of looking at slightly older music, of keeping it fresh for the players and the audience alike. I know from personal experience that the inclusion of electric piano, percussion, and this type of material was very common in the 1970s, as was the reality that these changes to the music had a very real populist appeal. Audiences (and the ones heard here at The Lighthouse were no exception) responded to this blend as being totally in step with the overall sound and feel of the times. This was a time when "straight ahead" jazz still maintained a relevancy to a distinct portion of the non-musician, "blue collar" public, a dynamic that was frittered away when the Neo-Conservative "revolution" that followed not too many years later determined that such elements were somehow "demeaning" to the music. Dashikis were replaced with three-piece suits, clubs by recitals masquerading as concerts, and "the people" by "the sponsors". (But that's another story altogether, a sad one at that, and outside of the purview of this review.)

The group heard here is an excellent one – the great Woody Shaw on trumpet, George Cables on keys (his role as one of the earliest exponents of electric piano in this type of jazz is often overlooked), Ron McLure on bass (himself then not too far removed from his gig with another jazz populist / popularizer of a different stripe, Charles Lloyd), a very young Lenny White on drums (displaying none of the bombast and lack of taste that would mark his work in the jazz-rock fusion vein a few years later), and percussionist Tony Waters. Admittedly, nobody plays to the absolute peak of their individual capabilities here, but the whole thing gels nicely. After all, this is a live recording, not a tightly controlled studio date. Notes are occasionally fluffed, pet licks occasionally called upon to sustain fleeting moments of non-inspiration, intonation occasionally goes south, but none of that detracts from the collective spirit that this band was putting out. "Good vibes", in the vernacular of the day, abounded, and the beauty of the moment overrides any lack of perfection in the finer details.

The only real drawback to these recordings is the balance of the instruments. The horns are way forward, and Cables and White pulled back much further in the mix than they would have actually been in person. A key factor to popular appeal and relative commercial success of music such as this is exactly its density of texture and volume, the palpability of the sound, the physically confrontational reality of the collective output. The original albums, unfortunately, suffered from this mix as well, and the digital remastering of the material only brings its drawbacks into greater relief. This should not really be a surprise, as producer Orrin Keepnews and the original engineer, the great Bernie Grundman, was of an older era, and live recording technology of the time was still less the exact science than it is today. Still, a fatter sound to the "background" would have given a more accurate picture of the way this type music really sounded. And, in fairness, Keepnews' studio recordings of the time (often engineered by Elvin Campbell) did provide this type of mix.

Still, these are relatively minor quibbles. How much one will be attracted to this music will decidedly depend on how one feels about the Henderson/Shaw type of jazz, how one feels about the electric piano and the added percussion, and how much of this material one already owns. It is all available in other discs (although some of it only in the 8-CD set of Henderson's complete Milestone recordings), but not all in a single disc as is presented here. And even here, it is not totally complete – one tune, "Gazelle", although readily available elsewhere, was left out due to time restrictions. But if one digs this type of music, this is an excellent document of a working group playing in front of a receptive audience with plenty of fire and good spirits all around. The only thing better would be hearing it in person, and, since Henderson & Show are both no longer amongst the living (and because this type of jazz, or at least, this type of jazz with these kind of trimmings) has been deemed "unworthy" by the arbitrary arbitrators of today's "jazz culture"), that ain't gonna happen. So grab it where it is, on this release, or on some release.

Now, for our third example of fusion in jazz, we come to an example of the term as it is most commonly used: the blending of jazz improvisation with blatant rock- and/or funk-inspired grooves. This is a genre that still creates great controversy, and justifiably so, since the results have ranged from genuinely original and innovative to blatantly commercial, exploitative lowest-common-denominator bullshit to sincere but clueless, hopelessly misguided attempts doomed to fail before they even begin.

Regretfully, it is in the last category that Roy Haynes' Quiet Fire (Galaxy GCD-95005-2) falls. I say regretfully because Haynes, still one of jazz' seemingly eternally youthful souls today, was no stranger to this type of fusion at the time these sessions were recorded. Besides his earlier work with Gary Burton and Larry Coryell, his own early-70s Hip Ensemble records for Mainstream got into some of this type material, admittedly to varying degrees of success. But those efforts all had the benefit, such as it was, of being seat-of-the-pants, in the moment type affairs. The material on this disc (originally released on two LPs, 1977's Thank You, Thank You and 1978's Vistalite) ranges, mostly, from trite to contrived, with the performances, again, mostly, range from perfunctory to generic (generic relative to the player's specific styles, that is). The production doesn't help any either. It's neither high-sheen enough to offer true pop-jazz appeal, nor immediate enough to offer true jazz grit. In short, everything comes up to the table all steamed-up and hyping the delivery of a banquet, but all that is really served is a buffet of room-temperature take-out leftovers. Roy himself plays wonderfully (Roy always plays wonderfully), but it's a bad, bad case of so what, who cares, if I can hear Roy play wonderfully in a situation where there's something happening, why should I listen to this? That is a question for which there is no answer other than, "I shouldn't".

We would not be wrong for expecting that banquet, either, because the cast of characters on these dates is a distinguished one indeed: Joe Henderson, Bobby Hutcherson, Stanley Cowell, George Cables, Ron Carter, Cecil McBee, the list goes on. You'd expect that if these guys were going to phone it in, that they'd at least fake some involvement. They're all pros, and that's what pros do when they have to (and, truthfully, these guys have all done it before elsewhere). But they didn't.

Chico Hamilton made a lot of records similar to this one in the ‘70s, but Chico had the sense to either use young, then-unknown players who brought some sense of eagerness to the proceedings, or else avail himself of some very slick production. Either one of those options would have helped these sessions, but neither was used, not to any effective extent. Ironically, I saw a Roy Haynes gig ca. 1978 with a quartet that included three of the players heard on some of the pieces here – altoist Ricardo Strobert, guitarist Marcus Fiorillo, and electric bassist Dave Jackson. They were young and they were green, and it was obvious, but they were nonetheless going for it. Here, they sound like they're running from it. Maybe they had studio jitters (it happens), but somebody, Roy, Ed Michel (who produced both sessions) should have taken whatever the necessary steps would have been to get these youngsters into some kind of groove. Their live work showed that they had it in them. The record, though, does them no favors. It does nobody any favors.

However, every cloud has its silver lining, and this one is no exception. The very last cut on this otherwise forgettable and disposable collection is a version of "Invitation" played by a quartet of Haynes, Henderson, Cowell, and Jackson. This is a tune that Joe Henderson owned, and never more so than here. For six minutes and two seconds, the depressing nothingness of the preceding 71:53 is replaced by one of Joe Henderson's greatest recorded outings. The other members of the quartet rise to the occasion splendidly. They saved the best for last. Whether or not that one cut is enough to justify the purchase of this otherwise unnecessary CD is up to you. It's a testament to the greatness of that take of "Invitation" that I'd even consider leaving the option open.

Aside from that one cut, Quiet Fire spoils an otherwise excellent set of releases. Still, two good out of three ain't bad, especially when the two are as solid (and in the case of the Griffin, spectacular) as these. Fantasy's ongoing habit of leaving a cut from an original album in order to fit two albums onto one CD continues to irritate, but the reality of jazz economics earns them a begrudging, teeth-gritting pass from me. In the best of all worlds, this would not be an issue. However, this, obviously, is indeed not the best of all possible worlds.

Johnny Griffin, Joe Henderson, and Roy Haynes, however, go a good long way towards making it a helluva lot better.

~ Jim Sangrey

Reviewer Jim Sangrey is a Dallas-based tenor saxophonist, composer and all-around raconteur. He may be heard on the Quartet Out releases Welcome To The Party and Welcome To The Meathouse. He can be read in the liner notes to the Nessa CD reissue of Warne Marsh's All Music.

Posted by jsngry on April 8, 2005 6:30 AM