One hundred years ago, the end of the silent film era was approaching, and the music and culture of the Jazz Age were still in full force. Below are some notable highlights for April 1926.
One of the most historic nights of opera or concert hall music occurred on April 25, 1926. Giacomo Puccini’s final, unfinished opera, Turandot, premiered at La Scala in Milan. Puccini had died of throat cancer before completing the final act. The performance was conducted by the legendary Arturo Toscanini. When the orchestra reached the final notes Puccini had actually written (the death of the emotional focus of the opera, the young female slave Liù), Toscanini abruptly stopped the orchestra, laid down his baton, faced the audience, and announced: “Here the opera ends, because at this point the maestro died.” The curtain was lowered to complete silence.
In 1926, Jelly Roll Morton recorded “The Pearls” as a piano solo for the Brunswick label. It’s often described as one of the most intricate and carefully constructed pieces in early jazz. Morton himself said it was among the hardest jazz works ever written. In the performance, his left hand keeps a rock-solid, steady stride rhythm, while his right hand weaves in detailed and expressive melodic variations.
Fletcher Henderson’s orchestra, recording under the pseudonym The Dixie Stompers for contractual reasons, released “Static Strut” and “Dynamite.”
If ever there was one album in the history of rock to hold up and proclaim, “Even Schubert would praise this work for its seamless blend of music and lyrics,” it has to be this one.
I can only stumble in trying to describe the artfulness of Hammill’s compositions, or how perfectly his music supports his well-crafted lyrics, or how seamlessly the lyrics are part of the music. Released on April 16, 1976, Still Life is the best-recorded Van Der Graaf Generator album up to that point. Hammill’s broad range of vocals is effectively captured, and the organ passages, the bass, and David Jackson’s flute and sax contributions are all clear and distinctly independent elements in the colorful palette of sound.
All five tracks of the original LP are exceptional, but “La Rossa,” the final track of side one, is one of the masterpieces of 20th-century music. The work begins with an evocative organ introduction that contains the seeds of later material. Hammill enters with a matter-of-fact delivery of the first lines:
Lacking sleep and food and vision Here I am again, encamped upon your floor Craving sanctuary and nourishment Encouragement and sanctity and more
The intensity picks up as more lyrics follow: The streets seem very crowded I put on my brave disguise I know you know that I am acting I can see it in your eyes
And it is at this point that the music shifts into high gear with another verse:
In the harsh light of freedom I know that I cannot deny that I have wasted time Have been a little away in idle boasts Of my freedom and fidelity When simple words have never profited me most It isn’t enough in the end when I’m looking for hope
This is followed by the “organ monkey” chorus, performed at moderate intensity, leaving ample runway for the intensity to follow. After two more verses, the chorus returns, intensity further heightened by the percussion imitating the movements of the hopping organ monkey. A reflective bridge-like section intervenes, providing musical pathos to effectively set up new melodic and harmonic material. The percussion and saxophone increase their intensity to transition to a short, active organ/sax instrumental that breaks back into previous melodic material, with vocals at even greater intensity:
All bridges burning behind me All safety beyond reach The monkey fears its chains and runs blindly Only to find himself released
After “released,” new musical material is briefly interjected with the immediate incorporation of earlier melodic material as we proceed to an unbridled coda with sizzling percussion, heavy organ, a soaring saxophone, and a final, no-frills, and uncompromisingly definitive cadence.
Side Two starts with the melodically addictive “My Room” with its unforgettable opening line, “Searching for diamonds in the sulphur mine.” Hammill effectively captures the poignancy and heartbreak of abandonment and isolation through musical pacing, melodic phrasing, and overall mood.
The album ends with the longest track, “Childlike Faith in Childhood’s End,” which neatly ties together the lyrics and music of the first track, “Pilgrims,” with the reflection of life’s purpose expressed in “Still Life,” and reuses, transformed, musical material of the chorus from “La Rossa.” Hammill effectively leverages Arthur C. Clarke’s novel, Childhood’s End, and its theme of humanity transmuting into a collective, cosmic consciousness, and provides a philosophical finale, with the music relentlessly driving towards its transformative climax, the destruction of the individual for the ascension of humanity, the musical cadence taking us to the highest peak, where there is no air left to breathe.
Gentle Giant: Interview
A year before Interview was released in April 1976, Gentle Giant had recorded their seventh studio album, Free Hand, one of the pinnacles of progressive rock, and their most successful album up to that point, released in August of 1975 and soon climbing to the 48th position of the Billboard 200. Gentle Giant finally headlined decent-sized venues and were establishing themselves as a recognizable name in popular music. Two factors would work against them. The first: progressive rock had reached its peak and was now declining in popularity. This was out of their control.
The second factor that worked against them was their eighth studio album. Free Hand had a hard rock edge, was accessible, and was based on an easily relatable concept: reflections on the breakup of a relationship. Specifically, it addressed their breakup with a non-supportive record label, but the lyrics were written with enough ambiguity to effectively apply to romantic breakups. “Just the Same” was about defiance and authenticity, “On Reflection,” with interwoven counterpoint, represented the complexity of looking back at a break-up, and “Free Hand” was about the relief of finally being free, along with lingering bitterness associated with a bad relationship. Like Free Hand, Interview‘s concept and lyrics dealt with the music business, but it lacked a more universal message. Instead, it focused on the mundane elements of an interview with a touring band, highlighting their general dissatisfaction with touring, promotion, and the inane, banal questions of the generally clueless musical press. There was no ambiguity in the lyrics that allowed any other interpretation to a more universally relatable concept, and for those fans who aspired to or envied the fame of a rock band member, an album complaining about the drawbacks of being famous was not naturally resonant.
But if the lyrics fell short of universality, how did the music of Interview fare? Unlike Free Hand, where all tracks were focused, finished, and created a unified musical statement, Interview was their first album since, well, their first album, that lacked musical cohesion. Each track seemed a separate invention, completely independent of the other tracks. In addition, the music was more exploratory than Free Hand, containing the largest number of meandering, though interesting, musical sections since their first album. Where Free Hand had broken the top 50 of the Billboard Chart, Interview never made it past position 137.
And yet, Interview is a masterpiece compared to the three studio albums that would follow. There is cleverness in the music and a range of styles that make it a very engaging listening experience. The first track, the title track, is strong and indicates that here might be another album to rival the previous three in terms of intensity and merit. But the second track, “Give It Back,” takes a detour, mimicking reggae to create a musical parody — effective, but less musically interesting than what the band was capable of. The third track starts as a beautiful ballad, with Minnear on lead vocals. It begins a cappella with the band providing effective backing vocals before breaking into a fragmented, pointillistic display of vocal counterpoint and imaginative percussive counterpoint, ending with a return of the original melodic theme followed by a coda formed from the second theme. Brilliant but far from commercially mainstream.
Side Two starts with “Another Show” about the chaos and financial challenges of touring. The music is exuberant and accurately reflects the tumult of being on the road and playing a string of varying venues. Once again, we have adventurous musical instrumental incursions of high merit and unmistakably pure Gentle Giant, but not instinctively organic. Irresistibly enjoyable, even well-integrated, but not an inevitable outcome of the initial theme. That’s a high bar, but one effectively cleared in their previous five albums.
The album ends as strongly as it started with “I Lost My Head,” a classic Gentle Giant track that weaves beautiful ballad material with a contrasting heavy rock section. All in all, this album is far above most material from 1976, but for me, back in April 1976 when I bought the album, it failed to meet the expectations set by the previously released “Free Hand” and “Power and the Glory.” I have listened to Interview many times since then, but it still falls short of the greatest classics of progressive rock. It doesn’t comfort me to reflect that even if Gentle Giant had released their best album ever after Free Hand, it wouldn’t have made the difference needed to even momentarily slow the ensuing popularity decline of this musically amazing band or of progressive rock in general.
Klaus Schulze: Moondawn
If you are a fan of Klaus Schulze, the Berlin prog rock electronic school, or, like me, just an easy mark for sequencer-driven bass pulses, Moondawn, released on April 16, 1976, is a rewarding, immersive experience at over 52 minutes on the original LP or over 73 minutes on CD with the inclusion of an alternate version of the first track.
The first track, “Floating,” is aptly named—the music slowly gathers momentum until around the five-minute mark. Here, the crescendoing, from nothing to a fully noticeable isochronal ratcheting (the sequenced ostinato of sub-beats so prevalent in the electronic music of the mid-seventies Berlin school), provides the rhythmic currents to figuratively lift the music airborne. The music gathers intensity slowly, dramatically, immersing the listener until, a little bit after the twenty-six-minute mark, it decrescendos to its gentle conclusion.
Side two of the original LP is also a single track: “Mindphaser.” It begins with the introspective and calming sounds of the sea, interspersed with some hints of stormy weather. It remains uplifting until the second part takes off with drums (Harald Grosskopf) and organ-like droning, culminating in the eventual inclusion of that famously pulsing ostinato, driving it to its conclusion.
Camel: Moon Madness
Camel released one of their finest albums, Moonmadness, on March 26, 1976. Word has it that the label exerted pressure on Camel to produce more commercially accessible material than their previous album. This seemed to have some slight influence, as the album has a bit of a Pink Floyd sound, particularly on “Song Within a Song” and parts of “Another Night.” However, the music is unmistakably Andrew Latimer/Peter Bardens material, whether upbeat and heavily synthesized as with the opening tracks, “Aristillus” and “Chord Change,” or evocative and wistful as with “Song Within a Song,” “Spirit of the Water,” or “Airborne.” Also notable is the closing instrumental track, “Lunar Side,” which starts off wistful but then leans heavily into the synthesizer in its middle section, and then turns into a lively jazz-fusion-influenced piece with a strong guitar solo from Latimer. Though this album was released domestically in the States, it was rare to spot a copy in most record stores, and my first exposure was on the KPFK-FM program “The Import Show.” The show featured a rotating musical intro that once highlighted a section from “Aristillus,” and on a couple of occasions used excerpts from “Song Within a Song” (once the instrumental passage at the 4:25 mark, and another time starting at 3:07)—a perfect opening for a record show dedicated to the best releases in progressive music.
Caravan: Blind Dog at St Dunstans’
This seventh studio album by Caravan is a blend of progressive and quirky pop, but its Canterbury prog-rock roots are unmistakable. With the departure of Dave Sinclair, Pye Hastings does all of the writing for this album, with the exception of one track, which he co-writes. This album often gets overlooked, but it shouldn’t, as it is full of pleasurable, highly enjoyable music with their new keyboardist, Jan Russell Schelhaas, performing admirably. Don’t be dissuaded by the one-and-a-half-star rating at allmusic.com; this is a four-star album.
Woody Shaw: Love Dance
My best guess is that this album was released on the Muse label around April 1976, though not sure. I have it as part of the Mosaic Records set of Woody Shaw’s complete Muse sessions, and it occupies CD 2 of the seven-CD set. As far as I know, the Love Dance album is the only time Billy Harper and Woody Shaw recorded together. That alone would be enough to require one to check out the music; however, the material also establishes itself independently as must-listen modal bop jazz.
“Love Dance,” written as the title track by the album’s pianist, Joe Bonner, is a modal work that would not be stylistically out of place in the catalogue of Coltrane/Tyner, even though written a generation later. Besides Bonner, Harper, and Shaw, the album includes René McLean (Jackie Mac’s son), Steve Turre on trombone (and as a nice treat, particularly on “Sun Bath,” bass trombone), Cecil McBee on bass, Victor Lewis on drums, Guilherme Franco on percussion, and Tony Waters on congas.
Shaw is one of the most amazing trumpeters to listen to. He is an improvisational architect, working through interval and harmonic relationships with a relentless ear for logical connection and abstract melodic appeal. And I love his tone — never wispy or uncertain, but strong, focused, and direct, yet beautifully evocative when appropriate. And I love how Billy Harper understands the musical ethos of a great master like John Coltrane, yet uses that as a starting point and not an end objective. All of this comes together perfectly on my favorite track of the album, “Zoltan,” a tribute to Hungarian composer Zoltan Kodaly, most famous for his Hary Janos suite compiled from music of his opera of that name. The opening melody of Woody Shaw’s “Zoltan,” which first appeared as the opening track on the classic Larry Young Blue Note Unity album, is derived from the march theme of “Entrance of the Emperor and his Court” from Kodaly’s Hary Janos opera and suite, or maybe more accurately derived from Shaw’s earlier version, as he drops out the direct quote of the march intro from the original Kodaly work, and launches into his abstraction of the main theme. Overall, this version is even more intense, compelling, and musically imaginative than its earlier appearance on the Young album. Listen to both and let me know.
And let me know your thoughts on this album. How does it compare to his previous masterpiece, The Moontrane? Or the two classic albums that follow? How does it compare to contemporary jazz albums of its time?
100 years ago this month here are some notable musical events!
First Electrical Recording of Beethoven’s 9th: On March 16–17, 1926, conductor Felix Weingartner recorded Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 “Choral” at Columbia Studios in London. This was a massive technical and historical milestone, functioning as the first complete electrical recording of the Ninth Symphony.
Electrical Recordings continue to take the world by storm including Argentina: On March 1, 1926, the Victor company cut its first electrical recording master in Buenos Aires. Tango singer Rosita Quiroga recorded “La musa mistonga.” Interestingly, Victor kept the new technological capability quiet at first to continue selling their acoustic back catalog.
If you are resident of the United States, there is a good chance a recording of “Bye, Bye, Blackbird” was owned by one of your ancestors in the 1920s. Here is the first recording made of it:
Duke Ellington’s Washingtonians recorded Parlor Social Stomp here:
And across the pond, England was spinning their own sides of American Jazz:
King Oliver and his Dixie Syncopaters recorded “Snag It” on March 11, 1926.
If you are in the market for flashy, aggressive 1976 rock or fusion, then it’s best to search elsewhere. Generally, this is a relaxing, reflective, introspective album. The musicianship is stellar: Collin Walcott on sitar, John Abercrombie on guitar, Dave Holland on bass and Jack DeJohnette on drums — and the music has a high level of intensity. But rather than being compelled to dance on top of the table, I think it is more likely you will find yourself listening to this cross-legged on the floor, immersed in the music as opposed to immersed by the music: one is absorbed with this music and not appropriated by it.
For the most part tracks alternate between contemplative and more extroverted. The first track, “Margueritte,” starts off softly, gathers intensity and then drifts back into a calmer, more exploratory mood, making use of repeated melodic fragments to provide continuity. This is followed by the lively, syncopated “Prancing,” which features Dave Holland, and is likely to be a favorite of listeners more comfortable with hard bop or progressive rock. Night Glider, aptly named, takes us back inward; tracks continue to alternate in this fashion until the final track, “Cloud Dance,” an energetic number that comes closer than any of the preceding tracks to approaching the current fusion aesthetics of its time, providing a strong finish to the album.
The sonic detail makes this perfect for detailed listening — instrument voices are always clear and distinct. This album nicely avoids being an “East meets West” excursion or a trendy passing nod to Indian musical tradition. It is a musical presentation with its own rules and expressive objectives — exploring new soundscapes — breathing, not rushed, with each piece providing a different refreshing and substantial experience.
With the start of 1926, the Jazz Age, the Roaring Twenties, and the Fox Trot rage continued.
Jazz records were often given the default label of “Fox Trot.” I had the good fortune to be able to listen to several of my grandfather’s jazz 78s, with the majority of them labelled “Fox Trot” — a catch-all label for popular music that de-emphasized the more scurrilous connotations some associated with “hot jazz.”
Two such “Fox Trot” recordings of merit were of the popular song “Dinah,” written in 1925, and recorded a few times in late 1925.
This first Jan. 1926 recording, is by one of my favorite jazz ensembles, The Fletcher Henderson Orchestra:
Another notable recording of “Dinah” features the first recording of the slap bass technique (bassist Steve Brown) at around the 2:20 mark:
And here are some visuals of Fox Trot dancing captured on film — spanning the 1920s and possibly early 1930s:
And speaking of films, The Sea Beast, starring John Barrymore, had its New York City premiere on January 15, 1926. This was the first film adaptation of one of the great American novels, Moby Dick, with the additional modification to the plot to, of course, include a love interest for Captain Ahab! Enough said.
And since we are on films, we have to mention that John Logie Baird gave the first public demonstration of a true television system in London. It wasn’t just shadows; it was a greyscale image with moving details.
Also in January 1926, physicist Erwin Schrödinger published his famous paper (Quantisierung als Eigenwertproblem) containing the foundation of the Schrödinger equation: iℏ (∂Ψ/∂t) = ĤΨ. This birth of wave mechanics replaced the idea that particles revolve around the atom like sub-microscopic planets. Instead, it revealed that they behave as waves — what we now understand as clouds of probability. No one can say where an electron is; we can only calculate the likelihood of finding it at some given location as alluded to in Zumwalt’s 2011 poem, Particle Show.
Of course, I need to mention progressive rock whenever I can: George Martin, the so-called fifth Beatle, and a pivotal contributor to the Beatles’ progressive sound, and by extension, to progressive rock in general, was born on January 3, 1926.
By the start of 1976 the commercial demand for progressive rock was still at its peak, but many of the established English bands were creatively past their peak. In Italy, even before 1976, the top progressive rock band, PFM, started modifying their sound to increase their appeal to English-speaking audiences, releasing albums with English lyrics, a decided artistic and musical misstep, and arguably a commercial mistake as well, as the move did not result in greater American sales and negatively impacted both sales and their image within Italy.
January 1976 was the release month of Picchio dal Pozzo’s first album. Their lyrics, though limited, were exclusively in Italian, and their style didn’t resemble or remind one of Yes, Genesis or ELP. There are certainly traces of the techniques and chamber music approach of the English Canterbury scene, but the album has a solidly Italian and Continental identity with the musical playfulness more in line with the earlier sounds of PFM, RDM and Banco than the bloat and pomposity of some of the late 1970s symphonic rock movement — I won’t mention names, including some of the American groups that were guilty of this.
This Picchio dal Pozzo album starts off with a minimalist, repetitive opening, crescendoing with added Italian vocals. The second track, “Cocomelastico,” is heavily Zappa influenced, with the lightness and musical seriousness of tracks like Hot Rats‘ “Peaches en Regalia,” as well as recalling instrumental passages from Caravan and other Canterbury groups.
The music gets wilder with the longest track of the album, “Seppia,” getting into territory closer to the music of Robert Wyatt, Gong and Soft Machine with even hints of Area in the middle and ending with a softer Caravan-like sound.
The first side ends with the brief instrumental “Bofonchia” (Italian for “grumble”) and side two starts with the adventurous “Napier” (perhaps after the Scottish mathematician who invented logarithms). The track is the longest of the second side, and includes some magical vocals and a range of moods and instrumentation.
The second side continues, adventurous and musically eclectic, with “La Floricoltura Di Tschincinnata,” meditatively with “La Bolla” and its shimmering, post-impressionistic flute and piano, and the final track, “Off,” continuing that mood, more consistently with flute and piano joined with some ethereal vocal work — effectively wrapping up an adventurous, musically compelling album with a beautifully melodic, introspective ending.
Eberhard Weber: Yellow Fields
Released in early 1976, Yellow Fields is led by German bassist and composer, Eberhard Weber, who delivers one of the finest and most distinctive jazz albums of the year, avoiding any hints of the more commercial and more prevalent fusion jazz of that year, yet still delivering an album that was equally contemporary and accessible.
Like Charles Mingus before him, Weber was classically trained on cello, switched to bass, and integrated his use of the bass to further his musical vision, often using the bass in a more melodic role, utilizing the upper register to create a singing quality, weaving musical tapestries that are foundational to the music.
Now here is the real treat for me: We have Charlie Mariano being an indispensable part of this album’s appeal. I am a big fan of the nagaswaram, sometimes immersing myself in old recordings (from the 78 era) of Indian Classical Music to soak in its magical sounds. The nagaswaram is similar to the more commonly heard shehnai, which Mariano also features on this album, except it is significantly larger, longer, lower in pitch range, and louder. It requires athlete-level lung power and a musical sensitivity to its capabilities to bend pitch and hit the notes between the notes — play those non-Western tones, those micropitches, opening up the full range of musical vocabulary just as the shehnai does. Mariano further extends his timbral and range options on this album with the soprano sax.
Adding to the wide range of colors on this album is classically-trained German jazz pianist, Rainer Brüninghaus, who adds depth to the album but never subverts its mood or flow, playing both acoustic piano and synthesizer.
If you wish to check out an excellent example of 1970s jazz, here is an intense, cohesive, and immersive album that avoids the more prevalent fusion and free-jazz styles of that era and provides a wealth of musical color. Please give it a listen if you haven’t and let me know your thoughts: how would you place it in the diverse range of jazz albums of the 1970s?
Druid: Fluid Druid
There were several albums I considered including in this month’s Fifty Year Friday, albums that I have enjoyed listening to, and one of particular musical significance, but ultimately, I thought best to let other fans of such albums write their own reflections, thoughts or retrospective reviews on those albums. In the case of Druid’s Fluid Druid, released sometime in the first half of 1976, this is an album that was pretty much under the radar in 1976 and pretty much unknown today. (Note: after further research it appears the album was released on April 30th, 1976, but let’s keep this entry here for now, with plans to move it to April if I am still writing these retrospectives at that point.)
This is an English band, consisting of four musicians: the keyboard player and principal composer, Andrew McCrorie-Shand, the bass guitarist, Neil Brewer, the drummer, Cedric Sharpley, and the guitarist, Dane Stevens, who provides the vocals. Now sometimes his vocals, which can be overly affected, annoy me a bit, and sometimes they are quite good. The instrumental passages are quite enjoyable, and overall the music sounds heavily influenced by Yes and, to a lesser degree, Genesis. What matters, though, aren’t the influences, as apparent as they are, but the overall quality. Though this varies a bit, overall this is a strong album. Check out the instrumental track “FM 145,” a bit reminiscent of Greenslade, or “Nothing but Morning,” which sounds like part Yes and part Queen, and where Dane, credited on this album with just his first name, even sounds a bit like Freddie Mercury. If you are a fan of that portion of the Yes catalog and/or the Genesis catalog from the early and mid 1970s, there should be enough attractive material here, as well as in their first album, to make it worth your while to stream or purchase.
In 1925, recording technology continued to improve with jazz bands across the USA making their first recordings, even if it was only one double-sided 78 record.
1925 was the year Armstrong transitioned from being the greatest 1920s jazz sideman to a leader of his own group. He began the year in New York with Fletcher Henderson and ended it in Chicago recording the first “Hot Five” tracks starting in November — some of my favorite jazz recordings of all time, and generally recognized as highly treasured musical landmarks.
Other notable names made recordings this year: the trumpeter Bix Beiderbecke, Fats Waller, Duke Ellington with his group The Washingtonians, Bessie Smith, and Ethel Waters. The sides they recorded are still musical gems a hundred years later.
Lesser names recorded, of course. Some had big hits, including Ben Bernie and His Hotel Roosevelt Orchestra’s original hit recording of “Sweet Georgia Brown” and Paul Whiteman’s symphonic jazz version of James P. Johnson’s “Charleston,” which became a popular representation of the vitality and character of the “Roaring Twenties.”
There were many lesser names with less known recordings that are worth checking out including the Original Crescent City Jazzers recording “Christine” and The Halfway House Orchestra’s “Pussy Cat Rag.” Yes, we still had rags being featured in both jazz and in written concert hall music, but ragtime was now a historical style, and most pieces titled rags in 1925 were jazz and not ragtime.
Even rock fans will find 1925 abundant with gems that they would likely appreciate: “Cow Cow Blues” by Dora Carr and Cow Cow Davenport which is a blues recording enlivened with early elements of boogie woogie as well as Blind Lemon Jeffersons first recordings including “Black Horse Blues.” At the same time, many recordings of “pre-bluegrass” and “pre-country” music were recorded including Charlie Poole’s unrelenting, banjo-driven “Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down Blues” with traditional fiddle and rhythmic acoustic guitar.
All in all, 1925 had a wealth of music that any music lover can spend a few weeks, if not a full year, exploring.
I have been going through Louis Armstrong’s recorded catalogue, and such a treat! I love this video of Louis and his all-stars performing “Someday” from 1962. This was almost a year after all-star clarinetist Barney Bigard left the band and was replaced with Joe Darensbourg, and about 20 months before Louis recorded his version of “Hello Dolly” which when released the following year in 1964 would push the Beatles out of the top spot in the charts for 14 consecutive weeks. Yes, only Louismania could contend with Beatlemania!
Released in November of 1975, Night at the Opera starts with the excitement of an ocean voyage — we hear arpeggiated waves from the piano, whale rumblings from the bass, bird cries and seagull squawks from multitracked guitar breaking into soft strains of a tango quickly turning into heavy metal. This is Freddie Mercury the composer at the height of his craft.
After having purchased three Queen albums already, the first thing I did when I brought this album home in December of 1975 was note which tracks were attributed to Mercury — this served as indicators to what tracks would impress me the most. That turned out to be an effective predictor, but, importantly, the rest of the band’s contributions were some of their very best songs, making this album packed with classic material from start to the pinnacle of the album, the penultimate track, “Bohemian Rhapsody” — one of those rare instances in rock since the Beatles had disbanded where a truly great work of music made its way from legendary status with serious listeners, musicians, and dedicated fans to legendary status with the general public, even though, perhaps as expected, it took some time to do so.
And just as the Beatles elevated their work with multi-track musical enhancements, so too did Queen elevate Night at the Opera to a precisely rendered set of cohesive numbers that deservedly live up to the album’s title. Now, don’t get me wrong — we have an amazing musical diversity on this album — with such diversity in just Mercury’s compositions — but we add to that “I’m in Love with My Car”, “You’re My Best Friend,” the vaudevillian “Good Company” with ukulele and outstanding guitar accompaniment, and “The Prophet’s Song” with its brilliant use of deceptively simple imitative counterpoint, and it’s pretty easy to understand how Night at the Opera more than holds its own today as a timeless classic.
Keith Jarrett : The Köln Concert
One of my favorite possessions was the triple LP Keith Jarrett Solo Concerts: Bremen/Lausanne which I had purchased with Christmas money in 1973. It was just incredible to have a three LP set of piano improvisation of such high quality. Given that, I am puzzled why I never bought The Köln Concert until the complete version made its way on to CD around 1984.
Recorded live in January of 1975, The Köln Concert was released in late November of 1975, the album starts off plaintively in the style of the quiet Americana reflectiveness so well done by classical composers like Aaron Copland and Roy Harris. For the first improvisation, Jarrett leans heavily on repetitive phrases and ostinato-like patterns to continue to move the music forward, flowing as if driven by stream of consciousness, yet always compelling and logical, deftly avoiding lingering too long in any single style, texture, or mode of emotional expression as the music logically unfolds.
The second piece, broken up onto three sides of the double LP album, is dramatically different in tone and character. Like the first improvisation, it evades any simple stylistic labels sometimes flirting into rock piano improvisation. Where the first improvisation was reflective, the second is inexhaustibly joyous and intensely rhythmically as Jarrett turns the piano into a percussive engine, hammering out a powerful, trance-like groove with his left hand that is pure, ecstatic energy. This propulsive marathon of invention continues through Part IIb, before finally dissolving and making way for the famous encore, “Part IIc.” After all the complex fireworks, this final piece is a moment of breathtaking, lyrical grace — a simple, hymn-like melody that releases all the tension and remains one of the most beautiful themes Jarrett ever played.
The music makes this performance legendary, but like the most interesting legends, it has an almost mythical backstory. Jarrett had specifically requested a Bösendorfer 290 Imperial concert grand. Unfortunately, what was made available on the stage was a baby grand rehearsal piano in such bad condition that Jarrett had initially refused to play on it. The requested piano was in storage and due to horrid weather was not able to safely replace the inferior piano. So Jarrett was forced to confront the rehearsal piano, an unsuitable, tinny, and out-of-tune practice piano he tested during the afternoon of the concert and was so dissatisfied with it he almost threw the towel in performing that evening. The promoter finally convinced him that he had a responsibility to play as best as he could for a sell-out crowd and somehow do his best to deal with the inadequacies of the inferior rehearsal piano. Jarrett went forward with the performance and it was this limitation, this ‘bad instrument,’ that forced Jarrett to navigate that evening’s improvisations into new territory, compelling him to avoid the shrill upper register notes and the weak lower bass notes, replacing the harmonic function of the latter with lower middle register accompaniment patterns and repetitive ostinatos — thus creating the distinctive style that unifies the music of this remarkable performance.
Joni Mitchell: The Hissing of Summer Lawns
Released in November of 1975, The Hissing of Summer Lawns finds Joni Mitchell presiding over one of the most seamless marriages of lyrics and music of the 1970s. The poetry here is evocative and ironic, crafting memorable metaphors and unforgettable images. It’s often said that when constraints are placed on artists, they often produce their best work. For an artist who had previously written music around pre-existing lyrics to then make that shift over to the craft of fitting words into already composed music, one might expect a change in character — or at least in lyrical texture. Beginning around 1973 or 1974, Mitchell’s lyrics indeed became more fluid, impressionistic, and engaged, so that by the time of this album, she had achieved a near-perfect fusion of music and poetry, with the music among her finest creations.
And how does one classify the sound? One cannot. It draws on pop, rock, folk, and jazz, yet it belongs to none of them. The album charts its own course, allowing space for stellar contributors like Bud Shank and Joe Sample to leave their imprint without overshadowing Mitchell’s vision. The closing track, “Shadows and Light,” brings the album to a transcendent conclusion: a multi-tracked a cappella choir of Mitchell’s voice against a contrasting, processed drone from a Farfisa organ. The result is a kind of sonic cathedral, where light and sound filter through like stained glas — ever shifting, quietly monumental, and filled with a sense of cosmic design.
The entire album is a showcase of extracting equilibrium from motion. The music is built on a strong foundation yet exploratory and liberating. Here we have an artist of the highest level in full command of her gifts, unafraid to blur the lines between song and painting, intellect and intuition. The Hissing of Summer Lawns continues to be an album worth returning to: we achieve familiarity with repeated listenings but never is the magic lessened.
Chris Squire: Fish Out of Water
Another November 1975 release was Chris Squire’s highly accessible, melodic Fish Out of Water. For those like me who couldn’t get enough of the brilliance of Yes’s Fragile, this album was filled with the musical inventiveness and wonderful bass lines that dominated that Yes album. Musicians include Bill Bruford on drums and percussion, with saxophonist Mel Collins on two tracks and Patrick Moraz on bass synthesizer and organ on one track . Squire handles all the vocals, bass guitar, some acoustic twelve-string guitar and electric bass. Special compliments go Andrew Pryce Jackman who provides acoustic and electric piano keyboards and seamlessly integrated orchestration providing the album with additional depth and further contributing to its ebullient vitality. Fish Out of Water is a must-have album for all Yes fans surpassing most of their catalog released after 1975.
Crack the Sky: Crack the Sky
Crack the Sky’s debut was released in limited quantities in November 1975 by the independent label, Lifesong. Is this the biggest accomplishment by this label? Depends on your perspective — Lifesong posthumously re-released several greatest hits albums of Jim Croce material starting in 1976 as well as being responsible for “The Biggest Rock Event of the Decade” — that’s right — the rock opera Spider-Man: Rock Reflections of a Superhero — an album of such popularity that I cannot find any entry for it on Wikipedia, though in fairness, the title was released again twenty-five years later on CD and is currently available on eBay for $49.
Putting Spider-Man historical considerations aside, the Crack in the Sky album, despite its limited distribution, eventually climbed up to spot 161 on the Billboard Charts in February 1976 aided by some airplay in the Baltimore area and more importantly being identified by the Rolling Stone magazine as the debut album of 1975.
Keyboard player and lead vocalist John Palumbo wrote all the music and lyrics showcasing an eclectic range of styles incorporating sixties pop elements and contemporary progressive rock elements. Both the music and lyrics are generally quirky, with a tongue-in-cheek, often ironic, humor deeply embedded in the lyrics and the music rich with accessible melody. There are musical moments that recall surf music, the Beatles, Procol Harum, early Genesis, and even Gentle Giant. It’s not a particularly well-produced album but it is a lot of fun, and an album that anyone who considers themselves well-versed in the history of rock music should have heard at least once.
Tangerine Dream: Ricochet
Recorded in late October and early November of 1975 in England, partly live at Fairfields Hall in Croydon and partly in the studio, Ricochet was released in December of 1975. It continues that rhythmically intense sequencer-driven signature sound from Rubycon, delivering it with sparkling clarity and focus. The music unfolds logically with a strong sense of overall meaning and purpose, effectively locking in one’s attention and never letting it go. Side One, “Ricochet, Part One” contains studio improvisations and recreations of live performances with side two, “Ricochet, Part Two” being predominantly live.
Vangelis: Heaven and Hell
Released in November of 1975, Heaven and Hell is a mixture of the cinematic, early and modern “classical” music, Greek folk and some elements of progressive rock. The album effectively combines Vangelis’s mastery of synthesizer with orchestra to create a richly themed concept album about the duality of human interaction with good and evil, the light and the darkness of existence. Side One, “Heaven and Hell, Part I”, opens furiously with synthesizer and chorus setting a strong symphonic tone and concludes with vocals by Jon Anderson of Yes segmented with a glorious orchestral and synthesizer interlude. Side Two, “Heaven and Hell, Part II” opens up, contrastingly, darkly and ominously, generally maintaining that mood with the notable interspersion of an exuberant, infectious Greek-influenced folk-dance-like section and its more reflective ending. The musical tone-painting is particularly impressive, effectively supporting side two’s darker thematic premise.
Mike Oldfield: Ommadawn
Released in November of 1975, Ommadawn is Mike Oldfield’s third major symphonic work, following the partly Exorcist-driven phenomenon of Tubular Bells and the expansive, pastoral landscapes of Hergest Ridge. Ommadawn mostly consists of one long work, the title track, divided between the two sides of the original LP with a short additional work at the end. It is this title track that is the gem and centerpiece of the album, excelling in compositional presentation and development of thematic material with the first theme deftly varied, followed by an abruptly effective intrusion of the second theme around the 4:15 mark, which is also skillfully varied. After this exposition of fundamental material, both themes are further developed and extended with a richness of instrumental variety and occasional vocals (using a cleverly altered Irish translation of some simple English words) invoking a tribal sense of community.
The second half of “Ommadawn” is more dramatic with greater musical weight and contrast, further exploring a wondrous world-fusion sound that would soon become a whole sub-genre of music. The highlights here include Paddy Moloney on the Irish equivalent of bagpipes, more properly known as Uilleann pipes, and an uplifting blend of vocals and glockenspiel followed by an Irish-like dance section that brings the work to a close.
For those looking to check this album out, avoid the original mix and go for the sonically spectacular 2010 remix which provides significant clarification and enhancement of individual instruments and provides rich, immersive stereo.
Magma: Live/Hhaï
Released in December of 1975, I bought this album in Germany in 1978, and I was not surprised in the least to find this live album of the French progressive rock group in Germany. Unlike Ange, which had a distinct French coloration to their albums, Magma had a Germanic sound and eschewed the French language to adapt a language more suitable to their music — not German, but — okay let’s break this down.
Christian Vander, son of French jazz pianist Maurice Vander, was born in Paris in 1948. Exposed to both jazz and classical music, he grew up listening to Wagner, Bach and Stravinsky and met several great jazz artists including Chet Baker, who gifted Christian Vander his first drum kit and Elvin Jones who shared his musical expertise. Vander brought all these influences as well as his intense admiration for a number of jazz giants, most particularly John Coltrane, as well as drummers like Art Blakey, Max Roach, Kenny Clarke and Tony Williams. Vander brought all such influences with him, including Coltrane’s searching musical intensity, when he founded Magma in 1969 as Magma’s leader, primary composer, drummer and an important contributing vocalist.
With the formation of Magma, Vander begin the creation of the mythology of Magma concept albums and the appropriate language — Kobaïan, the language of the fictional world of Kobaïa — a distant planet colonized by a group of humans fleeing earth’s moral and ecological collapse. The language’s main function was to provide the appropriate musical sound for Magma’s music and to represent a sacred language of renewal. Its sonic characteristics are starkly different than French, coming closer to Slavic and Germanic patterns, but intrinsically supportive of Vander’s musical ideas, which slowly coalesced into a dark, more teutonic, primitively spiritual style, with texture and timbral/orchestral characteristics eventually significantly influenced by Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, which Vander first heard in 1972.
This 1975 Live/Hhaï album includes material as early as 1973, all of which represents the mature, dramatic Magma sound prevalent from 1973 on. The original album was a two LP set that could still fit on a standard single CD, but is currently sold as a two CD set. It is available for streaming on the usual sources for anyone wanted to sample this unique music, a music that will retain its excitement, mystery and appeal for centuries to come.
Brian Eno: Another Green World and Discreet Music; Fripp & Eno: Evening Star
In November of 1975, Brian Eno released his third solo studio album, the remarkable Another Green World which, while not as ambient as his upcoming work, is certainly an unconventional pop album full of highly accessible music surrounded with imaginatively unusual context. Eno provides a mix of catchy songs with him on vocals, some amazing guitar work from Robert Fripp, but mostly a level of exotic, quirky arrangements that elevate each and every track. Highly recommend!
In December of 1975, Eno’s fourth studio album is released, Discreet Music, and it is a boldly innovative ambient album. The first side, the title track, is a work of beauty and can be listened to directly or used as effective background music for a range of activities including writing, reading and napping off. The second side is more challenging: three “elastic” arrangements of Pachelbel’s well-known canon where the parts move at different paces — not by chance or performer’s whim but intentionally arranged to distort the relationship of the individual parts and the overall musical experience. One can still hear traces of the original canon — yet each of the three very different arrangements alters the original musical architecture with time-based abstractions that are roughly parallel to distortion concepts in cubism, futurism and surrealism and also seem related to rules-driven processes that are found in works by artists like Paul Klee, Bridget Riley, Sol LeWitt and even those famous rectangle paintings of Piet Mondrian. One also has to give credit to John Cage’s influence which opened up this whole realm of unexpected alterations whether aleatoric or rules-driven.
The most challenging of these three albums, Fripp & Eno’s Evening Star, released also in December of 1975, is another tale of two sides. The first side of four tracks, each with new standard ambient titles, is by far the most accessible and functions very effectively as truly ambient music or even meditative, reflective music, particularly the first, third tracks and fourth tracks “Wind on Water,” “Evensong,” and “Wind on Wind.”
The second side is devoted to a single piece “An Index of Metals” divided up into six tracks. I doubt there are many people that can turn it on in the background and experience a calming or relaxing effect from it. It is filled with tension and not smooth or flowing. I suspect many will just find it plain irritating if using it to relax, read, or write by as it has a somewhat intrusive and ominous character. It is more listening music and needs the attention of an active listener to properly navigate the tension, suspense, and forward progress of the music. The last of the six tracks is the most gritty of all and it ends with the tension decaying as opposed to any resolution. This sets up a nice contrast to some more relaxing ambient music, which would become more and more common and commercially viable thanks to this early work by pioneers like Eno and Fripp.
Released sometime in 1975, Charles Tolliver’s Impact is an impressive album from the audacious and creative trumpeter, composer, and bandleader. Big band albums were becoming rarer and rarer, particularly those that were inventive, hard-edged, and more late hard bop or post-bop than nostalgic or easy listening. Impact unfurls a colorful, colossal sonic landscape, brimming with hard bop and post-bop intensity and an unbridled, innovative spirit that pushes the boundaries of large ensemble jazz. Tolliver masterfully constructs compelling compositions and intricate, adventurous arrangements that are both challenging and exhilarating, providing a fertile ground for himself and a handful of formidable soloists to unleash their improvisational prowess.
The album begins with the title track, “Impact,” an explosive opener that immediately grabs the listener’s attention with its dense brass voicings and a driving rhythmic pulse. Charles Tolliver himself steps forward, delivering a blistering trumpet solo that cuts through the dense ensemble with a bright, commanding tone, showcasing his characteristic blend of searing energy and melodic ingenuity. Also shining brightly is James Spaulding, whose alto saxophone work wonderfully weaves angular, serpentine lines, interacting with apparent spontaneity with the structured force of the ensemble.
“Mother Wit” begins with strings, which initially set a delicate mood, but the overall atmosphere soon coalesces, leading into beautifully lengthy solo work from Charles Tolliver. Harold Vick provides soulful tenor work, followed by Stanley Cowell’s angular, unconstrained hard bop piano solo. The strings return, followed by Tolliver, bringing the piece to a balanced close.
“Grand Max” bursts out with tightly wound energy, with Tolliver diving right in and maintaining the initial momentum. Rounding out the soloing is Charles McPherson on alto, George Coleman on tenor, and again Cowell on piano. Side two commences with the quirky and distinctive “Plight,” an energetic track that further highlights the dynamic range of the orchestra. Tolliver initiates the soloing, and is soon followed by Spaulding, then Cowell. This is followed by the reflective “Lynnsome,” featuring Spaulding on flute in the intro, with solos from Tolliver and Cowell that maintain and extend the initial mood.
The album concludes with “Mournin’ Variations,” which opens with strings. A dynamic interplay between the strings and the jazz ensemble then sets the stage for George Coleman’s extended tenor solo. This is followed by concluding piano commentary from Cowell before the re-entry of the strings. The two sections then alternate, shifting between wistful and emphatic passages, bringing one of the most enjoyable jazz albums of 1975 to a powerful conclusion.
Area: Are(A)zione
This is one of the few live albums, official or bootleg, of Area with Demetrio Stratos. This first side is amazing and includes live versions of three classic Area works, showcasing the bands exciting instrumental interplay and the one-of-a-kind, next-to-no-one voice of Stratos. The second side is is primarily a live free jazz/rock track, titled “Are(A)zione” matching the album’s title. “Areazione” is Italian for “evaporation,” but the use of case here provides the true meaning: “Area” is of course the group’s name and “Azione” is Italian for action, so freely translated this can be viewed as Area in action. The album ends with a nod to the group member’s socialist affinities, a rendition of “L’Internazionale.”
Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention: One Size Fits All
Released in late June of 1975, One Size Fits All provides more consistency and discipline than most Zappa albums allowing all the brilliance to shine through with only minor extramusical annoyances and distractions to detract from the overall positive musical experience. The jazzy” Inca Roads” is the gem of the album, and like “Peaches En Regalia” from Hot Rats provides enough forward momentum to easily forgive any weaknesses or annoyances from any tracks that follow. If one wants accessible Zappa, this is a good album to start with.
The Tubes: The Tubes
Released with minimal fanfare in June 1975, the album was passed around amongst my friends for its humor and lively use of synthesizer. In contrast to the rougher edges found in the humor seeping from Zappa albums, this was polished with some believable parodies of prevalent styles, primarily glam and punk, mixed with satirical social commentary. The humor enhanced the music, and the music was generally quite impressive itself. “Up from the Deep” kicks off the album with energy, drama and style, warmth and self-deprecating humor. The synthesizer work and keyboard in the instrumental bridge is up to progressive rock standards, and even includes a reference to a prevalent bridge motif in Gentle Giant’s “Knots” from Octopus. This is followed by a mixture of styles, all humorous in their own ways: Space Baby sleekly imitates David Bowie post-Ziggy style of 1973 and 1974, “What Do You Want From Life” drips with dry, razor-edged humor, and “Mondo Bondage” is notable for its relentless striding rhythm which supports the simultaneous metaphorical and literal meanings of the lyrics which are cleverly brought to the forefront. “Mondo Bondage” kicks off side two and is followed by three additionally strong tracks, “What Do You Want from Life?” a dig at materialism and seventies-style consumerism and angst, “Boy Crazy” another glam/Bowie parody that ridicules teenage cluelessness, and the pounding, relentlessly repetitive “White Punk on Dopes” which would eventually get some notable FM airplay in the U.S. and get even wider airplay a couple of years later in the UK. The Tubes went all out when they staged their material live, and though some of the musicality and more subtle aspects of their humor were consequential causalities, they still put on a good show.
