Found Or Forgotten; 60 Years Of Great Music
As I expected, jazz is the order of the day in the pre-Beatles, pre-Dylan 1960. With so much exquisite material to choose from, however, the day was carried just fine. Plus, I managed to squeeze a little blues, soul and country into the mix.
Against my better judgment, I’m undertaking a project to determine my top 10 albums of every year since 1960. Instead of just picking my favorite stuff out of my collection, I intend to explore, re-visit and discover. While I can’t promise to leave no stone un-turned, I am going to go deeper than I ever have before. Why would I partake in a journey that will inevitably take many years and that I ultimately may never finish? Most importantly, to uncover great music that I’ve never heard before. Second, to boost my knowledge of music history and get a sense of what was happening at a macro scale in a snapshot of time. Finally, I want to share my passion for music with you and, fingers crossed, generate a dialogue down in the comments. So without further ado, here is #8 in the series. My random number generator tells me… oh, screw that, I’m obviously doing 2016 next.
The Greatest Albums of 1960
I really, really enjoyed investigating the music of 1960. Compared to other years I’ve done, it went very quickly, and nothing that I listened to was particularly bad. I mean, I scoped out plenty of music that didn’t make the cut for my honorable mentions, but even something like Bill Haley and His Comets was pleasant enough to spin through one time. I enjoyed a lot of individual tracks, but the approach to crafting albums as anything more than a collection of songs was still pretty foreign to the pop world. “Cathy’s Clown” is one of my favorite all-time tunes, but the Everly Brothers failed to surround it with equally essential material that I could recommend. Likewise, Ray Charles’ “Georgia on My Mind” and Bobby Darin’s “Under the Sea” would certainly make the top ten songs version of the list. The one genre where album-craft was treated with importance was jazz, and that is quite evident by its representation in my top ten. Which is why I was worried about heading into 1960: I had no doubt that I would find ten great albums, I just knew that there was a chance that eight or nine would be jazz albums, and writing about jazz is not my strong suit. It’s not that I expect to be Stephen Thomas Erlewine all of a sudden, but I at least want to be able to describe my favorite albums of the year without tediously repeating myself. We’ll see how that turns out.
Despite the lack of options in popular music more than a half-century ago (no funk, no hip hop, no hard rock or metal, no reggae or afro-beat), my top ten is dominated by music I had never heard before. Only three of the ten were albums that I was familiar with (although I had several of the Etta James tracks through a greatest hits collection, as well). I can walk out of this round having nicely bolstered my jazz collection. If you are a jazz fan, I hope I can open your eyes to some great new recordings. If not, well you at least have to give a shot to the album of the year…
Giant Steps – John Coltrane
You’re going to spend the better part of this post reading about jazz records, each one excellent in its own regard. There are seven total on my top ten. I think its important to point out, however, that the gap between #2 and #7 is wafer thin, while the space between #1 and #2 seems vast and insurmountable. Giant Steps is simply the most inventive, exuberant and awe-inspiring record of 1960. From the opening notes, the electricity is almost overwhelming. I’m tempted to say you are assaulted by the energy of the band, but it is more accurate to say you are embraced by it. The title track and “Cousin Mary” pack a one-two punch of invigorating improvisation that would be coined as “sheets of sound”. Coltrane remains my favorite instrumentalist of all time. He is both tireless and restless, which is to say that his saxophone solos are constantly seeking new ground and he never takes one lightly. What is so thrilling is that if you engage in some active listening, you can follow the journey, hearing him stumble down some unexpected corridor and work out how to bend what he’s playing to fit into the construct of the song. All at break-neck speed of course (see the wild sprint “Countdown”).
I could espouse the genius of each individual track, but I’m far from the first or most qualified person to sing the praises of this seminal work. I would be remiss not to mention my favorite jazz composition, however, the vividly romantic and plaintive ballad “Naima”, recorded for Coltrane’s wife of the same name. Serving as a respite from the charged material that surrounds it, Coltrane slows things way down but still channels the same immediacy into this gorgeous ballad. Then he immediately switches back to the pulse-pounding “Mr. PC”, an ode to the second most important person in his life, all time great side-man, bass player and secret weapon, Paul Chambers.
I’ll always point to Miles Davis’ transcendent Kind of Blue as the perfect jumping off point for exploring jazz. It won’t take long, however, once that album inevitably draws you in, to make your way to Giant Steps. The former’s title is a bit of an understatement, but the latter is right on point.
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Blues and Roots – Charles Mingus
It’s fitting that the opening track of Blues and Roots is titled “Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting”, because nothing else on this list comes close to matching the zeal of the Abyssinian Baptist Choir’s 1960 gospel classic, Shakin’ the Rafters. Mingus is a bit paradoxical as a band leader. I get the impression that he is as detail-focused and megalomaniacal as most other great artists, but the resulting music comes across as spontaneous and democratic. Instead of a tight emphasis on crisp horn lines, quieting piano solos and unwavering syncopation, a Mingus track might feature fat, belching squeals from a trombone or baritone sax or unruly catcalls from the band. The rhythm section is syncopated, but often wobbly to the point of distraction. The whole affair frequently sounds like the musical equivilant of the minecart chase from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.
So what makes that looseness so desirable that it propels Blues and Roots into my #2 slot? In a genre that can often come across as measured and polite, Mingus’ music feels like a big middle finger, or at least a blown rasberry. Hey, he says, this shit is blues, too, and we can still swing and take you to church and nail lovely ballads without taking it so seriously. Or rather, we take it so seriously that we aren’t going to compromise what’s in our soul to create something that is more palatable to a wide audience. It’s kind of punk rock if you think about it, if punk rock ever featured world class musicians working up a sweat in service of a certified musical genius.
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Open Sesame – Freddie Hubbard
What’s most remarkable about 22-year-old Freddie Hubbard’s debut album is how well-developed it sounds, especially with other young guns Tina Brooks and McCoy Tyner on board. It’s as if they skipped the cutting their teeth on “A Night in Tunisia” and “Round About Midnight” phase and emerged fully formed as a mature bop combo. It’s perhaps the least ground-breaking album on the list, but it is so assured in what it wants to do that its focus becomes a strength. Particularly if what you are into is the sophisticated swagger of Hubbard’s horn and Brooks’ sax, along with the burgeoning experimentation of McCoy’s piano playing. In many ways the antithesis of Mingus’ prior entry, Open Sesame proves that there are many ways to skin a cat. I can respect the professional craft of creating something this solidly hip and respectably complex, but an intellectual reaction alone wouldn’t merit such an elevated spot on my list. The album is just as soul satisfying as the rest of the year’s best jazz, which is the primary reason it drew me in to begin with.
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At Last! – Etta James
This is not the cerebral and studied vocal performance of an Ella Fitzgerald or Nina Simone. It is instinctive and raw; from the gut, not the brain. Aretha Franklin would go on to become the undisputed greatest female soul singer of all time, but it is worth noting how much of a blueprint that Etta James laid out for her, even on this, her first album. Compared to her more traditionally soul-oriented contemporaries as well (Ray Charles, Sam Cooke), James is far more earthy than cosmopolitan. That’s not to suggest she is somehow less of a singer, though. There is nothing coy about her cover of Willie Dixon’s “I Just Want to Make Love to You”, alternating as it does from aggressive growl to seductive coo, but it absolutely highlights a prodigious control of her voice. The real main event is obviously the title song, an all time soul classic. You can hear in James’ voice not just the elation of her new infatuation, but remnants of the anguish experienced during a prolonged period of longing for love. It should be noted that the 1999 reissue is worth seeking out for the four rousing duets with Harvey Fuqua, especially Dixon’s “Spoonful” and “If I Can’t Have You”.
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Soul Station – Hank Mobley
There are few things in the music world that simultaneously capture my imagination and consistently deliver on my expectations than the cerulean-toned album covers of Blue Note Records. If I have a jazz sweet spot, these are the records that embody it. Impossibly cool and soulful, Hank Mobley’s 1960 effort is no exception. Armed with an underrated command of the sax, the amenable accompaniment of Wynton Kelly and the monster rhythm section of Art Blakey and Paul Chambers, Mobley struts through a handful of hard bop tunes with warmth and swagger. While his laid back style can’t hope to thrill like Coltrane’s careening explosiveness, Soul Station is likely the more agreeable album to play in mixed company. It’s hard to picture anyone objecting to the breezy groove that the quartet so ably delivers from top to bottom, regardless of their relationship with jazz or music in general.
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That’s My Story – John Lee Hooker
It’s not a surprise that Muddy Waters is the blues singer that resonates the most with rock and roll guys. He is all bravado and confidence, just like the best rock singers, the guy at the party that brags about his sexual exploits and his fighting prowess in equal measure. But that’s not the guy you have to worry about. The real bad ass doesn’t bother bragging, rarely has to raise his voice at all, in fact. In John Lee Hooker’s version of the blues, you can feel the edge, the menace in his low key delivery. He sounds downright sinister at times, and when he sings about grabbing his rod to straighten out his philandering wife and friend, you’re not debating how much of it is bullshit. There is little bravado in Hooker’s hard luck tales, as he portrays a man who has been beaten down and cornered by a cruel world, and now sits coiled and ready to lash out.
This is an album that improves immeasurably with a glass of brown liquor. Neat, not cheap, but not too nice either. Something that burns a bit going down. John Lee’s voice is haggard, weathered by time and booze. The remarkable rhythm section that effuses joyful energy on the #10 album on my list, Sam Jones and Louis Hayes, crackle and smolder here like a campfire that’s been burning all day. And all the while, Hooker threatens to pour on the gasoline.
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Blues in Orbit – Duke Ellington
As the title would suggest, there are some unconventional takes on blues songs on Blues in Orbit. Not blues blues, mind you, but jazz blues, which is kind of different. Regardless, Ellington displays the astounding versatility you might expect from the man who is possibly America’s greatest composer. He doesn’t push boundaries in the way that George Russell or Ornette Coleman were doing at the time, but rather he provides an eclectic collection of tunes where the “in orbit” part is qualified by merely being a little far out for an Ellington album. There are new takes on classic songs from his cannon (“Smada”, “Sentimental Lady”) as well as great first-time tracks like “C Jam Blues” and the jittery “Track 360”. Of all the jazz I listened to from 1960, there is probably less cohesion here than in most other offerings. However, it never sounds discordant, simply because it all swings in the way that only the Duke can achieve. What really makes it worth seeking out is the loose, jam session vibe. Recorded on two consecutive nights, after midnight, it’s like the band is playing for themselves in the hours after they have sent the audience home happy with their conventional set. If I were covering the forties and fifties in this series, I suspect that Ellington would end up the most represented artist. Luckily, he was still producing great material in the early sixties for us to explore, as well.
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Country Songs, Old and New – The Country Gentlemen
One descriptor I’ve read calls the Country Gentlemen “Progressive Country”. While I’m a little fuzzy on what differentiates prog country from bluegrass, I can appreciate the designation. It might be that bluegrass is a little more freewheelin’ and loose, while the virtuoso performances here are more controlled and, well… gentlemanly. The band couldn’t be called hip by even the most generous interpretation. They perform these country songs (both old and new as helpfully illustrated by the utilitarian title) with almost terminal earnestness. Lacking a charismatic leader like Bob Wills or George Jones, they share vocal duties, harmonizing as tightly on classics like “The Long Black Veil” as they play on the album’s several instrumental tracks. And that is really damn tight, just so you know. Seriously, Rush fans should be checking this out just as much as bluegrass aficionados, because these four gentlemen can be jaw-dropping in their technique, even as they remain entirely reverent to the material. During a time when most country artists were interested in churning out two to three half-baked albums every year, it is heartening to discover a group committing so much deliberate care to create something far less ephemeral.
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Portrait in Jazz – The Bill Evans Trio
I usually prefer small combo jazz to larger bands, but only if there is a horn or two involved. The idea of a trio made up of piano, bass and drums is certainly nothing novel in jazz, but it’s hard for me to shake the idea that those are all supplementary instruments. Even when it’s a certified master like Thelonious Monk or Art Tatum, they have to perform seemingly unnatural acts on the piano to make it a lead instrument. Bill Evans’ approach is to eschew solos pretty much entirely, focusing instead on the interplay of the three musicians. And that attention to cohesion proves to be captivating. In a year when the dominant form of jazz is what I would consider “soulful hard bop”, Portrait in Jazz is in the modal jazz mold, cooler and less urgent. It’s a fine album to play in the background at a dinner party or chill evening sipping wine by the fire, but more intent listening reveals remarkable complexity. Evans and bassist Scott LaFaro deliver delightfully unexpected twists and turns that never draw attention to themselves. The drums keep everything on the one while LaFaro strays, but they are so far back in the mix you almost have to squint to make them come into focus (Art Blakey would not have been a good choice for this trio). What sounds at first blush like a quaint little cocktail jazz record is in fact an understated masterpiece in the burgeoning modal jazz movement.
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At the Lighthouse – Cannonball Adderley
Cannonball Adderley is a tremendously joyful performer. It’s the trait that makes him such a great foil for melancholy Miles on their collaborations. It’s also the trait that makes At the Lighthouse such a beautiful album. A lot of jazz music is aimed at expanding boundaries, or breaking them down entirely. A great deal of the most highly regarded work is exploratory in nature, and that exploration can be breath-taking. There is something to be said, however, for simplicity. The musicians on At the Lighthouse never force a note. Each solo is in complete service of the song, rather than taking the first opportunity to bust free of the song’s framework. The rhythm section of Sam Jones and, particularly, drummer Louis Hayes are economical and straight-forward. Adderley and his brother Nat deliver lovingly crafted solos and have a precise but easy-going chemistry when playing together. The real stand-out, in my mind, is pianist Victor Feldman. He inevitably waits patiently for his solo (always third) and accentuates the rhythm section. Then, he takes the reigns and delivers these long, eloquent stretches of instrumentation while still helping to propel the song along. Really lovely stuff. So, as I mentioned, if your thing is Ascension and The Shape of Jazz to Come, and you’re only interested in the outer limits of jazz, then this album may not be for you. If you just love great music, however, then this magical, casual recording of a night at a club in 1960 will make you smile, guaranteed.
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Honorable Mentions
Jazz: Nice ‘N’ Easy – Frank Sinatra; The Big Beat – Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers; Sin & Soul – Oscar Brown, Jr.; Sketches of Spain – Miles Davis; Gillespiana – Dizzy Gellespie; A Portrait of Duke Ellington – Dizzy Gillespie
Gospel: Shakin’ the Rafters – Alex Bradford & the Abyssinian Baptist Choir
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