Saturday, September 21, 2024

CD Review: Jason Stein - Anchors

Jason Stein
Anchors

The history of jazz music is filled with numerous stories of musicians dealing with various ailments. Many, of course, were a bit self-induced but a lifestyle of playing clubs and traveling extensively can take a physical toll on anyone. So too can mastering an instrument. Trumpeter Steph Richards suffered from potential focal dystonia, a neurological condition that causes muscles to freeze, making it impossible to play. She eventually overcame the condition by altering her technique on her instrument.

Though the liner notes to Anchors don't specifically his condition, bass clarinetist Jason Stein suffered from a similar physical ailment that impacted his playing. Having studied with percussionist Milford Graves, who saw a deep connection between music and good health, Stein worked to heal himself. Cold-water plunges and breathwork were part of the process, along with myofascial trigger point therapy, which helped him locate the source of an injury. 

The music on Anchors is inspired by Stein's healing journey, with titles like "Cold Water," "Holding Breath" and "Crystalline" coming from different aspects of it. Although the bass clarinetist has recorded a few albums in recent years in a trio with bassist Damon Smith and drummer Adam Shead (adding pianist Marilyn Crispell for this year's spi-ralling horn), this is his first session as a leader in six years. This corner of his output has ranged from blends of steady rhythm sections and adventurous flights on his horn to solo recitals that probe the more guttural extremes of the instrument (In Exchange for a Process, Leo). Anchors brings the varied approaches together.

The album features bassist Joshua Abrams, of Natural Information Society, and drummer Gerald Cleaver, whose list of collaborators includes Nels Cline, Matthew Shipp and fellow drummer Devin Gray. Boon, a one-named multidisciplinary artist and songwriter from Chicago, produced the album, penned the liner notes and plays acoustic guitar on the opening and closing title tracks. 

"Anchors I" and "Anchors II" are gentle pieces with the bass clarinet echoing the guitar's sparse, single-note lines in the first and playing in unison in the latter. "Holding Breath" gives the trio the chance to move at their own pace, building from free understated movement into a steady groove where the rhythm section keeps the momentum going while Stein stretches out. For the first three and half minutes of "An Origin," Stein intones a single low note as bass and drums flex beneath him. When this shapes into more of a structure, he solos in a manner that feels Monk-like, taking simple phrases that he shapes and reshapes repeatedly. 

The album also incorporates wild blowing in with more subdued moments. "Cold Water" evokes feelings of a plunge into that object, leading to a thoughtful conclusion that grasps the healing power that can be found in it. "Boon" by contrasts, comes off like a free ballad, while "Crystalline" is driven by Abrams' arco work and Cleaver's cymbal rolls, tempting Stein to dabble just a bit in his horn's upper register.

Like any good concept album, the ideas behind the music bring greater understanding to the work while the performance simultaneously stands on its own, even without the details of the notes on hand. It might necessitate a close listen to appreciate the trio's (or duo's) work but that's always a crucial element with this music. 


Wednesday, September 18, 2024

For Tito, Sergio and Mr. Jones

When I first starting dreaming about starting a band as a young kid, the instrument that I wanted to play was guitar. My dad's upright bass was cool, my brothers' brass instruments also had some charm, but that guitar seemed to offer more options. It could wail just as easily as it could coo. It rocked.

One of the first guitarists that I looked up to was Tito Jackson of the Jackson Five. Not only could he play (or so it seemed), he could move around while he did it. As a kindergarten kid, with limited access to what was happening musically in the early '70s, Tito was all I needed to see to seal the deal. Plus, he had the same first name as Tito Puente, the great Latin jazz bandleader, whose Greatest Hits album I got for my birthday around the same time.

The above photo comes from the inner sleeve of Get It Together, the J5's 1973 album. The outer cover had the initials GIT die-cut, so you could see the picture of the band underneath. That red Gibson ES 345 just looked so cool in Tito's hands. During "Hum Along and Dance," the brothers yell, "Play it, Tito," which cues a wild guitar solo that channels the outer space velocity of both Jimi Hendrix and Funkadelic's Eddie Hazel. It might be the work of an anonymous session guy, but if that IS Tito, he was a monster on the guitar. The truth might not be ever found without extensive research, so out of respect to Tito and my youthful mind, I'm just going to assume it was him. 

My friend Eric, who lived up the street from me up until halfway through First Grade, and I used to listen to this album a lot, as well as the Jackson 5 records that I peeled off the back of Alpha-Bits cereal boxes. That was the way I first got to hear "I Want You Back," "ABC," "Goin' Back to Indiana" and "Sugar Daddy." (The record of "Maybe Tomorrow" eluded me, but I never liked that song as much when I finally heard it.) 

In our naïve minds, the Jacksons all played their own instruments. This idea was probably fueled by photo we saw of them once picking up instruments in the studio, a realization I had when I came across the photo again more recently. Clearly Tito and Jermaine handled guitar and bass. Somehow, we thought Jackie handled keyboards and Marlon played congas. That left Michael on.... drums? Why not? Micky Dolenz "played" them in the Monkees and he sang lead most of the time. No reason Michael couldn't do it either. 

I still have that same copy of Get It Together, a birthday present from my great aunts, which, if I got it for my sixth birthday, means it had only been out for a month. Initially, I probably wished it had some of the hits, but that didn't stop me from playing it. Now, it stands as an overlooked part of the band's career, heading in a solid funk direction. "Hum Along and Dance" is a great dance number with two heavy grooves in it, begging to be sampled. (One of the brothers is way off in the harmony parts, but that's a small price to pay.) Ironically, that song was originally done by the Temptations, clearly as a filler song with not much too it. That J5 really fleshed it out. 

When Michael Jackson went on to superstardom, Tito kind of faded into the background. Next thing you knew - as a friend pointed recently to me - Eddie Murphy made him a punchline during his Raw comedy hit, which really zapped Tito's cred. I never gave up on him. While I never had a chance to hear his solo album from a few years ago, it was cool to see him reviewed in downbeat, doing something new that wasn't aimed at cashing in on the family legacy. RIP, Tito.



Around the same time that I was about to discover the Jackson 5, there was a triumvirate of musicians that my dad turned me on to: Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, the 5th Dimension and Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66. I couldn't get enough of them. Too young to read, I knew each one by the album cover and I could figure out side one from side two by the shapes of the words on the labels.

In the case of Sergio's Equinox album (above), Pop had it as a pre-recorded cassette and when I was good enough to be granted access to his tape stash (which also included 5th Dimension's Greatest Hits), Equinox was usually one of the first ones I'd grab. Years later, I picked up a cheap vinyl copy and, even as a 19-year old punk kid, it still conveyed breezy magic. Bossa nova arrangements of songs like "Night and Day" and "Watch What Happens" got stuck in my brain and likely created a standard for what was possible with music. The Portuguese-language songs like "Triste" and "Gente" were also really catchy too, cuing me into different countries and languages out there. The group's version of Little Anthony's "Goin' Out of My Head" is from a different album (their debut) but Lani Hall's heartbroken delivery set the standard for how I thought that song should sound. It sounded really dramatic.

In the early 2000s. I was working as Arts Editor at a short-lived alt-weekly paper called Pulp. One day my phone rang and after I picked up, I heard an accented-voice say, "Hello, Mike? This is Sergio Mendes." It wasn't completely out of the blue. He was slated to perform at the Manchester Craftsmen's Guild and I had informed the venue that I wanted to preview the show. But hearing the voice of the legendary guy saying my name gave me a thrill. I had to call my dad and let him know. The interview took place about a week later and I saw the show, which was a little on the Vegas slick side. A few years later, Sergio's career received another major boost, when he collaborated with the Black Eyed Peas. 

But for me, it's those early albums that still retain the magic. Thanks for everything, Sergio.


I've included the cover of The Fool On the Hill not only as an homage to Sergio, who passed on September 5, and to my dad (whose been gone almost 10 years, and who owned that album), but also to recall a joke that my sister Claire and I had about the cover shot. Sergio looks happy as a clam in the photo while everyone else look sad or dead serious. Karen Phillips, on the right, looks especially pissed off. Why? Claire and I always thought they were mad that they didn't get to sit in the chair.

In closing I must pay tribute to James Earl Jones, who also left us recently. Mister Jones had one of the most distinctive voices in movie and television of course. Darth Vader is all well and good, but my first exposure to him came with a record that I bought from the Arrow Book Club, the program through Scholastic Books where we were album to order books and occasional records through school. Jones read the adaptation of John Henry that Ezra Jack Keats published. I didn't buy the book at that time, so I only had that deep voice to take me into the story. 

To say that he brought things to life was an understatement. Of all the records to lose while growing up, this was one of them. But I can still hear the opening lines: "A hush settled over the hills. The sky swirled soundlessly around the moon." He was so dynamic, yet warm. Years later, when I volunteered to read to my son's class, I ordered that book so I could channel Mr. Jones as I read it. I probably didn't come close to his delivery, but I did pay homage. 

Thanks, Mr. Jones.