Tag Archives: ornettecoleman

Essential 1980s Jazz/Rock Albums (Part 1)

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1980s jazz/rock generally gets the side-eye these days.

But it wasn’t all the Chick Corea Elektric Band prancing around the stage in tracksuits or pitiful WAVE-style smooth jazz.

The 1970s jazz/rock pioneers were mostly going strong and if some were too tempted by synths and drum machines, the best music was made by sticking pretty rigorously to the tried-and-tested real drums/bass/guitar/keys lineup favoured by Miles, Weather Report, Return To Forever et al.

So here’s a selection of 1980s jazz/rock albums that have consistently gripped movingtheriver, most of which he queued up to buy at the HMV or Virgin Megastore, or found in an Our Price bargain bin. (These are not proggy or funky. So no Herbie, Brecker Brothers, David Sanborn or David Torn, but there are elements of R’n’B/Latin/soul/whatever mixed in with the jazz).

Bireli Lagrene: Foreign Affairs (1988)
Just 21 years old when he recorded it with producer Steve Khan, the French guitarist’s second Blue Note album is a cohesive gem and massive improvement on the debut, with terrific contributions from keyboardist Koono and drummer Dennis Chambers.

Ornette Coleman: Virgin Beauty (1988)
One of the most ‘accessible’ albums of the master’s career, with memorable melodies, a brilliantly expressive bassist (Al McDowell) and some decidedly odd guest appearances from Jerry Garcia.

Tribal Tech (Scott Henderson/Gary Willis): Nomad (1988)
Recorded in April 1988 but not released until early 1990, guitarists were rightly wowed by Henderson’s brilliance, a mixture of Michael Brecker, Allan Holdsworth and Stevie Ray Vaughan, while the rhythm section is groovy and propulsive and both Henderson and Willis’s compositions are excellent. And ‘Tunnel Vision’ may feature the perfect guitar solo…

John McLaughlin: Mahavishnu (1984)
OK there are some question marks in the keyboard and sax departments, and a few mediocre tracks, but Billy Cobham has rarely sounded better and John contributes three or four classic compositions and a few brilliant solos to this reunion album of sorts.

Marc Johnson’s Bass Desires: Second Sight (1987)
Wonderful interplay between guitarists John Scofield and Bill Frisell, plus some classic compositions including Scofield’s surf-rock-meets-jazz ‘Twister’, Frisell’s Monk-like ‘1951’ and Johnson’s moving ‘Hymn For Her’.

Larry Carlton: Last Nite (1987)
Guitarists of all stripes were blown away by Carlton’s playing in the 1980s, and here’s the best evidence, captured live at LA’s Baked Potato club with Alex Acuna, Abe Laboriel and JR Robinson.

Human Chain: Cashin’ In (1988)
This Brit jazz/rock classic, released on EG Records, had elements of the Canterbury sound, West Coast cool jazz and 1980s Weather Report, featuring Django Bates’ fantastic keys and French horn and some weirdly impressive guitar and fretless bass from Stuart Hall (who he?).

Hiram Bullock: Give It What U Got (1988)
All the fun of the fair from this gifted but troubled guitarist: raunchy funk/rock, instrumental Steely Dan, Brecker Brothers horns, classic fusion and an Al Jarreau guest appearance on a Sam Cooke tune, but all shot through with jazz chords and Hiram’s lyrical playing.

Ronald Shannon Jackson: Mandance (1982)
Ornette-style harmolodics and Mingus-like ensemble work meet NYC punk-jazz on the drummer’s intriguing and powerful album, recorded live in the studio, featuring future Living Colour axeman Vernon Reid.

Weather Report: Sportin’ Life (1985)
It was a toss-up between this and Night Passage, both classics, but this gets the nod courtesy of the newly-minted rhythm section of Omar Hakim and Victor Bailey, plus a few classic Wayne Shorter tunes including ‘Face On The Barroom Floor’ which reportedly Joni Mitchell was particularly smitten by.

Wayne Shorter: Atlantis (1985)
Wayne again, fronting this fascinating, complex song-cycle featuring Alex Acuna on drums and Joni’s husband Larry Klein on bass. Takes some time to digest, but like a good wine gets better every year.

Allan Holdsworth: Secrets (1989)
A toss-up between this and Metal Fatigue, this gets in because of his delicious guitar tone and the inspired contributions of drummer Vinnie Colaiuta – ‘City Nights’, ‘Spokes’, ‘Peril Premonition’ and ‘Joshua’ are musical landmarks. Fiery, exciting, unmissable.

Steps Ahead: Modern Times (1984)
Messrs Brecker, Erskine, Mainieri, Gomez and Bernhardt were embracing some new technology but they never let it overshadow the mostly excellent compositions with telling solos, particularly from Brecker.

John Scofield: Still Warm (1985)
Take your pick between this, Blue Matter and Loud Jazz, all fantastic pieces of work, but Still Warm gets the nod courtesy of its dynamite rhythm section (Darryl Jones and Omar Hakim) and arguably John’s best writing of the ’80s.

Mike Stern: Upside Downside (1986)
Produced by Hiram Bullock and featuring a crack band including Dave Weckl on drums, it showcases Stern’s finest/fieriest playing on record to date and also one of Jaco Pastorius’s last notable appearances. Still the best Stern solo album and quite extreme in its own way.

(If you’re new to any of these albums and they float your boat, please consider buying physical copies to support the artists.)

Anthony Braxton: Quartet (England) 1985

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Anthony Braxton has one of the largest discographies in music history, encompassing a huge variety of styles and formats: operas, pieces for two pianos, orchestras, solo saxophone, 100 tubas, jazz quartets, ‘found’ objects and many more.

The saxophonist/composer/teacher turned 80 in June, and has also just been inducted into the illustrious DownBeat Hall of Fame.

This writer has long championed ‘Forces In Motion’, Graham Lock’s excellent book about Braxton’s November 1985 tour of England, and a large portion of that tour can now be heard on a thrilling digital box set Quartet (England) 1985, for which Lock has provided new liner notes (he also recorded all the material on a portable cassette player).

The quartet, which comprised Braxton on various reed instruments, Marilyn Crispell on piano, Mark Dresser on double bass and Gerry Hemingway on percussion, was one of Braxton’s most active bands in the ’80s, but didn’t record in the studio until 1991.

Quartet (England) 1985 presents four complete concerts from Sheffield, Leicester, Bristol and Southampton (the London concert was officially recorded and broadcast by BBC radio). The original mono cassette recordings, captured by Lock as references for his book, have been restored by engineer Christopher Trent.

The package also features bonus recordings of the quartet playing John Coltrane’s ‘After the Rain’ and Miles Davis’s ‘Four’, plus soundcheck recordings of ‘All The Things You Are’ and ‘On Green Dolphin Street’. There are also previously unseen photos taken during the tour and a full list of the compositions played (the set was different every night).

Braxton (in borrowed coat), Dresser, Crispell and Hemingway at Stonehenge, 22 November 1985. Photo by Nick White

There’s no getting away from the fact that these are wild and woolly mono recordings, but pleased to report that Trent has done a superb job of cleaning up the tapes and the audio quality doesn’t hamper the listening experience one bit.

The music varies between good and excellent. ‘Free jazz’ barely covers it – the material is actually generally meticulously composed and arranged (featuring memorable, catchy melodies), though there are improvised sections which mainly serve as connecting interludes.

If you want to hear a collision between Sonic Youth, Ornette Coleman and Gyorgy Ligeti, enlist here. It’s a no-cliché zone, guaranteed to annoy the neighbours, and a valuable detox from the mainly safe, secure sounds of today. Quartet (England) 1985 is highly recommended and a fine 40th anniversary celebration of the 1985 tour.

(Postscript: for an impassioned defence of ‘spontaneous improvisation’, check out Stewart Lee’s appearance on the BBC’s ‘Great Lives’ discussing guitarist Derek Bailey.)

Gig Review: Bill Frisell @ Cadogan Hall, 25 October 2024

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Though the American guitarist’s 1980s sonic explorations with the likes of John Zorn, Power Tools and on solo albums such as Before We Were Born are long gone, Frisell’s fascinating (and much quieter) late-career boom continues abound.

He’s a regular visitor to the Big Smoke but, revelling in his newfound freedom at Blue Note Records, this Cadogan Hall gig felt like his most ‘jazz’ outing for years.

That’s chiefly due to the presence of A-list collaborators, in concert and on recent album Four: Gerald Clayton on piano, Gregory Tardy on various reed instruments and Johnathan Blake on drums. Close readers will notice one word notable by its absence: bass. It’s a credit to Frisell that the instrument wasn’t really missed here, nor did he or Clayton particularly resort to vamps to make up for the absent low-end.

Consequently, the meticulously arranged and rehearsed set, strongly foregrounding collective improvisation, had a lovely ‘floating’ atmosphere. (Two touchstones may be Louis Armstrong’s Hot Five and The Jimmy Guiffre 3, the latter of course featuring Frisell hero Jim Hall on guitar.)

Themes came and went, with many segues. Somewhat sombre recent compositions such as ‘Waltz For Hal Willner’ and ‘Claude Utley’ – both named for recently departed friends of Frisell – bumped up against familiar pieces such as Paul Motian’s ‘Conception Vessel’ (taken at a very leisurely clip) and Bacharach/David’s ‘What The World Needs Now’, as well as two fast bebop-style heads which nodded to Ornette Coleman (though the Monk-ish treat ‘Holiday’ was sadly missing).

In short, it was business as usual for Frisell, who unapologetically places melody at the heart of everything he does, whether playing ‘60s pop, country, avant-garde or bebop. Hall really does seem to be his totem these days, though he still knows when to add disconcertingly witty moments of found sounds and dissonant loops via his pedal board.

And while the ensemble occasionally felt like it was kept on unusually tight leash, Clayton added much-needed harmonic colour and elaborate flourishes, touching variously on stride piano, systems music and glorious call-and-response lines reaching back to Tatum and Hines. Tardy brought the blues feeling, laying down three or four fantastic solos, while Blake – the man with the lowest drum set in the world, barely above his knees – played at a perfect volume in the very boomy Cadagon Hall, and with great taste.

All in all, this quartet has legs. One would hope they could gather for another album on Blue Note, and we might get another enjoyable gig like this too. The standing ovation seemed to come as quite a surprise to this most modest master of the electric guitar.

Milford Graves (1941-2021)

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One of the most memorable music documentaries broadcast in Britain during the late 1980s was ‘Speaking In Tongues’, directed by Doug Harris for German TV and originally shown in 1982.

It began with John Coltrane’s funeral on 21 July 1967, featuring music from drummer Milford Graves, trumpeter Donald Ayler and saxophonists Ornette Coleman and Albert Ayler, then mused on the mysterious death of the latter before opening up to focus on Graves’ extraordinary life and some coruscating duets with saxophonist David Murray.

Born 20 August 1941 in South Jamaica, Queens, New York, Milford Graves was a ‘drummer’, but, equally importantly, a truly evolved human being, a strict vegetarian, herbologist, acupuncturist, teacher and trained martial artist. He was famous locally for his backyard dojo and basement laboratory.

He began his career playing bongos and timbales, including a short-lived Latin-jazz band with a very young Chick Corea. At the urging of superstar percussionist Don Alias, he moved over to the drum kit in 1963 and found his true metier.

Alongside Sunny Murray, Andrew Cyrille, Ronald Shannon Jackson and a few others, he freed the drummer from purely a timekeeping role, introducing new melodic and tonal textures for the kit. But this wasn’t a po-faced, technical endeavour – it led to some of the most intense, high-volume work of the last 50 years. He described each of his limbs as playing ‘a different feeling’ (see below).

Legendary jazz writer Nat Hentoff apparently made a prediction in the late 1960s that the greats of the avant-garde jazz movement would eventually get lecturing jobs in universities, such was the importance and rigour of their conceptual flow.

It was true. Since 1973, Graves had been teaching at Bennington College in Vermont, a variety of courses including those touching on the healing aspect of music. He performed regularly across the world, including at a school for autistic children in Japan. From the late 1960s on, he eschewed nightclub and club gigs, restricting his live performances to festivals, community centres and outdoor shows.

He recorded astonishing duets with pianist Don Pullen, Andrew Cyrille (Dialogue Of The Drums) and David Murray on the classic 1991 album The Real Deal. He worked with Albert Ayler on various albums including Love Cry. He toured extensively during the 1980s, producing a sound as heavy as anything Black Flag or Metallica came up with.

Tragically, though he had studied the heartbeat as a source of rhythm since the 1970s, Milford died of congestive heart failure on 12 February. ‘It turns out, I was studying the heart to prepare for treating myself,’ he told The New York Times last year.

Last autumn, his life and work had just been subject to a residency at the ICA in Philadelphia, including a screening of ‘Speaking Of Tongues’ and a wide-ranging interview with Jason Moran.

RIP to a true one-off. To paraphrase Art Blakey, if jazz was about washing away the dust of everyday life, Milford Graves did it.

Milford Graves (20 August 1941 – 12 February 2021)

Further reading: ‘As Serious As Your Life’ by Val Wilmer

 

Ornette Coleman & Prime Time: Virgin Beauty 30 Years On

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Who are the great pop and jazz melodicists?

Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, Paddy McAloon, George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Stephen Sondheim, Burt Bacharach, Becker & Fagen, Miles, Paul Desmond, Charlie Parker?

Ornette has to make that list too. He’s virtually incapable of playing a fatuous phrase, even when his accompanists seem to be scrambling eggs.

Virgin Beauty, released 30 years ago, was and will now always remain a bit of an anomaly in his discography, a one-off album on CBS subsidiary Portrait Records (which also released Stanley Clarke’s If This Bass Could Only Talk) and marketed as ‘Ornette does fusion’.

Which is a bit like asking Miles to do ‘pop’: i.e. you can market it any way you want, but it’s gonna be a totally personal vision.

Ornette’s version of fusion contains elements of country and western, space-invader electro, early hip-hop and, of course, pure harmolodic hijinks.

I hadn’t heard Virgin Beauty for years but loved revisiting it this week. It’s on an old cassette sandwiched between Brian Eno’s Nerve Net and George Clinton’s Computer Games – perfect bedfellows.

First of all, it’s worth noting that this writer’s main reaction to hearing it again was pure amusement. It actually inspired a full-on giggling fit. Everything sounds a bit wonky; the Chick Corea Elektric Band it ain’t.

Ornette’s beautiful alto is always just out of tune (though his trumpet playing is surprisingly in tune) and Chris Walker’s fretless-bass intonation is far from perfect.

Two rhythm guitarists (Bern Nix and Charles Ellerbee) chatter away in different keys and Ornette’s son Denardo programs some drum machines, hits some acoustic drums, some electric drums and a slightly incongruous jazz ride cymbal. The Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia drops in for a few enjoyably ramshackle guitar solos.

The mix is also distinctly lacking in bass. It’s one of the first albums I’ve listened to in the past few years when I’ve had to turn the bass UP. Which is a good thing, because Al MacDowell’s playing is sometimes fairly astonishing. He even throws in a few quotes from ‘Yakety Sax’.

Virgin Beauty was the natural peak for Ornette’s Prime Time band but a bit of a cul-de-sac career-wise. It would be seven long years before his next solo studio album Tone Dialling. The record companies never got their ‘fusion’ record – thankfully.

Steve Khan’s Backlog: Interview & Album Review

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backlog_esccov_hires600Steve Khan, one of jazz’s most underrated and distinctive guitarists, made two fine fusion albums during the 1980s: Eyewitness and Casa Loco.

His unique chord voicings, intriguing melodic sense and subtle use of effects have also illuminated work by The Brecker Brothers, Steely Dan, Billy Cobham and Joe Zawinul.

Khan’s other solo albums across a 40-year career showcase his enormous versatility, from overdubbed guitar tributes to Thelonious Monk (Evidence) and jazz trios (Headline, Let’s Call This) to large fusion ensembles featuring the likes of Steve Gadd, Don Grolnick, Michael Brecker and David Sanborn (The Blue Man, Arrows).

Khan has also become well known as a master-interpreter and reharmoniser of non-guitar jazz compositions by the likes of Andrew Hill, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Ornette Coleman, Lee Morgan and Randy Brecker. His new collection Backlog, the third in a Latin Jazz triptych following Parting Shot (2011) and Subtext (2014), continues to plunder the songbooks of his favourite composers.

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The album kicks off with the killer one-two of Monk’s ‘Criss Cross’ and Greg Osby’s ‘Concepticus In C’. The former is inspired by the late great pianist Kenny Kirkland’s Latin version which first appeared on his fine 1991 debut album.

Says Khan, ‘It’s a wonderful arrangement and so good that it’s hard to escape its influence. It took me years to find a way to do the tune in a way where I could put my own stamp on it. As everyone already knows, I love Monk’s compositions and have recorded many of them. I happen to feel that Monk’s tunes have a way of fitting into a Latin context, as if they were made to be interpreted in that style.’

The Osby tune was played by Khan during their tenure together in the New Sound Collective band; the guitarist clearly relishes arranging his version of ‘Concepticus’ on Backlog, adding a funky Joe Zawinul flavour to the tasty harmonies and quirky rhythmic concept.

‘Latin Genetics’, composed by Ornette Coleman and first appearing on his In All Languages album, features a fine guest spot from Randy Brecker on trumpet.

On first listening, it seems a light, almost joyous piece of music, but Khan has a different take on it: ‘It’s funny to me that people see this tune as being so happy – I actually see it as a rather dark piece of music, one with many sinister and even humorous qualities.’

Backlog‘s other Coleman cover version is ‘Invisible’, featuring Bob Mintzer on sax, originally recorded in 1958: ‘It comes from one of his earliest albums, Something Else!!!!, featuring an acoustic piano,’ says Khan. ‘Every time I hear this tune, I feel that Ornette’s playing and improvisational concepts are a bit constricted by having the chord changes applied so literally. There seems to be an absence of space. So, in my interpretation, though there are chord changes, both Bob and I play pretty much unaccompanied, and that’s really how I like it.’

Elsewhere on Backlog, Khan reimagines the music of Stevie Wonder, his father Sammy Cahn, Johnny Mandel, Bobby Hutcherson and Andrew Hill.

Clearly a labour of love, Khan wonders whether it will be his final album: ‘When I recorded Parting Shot, for reasons of the health and condition of my left hand, I thought that was going to be the final album. Then when I decided that I felt well enough to record Subtext, I was even more certain that that would be the final album. But, as 2015 unfolded, I came to the simple conclusion that I just do not feel alive unless I am creatively involved in the formation of new music. So, while I can still do it, I had to do everything possible to record. Can I foresee ever being able to self-finance another recording of my own again? I don’t want to utter the word “never” in conjunction with such a thought, but honestly, I really don’t know. With the release of any new piece of work, there is always hope for better days and better times, but this remains to be seen…’

Backlog is out now on ESC/Tone Center.

Read the full interview with Steve at his website.

Ronald Shannon Jackson: Behind Plastic Faces

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Shannon Jackson in 2012

Musicians and writers have long puzzled over a definition of Harmolodics, the musical system invented by Ornette Coleman.

The man himself was famously coy on the subject, his brief liner note on the back of the Dancing In Your Head LP possibly the nearest he ever got to an outright definition: ‘Rhythms, harmonics and tempos are all equal in relationship’.

Of all the Ornette collaborators who developed their own take on Harmolodics, Ronald Shannon Jackson, who died in October 2013, probably came up with the most accessible version.

He had played with avant-garde pioneers Albert Ayler, Ornette, James Blood Ulmer and Cecil Taylor in the 1970s, but developed into a fine bandleader/composer in the ’80s, fronting a red-hot band featuring guitarist Vernon Reid (Living Colour), bassist Melvin Gibbs (Rollins Band), trombonist Robin Eubanks and saxophonist Zane Massey. (Shannon’s version of Harmolodics was so successful it possibly even influenced Ornette’s Virgin Beauty.)

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My dad used to get sent a lot of music in his capacity as a programme consultant for Channel 4 TV’s music arm back in the mid-1980s. A surprising amount of it would come in home-compiled cassette format. One such tape was simply called ‘Dance Music’ – I’ve still got it somewhere.

Most of it was fairly standard Brazilian and Blue Note stuff but one track stood out a mile and became somewhat of an obsession for my brother and I: Shannon’s ‘Behind Plastic Faces’, from the 1985 album Decode Yourself. It was the beginning of my love affair with his music and drumming.

He lays down one of his patented military grooves on Simmons drums underneath slithering fretless bass, chattering Reid guitar and Onaje Allan Gumbs’ summery keyboards. But then the track suddenly changes gear halfway through and turns into a Afro-Funk/No-Wave rave-up, with Shannon moving over to the acoustic drums and Eric Person rhapsodising on alto sax.

The track and attendant album were recorded at Electric Lady Studios in New York and produced by Bill Laswell. Decode Yourself seems very difficult to find on physical formats these days, like many of Shannon’s numerous other ’80s albums, but thankfully it is on streaming platforms.

Shannon Jackson was born and brought up in Forth Worth, Texas, just like Ornette. His father’s jukebox introduced him to BB King, Howlin’ Wolf, Charlie Parker and Dave Brubeck, but there were many other influences in the mix too, as he told writer Gary Giddins in 1985:

‘You’d wake up and hear hillbilly music on the radio. In school, we’d play (Wagner’s) “Lohengin”, at night we’d hear Bo Diddley or Bobby “Blue” Bland. On Sunday, we’d hear gospel. It was a total black community, and music wasn’t categorised as jazz or pop – nobody told you you weren’t supposed to like something.’

Bigmouth Strikes Twice: More Classic 1980s Music Quotes

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Art Blakey

Here’s another selection of choice quotes taken from various 1980s magazines, TV shows, biographies and anthologies that have drifted through my transom in the last few months.

Check out the first instalment here if you missed it.

 

‘Morrissey’s a precious, miserable bastard. He sings the same song every time he opens his mouth. At least I’ve got two songs: “Love Cats” and “Faith”.’

Robert Smith of The Cure, 1985

 

‘George Clinton told me how much he liked Around The World In A Day. You know how much more his words mean than those from some mamma-jamma wearing glasses and an alligator shirt behind a typewriter?’

Prince, 1985

 

‘It would be nice to meet Madonna and squeeze her bum.’

Level 42’s Mark King looks forward to his first US tour, 1986

 

‘I hope nobody bought houses.’

Slash/Warners executive Bob Biggs upon hearing a preview of Faith No More’s Angel Dust album (OK, this quote is from the early 1990s, but wtf…). The band had bought houses…

 

‘The musician is like a house, and the music is like a friend that’s always out there knocking on the door, wanting nothing more than to come in. But you’ve got to get your house in order for music to come in. That’s where discipline comes in.’

Robert Fripp, 1984

 

‘Like the first side. The second side is rubbish. Miles don’t play jazz no more but feels kind of funny about it, so instead of just admitting that his chops aren’t what they used to be, he puts jazz down.’

Branford Marsalis on Miles Davis’s Tutu, 1986

 

‘Remember the hits? “Labour Of Love” was inspired by Antonio Gramsci, a love song called “Violently” and a tale of kitchen-sink realism about wife battery called “Looking For Linda”. We heard those songs on Radio 1 back to back with Yazz and we’d piss ourselves laughing. We pulled off the trick three times and I always think that lyrically I can pull it off again.’

Hue & Cry’s Pat Kane remembers the good old days, 1995

 

‘I have to be myself, and if being in rock music forces me to pretend I am an idiot or that I have to wear tight trousers or a wig, then I have to get another job.’

Sting, 1988

 

‘I heard the title song (‘Storms’) on the radio and the drum sound still makes me want to cry. I love Glyn (Johns, producer) but there were times during that album when I went back to the hotel to cry.’

Nancy Griffith on her 1989 album Storms, 1991

 

‘I would say that my entire life has been one massive failure. Because I don’t have the tools or wherewithal to accomplish what I want to accomplish.’

Frank Zappa, 1986

 

‘I went into the old EMI offices many times in the late ’80s and it never occurred to me to look up in reception and see exactly where that iconic photo had been taken. In the ’80s it seemed we had been looking forward.’

David Hepworth on the famous Beatles photo from the cover of Please Please Me

 

‘I tried the Jesus and Mary Chain but I just couldn’t believe it. It’s awful! It was so sophomoric – like the Velvets without Lou. I just know that they’re kids from Croydon! I just can’t buy it.’

David Bowie, 1987

 

‘I was surprised how hip it is. There’s a strange thing I don’t understand of people in Boy George outfits dancing to Jimmy McGriff and old Jackie McLean Blue Note records in discos.’

Guitarist John Scofield on the latest English ‘jazz revival’, 1988

 

‘Songwriting’s a craft, that’s all. I always knew my lyrics were better than anyone else’s anyway. I just edit more than other people, that’s my f***in’ secret. Also I never sleep and that helps too. You’ve got more time that way.’

Shane MacGowan, 1989

 

‘I hate having my picture taken, I always look like such a dog.’

Kirsty MacColl, 1989

 

‘I was a patsy. I never made more than $200 a week at the Five Spot.’

Ornette Coleman looks back on his legendary six-month residency during 1959 and 1960, 1985

 

‘All of us were naive, not just Ornette. We couldn’t even pay our rents. And they were making lots of money off us. That club was jammed every single night we were there.’

Charlie Haden on the same residency, 1985

 

‘You walk into the record label and they just weren’t as friendly as they used to be. When the record’s not a success, it’s your fault, and so you take on all those feelings. The label doesn’t sit down and talk to you. And they don’t drop you either, because they don’t want to lose you to the competition – just in case you do come up with something good next. And so they just remain sort of not as friendly, no more: “Hey Kevin, how are you?” It’s a head-f*ck, and you just have to work it out yourself.’

Kevin Rowland on the commercial failure of his 1988 solo album The Wanderer

 

‘Pop stars live the life of Caesar. And we know where the life of Caesar leads: it leads to blankness, it leads to despair. That’s the real message of these rock stars’ lives. To the public, they represent vitality, youth, innocence, joy. But in private life they represent despair and an infatuation with death.’

Albert Goldman, author of ‘The Lives Of John Lennon’ and ‘Elvis’, 1988

 

‘I remember sitting next to the stage and seeing all those little red lights glowing on the amps while we waited for the guys to come out and give us a real pasting.’

Allan Holdsworth reminisces about early gig-going, 1985

 

‘I have the best legs in the business. And they’ve got dancing feet at the bottom.’

David Lee Roth, 1982

 

‘There’s only one woman I have deep respect for in this industry and that’s Chrissie Hynde.’

Annie Lennox, 1986

 

‘I would have thought that people would be pleased to have a band that could play half decently.’

Francis Dunnery bemoans It Bites’ poor standing with the British music press, 1989

 

‘Sometimes he would call for Monk out of the clear blue sky. “Thelonious! Come save me from these dumb young motherf*ckers!”‘

Wynton Marsalis on playing with Art Blakey in the early 1980s

 

‘Prince really wants to be white. I know what that’s like. I tried hard to be white too.’

Daryl Hall, 1985

 

‘What we do is an alternative to Elton John and Chris Rea and all those old bastards who were there and still are. It’s embarrassing to see these old people like Dire Straits doddering about, they’re hideous.’

Robert Smith, 1989

 

‘I’ll tell you what I dig. In the Sting movie “Bring On The Night”, Omar Hakim taking off on that tune. Like Tony Williams, Jack DeJohnette. That’s being real free and comfortable. I don’t take my drums seriously, and they do.’

Drummer for the stars Jeff Porcaro, 1989

 

‘I believe that Bill (Bruford) and Adrian (Belew) thought that Beat was a better album than Discipline. I have no idea how anyone could come to that conclusion.’

Robert Fripp of King Crimson, 2022

 

‘Thanks for letting me drop by, guys. Hope I didn’t ruin your album.’

Herbie Hancock bids farewell to Simple Minds after playing a synth solo on their 1982 song ‘Hunter And The Hunted’

 

‘You should have seen us trying to sound like Windham Hill. We’d fall on our butts, man. I learned that you can’t fake it.’

’70s jazz/rock pioneer Larry Coryell on his mid-’80s collaboration with violinist Michal Urbaniak, 1985

 

‘We weren’t asked but we wouldn’t have done it anyway.’

Robert Smith on Live Aid, 1985

 

‘The band is getting back together and playing, maybe every six months or every year. If I can do so without it being public knowledge, that would be great. But I can’t do it, obviously. It would be nice to play together just as friends.’

Jimmy Page on Led Zeppelin reunions, 1986

 

‘I really, really would like to be in Led Zeppelin again. Whether or not time allows that to happen, I don’t know.’

Robert Plant on Led Zeppelin reunions, 1988

 

‘I’m a Catholic, and I would just ask God to to please help me find my own style. It’s not going to be like Tony or Elvin, so that when you hear me on a record, you know it’s Al Foster on the drums.’

Al Foster on his ‘stomping’ hi-hat technique, 1989

 

‘I feel I’ve created a field in which other people can discover themselves. I’m disappointed that they don’t create the room for me to discover myself.’

Robert Fripp on his King Crimson bandmates, 1984

 

‘I find therapy enormously valuable. It’s like car maintenance, send yourself in to be serviced every few thousand miles and, with any luck, it stops major problems developing.’

Peter Gabriel, 1989

 

‘I went to see this band INXS from Australia. They were on OK band, very much like a version of the Rolling Stones, but not as good. The singer is good and he looks great, but he doesn’t really move. He can’t be expending much energy.’

Mick Jagger, 1988

 

‘The band was like a fake democracy. Henley and I were making the decisions while at the same time trying to pacify and cajole the others.’

Glenn Frey looks back on The Eagles, 1988

 

‘(Jeff) Beck’s was a miserable f***ing band, horrible. Beck is a miserable old sod, but I do love him as a guitar player.’

Rod Stewart, 1988

 

‘I’ve always found it easier to write for other people. I feel terrible inhibited about writing for me. It’s only in the last few years that I’ve resigned myself into believing that I’m a moderately good singer.’

David Bowie, 1988

 

‘Of my writing partners since John (Lennon), Denny Laine was obviously nowhere near as good. Stevie Wonder is very good, but he’s not a lyricist. Michael Jackson is not as good of a writer as he is a performer. And Eric Stewart was good, but again, not as good as John.’

Paul McCartney, 1988

 

‘This new Clash compilation, which is meant to have sold a million copies, should be making me a rich man, but someone told me you only get quarter royalties for compilations. The CD wasn’t invented then so that wasn’t in the contract either. So I think I don’t get them royalties either. To tell the truth, I think we’re all a bit skint really.’

Joe Strummer on the legacy of The Clash, 1988

 

‘Those weird people on the street – every hundreth weirdest one has a Steely Dan record at home. That guy who hijacked a bus today probably has 47 copies of The Royal Scam.’

Walter Becker on Steely Dan’s audience, 1981

 

‘In 1981, something happened which changed my way of working with music. I woke up on a friend’s sofa in New York and simply understood something I’d known for a while: music was always present, completely with a life of its own, as a friend.’

Robert Fripp, 1984

 

‘The price of a ticket goes from two dollars to 20 dollars, the act doesn’t do an encore, someone has to stand in a long line, and it’s all my fault.’

Bill Graham on stadium rock, 1988

 

‘There are a lot of people who didn’t make a commitment and now they’re no longer with us. We lost Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, Jackie Wilson, Jimi Hendrix. I think maybe some of them didn’t know where or when to get off. The important thing is to be here.’

Al Green, 1988

 

‘Hell, we steal. We’re the robber barons of rock’n’roll.’

Donald Fagen of Steely Dan, 1981

 

‘After recording it, I flew off to see my manager and I said to him, “You’d better watch who you’re talking to. I’m the guy who wrote “Addicted To Love!”‘

Robert Palmer, 1988

 

‘I get the fans who write poetry. I have a slight David Sylvian audience, whereas Chris (Lowe) gets the sex audience, the ones who write obscene letters! It’s quite thrilling, actually!’

Neil Tennant of The Pet Shop Boys, 1988

 

‘It was the Enniskillen bombing that did it. The man whose daughter died beside him under the rubble; he was burning inside but he was so forgiving, so gracious. I thought, Christ, this is what courage is all about – Elton, just shut up and get back to work. After all, once you’ve been exposed naked on the cover of The Sun you ought to be able to face anything…’

Elton John on his 1988 comeback

 

‘It’s a better product than some others I could mention.’

David Bowie defends the Glass Spider Tour, 1987

 

‘Back then I thought I’d lost it and I did a bunch of things I was really unhappy with – all in public and on record. But it turned out not to be true. My ability hadn’t deserted me. And it won’t go away. Ever.’

Lou Reed, 1988

 

‘Michael Jackson’s just trying to cop my sh*t. I was insane years ago…’

Neil Young, 1988

 

‘I’ve said a lot of things in my time and 90 percent of them are bollocks.’

Paul Weller, 1988

 

‘We were excellent. Some of the best records of the ’80s are there. For the last six months of Wham!, it was OK to like us, we got a little hip. I cannot think of another band who got it together so much between the first and second albums. On Fantastic, you can tell I don’t think I’m a singer but some vocals on Make It Big are the best I’ve done. Even if we were wankers, you still had to listen.’

George Michael reassesses Wham!, 1998

 

‘The gig I have as the drummer in King Crimson is one of the few gigs in rock’n’roll where it’s even remotely possible to play anything in 17/16 and stay in a decent hotel.’

Bill Bruford, 1983

 

‘When I toured with The Rolling Stones, the audience would come up to me after the show and say, “Man, you’re really good, you ought to record.” How do you think that makes me feel after 25 years in the business?’

Bobby Womack, 1984

 

‘I find politics ruins everything. Music, films, it gets into everything and f*cks it all up. People need more sense of humour. If I ran for President, I’d give everybody Ecstasy.’

Grace Jones, 1985

 

‘I’m not the most gifted person in the world. When God handed out throats, I got locked out of the room.’

Joe Elliott of Def Leppard, 1988

 

‘I’m lazy and I don’t practice guitar and piano because I’ve gotten involved with so many other things in my life and I just had to make a sacrifice. Stephen Sondheim encourages me to start playing the piano again. Maybe I will.’

Madonna, 1989

 

‘Nile (Rodgers) couldn’t afford to spend much time with me. I was slotted in between two Madonna singles! She kept coming in, saying “How’s it going with Nile? When’s he gonna be free?” I said, “He ain’t gonna be free until I’m finished! Piss off!”’

Jeff Beck, 1989

 

‘I’ve never really understood Madonna’s popularity. But I’ve talked to my brothers and they all want to sleep with her, so she must have something.’

Nick Kamen, 1987

 

‘They ask you about being a Woman In Rock. The more you think about, the more you have to prove that you’re a Woman In Rock. But if you’re honest, it doesn’t matter whether you’re male or female. That’s the way we work.’

Wendy Melvoin, 1989

 

‘In Japan, someone told me I was playing punk saxophone. I said, “Call me what you want, just pay me”.’

George Adams, 1985

 

‘In the past, we’d bump into other musicians and it would be, “Oh, yes, haven’t I heard of you lot? Aren’t you the bass player that does that stuff with your thumb?” But once you’ve knocked them off the number 1 spot in Germany, they’re ringing you up in your hotel and saying, “Hey, howyadoin’? We must get together…”‘

Mark King of Level 42, 1987

 

‘We played London, we played Ronnie Scott’s, and I noticed that there were a lot punk-rock kids in the audience. After we finished playing, we had to go to the disco and sign autographs, because “Ping Pong”, the thing we made about 30 years ago, is a big hit over there.’

Art Blakey, 1985

 

‘I believe music – just about everything – sounds better these days. Even a car crash sounds better!’

Miles Davis, 1986

 

‘It’s a dangerous time for songwriters in that a monkey can make a thing sound good now.’

Randy Newman, 1988

Yoko+Ono+Season+Of+Glass+522787

 

‘To have those glasses on the cover was important because it was a statement and you have to understand that it was like John wanted you guys to see those glasses.’

Yoko Ono, 1989

 

‘I’ll f*cking… I’ll go and take on anyone, any white singer who wants to give me a go.’

Matt Goss of Bros, 1989

 

‘I’ve never said this before but my drums is so professional, man, know what I mean?’

Luke Goss of Bros, 1989

 

‘I hate parts of my own albums because I know I’m hearing something that doesn’t translate to piano. In fact, I’m being dishonest by playing piano at all.’

Keith Jarrett, 1987

 

‘When I began to see how Elvis lived, I got such a strong take off of it. It was all so revolting!’

Albert Goldman, 1988

 

‘The best way to make great art is to have it trivialised by other people as much as possible. That way, you fight and fight and fight.’

Julian Cope, 1989

 

‘Whatever you’re tops in, people is trying to bring you down, and that’s my philosophy.’

Samantha Fox, 1987

 

‘Call me fat and I’ll rip your spine out.’

Ian Gillan, 1983

 

‘Sure I care about my fans. Because fans is money, hahaha. Muh-neee! And who does not care about money? Me, I like muh-neee, haha.’

Chuck Berry, 1988

 

‘I have this long chain with a ball of middle-classness at the end of it which keeps holding me back and that I keep sort of trying to fight through. I keep trying to find the Duchamp in me.’

David Bowie, 1980

 

‘People who say, Oh, I don’t know anything about music – they’re the people who really do know about music because it’s only really what it does to you.’

Steve Winwood, 1988

 

‘I notice that critics and others don’t credit black people with the ability to write ingenious, creative lyrics.’

Nile Rodgers, 1981

 

‘I’m below the poverty line – I’m on £16 a week. We needed some clothes and our manager said, “I don’t know what you do with your money. I mean, 16 quid!”’

Gary Daly of China Crisis, 1984

 

‘You take four or five of those rattlesnakes, dry ’em out and put them inside your hollow-box guitar. Lightnin’ Hopkins taught me that trick.’

Albert Collins on his guitar tone, 1988

 

‘People are bored with Lionel Richie going “I love everybody, peace on earth, we are the world…” F*ck that! People love bastards.’

Terence Trent D’Arby, 1987

 

‘Epstein dressed The Beatles up as much as he could but you couldn’t take away the fact that they were working-class guys. And they were smart-arses. You took one look at Lennon and you knew he thought the whole thing was a joke.’

Billy Joel, 1987

 

‘I remember when the guy from Echo & The Bunnymen said I should be given National Service. F*** him...’

Boy George, 1987

 

‘No-one should care if the Rolling Stones have broken up, should they? People seem to demand that I keep their youthful memories intact in a glass case specifically for them and damn the sacrifices I have to make. Why should I live in the past just for their petty satisfaction?’

Mick Jagger, 1987

 

‘The industry is just rife with with jealousy and hatred. Everybody in it is a failed bassist.’

Morrissey, 1985

 

‘I couldn’t stand it – all that exploitation and posturing, the gasping at the mention of your name, the pursuit by photographers and phenomenon-seekers. You get that shot of adrenalin and it’s fight or flight. I chose flight many a time.’

Joni Mitchell, 1988

 

‘I’m strongly anti-war but defence of hearth and home? Sure, I’ll stick up for that… I’m not a total pacifist, you know? I’ve shot at people. I missed, but I shot at them. I’m sort of glad I missed…’

David Crosby, 1989

Ornette Coleman: Made In America

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ornetteOrnette Coleman’s sad recent passing reminded me of a superb, almost totally forgotten ‘documentary’ that is begging for a DVD re-release (though it may be available in the US).

Shirley Clarke’s 1985 film ‘Ornette: Made In America’ centres around Coleman’s 1983 return to his hometown of Fort Worth, Texas, to receive the keys to the city from the mayor, open his Caravan Of Dreams venue and also perform astonishing orchestral work The Skies Of America (29 September 1983 was officially named Ornette Coleman Day).

The film weaves in re-imaginings of Coleman’s childhood in segregated Texas, surreal music-video images and talking-head tributes from scientists, writers, musicians, philosophers and William Burroughs about the impact and importance of Ornette’s music. Ornette himself is interviewed at length and we see him in conversation with family and friends.

It really is a trip (in the best sense of the word), and one of the great jazz films. I taped it off air from Channel Four in the UK when it got a one-off showing in the late-’80s. I’ll be watching it again in the next week or so – can’t wait.