Notable Jazz Recordings, 1980-1989: Re-Evaluating A Decade (Part 1/6)
A recent unofficial poll amongst fellow musical fanatics had me digging through favorite and favored releases from 1983 to pick ten highlights, and while my eventual list was as heavy on post-punk and indie as I’d suspected at the outset (Go-Betweens, R.E.M., and New Order took top honors), the strong showing from the jazz world surprised me somewhat, if only because few would look to 1983 as any kind of banner year for America’s greatest export. And yet the evidence was there.
I’d long wondered how that most-maligned of decades might hold up to tough jazz scrutiny, once one had pawed aside the chart-toppers and dated technology that marred many a release, and after compiling a short mental list, I decided a multi-part series highlighting great jazz recordings released between 1980 and 1989 would be a rewarding re-evaluation. In the end, I settled on thirty recordings, which will be broken up into five records per post over the next few weeks.
A few brief explanatory notes - this will in no way be a definitive list or even a Greatest Jazz Recordings of the 1980s project. Instead, it will be an attempt to highlight strong albums, offer a wide-ranging overview of the period, and give some indication of how rich the decade was. I’m purposefully avoiding many popular, well-known, and even critically acclaimed artists and releases - fusion and smooth jazz make no appearances, nor does the ascension of Wynton Marsalis and the Young Lions who followed in his stead. Nor does the Downtown scene and/or John Zorn. Much of the choices will fall somewhere between the realm of harder-edged mainstream and the maturing avant-garde, which means many releases are challenging but not explicitly experimental. Against my better judgment, I’m including brief blurbs/descriptions of each album. This is against my better judgment because jazz writing requires a different set of chops than I’m normally good at deploying. But here I go, anyway.
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1. Paul Bley Trio, BeBopBeBopBeBopBeBop (1989)
Bley’s forbidding reputation as out jazz pioneer began during his early stint with Ornette Coleman in 1958, along with seminal recordings for ESP in the mid-60s. Since then, he’s racked up a dizzying number of challenging albums ranging from solo piano (1972’s Open To Love, 1983’s Tears) to trio and duo workouts. But only on this unexpected release did Bley fully showcase his bebop chops. With Bob Cranshaw and Keith Copeland offering strong support, he never once talks down to his material, even when it’s as familiar to him and us as “Night In Tunisia” or “Ornithology”. But he sure messes with tradition, studiously avoiding playing the changes as he’s done throughout his entire career. Deploying perfectly sensical musical choices that can still bring listeners up short, Bley defensively protects each melody before spiraling off, proving one can embrace the past without ever once feeling beholden to it.
2. John Scofield, Time On My Hands (1989)
After three years applying his rock-leaning runs to Miles Davis’ touring unit, the guitarist formed his own group and eventually made his way to Blue Note, here playing all original material and teamed with then-new saxophonist Joe Lovano and the world-class Haden-DeJohnette rhythm section. It’s at first disarmingly straight-ahead for such a forward looking player – while not exactly shying away from country trills, meaty bursts, or channeled pedal effects, the fusion beast does not rear its dated head. Instead, principled guitar jazz from a blues lover that won’t offend muted chord enthusiasts nor bore the Hendrix faithful, with humor to spare. He’s pursued this mature flexibility ever since and remains a class act, which, as jazzbos will tell you, isn’t always the best path towards immortality.
3. Marilyn Crispell, For Coltrane (1987)
Until Matthew Shipp arrived on the scene, I can think of fewer younger pianists compared as incessantly to Cecil Taylor as Crispell, and despite the laziness inherent in her pigeonholing, no informed listener could deny her technique owed much to Taylor’s brand of contemporary classical and the avant-garde – her time with Anthony Braxton only removed Crispell further from the jazz mainstream. But it was John Coltrane who first turned her head, and on this dense solo set, she returns the favor. Hardly a tribute album, she offers abstract runs that quote fleetingly from four Trane compositions, ranging from “Dear Lord’s” late-era modality (and the record’s loveliest passage) to Blue Train’s bop warhorse “Lazy Bird”. In between comes a violent 15-minute “Collage For Coltrane,” which becomes ever more percussive and forceful as the suite progresses, eventually leading back into rapid trills and worrying around the edges of tonality. A blurry ride, with quick idylls.
4. Joe Bonner Quartet, Suite For Chocolate (1986)
Restrained swing from a piano-vibes quartet could be too tasteful for many, but this under-recorded pianist took advantage of his decade-long patronage at Denmark-based Steeplechase to explore a quiet, rewarding, modal-oriented take on modern jazz. At times bright (unsurprisingly so, given the chiming interplay between Bonner and Khan Jamal’s vibraphones), at other times nearly swirling, it brings to mind the backboned lyricism of Andrew Hill. Still, tasteful is the key adjective here – one would be forgiven for never suspecting Bonner was featured on Pharoah Sanders’ avant-groovefest Black Unity back in 1971 – and as a committed composer of warm (some might unkindly say corny) melodies, he skips lightly over the supple swing produced by his bandmates. Atonal when he wants to be, defiantly lovely the rest of the time, he’s just another marginalized figure with talent and a delicate touch.
5. Ran Blake Quartet, Short Life Of Barbara Monk (1986)
An academic rather than a working musician, Blake’s recorded fairly consistently since the late 1970s after being sparingly documented during the previous decade. His general avoidance of quartet settings in favor of solo sets (1985’s impressive Painted Rhythms volumes) or odd duo pairings makes this traditional four-piece session all the more important. Only three original compositions, but his tributes to Thelonious Monk’s sister and jazz critic Laurent Goddet form an emotional bond that help place his unexpected Stan Kenton exploration and Cole Porter move into context. Two short stabs at a traditional Sephardic tune plus an under-three minute look at Greek composer Theodarakis round out the performances, which, as the eclectic lineup suggests, is exactly what you’d want and expect from a good professor of music – informed, wry, appropriately fond of obscurities, never deliberately esoteric, smarter than you but doesn’t believe it himself.
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