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Jan 16

19 Comments

‘Sue me if I play it wrong…’**

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Within a very short time last night, it was apparent that my pal Martin Colyer and I were probably the only people in a packed Ronnie Scott’s who were seeing the night’s featured attraction for the first time. The enthusiasm aroused by the Royal Scammers’ versions of the Steely Dan repertoire, from the opening “Night by Night” to the closing “Aja”, was so warm and immediate that it could only have come from committed fans.

Fans of the compositions of Donald Fagen and Walter Becker, of course, but also of the 14-piece band formed by the twin Stacey brothers, Paul on lead guitar and Jeremy on drums, with two clear intentions: to pay homage to the source and to have a lot of fun in the process. It was the way every member of the band seemed to buy into those ideas that made the whole thing fly, for the musicians and the audience alike.

Let’s name them all now, these people charged with summoning the spirits not only of Fagen and Becker but of their cadre of great session musicians: Andy Caine (vocals, rhythm guitar), Sumudu Jayatilaka (backing vocals, keyboard, tambourine), Louise Marshall, Bryan Chambers (backing vocals), Dominic Glover (trumpet), Trevor Mires (trombone), Andy Ross (tenor saxophone), Jim Hunt (tenor and baritone saxophones), Dave Arch, Gary Sanctuary (keyboards), Robin Mullarkey (bass guitar) and Pete Eckford (percussion). I was amused to see that they lined up across the stage at Ronnie’s in exactly the way the actual Steely Dan did/do, as seen on the cover of Northeast Corridor, their 2021 live album.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m allergic to tributes and recreations, but there are exceptions. And sometimes a literal recreation is the only way to go. I mean, are you going to come up with anything better than Wayne Shorter’s astonishing tenor improvisation on “Aja”? Jim Hunt played it note for note, and it was beautiful. Ditto Pete Christlieb’s tenor solo on “Deacon Blues”, replicated by Andy Ross. As much as the precision, it depends on the intention and the emotion with which it’s done.

Interestingly, when the “real” Steely Dan play “Aja” now, Walt Weiskopf, their excellent tenorist, is allowed free rein to make up his own solo in the space once occupied by Shorter. But I don’t think that’s what required from the Royal Scammers. The first improvised solo I ever learnt off by heart was by the cornetist Bobby Hackett on Glenn Miller’s 1941 Bluebird recording of “String of Pearls”; if I went to see a modern Miller tribute band today and the cornetist didn’t reproduce Hackett’s improvisation note for note, I’d feel cheated. On the other hand, when the American band known as Mostly Other People Do the Killing saw fit to record an exact replica of Kind of Blue a few years ago, as a post-modern gesture, it felt like an insult — to the original and its creators, to the listener, and to the spirit of the music itself.

The spirit of Steely Dan was certainly alive and flourishing at Ronnie Scott’s last night, in a setting of wonderful musicianship. Andy Caine, facing the challenge of assuming Fagen’s voice, took two or three songs to warm up but then sang brilliantly, giving full value to two of my favourite couplets: “I cried when I wrote this song / Sue me if I play it wrong”** (“Deacon Blues”) and “Chinese music always sets me free / Angular banjos sound good to me” (“Aja”).

There spirited renderings of early songs like “Reelin’ in the Years” and “Rikki Don’t Lose that Number”, less obvious ones like “Night by Night” and “Pretzel Logic”, and ones with sudden fiendish modulations like “Green Earrings”. Wherever the original ended in a studio fadeout, the Staceys devised an interesting and wholly fitting coda.

There were also four great songs from Gaucho: “Babylon Sisters”, the always strangely spinetingling “Hey Nineteen”, “Time Out of Mind” and the title track, which actually improved on the original by subtly dialling up the mariachi inflection in the horns. The three backing singers delivered the chorus bit of “Gaucho” with such thrilling intensity that I noticed Martin spontaneously applauding not just on the first iteration but the reprise: “Who is the gaucho, amigo? / Why is he standing in your spangled leather poncho / And your elevator shoes? / Bodacious cowboys such as your friend will never be welcome here / High in the Custerdome.”

It occurred to me that tributes and recreations work where the original template is mostly established, i.e. composed. Ellington’s music can continue to be performed successfully because, although he wrote for his soloists, the settings were fixed. It’s the same with Fagen and Becker. You can play around quite happily with their wonderfully inventive, literate, cryptic and infernally catchy songs (as Chris Ingham does with his quintet) but you can also decide that playing them as written is the best homage. Which is what the Royal Scammers do, quite brilliantly.

* The Royal Scammers play two shows tonight and tomorrow and one on Sunday at Ronnie Scott’s. All are sold out. The photograph was taken last night by Tatiana Gorilovsky.

** This is not the correct lyric (see Comments). But it’s how I heard it 48 years ago and it’s how I hear it still. Yes, I’m wrong, but — sorry, Walt & Don — I prefer my version.

Jan 14

7 Comments

Miles at the Plugged Nickel

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Sixty years ago, in the week before Christmas 1965, Teo Macero recorded the Miles Davis Quintet over two nights at a club called the Plugged Nickel on North Wells Street in Chicago’s Old Town district, nowadays known as the Near North Side. That December it was 15 months since Wayne Shorter had become the group’s tenor saxophonist, joining the pianist Herbie Hancock, the bassist Ron Carter and the drummer Tony Williams to complete what would be known as Davis’s Second Great Quintet.

Extracts from those evenings were released on a couple of LPs in Japan in 1976, and then worldwide in 1982, but it wasn’t until the 30th anniversary, in 1995, that everything from the two nights — three sets from the first night, four from the second, seven and a half hours of music in all — was packaged into a slipcased seven-CD box. Which was when it became clear how important a place it occupied not just in Davis’s discography but in the history of jazz. Now, after many years in which used copies of the set fetched extraordinary prices, it has been restored to general availability.

No jazz group has ever taken the use of pre-existing formats (head arrangements, soloist and rhythm) and materials (composed melodies, chord or modes, rhythms) to such heights of sophistication and simultaneous invention. Ambition was one factor. Davis wanted, as usual, to stay ahead of the competition, and these four young musicians (Williams had left his teens only 10 days earlier) provided not just the fuel but the fire. In return, he set them free. They could go anywhere they wanted. What mattered was that everything they played was the result of listening and responding, not just of moving with the currents but setting up crosscurrents and rip tides and making radical choices between them.

It worked because they were all virtuosi, all innovators, all repositories of the jazz history of their instruments but intent on taking the next step. Where that step took them was to the ultimate iteration of the evolution of small-combo jazz as it had been known for half a century. In their four years together, they achieved something that, in its field, would never be bettered.

Which is not to say, of course, that jazz finished when their work was done. It took on new forms and new challenges, and it remains a living and vital force, existing in dimensions undreamt of 50 years ago. But on these discs you hear the ideal of five musicians moving independently and yet as one, colliding and diverging, slowing down or speeding up, switching the mood in an instant, from the playful to the bone-deep serious, conveying such a remarkable sense of space even when they seem to be jostling and provoking. There is no coasting here: every note counts, wherever it sits in the plan.

The tunes are familiar: “If I Were a Bell”, “Stella by Starlight”, “Walkin'”, “I Fall in Love Too Easily”, “My Funny Valentine”, “Four”, “When I Fall in Love”, “Agitation”, “Round Midnight”, “Milestones”, “The Theme”, “On Green Dolphin Street”, “So What”, “Autumn Leaves”, “All Blues”, “Yesterdays”. For fans of pre-electric Miles, that would surely be pretty close to a perfect programme. You hardly notice the breaks between the tunes: it’s like one unbroken journey.

This is a club date, so you get little snatches of incidental conversation and the occasional bit of vocal encouragement. There actually seems to be an argument going on, perhaps at the bar, during the first night’s beautifully pensive version of “When I Fall in Love”; a burst of random applause during the piano solo may be signalling the departure of one of the disputants. That’s OK by me. It’s a reminder that this isn’t a studio session in which the musicians knew they were laying down something destined to become an artefact. Or a formal concert, with a audience seated in rows and a measure of self-consciouness on either side of the footlights.

They were, in the very best sense, making it up as they went along: creating music on the fly, discovering themselves, testing the limits, exploring the music’s inherent elasticity, living on the leading edge, leaning way over it with no safety net, and exhibiting the ultimate in the improviser’s ideal of relaxed concentration. Pure exhilaration, then and now, from start to finish, and utterly essential.

* The Complete Miles Davis Live at the Plugged Nickel is reissued by Columbia Records, the same music now reformatted on eight CDs, with new packaging — individual cardboard sleeves rather than jewel cases — at around £69. The uncredited photo is from the original brochure.

Dec 22

19 Comments

The man with the blue guitars

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The thing about Chris Rea — who has just died, aged 74 — was that he didn’t fit anywhere, except with the people who loved his music. And sometimes they didn’t fit him, which caused a few problems. The people who bought “On the Beach” and “Driving Home for Christmas” made him rich, but their expectations could be frustrating. This was a man who also recorded pieces called “Green Shirt Blues (for George Russell)” and “Take the Mingus Train”, which seemed to show where his heart lay. Occasionally an envelope would arrive with a CD of rough mixes and things he’d been trying out in his studio; the last piece he sent me was called “Giverny and the Trenches”, an eight-minute instrumental mini-suite containing multitudes, including free-jazz saxophones.

But that wasn’t the only only place his heart lay. Occasionally he’d email about something or other. The exchanges were usually brief but always interesting. One was about the R&B singer Little Johnny Taylor, whose “Part Time Love” was a favourite with the sort of mods we both were in the ’60s. He must have been to see Taylor live, possibly at Newcastle’s Club A Go Go. “How good was he!… I could smell the sweat dripping on my mohair suit (14inch single vent).”

Another time, I sent him a link to James Jamerson’s isolated bass part on “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”, on YouTube. “Fucking wow!” he replied, and said he’d just been listening to the Temptations. “The Temps have blown me away again, even after all these years. Re-reading Berry Gordy’s book… just to be there!  I must be going bonkers, got caught in the kitchen doing dance moves to ‘Get Ready’. Struggling to be bothered with what’s happening now. Only God seems to know the value of Motown.”

Chris had been a blues hound and a northern soul boy, and he never lost it, even when he seemed to be driving straight down the middle of the road. He was a proper musician, and he loved working with other proper musicians, like the keyboardist Max Middleton and the drummer Martin Ditcham, long-time associates. I doubt that this country has produced many better slide guitarists, too, but he was never flashy.

He wrote great pop songs, the sort that mean something to people, that speak to their emotions and become part of their lives: “Fool (If You Think It’s Over)”, “Josephine”, “Stainsby Girls”, “Let’s Dance”. There was always a bit more to them than just a pop song. He once told me that he’d been paid to come up with the first few lines of Hot Chocolate’s “It Started With a Kiss” — no credit, just a lot of money. Somebody else could finish it and get the publishing royalties. It’s a great song, thanks to those opening lines.

He loved to paint — cars, mountains, his collection of guitars. The Hofner violin bass above is one of his, used on the cover of an album called Hofner Blue Notes, a sequence of a dozen pieces for solo bass guitar and rhythm section. He released it in 2003 on JazzeeBlue, the label he set up in a fit of exasperation with the limits imposed by major record companies on artists who didn’t want to be forced into boxes. Artists like him.

That same year, also on JazzeeBlue, he released an album called Blue Street (Five Guitars), a beautiful series of tone poems inspired by, probably among other things, his love of Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue period. It contains a truncated version of a piece he once sent me in unfinished form, originally with the working title “Going to A Go Go”, in which he used the riff from the Miracles 1965 hit of that name to evoke the cherished memories of those happy days and in a second, slower section, to ask himself questions about what had happened to him since: “And your life is rolling over / A little faster every day / Better stop for a while and think it over / Because you know for sure you lost your way / Does what’s around you really matter / Is there something left undone /Now the truth has got you on the run…” Then he goes back to the original tempo: dancing, as he once put it, down the stony road.

The version on the album doesn’t have the sung part of the first section; maybe copyright problems got in the way. But, as much as all his greatly loved hits, Blue Street (Five Guitars) is a great testament to a man who earned the rewards of success but never quite the recognition he deserved.

The health problems he suffered over the last 25 years were hideous. The last time I saw him, he bought me dinner at a very good Italian restaurant on the Fulham Road. Italian food was another thing he knew a lot about, thanks to his dad, Camillo, who ran a chain of ice-cream parlours in and around Middlesbrough. And now I’m going to play his “Going to A Go Go”, over and over. So glad I knew him; so sad he’s gone.

Dec 21

11 Comments

At Blackheath Halls

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Yesterday, the eve of the winter solstice, turned out to be a good one for music. Looking for a Christmas present, I found myself in a clothes shop where the sound system was playing Al Green’s version of Kris Kristofferson’s “For the Good Times”, making me wonder for a moment if there had ever been a finer performance by a soul singer of a country ballad. Then, while I was having a cup of coffee, the café’s playlist surprised me by including Bob B. Soxx and the Blue Jeans’ soaring “The Bells of St Mary”, from Phil Spector’s Christmas Album, a piece of art which seems — unlike Gesualdo’s madrigals and Caravaggio’s paintings — to have been widely cancelled in the present era.

In the evening I took myself to Blackheath Halls, a really splendid venue for music, to hear The Westbrook Blake, a suite of pieces which has been in constant evolution since in 1971, when Adrian Mitchell invited Mike Westbrook to provide musical settings for some of William Blake’s poems, as part of a piece for the National Theatre called Tyger.

I’ve written about it before, here and here, so I won’t repeat myself, except to say that it’s one of the glories of contemporary English music, and the chance to see any performance of it is to be grabbed with some urgency. Last night the two wonderfully expressive solo singers (as always, Kate Westbrook and Phil Minton) and the five-piece band were joined by the 30 or so singers of the Blackheath Halls Community Singers, directed by Paul Ayers.

While Mike Westbrook’s place at the piano was taken by the brilliant Matthew Bourne, the composer himself took the stage in a wheelchair, from which he recited a couple of Blake’s more trenchant poems with clarity and feeling. The spectacular solos from the accordion of Karen Street, the violin of Billy Thompson and the alto saxophone of Chris Biscoe were more than worthy of the spontaneous applause they drew. It was an evening of proper music-making, full of communal warmth, often thought-provoking, and generally good for the soul.

Dec 19

2 Comments

Antony Price 1945-2025

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Of course there was the shock of the music, exquisite to some and befuddling to others. But it was the list of credit on the cover of the first Roxy Music album that really got people going. Concept by Bryan Ferry. Art by Nicholas de Ville. Photography by Karl Stoecker. Clothes, make-up and hair by Antony Price. Something different was going on here.

A lot of it had to do with Antony Price, a Yorkshire-born former Royal College of Art student who got together with Bryan Ferry to devise the group’s look. Price died this week, aged 80, having made a significant contribution to the way the culture around the music evolved in the 1970s. Price made the ruffled satin swimsuit in which Kari-Ann Moller posed on the wraparound gatefold cover image of that debut album, the strapless sheath dress that Amanda Lear wore on the front of For Your Pleasure, and so on all the way through Roxy’s eight studio albums.

Here’s Phil Manzanera, talking to me a few years ago about joining the band in 1972. “I remember getting on the 137 bus from Clapham to go to the photo session for the first album and of course I had no idea about style. My mum sewed some diamante on to a white shirt and I turned up at the session and Antony takes one look at me and says, ‘No, no, no!’ He hands me the bug-eye glasses. ‘Stick these on! And here’s a leather jacket!’ Job done. Fantastic. Antony was a bloody genius.”

Here’s how Ferry remembered putting that first cover together: “I think it was after the recording. Either we were still making, it, or just about finished. I remember calling Antony from a red phone box, I think in the King’s Road, which makes sense because I used to hang around EG (Management)’s offices. I was living in Battersea with Andy Mackay. I remember Antony saying, in his gruff way, ‘I want to hear what it sounds like!’ So I guess I went round to see him.

“Antony had this photographer friend who he’d already done a couple of things with, called Karl Stoecker, married to Errol Flynn’s daughter – a very handsome man, a real ladies’ man. We went to his studio and did this picture. Antony and I talked about it… (he) had this girl called Kari-Ann who he thought was ideal – I wanted a woman, dressed by him. It turned out to be the perfect thing to go with the music.”

What was the cover image saying? “All the ’50s references in the music, late ’50s, early ’60s, were being reflected. It wasn’t that long gone, but it seemed like an age. But although it was a cheesecake kind of thing, it was a bit more knowing. It was all in the details, I think… the make-up, everything, the gold disc – that was a conceit, a cheeky little thing. Yes, it was challenging – and she was looking in a challenging way. It was in the (pre-digital) days when you didn’t know if you had the picture at all. A week later you’d look at the prints. I was so excited.

“Then Andy Mackay found this piece of fabric which we used on the inside cover. Nick de Ville, I got him involved, he was a friend from art college. Finding typefaces and fiddling around with that. Then we liked the idea of the (band) pictures looking like postcards. It was a cottage industry, really. We did a session with Karl Stoecker and Antony, dolling us all up. Eno’s girlfriend made a shirt for him – Carol McNicoll, who was a really brilliant artist working in ceramics – she also did his outfits, the feather things later on. Great, like theatre costumes. Andy’s things were a bit more raunchy. Wendy Dagworthy did Phil’s outfit. And Paul was dressed like a caveman – his sound was quite primitive.”

In 1974, for the cover of Another Time, Another Place, Ferry’s second solo album, Antony made two identical white dinner jackets — single-breasted, shawl-collared — for the cover shoot, taken by Eric Boman against a swimming pool, with elegant people in the background. That summer I was going to an Island Records party in the big studio at Basing Street and needed something to wear. Bryan lent me one of those jackets. Nothing has ever felt quite like it.

Dec 17

8 Comments

2025: The best bits

The brutish reality of Donald Trump’s second term as president of the United States was beginning to emerge when Bruce Springsteen arrived for the first date of his 2025 European tour in Manchester on May 14. I wasn’t there, which meant I didn’t hear him perform, as his final encore, Bob Dylan’s “Chimes of Freedom”, a song that could be seen as the last, magnificent expression of its creator’s 1963-64 incarnation as a singer of protest ballads. The clip above shows that Springsteen, seeking to take a stand at another moment in history, gave it everything he had. In October, Al Stewart made a similarly fine choice when, during his farewell tour, he closed his London Palladium show with Dylan’s “Love Minus Zero/No Limit”, one of the compositions that had shaped his own career as a songwriter. With proper humility, but with their own creative spirit still demonstrably alive and alert, Springsteen and Stewart were reminding us of the enduring significance of the greatest artist of our time, whose own emergence was explored in the finest archival release of the year.

NEW ALBUMS

1 Ambrose Akinmusire: Honey From a Winter Stone (Nonesuch)

2 Mavis Staples: Sad and Beautiful World (Anti-)

3 Arve Henriksen / Trygve Seim / Anders Jormin / Markku Ouaskari: Arcanum (ECM)

4 Masabumi Kikuchi: Hanamichi / The Final Studio Recording Vol II (Red Hook)

5 The Necks: Disquiet (Northern Spy)

6 Patricia Brennan: Of the Near and Far (Pyroclastic)

7 Amina Claudine Myers: Solace of the Mind (Red Hook)

8 The Waterboys: Life, Death and Dennis Hopper (Sun)

9 Peter Brötzmann: The Quartet (Okoroku)

10 Chris Ingham Quintet: Walter / Donald (Downhome)

11 Vilhelm Bromander Unfolding Orchestra: Jorden Vi Ärvde (Thanatosis)

12 Nels Cline: Consentrik Quartet (Blue Note)

13 Bryan Ferry & Amelia Barratt: Loose Talk (Dene Jesmond)

14 Lucy Railton: Blue Veil (Ideologic Organ)

15 Charles Lloyd: Figures in Blue (Blue Note)

REISSUE / ARCHIVE

1 Bob Dylan: Through the Open Window: The Bootleg Series Vol 18 1956-1963 (Columbia Legacy)

2 Charlie Parker: Bird in Kansas City (Verve)

3 Dionne Warwick: Make It Easy on Yourself — The Scepter Recordings 1962-1971 (SoulMusic)

4 Mike Westbrook Orchestra: The Cortège / Live at the BBC 1980 (Cadillac)

5 Pharoah Sanders: Izipho Zam (Strata East)

6 Tomasz Stanko Quartet: September Night (ECM)

7 Larry Stabbins, Keith Tippett, Louis Moholo-Moholo: Live in Foggia (Ogun)

8 A New Awakening: Adventures in British Jazz 1966-1971 (Strawberry)

9 Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru: Church of Kidane Mehret (Mississippi)

10 Irma Thomas: Wish Someone Would Care (Kent)

LIVE PERFORMANCE

1 The Weather Station (Islington Town Hall, March)

2 Tyshawn Sorey Trio (Cafe Oto, February)

3 Paul Brady (Bush Hall, April)

4 The Necks (Cafe Oto, May)

5 Maria Schneider / Oslo Jazz Ensemble (Barbican, March)

6 Tom Skinner (Queen Elizabeth Hall, November)

7 Patti Smith Plays Horses (London Palladium, October)

8 Schlippenbach Trio (Cafe Oto, Jan)

9 Bang on a Can All Stars: Terry Riley 80th birthday tribute (Barbican, May)

10 Wadada Leo Smith / Vijay Iyer (Wigmore Hall, October)

11 Olie Brice Quartet (Vortex, July)

12 Adrian Dunbar / Guildhall Sessions Orchestra: The Waste Land (Queen Elizabeth Hall, November)

13 Al Stewart (London Palladium, October)

14 Sebastian Rochford’s Finding Ways (Jazz in the Round, Cockpit Theatre, November)

15 Louis Moholo-Moholo Memorial (100 Club, August)

MUSIC BOOKS

1 Billy Hart w/Ethan Iverson: Oceans of Time (Cymbal Press)

2 Tom Piazza: Living in the Present with John Prine (Omnibus)

3 Jonathan Gould: Burning Down the House (Mariner Books)

4. Neil Storey (ed.): The Island Book of Records Vol 2, 1969-70 (Manchester University Press)

5 Sonny Simmons w/Marc Chaloin: Before You Die Later (Blank Forms)

FICTION

1 Vincenzo Latronico: Perfection (Fitzcarraldo)

2 Sam Sussman: Boy from the North Country (Grove Press)

3 Andrew Miller: The Land in Winter (Sceptre)

NON-FICTION

Paul Gorman: Granny Takes a Trip (White Rabbit)

FILMS

1 Nickel Boys (dir. RaMell Ross)

2 From Hilde, With Love (dir. Andreas Dresen)

3 Sinners (dir. Ryan Coogler)

4 The Ballad of Wallis Island (dir. James Griffiths)

5 A Complete Unknown (dir. James Mangold) 

DANCE

Quadrophenia: A Mod Ballet (Sadler’s Wells, July)

EXHIBITIONS

1 Noah Davis (Barbican, May)

2 Jean-François Millet (National Gallery, October)

3 Lee Miller (Tate Britain, December)

Dec 10

2 Comments

Kind of Dukish

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The idea of jazz as a repertory music is so fraught with dangers that it tends to evoke my instinctive distrust. Sometimes, though, you can only give in and enjoy it. The Pocket Ellington, as the pianist Alex Webb calls his septet devoted to the music of the immortal Duke, turns out to be a very good idea.

This is not a recreation of the great Ellington splinter groups of the early 1940s, whose recordings were issued under the names of Johnny Hodges, Rex Stewart and Barney Bigard. At the Pizza Express in Soho last night the Pocket Ellington entertained a sold-out house with Webb’s artful arrangements of some of Duke’s (and Billy Strayhorn’s) best known compositions, rendered for the trumpet of Andy Davies, the trombone of David Lalljee, the alto and baritone saxophones and clarinet of Alan Barnes, the tenor saxophone of Tony Kofi, the double bass of Dave Green and the drums of Winston Clifford.

To miniaturise what were originally big-band compositions can have the effect of bringing unexpected facets into the light. I enjoyed the way the ensemble brought out an elliptical quality seeming to anticipate bebop in the melodies of Duke’s “Cotton Tail” and Strayhorn’s “Johnny Come Lately”, written in 1940 and 1942 respectively, an impression heightened by the work of the rhythm section behind Kofi’s solo on the former.

Webb resists the temptation to stretch the material to suit modern time-frames. Miniatures such as “Ko-Ko”, “Le Sucrier Velours” (from The Queen’s Suite, written in 1959 for Elizabeth II), the title piece from Such Sweet Thunder and “Chelsea Bridge” retained their original exquisite proportions. Even the medleys of “Main Stem”/”Rockin’ in Rhythm” and “Harlem Air Shaft”/”Drop Me Off in Harlem” remained brisk and crisp, leaving the listener wanting more.

The singer Marvin Muoneké joined the line-up for “Jump for Joy”, “I’m Beginning to See the Light” and other favourites, making an excellent job of Webb’s amusing lyric to “Johnny Come Lately” and handling the stately contours of “Sophisticated Lady” with appropriate delicacy.

Naturally, Webb’s chosen format can’t provide the heft and occasional lushness of a full big band. But there are plenty of compensations, including Kofi’s pensive unaccompanied coda to “Chelsea Bridge” and everything Barnes did, including an eloquent alto passage on “What Am I Here For”. And, of course, the presence of Dave Green, an important figure on the British jazz scene for six decades and still, at 83, keeping his bandmates honest.

Jazz mustn’t become a museum, and more fine young musicians than ever need the world to pay attention as they try to move the music forward. But when the past is respectfully addressed and reinvigorated with such skill as that shown by Webb and his colleagues, principles can happily be suspended.

Dec 5

6 Comments

Steve Cropper 1941-2025

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You don’t expect the people you interview to write thank-you letters, but it’s quite nice when they do. Particularly when it comes from someone like Steve Cropper, as happened to me in 1971 after I’d interviewed him for the Melody Maker at his new studio in Memphis on a break from a session he was producing for his old friend Eddie Floyd. I kept the letter, of course, as you would.

Cropper died this week, aged 84. Here’s the obituary I wrote yesterday for the Guardian. I hope I did him some kind of justice. He was a hero of mine, as were the other members of the MGs, ever since I first heard “Green Onions” in 1962. I have all their albums, all the way up to 1994’s That’s the Way It Should Be, and they’re among the last things I’d part with. My favourite is probably Soul Dressing, from 1965, even thought it was the one whose mediocre sales persuaded them that instrumental albums needed covers of familiar tunes in order to attract buyers.

Hence, on subsequent albums, things like their fine versions of the Temptations’ “Get Ready”, Gershwin’s “Summertime”, Cliff Nobles’ “The Horse”, the Delfonics’ “La-La Means I Love You” and Aretha’s “(Sweet Sweet Baby) Since You’ve Been Gone”. I listen to those alongside the MGs’ originals I love: “Big Train”, “Soul Sanction”, “Double or Nothing”, “Kinda Easy Like”, “Last Tango in Memphis”, “Cruisin'”, “Sarasota Sunset” and the rest. It was nice of Steve to take the trouble to express his thanks all those years ago. So now I’ll say thank you back to him, for all of it.

Nov 27

8 Comments

Voces humanae

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Amazing, isn’t it, that even in this Tower of Babel an individual human voice can be unmistakeable. Mavis Staples sounds like Mavis Staples. Boz Scaggs sounds like Boz Scaggs. No one else. And over the decades those voices become trusted friends. Each of them has a new album out that suggests, as they head towards the inevitable end of long careers (Mavis is 86, Boz is 81), that they could never outstay their welcome.

After albums with Ry Cooder, Jeff Tweedy and Ben Harper in the producer’s chair, it’s the turn of Brad Cook, whose credits include Bon Iver and Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats, to supervise Mavis’s new album. He doesn’t let her down.

The song selection on Sad and Beautiful World is thoughtful and empathetic, starting with the conscious boogie-shuffle of Tom Waits and Kathleen Brennan’s “Chicago” and proceeding through Gillian Welch and David Rawlings’ “Hard Times”, Curtis Mayfield’s “We Got to Have Peace” and Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem” to Eddie Hinton’s “Everybody Needs Love” via material less familiar to me. The most striking of those is Frank Ocean and James Ho’s “Godspeed”, set in a dense instrumental weave that summons all the best elements of Americana into one perfect arrangement.

There’s no showing off by the many fine players involved on the 10 tracks, but I love Derek Trucks’ beautiful slide guitar decorating “Hard Times” and the glinting pedal steel of Colin Croom on “A Satisfied Mind”, the gorgeous country song by Red Hayes and Jack Rhodes, whose many cover versions go back to 1954 and Mahalia Jackson — perhaps the exemplar Mavis had in mind. And to take us out, there’s a backing choir on “Everybody Needs Love” consisting of Bonnie Raitt, Patterson Hood, Kate Crutchfield and Nathaniel Rateliff. Everybody loves Mavis, don’t they?

For Detour, Boz Scaggs returns to the sort of American standards he investigated on But Beautiful in 2003 and Speak Low in 2008, although it sells a dummy straight away by opening with a night-club version of Allen Toussaint’s “It”s Raining” before settling into the likes of “Angel Eyes”, “The Very Thought of You” and “We’ll Be Together Again”. After the very fine arrangements by Gil Goldstein that helped make Speak Low such a success, here Scaggs favours the more stripped-back setting of a piano trio with the lightest touches of string arrangements here and there.

OK, you could say that his “Angel Eyes” and “Once I Loved” don’t match those of, say, Sinatra and Shirley Horn respectively, but if you like Scaggs’ voice as much as I do, you won’t be worried by that — and you’ll be delighted to hear him excavate “I’ll Be Long Gone”, a waltz-time song from his very first solo album back in 1969, refurbishing it with a deeper, richer, more controlled approach.

Sometimes these American Songbook projects work (Bob Dylan) and sometimes they don’t (Rod Stewart), their success largely dependent on what their significance is to the singers and how much real appreciation they have of the art of the men wrote the melodies and lyrics. I don’t think there’s much doubt on which side of the divide Boz Scaggs falls.

Nov 24

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Twang. Thump. Crash. More twang.

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Finding Ways is the name of the drummer/composer Seb Rochford’s new band. It’s also the title of their debut album, which they played at the Cockpit Theatre in north-west London last night, as part of the Jazz in the Round series. It was one of the events featured on the closing night of the 2025 EFG London Jazz Festival, and I couldn’t imagine a happier way of ending the 10-day programme.

Rochford has made some intriguing choices in his career, but probably none more surprising than this. Finding Ways is a guitar-instrumental band: three guitarists, to be precise, plus bass guitar and drums. I don’t think I’ve seen such a line-up live since an early incarnation of Fleetwood Mac with Peter Green, Danny Kirwan and Jeremy Spencer back In 1968. Or at least not one so memorable.

Last night’s guitarists were David Preston, Tara Cunningham and Matt Hurley, joined by Anders Christensen on bass guitar. One thing that stuck out straight away was the absence of pedal boards or other effects. No wah-wahs, no phasing, no tremolo arms. This, apparently, was at Rochford’s insistence. So what we heard was three versions of the sort of sound you made when you got your first electric guitar, hit an E major chord and then looked for a way to make the strings twang. A sound with innocence intact. And an interesting approach to apply to three very sophisticated players.

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So what was the result? Surf music in space, maybe. The Ventures or Dick Dale and the Del-Tones with Derek Bailey or Sonny Sharrock sitting in. Rochford’s tunes for this line-up are sometimes based on simple two-bar chord modules reminiscent of the twangtastic “Walk, Don’t Run” or “Misirlou” (and occasionally finding beguiling elaborations of the format, as on the soaring “People Say Stuff, Don’t Be Disheartened”). Also springing to mind: the free-form guitar conversations of Jerry Garcia and Bob Weir in the Grateful Dead and of Tom Verlaine and Richard Lloyd in Television: “Dark Star” or “Marquee Moon” but with different perspectives.

It was great to see the band in this environment, arranged in a circle, the musicians locked into each other, watching for cues, tidying up small errors but letting rough edges show as they exploited the spaces left for spontaneity within the structures. Furiously loud in some places (driven by Rochford’s brutal energy), it was surprisingly lyrical in others; I don’t think I’ve ever heard three electric guitars played as softly as in the filigreed three-way conversation between Cunningham, Hurley and Preston that formed the delightfully unexpected coda to “Community”, which had started out as a reggae piece.

In this intimate setting, the musicians’ very visible sharing of their pleasure extended to the audience and was washed back in return. They were having fun, and so were we.

* Finding Ways is out now on Edition Records. The photos of Sebastian Rochford and Tara Cunningham at the Cockpit were taken by Steven Cropper and are used by kind permission.

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