Author: Jesse Koblin

(A collage of both Hatfield and the North album covers; Image created by Jesse Koblin )

Hatfield and The North (Virgin Records; Virgin – V2008 and A1M, recorded at The Manor Studios in 1973, initially issued February or March, 1974)
Link to Apple Music
Link to Spotify
Link to YouTube

Hatfield and the North are:
Phil Miller – electric guitar and acoustic guitars
Dave Stewart – Fender Rhodes electric piano, Hammond organ, Hohner Pianet, piano, tone generator, Minimoog
Richard Sinclair – bass guitar, vocals
Pip Pyle – drums, percussion
Guest musicians:
Robert Wyatt – vocals
Barbara Gaskin – vocals
Amanda Parsons – vocals
Ann Rosenthal – vocals

The so-called “Canterbury sound” is a unique and idiosyncratic blend of rock, jazz and a pure English sensibility like nothing else in music. It grew from Canterbury, Kent in England during the early 1970s, where a roster of core musicians incestuously jetted between the same fusion bands and conjured a soup of cosmic rock-n’-roll grounded in British humor. No band or album more exemplifies the Canterbury Sound’s odd beauty than the self-titled first album of Hatfield and The North. During a short existence from 1972-1975 (and a later brief reunion), Hatfield and The North released two albums that epitomize the sensibility of Canterbury, and distill the brilliant music of this place in space and time for future generations to enjoy. And enjoyment is a key concept here – miraculously, the band’s music is unrepentantly experimental and individualistic, yet totally pleasing and unabrasive. This is a delicate balance, yet Hatfield and the North walk the tightrope between noodling jammy psychedelia and humorous melodic vision, keeping the music experimental without fully veering into the dissonant avant-garde.

1974’s album Hatfield and The North is the ideal place to start exploring their work. Even though it’s a debut album, the band had already developed a sophisticated vocabulary and sonic vision that reflected the involvement of key musicians in 70’s English music. Foremost is Richard Sinclair, whose mellifluous voice is a distinctive component – relaxed, charismatic, warm, and yes, totally British. Sinclair’s contribution is central to Hatfield and the North’s sound, just as it was during his previous work with Caravan (check out the all-time classic, In the Land of the Grey and Pink). His singing is unorthodox, sometimes failing on high notes or blundering through a chord; but these vocals are never unpleasant, positioning Sinclair’s performances as both delightful and earnest. Because Sinclair’s voice is so unique, it may be easy to overlook his bass playing. With Hatfield and the North, the virtuosity and strong sound of the bass is very much equal to the other instruments.

Sinclar’s backing band is just as strong, composed of a cooperative who’s-who of Canterbury Scene auteurs. In Pip Pyle, Hatfield and the North had an ideal drummer to bridge their rock and jazz influences. Pyle has a loose swinging time, he never overplays and always contributes interesting and varied textures to the music. An unheralded great! On keyboards, Dave Stewart is a renowned player in Canterbury music, and his battery of varied synth sounds are by turns whimsical and energetic. Stewart went on to form National Health and also made key albums with Bill Bruford (profile by TNB here), where his distinctive keyboard performances always stand out. Finally, Phil Miller’s guitar is an invaluable sonic tool lending the band myriad sounds, whether it’s texture and melody, or pure rock, such as on “Rifferama.”

So let’s turn to the album that is the centerpiece of this post. Recorded by Richard Branson’s fledgling Virgin label, the band was provided time and budget that allowed them to realize their vision. And what a vision it is! Hatfield and the North is a continuous opus, its songs both musically and thematically bridged together into a fevered journey. A protean movability tugs the music between acrid, jubilant, and angelic based on instrumental accompaniment and texture. Repeated melodic motifs and instrumental sounds wind throughout the track list, each appearance carrying specific narrative implications. For example, the “Big Jobs” melody (from the first full song on the album) recurs throughout the album, a melancholic downbeat theme with prominent bluesy guitar and high hats falling over the track like sheets of rain; each instance punctuates the track with a stolid sort of loneliness, establishing thematic continuity subconsciously. Reversed synth notes and awkward atonal crooning are transitional markers at the beginnings of songs, each appearance prefacing a new musical expedition. Horns signify hysteria, choir vocals are transcendence; a growling low-pitch synth summons terror, while high-pitch is euphoria. Perhaps the most notable thematic passage on the record comes at the center of “Shaving is Boring,” where the track progresses from bass-led elevator music to an uptempo jam suffused with anguish evoked by distorted guitar reverb. Suddenly, the jam abruptly stops as we hear the cassette the music is playing on being removed, footsteps panning between the ears inserting different cassettes playing motifs from across the album, then abruptly cutting back into the music, where we’ve jumped to a whole new melodic palette. Music is the vessel for the album’s rich universe, conveyed through the semiotic language of an exceptionally-talented band and sonic ingenuity.

Equally integral to the record’s tonal world are Richard Sinclair’s brilliant, hermetically-British lyrics. Hatfield and the North are referential to their status as musical entertainers, grounding their music in its own diegetic world. Foregrounding the entire record is the couplet from “Big Jobs,” “We try our best to make it sound nice / and hope that the music turns you on to our latest LP,” presenting the album as an enclosed, cogent work, and Sinclair as the omnipotent shepherd of its musical stylings, confident in purring acousmetre. On the song’s latter restatement and album closer, “Big Jobs No. 2,”, Sinclair’s character returns to announce that he’d like to sing this track “in a Hatfield style,” expressing his desire “to sing our songs and entertain.” This Fielding-esque narratorial self-reference bolsters the album’s erudite charm. Equally, the lyrics are suffused with twee musings on creature comforts and kitsch as well as morbid moments of self-loathing. On “Fitter Stoke Has a Bath,” Sinclair muses that he’s “happy just to sit around at home” with his wife “Pamela looking elegant and writing prose” – in the next line, he states “If anyone’s in need of me / I’m drowning in the bathroom.” The next verse of the song is sung submerged, distorted vocals and crackling synth warbling evoking the sudsy demise. The sardonic interplay of faux politeness and abrupt violence is deeply English, especially when abetted by whimsey. My favorite song was recorded on the same sessions but released as a separate single (as was the English custom – most of the great singles from 60s and 70s English bands did not appears on their LP’s). “Let’s Eat (Real Soon)” speaks from the perspective of a sentient toaster strudel, remarking “I’ll be tasty Mr. Pastry / Wouldn’t that be lovely?” The song’s instrumentation emulates a cheesy food commercial, complete with a straightforward drum meter and hokey rhythm piano. Few bands could pull off such a mix of unabashed musical joy and parody; Sinclair imploring “I’m vitamin-enriched / What’s more, I’m absolutely wholesome” amounts to absolute musical delight. Similarly, the aptly-named “Gigantic Land Crabs In Earth Takeover Bid” leaves nothing to the imagination, drawing on the dramatic juvenile ephemera of 1950’s sci-fi pulps. This band and record are unique and intoxicating; humorous, joyful, light, and paradoxically morbid, the record’s characteristic lyrical approach punctuates the fevered delirium of its cosmic musical arrangements. Give Hatfield and The North a listen with open ears and a mind open to its peculiar charms, and you will come away enchanted.

More Hatfield and the North:
Once you’re dug into what makes the music on Hatfield and the North’s first album so special, there are lots of adjacent avenues to explore:

Classic Album Cover. The album cover and inside fold compound the music’s thematic weight. The cover of Hatfield and the North depicts a sleepy, bucolic vignette of the Icelandic city Reykjavik, flanked overhead by a pink-hued rendition of Luca Signorelli’s 16th-century painting “The Damned” superimposed over the sky. The image of pastoral life, rows of desolate marshes and homesteads clashing with Signorelli’s supernatural lattice of bodies contorted by demons evoke the album’s meeting of quaint English folksiness with frenzied psychedelia and sardonicism. You can read a terrific blog post about the making of this cover here.

How they got their name. A band’s name can be so important to its mystique and part of its bond with the listener. One of many things about the band that is a bit cryptic and irredeemably British, Hatfield and the North is a reference to the road signs out of London, pointing to the A1 motorway – in the 1970s, they simply said “The North.” The current signs still have the same language, which you can see in this picture:

A look forward. If you’re digging Hatfield and the North, definitely listen to the rest of their slim but uniformly excellent discography. Their only other studio album is The Rotter’s Club, released in 1975, which manicures their discography with a shorter, stripped-back sophomore project wearing jazz and prog-rock influences on its sleeve. The Rotter’s Club is a formidable record, boasting an arguably-improved rendition of “Fitter Stoke Has a Bath,” the infectiously anthemic “Share It,” and the side-long sonic edifice “Mumps: Your Majesty Is Like A Cream Doughnut.” Nonetheless, there is an unadulterated charm to the self-titled record’s incendiary freshman mania and raconteur narration that is lost in The Rotter’s Club’s pursuit of aesthetic refinement. After their second album, the group broke up due to poor album sales and the constraints of band life, but they re-banded in 1990 with Sophia Domancich in place of Dave Stewart and recorded the excellent Live 1990.

And a look back. If you dig Richard Sinclair’s voice as much as we do, then you need to listen to the classic Caravan album which Sinclair made before he joined Hatfield and the North, In The Land of Grey and Pink. This 1971 album is arguably the high water mark of the Canterbury sound, and when you hear Sinclair sing on the album’s opener, “I chanced upon a golf girl, selling cups of tea,” you’ll never forget its quirky charm.

King Crimson – Larks’ Tongue In Aspic
(March 23, 1973, Island records in UK, Atlantic Records in United States)

Personnel –
Robert Fripp – electric and acoustic guitars, Mellotron, Hohner pianet
John Whetton – bass, vocals, piano on “Exiles”
Bill Bruford – drums, timbales, cowbell, wood block
David Cross – violin, viola, Mellotron, Hohner pianet, flute on “Exiles”
Jamie Muir – assorted percussion and drums

Link to Apple Music
Link to Spotify
Link to entire album on YouTube

London progressive rock band King Crimson is a group more often name-dropped than actually heard. For years if a critic would describe an edgy, instrumental heavy and guitar forward “progressive” band, odds are King Crimson would be cited as an influence. But while Crimson spawned a sea of imitators, they remain more a reference point, and ironically their music is woefully under-examined.

Another part of the problem is aside from their legendary debut, you could not actually get their records. However, that all changed last year when Crimson celebrated its 50th anniversary by releasing their discography on the streaming services. So now to hear this formerly obscure and esoteric band, all you have to do is pick up the computer in your pocket and search “King Crimson” in either Spotify or Apple Music. Let’s discuss what makes their music special, and you can listen along if you wish. I am going to take you on a tour of what is arguably the band’s defining album, 1973’s Larks’ Tongue In Aspic.

The Larks’ Tongue lineup: from left, Robert Fripp, Jamie Cross, John Whetton, Jamie Muir and Bill Bruford (DGM Live)

King Crimson is not the typical progressive rock band. In the brief and strange period of the early 1970’s, when fur-coat clad, keyboard toting, utterly extravagant prog rock acts like Emerson Lake & Palmer and Genesis inexplicably packed stadiums, King Crimson sat outside the limelight, quietly blazing a future for the genre after many of their peers wore their novelty thin. The personality of King Crimson is mainly a reflection of it’s guitarist/melotron player and leader, Robert Fripp. Fripp differentiated his band from other groups operating in progressive rock by borrowing from jazz and embracing a high minded self-seriousness, while their counterparts looked to classical music and campy eccentricity. Whether conscious or not, this choice diminished the initial popularity of King Crimson in exchange for music that would hold up to modern sensibilities.

Their debut album, In the Court of the Crimson King (1969), is legendary to many for arguably birthing the world of progressive rock. Court brought a refreshing edginess to the English music scene after the saccharine sweet British Invasion, birthing a dissonant, jazzy sound that King Crimson would… soon drop in favor of commercial obscurity. Their follow up album, In the Wake of Poseidon, is likely Crimson’s most creatively bankrupt – a thematic retread of Court, even down to the track structure and naming convention. Third time proved not to be a charm with Lizard, a new height of weirdness for an already weird band, infusing rock n’ roll with the strange world of chamber music. If nothing else, it was wholly original, and loveable in its own weird way.

Although I hold these first three albums dear, especially Lizard’s wonderful peculiarity, in objective terms Crimson had two big stumbles after their artistic breakout. Introspection was in order. The first generation of King Crimson dissolved and made way for a new, powerful lineup, and a pivot in sonic direction for Fripp. Rather than borrowing from the influences of other musical forms and splicing them into the genetic code of rock music, Crim’s next foray into the outer limits would be deconstructive – breaking down rock’s double helix and shuffling the genes therein. Thus, Larks’ Tongues in Aspic was born – rock music at its most dissonant and dynamic.

Crimson live, picture likely from 1973 after Jamie Muir left the band – from left, David Cross, John Whetton, Bill Bruford and Robert Fripp

Larks’ Tongue In Aspic’s opening drama captures all you need to know. The album starts at the volume of a whisper while Gamelan-inspired percussion slowly builds. Fripps’ acerbic guitar enters with a jagged and dissonant riff, which then spills into one of the loudest guitar hooks ever commited to record. “Larks’ Tongue In Aspic, Part I” is a study in wild extremes that will either have you enraptured or rushing for the “off” button. It’s rock, but stripped of sentimentality and taken to jarring (and influential) extremes.

The quiet and contemplative ballad, “Book of Saturday” is another shock, drenched in melancholy that is distinctive and unexpected after the extreme noise of the opening track. And John Whetton has one of the saddest voices, which beautifully intertwines with David Cross’ violin and Fripp’s melodic guitar.

Speaking of beauty, next is the album’s stunning ballad, “Exiles.” The lyrics evoke the melancholy of travel – “Spring, and the air’s turning mild / City lights and the glimpse of a child.” Mellotron, acoustic guitar and violin-led harmonies flow like a tapestry of emotion sprawled across the lyrics’ pastoral scenes, bursting out in wistful explosions of melody and simmering into arresting quiet.

The next track couldn’t be any more different. “Easy Money” is the most straightforward rock song on this album, but that’s not to downplay it. Verses espousing effigial structures to avarice – “We could take the money home / Sit around the family throne / For two weeks we could appease the Almighty,” and sound effects – the hissing of a snake, the crinkling of a cash wad, and a disembodied zipper – craft a black-comedy tone, making light of the absurdity of its setting and characters. King Crimson in this iteration were masters of tongue-in-cheek satire; “The Great Deceiver” off their next album, 1974’s Starless and Bible Black, pokes holes at the commercialization of religion in the Catholic Church – “Cigarettes, ice cream / Figurines of the Virgin Mary.” “Easy Money” is classic rock with none of it’s swagger. Moreso than any other track on this album, it embodies dissonance and deconstruction, the polish and swagger of rock n’ roll ripped away and only retaining the structural viscera of its original form.

Crimson from 1974 Atlantic Records promotional material (from 1973 after Jamie Muir left) – Fripp, ever the unobtrusive bandleader, always seems to be hanging out in the background!

Every King Crimson track has the “instrumental” track, a flex of Robert Fripp’s auterial power, conveying the band’s use of dynamics and evident jazz influences. Larks’ uses the “The Talking Drum” as a carefully calibrated transition to create tension. The track begins with the distorted cries of horns and slowly builds into the frenetic percussion rhythm created by a talking drum, a double-sided West African drum that is said to sound like a person speaking – the track ramps up into a breakbeat race, flying over Jamie Cross’ wailing violin and the moaning of distorted electric guitar into an abrupt ending of literal screaming strings . . .

. . . with no gap to take a breath, we slam into the album closer and bookend to its first part, “Larks Tongues in Aspic, Pt. 2.” Really, the only way to define this track is epic. Fripp’s guitar sound has a radiant energy, the drums provide frenetic texture, and the violin screeches over the entirety, oscillating between the impending siren of an ambulance, and a Greek chorus imploring the band members to not play so immaculately, lest they be cursed with the Sisyphean task of making material as good. And is it not immaculate? A handful of the defining moments of progressive music come from this track alone, including a completely diabolical guitar riff that bisects the song into two wholes, progressive metal followed by complete insanity. If Part 1 was the album’s thesis statement – “We’re King Crimson and we’re going to make some really weird music” – Part 2 is the grandiose conclusion, drawing together every significant element from the rest of the project into a complete statement. It is a perfect album closer – the catharsis of six tracks of discipline uncuffed and bounding into a chaotic coda.

There are so many other worthy albums and distinct eras to discuss in King Crimson’s lineup – the dark masterpiece Red, the New Age-inspired, Talking Heads-adjacent Discipline, or the postmodernist capstone to their career The Power to Believe, stuck somewhere between meaningful critique of society and unashamed thrash metal. I haven’t even mentioned 1971’s Islands, my personal favorite album from Crimson, a cosmic jazz masterpiece weaving ethereal soundscapes and hard-hitting instrumentation into a conceptual tale reminiscent of Homer’s Odyssey. Even still, Larks’ Tongues in Aspic is the album that best embodies the caustic examination and destruction of popular rock music that is central to this band, and also something new on top of the remains of pop-rock – the virtuoistic creation of some really, really weird music.

Felt portrait of King Crimson by Wasawasawa

Bonus listening/viewing:
There seem to be few video documents of King Crimson from their classic 60’s and 70’s lineups, but one exception are two tracks from Larks’ Tongue recorded for German TV at the Beat Club in Bremen on October 17th, 1972. These recordings are really special because the Crimson experience is really visual, especially in this lineup with Jamie Muir’s wild (and mesmerizing) percussion antics. Two videos exist: and appropriately intense “Larks’ Tongue in Aspic, Part 1” and a really beautiful “Exiles.”

Yes, that’s my LP copy of Larks’ Tounge In Aspic!

(Photo credit: AP Photo/Bob Schutz)

Archie Shepp – Attica Blues
(Recorded January 24–26, 1972; Impulse! AS-9222)
Music discussed:
Attica Blues
Steam (Pt. 1)
Steam (Pt. 2)
Blues for Brother George Jackson
Ballad For A Child

Archie Shepp – tenor saxophone and soprano saxophone
Brass and reed section
Clifford Thornton – cornet
Roy Burrows, Charles McGhee, Michael Ridley – trumpet
Charles Greenlee, Charles Stephens, Kiane Zawadi – trombone
Hakim Jami – euphonium
Clarence White – alto saxophone
Roland Alexander, Billy Robinson – tenor saxophone
James Ware – baritone saxophone

String section:
John Blake, Leroy Jenkins, Lakshinarayana Shankar – violin
Ronald Lipscomb, Calo Scott – cello

Marion Brown – alto saxophone, bamboo flute, flute, percussion
Walter Davis, Jr. – electric piano, piano
Dave Burrell – electric piano
Cornell Dupree – guitar
Roland Wilson, Gerald Jemmott – Fender bass
Jimmy Garrison – bass
Beaver Harris – drums
Ollie Anderson, Nene DeFense, Juma Sultan – percussion

Vocals:
Henry Hull, Joe Lee Wilson – vocals
William Kunstler, Bartholomew Gray – narrator
Joshie Armstead, Albertine Robertson – backing vocals

Frederic Rzewski – Coming Together/Attica/Les Moutons De Panurge
(1974, Opus One)

Music discussed:
Coming Together
Attica

Piano, Electric Piano – Frederic Rzewski
Jon Gibson – Alto Saxophone
Richard Youngstein – Bass
Alvin Curran – Synthesizer
Garrett List – Trombone
Karl Berger – Vibraphone
Joan Kalisch – Viola
Steve Ben Israel – Voice
Sam Melville – Text

September 13th, 2021 marked the 50th anniversary of the massacre which occurred at Attica State Penitentiary in New York State, the deadliest prison uprising in United States history. Driven to rebellion by inhuman conditions and racist-fueled abuse, on September 9th, 1971 the prisoners at Attica took control of the prison, demanding humane treatment. Four days later, hundreds of state troopers retook Attica, leaving 33 inmates and 10 correctional officers and civilians dead. The Attica rebellion immediately caught the attention of the American public, and has lived in infamy since. The lessons of Attica are no less relevant today, seen in the deplorable conditions at Rikers Island, or the recent prison uprising in Philadelphia. This edition of TNB will look at the Attica revolt, and two artists who took the message of Attica and reacted to it through their music.

In July 1971, a politically motivated group of Attica prisoners organized themselves as the Attica Liberation Faction and sent a letter with 27 demands to the Head of the New York Department of Correction, Russell Oswald, and to Governor Nelson Rockefeller. The demands were prompted by terrible conditions at the prison – the prisoners sought reform of parole hearings, better medical care, the end of punishment based on race and political belief, the end of solitary confinement as punishment for minor infractions, and improvement in wages for work done in prison. Unfortunately, these demands did not result in any immediate change, and conditions at Attica reached an exploding point.

It did not take much to cause that explosion. On September 9, 1971, pent-up frustration from inmates caused an altercation with guards that quickly got out of control. The inmates took control of the D yard, and took 42 guards and civilians hostage, demanding that the government make the changes they had been seeking. The inmates set up impromptu leadership and their primary spokesperson was Richard X. Clark, a Muslim and a pacifist who insisted that staff members taken prisoner not be harmed. A tense standoff ensued over four days, which drew widespread media attention. Progressive leaders became involved in ending the stalemate, with politicians and community leaders serving as negotiators. Famed lawyer William Kuntzler was a lead negotiator and later represented many of the prisoners. Eventually, Bobby Seale, leader of the Black Panthers, visited in a show of solidarity.

Attica inmates negotiating with Commissioner of Prisons Russell Oswald. Richard X. Clark is seated at right side of table in center

Yet all of this effort and attention was fruitless. Governor Nelson Rockefeller, who had his eye on winning the White House, did not want to be perceived as weak on crime and would not make substantive concessions, including refusing the prisoners’ request for amnesty. Sensing that delay would be perceived as weakness, Rockefeller ordered an overwhelming attack by State Troopers on the prison. The police involved were driven by revenge, and indiscriminately used shotguns, rifles and gas on unarmed prisoners. Inmates and hostages alike were killed.

National Guard troopers before the assault
(Photo credit: AP)

The botched raid was quickly followed by an extensive cover-up. The Governor’s office falsely told the New York Times that the civilians killed by state troopers were murdered by the inmates. Prosecutors aggressively pursued cases against the prisoners, but there was no investigation of the methods used by the State Troopers who retook the prison. Prisoners widely reported that prison staff retaliated by torturing those who took part in the rebellion. To this day, documents related to the State’s actions that lead to this massacre remain sealed.

It is in times of crisis and challenge that we most need the arts, to help us digest, interpret, and feel the world. It did not take long for musicians to respond to Attica. Two albums from the world of creative music helped process Attica are Archie Shepp’s Attica Blues, and Frederic Rzewski’s Coming Together/Attica/Les Moutons De Panurge.

Archie Shepp was first to react, recording Attica Blues only four months after the prison rebellion. While Attica Blues is born out of protest and outrage, Shepp’s masterpiece does not limit itself to a literal reaction to the rebellion. Rather, Shepp (with his drummer, Beaver Harris, who wrote the lyrics to the album) addresses the universal way that the exploitation and degradation of humans endangers us all. The album starts with the track “Attica Blues,” which uses urgent electric guitar and the high energy vocals of gospel singer Carl Hall to deliver a palpable message to the listener – “I got the feeling that something’s goin’ wrong and I’m worried ’bout the human soul!” The message is clear – the conditions that led to Attica are not just a tragedy that affected the prisoners in Attica, but part of an oppression that undermines humanity itself.

The album’s cover, which perfectly captures it’s political and musical depth

There’s not enough room here to itemize the great aspects of Attica Blues and its enduring relevance. The album features string arrangements by the legendary Cal Massey, using the incredible violin playing of John Blake, Leroy Jenkins and Lakshinarayana Shankar. More poetry written by Beaver Harris is read between songs by William Kuntzler, who brings a firsthand experience from Attica to his readings. Harris’ words spoken by Kuntzler are no less relevant today. For example he states “some people think that they are in their rights and on command to take a Black man’s life.” Attica Blues contemplates the same concerns that gave rise to the Black Lives Matter movement, four decades later.

Shepp masterfully deploys a range of styles on this record. In addition to the funk and gospel-based opening track, the album has a churning R&B-based instrumental in “Blues for Brother George Jackson.” This track is a tribute to George Jackson, a prisoner whose death at San Quentin Prison in the August of 1971, served as a prelude to the Attica uprising one month later.

Perhaps the most memorable moments of this album are on “Steam Part 1” and “Steam Part 2,” which dominate the first side of the record. This two part song is sung by Joe Lee Wilson, whose deep baritone is backed by Massey’s complex strings, and together bring an overwhelming emotion to the words “Summer, soft as the rain, and sweet as the end of pain.” Both parts of “Steam” capture in the most poetic terms the terrible reality other humans are subjected to – degraded to the point where death itself is a sweet release.

But there is much hope on this rich album as well. Shepp pays tribute to touchstones of Black culture in “Invocation to Mr. Parker” (for Charlie Parker), and “Good Bye Sweet Pops,” (for Louis Armstrong, who had recently died). Fittingly, Attica Blues ends with the voice of a child, Massey’s eight year old daughter, who sings hopefully “It’s quiet dawn, and life moves on.” A fitting end to one of the truly great politically-minded albums.

Frederick Rzewski

Another landmark album reacting to Attica is Frederic Rzewski’s Coming Together/Attica/Les Moutons De Panurge. Rzewski, most famously the composer of The People United Will Never Be Defeated!, is often an overtly political artist. Rzewski believed the Attica rebellion was a “milestone” because it laid bare the oppression of the police state, compelling citizens to take action. Rzewski looked at letters written by prisoner Sam Melville, who was slain in the retaking of the prison. The track “Coming Together” is formed from an excerpt from one of those letters, which depicts life in prison as not just painful, but surreal. The text of the letter is here, but you really have to hear the performance to appreciate how Rzewski has created an empathic depiction with the mind of a human being subjected to challenge.

Radical actor Steve Ben Israel performed the text, repeating groups of the letter’s words in a steadily increasing and frenzied desperation. The music is a remarkable backdrop. Rzewski creates a structure that sets an optional ensemble size, and instructs the performers to play in a modal framework with one note per beat, but in a prescribed pattern. However, the other performers follow the same rhythmic pattern, but with a differing set of notes. The cumulative effect is kaleidoscopic, gripping, and most importantly focuses the listener on the words penned by Mellville only months before he was killed. The next track, “Attica” is also inspired from the same events, borrowing the words of Richard X. Clark. It’s also great music, but doesn’t have the force of “Coming Together”, which is an all-time classic.

We at TNB hope you enjoy this remarkable music, and that it brings some attention to an enduring problem for our society. The United States has the largest prison population in the world, and while there have been some superficial reforms since the Attica rebellion, 50 years later, many of the same problems persist in our prisons. These problems have been even further exacerbated by the COVID-19 epidemic, which has exposed how the jails are overcrowded, understaffed, degrading, filled with racism, and mired in a mindset that values punishment over rehabilitation. Further, prisons continue to be hidden far from society, and the mental and experiential gap between most citizens and prisoners is immense, contributing to a lack of empathy between these groups. But the continuing problems with our judicial and prison system are a reflection on how unjust our society continues to be. Shepp and Rzewski show that the arts have an important role in signaling the problem to those who will listen, and creating a world of understanding and empathy that will enable people to enact change.

The aftermath
(Photo credit: NY Daily News via Getty Images)

The Last Seven Minutes
Attahk (1978, Eurodisc)

Personnel:
Christian Vander (Dëhrstün) – lead vocals, drums, percussion, grand piano, Rhodes piano, Chamberlin
Klaus Blasquiz (Klotz) – vocals
Rene Garber (Stundehr) – vocals
Stella Vander (Thaud) – vocals
Lisa Bois (Sïhnn) – vocals
Tony Russo – trumpet
Jacques Bolognesi – trombone
Benoit Widemann (Kahal) – grand piano, Rhodes piano, Minimoog, Oberheim polyphonic synthesizer
Guy Delacroix – “Earth” bass (Ürgon), “Air” bass (Gorgo)

The title of this post is a phrase that to most, maybe even its own creator, has no meaning – but when shortened to the phrase “Magma”, it references an iconoclastic French band who created a musical movement, their own language, and a vision of the future.

Magma was founded by Christian Vander in 1969, and birthed from the unprecedented musical discovery that year. The seminal sounds of In the Court of the Crimson King, the electrifying Led Zeppelin II, Miles Davis’ sonic expeditions on In a Silent Way, and Trout Mask Replica’s insanity, all in equal parts catalyzed the sound of Magma; an eclectic stew band founder Vander calls “Zeuhl.” Translating to “celestial” in Kobaïan, the constructed language created by the band, the genre is a cosmic soup of breakbeat rhythm, scatsinging in tenor, and choral chanting. These disparate elements are glued together in patchwork surrounding a (usually very cheesy) concept album.

Beside musical aspirations, the band was chiefly spawned of Vander’s dystopic vision of the future. Precipitated by political and ecological ruin, he predicted that Earth would come under the rule of a demagogy, with Earthlings needing to escape and found the planet Kobaïa to ensure humanity’s survival. Naturally, the only place to share this premonition with the world would be in 1970’s debut, the self-titled concept album Magma.

Meeting middling album sales and little critical acclaim, 1971’s sophomore 1001° Centigrades was a broad step from the band’s original style. Less emphasis was placed on melody, and more on the rhythmic nature of military drumming and march songs that would come to inspire the band’s next album, Mekanik Destruktiw Kommandoh. Commonly abbreviated to MDK, this record managed to break into international sales beyond the French avant-garde and fared very well critically. The album cover would come to be the band’s symbol. MDK, by all accounts, looked to be the Magma’s defining work. But when have creatives on the edge of their craft ever stuck to the same sound, especially one bringing breakout success? Later albums brought a sharp movement away from the genre they created, and into a separate niche centered around funk and rhythm tracks. Gospel influence was, of course, pulled as well, leading to the haphazardly named Spiritual (Negro Song). This track is one badly named blemish on Attahk, one of Magma’s lattermost albums, and a personal favorite.

Every track on Attahk fulfills its own role – the elegiac Dondai rounds out the album with its slow balladry, an interesting change of pace in Magma’s repertoire. Maanht, conversely, depicts the clash between a sorcerer and Satan as a James Brown track thrown in a blender, warped in the most enjoyable way. Klaus Blasquiz makes the track his own with demonic groaning over a fat, driving bass rhythm. Synthesizer, trumpets, and harmonizing vocals, come together over a marching drum beat occasionally. I imagine it lends the sorcerer’s demonic battle a sense of grandeur.

Of course, these tracks that form the backend of the album are gems – but none so much as the standout track of Attahk, the ironically named opener The Last Seven Minutes. The song begins in media res, immediately dropping listeners into the thick of its complexity. Two interweaving bass layers and an odd drum timing immediately leave the rest of the instrumentation to catch up. What initially sounds odd coalesces upon the introduction to Christian Vander’s tenor, just odd enough to tie together the frenzied Kraut-inspired beat that has thus far led the song.

If nothing else, the track is always changing; from one minute’s half-time harmonic explosions, to frenetic scat movements, building steam for a sudden change halfway – a funky half-time breakdown into the track’s climax. No musical idea is fully expanded upon, instead used and just as quickly discarded. It’s certainly an acquired taste. Progressive contemporaries like Led Zeppelin released similar epics, such as Kashmir, which took a simple chord and pushed it to its musical limit; Vander was never content to stay in the same place. While nothing fully matures except for the sweeping chorus towards the song’s end, nothing ever grows old either, creating an engaging listening experience.

It is easy to place the jazz influence on Vander. He foregoes classical composition for a structure that evolves as the track ticks forward; it’s a musical equivalent to the winding stream-of-consciousness paragraphs of Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway or Joyce’s Ulysses, which were written as their authors wandered the labyrinthine streets of London and Dublin. In Vander’s case, it was Paris.

A building choral coda leads us out of the track, providing a grandeur to the track that evokes previous Magma projects. It’s distinctly less dissonant, a different shade of enjoyable that’s less derived from the surprise of listening and more from the sonic pleasure of the riding on top of the chorus and instrumentation is Vander’s bizarre vocal performance, which can only be described as dolphin sounds? Hilarious, but that hilarity fits the uptempo groove of this section, exuding optimism and an infectious cheesiness. It’s hard not to be charmed – oh, it’s over?

Without finding a conclusive place to end, the track cuts to the sound of flailing percussion, stopping unceremoniously in its building momentum. Just enough for the listener to enjoy both the funky dissonance and melodic swing-timing, while not tiring of either. In this single track, Magma evokes the mortal experience; The Last Seven Minutes haplessly places its listener into the middle of a chaos and only plucks them out when that chaos finally makes sense of itself. Were this any other band, that’d be reaching, but with Magma it’s a possibility.

Jesse Koblin

Seize The Rainbow
(Enemy EMY 104)
Sonny Sharrock – Guitar; Melvin Gibbs – Bass; Pheeroan Aklaff – Drums; Abe Speller – Drums

My Song

The Past Adventures Of Zydeco Honeycup

Sheraserhead’s High-Top Sneakers

For those who think jazz is effete or needlessly intellectual, listen to Sonny Sharrock. Sharrock plays with the language of an omnivore – Blues, Jazz, Rock, Metal plus an electrifying spontaneity, all deployed within a master’s command of structure. His playing does not fall into any narrow pigeon holes. Unfortunately, the world does not have enough Sharrock to listen to – his discography is terribly small due to lack of economic opportunities that prevented him from recording. Maybe if experimental music had been more viable, Sharrock’s work in the 1960’s would have been the springboard to a higher profile in music making. His career started with a lot of exposure as a sideman – highlights are appearances on Pharoah Sanders’ Tauhid (1966), on a Wayne Shorter record (Super Nova, 1969), on a significant though uncredited appearance on Miles Davis’ Tribute to Jack Johnson, and a regular gig that paid the bills with the popular Herbie Mann. This sideman activity was followed by the opportunity to record under his own name on 1969’s Black Woman. All these recordings show Sharrock’s potential, but did not give space for Sharrock and his guitar work to take center stage. By the early 1970’s it seemed like things were set up for a definitive Sonny Sharrock record, but the floor fell out on opportunities in experimental music. By 1975 Sharrock quit music altogether, and spent the rest of the decade earning a living away from music by taking care of disabled children and driving a cab.

Sonny Sharrock may have ended up being only a footnote in music history, but fortunately the bassist and producer Bill Laswell coaxed Sharrock out of retirement to appear on a minor classic of early 80’s New York ‘No Wave’, 1981’s Memory Serves. From there Sharrock thankfully was able to record again and again in the 1980’s – Sharrock stated in a 1991 interview that “the last five years have been pretty strange for me, because I went twelve years without making a record at all, and then in the last five years, I’ve made seven records under my own name. That’s pretty strange.”

One of the best from this bumper crop is Seize the Rainbow, recorded and released in 1987. This record was released under the “Sonny Sharrock Band”, putting the emphasis on the musicians who give Sonny Sharrock’s guitar the support it deserves – Melvin Gibbs plays always supportive but quite inventive bass lines, and the rhythm is driven by two drummers in tandem – Pheeroan Aklaff and Abe Speller. The result is a powerful and convincing record and a highlight of Sharrock’s discography. Melvin Gibbs, interviewed by Hank Shtreamer, emphasizes the range of the music:

“He was exploring all of those things: He would explore a really beautiful sound and then kind of crash it. And then he could take the crash thing and show you how to bring it back. I can’t say enough good things about Sonny, as far as what he was doing musically, in terms of the emotional continuum. I mean, the whole point of heavy metal is you’re trying to get a certain emotional energy across, and you need to explore a certain set of sounds to get that emotional energy across. And because Sonny’s music covered such a wide emotional area, I was able to throw a whole bunch of stuff in there that might have seemed out of context in other circumstances, and he was very supportive of that.”

The standout song of the album is undoubtedly ‘My Song”, a showcase for a moving Sharrock guitar solo. It’s an ABACC 40 bar form. Sharrock’s emphasis on melody is an overlooked aspect of this playing, and his simple phasing of the melody in the first chorus of his solo is a prime example. It is not until the third chorus of his solo that Sharrock really lets loose, and the results are unforgettable – after playing low feedback before the bridge of the 3rd chorus, he plays a soaring pattern with deft support from Gibbs. It’s astonishing and powerful. The track fades out after Sharrock’s’ solo – there’s nothing left the other members of the band to say after this statement!

“The Past Adventures Of Zydeco Honeycup” is a tribute to Professor Longhair based on Longhair’s tune Tipitina. It emphasizes Sharrock’s connection to tradition. The song has a straightforward structure. The guitar solo builds to a climax that shows off Sharrock’s terrific note placement and uses sustained notes to great effect.

“Sheraserhead’s High-Top Sneakers” might feel like and end session throw away recorded to fill out the record. Indeed, Gibbs testifies to the expedited way the session went – he states that “We couldn’t have spent more than two hours recording.” So what’s so good about this tune that I should bring it to your attention? The audibly quick pace of the recording brings out a looseness and cohesion to the group sound that justifies the album titles moniker that this is the “Sonny Sharrock Band.” The duel drum sound is especially locked in here – this would have been great to hear live! Sharrock’s intense guitar sound is amazing, of course.

Unfortunately the excellence of this album is an unfulfilled promise. Three years later Sharrock recorded his oft cited masterpiece, Ask the Ages (check it out, please!), and after that spent time on the road. In 1994 Sharrock was taken from us from a heart attack at age 52. The tracks I’ve posted hint at what great music we may have heard had he lived.

I’ll leave you with words of wisdom from a master. Not enough is made of the intellect that comes hand in hand with the ability to create great improvised music. When you listen to interviews with Charlie Parker, John Coltrane and Sonny Rollins their depth of thought and open mindedness comes through clearly. Although there are less interviews with Sonny Sharrock, he displays those same deep qualities in the spoken word. Speaking to Guitar Player about the nature of improvisation, Sharrock gave advice to players which equally describes his playing: “Remember that your improvisation must have feeling. It must swing and it must have beauty, be it the fragile beauty of a snowflake or the terrible beauty of an erupting volcano. Beauty–no matter how disturbing or how still–is always true. Don’t be afraid to let go of the things you know. Defy your weaker, safer self. Create. Make music.”