Month: December 2018

It’s a hard task to choose an album of the year when, if like me, you tend to associate certain albums with different seasons. Playing something that reminds me of zipping along country lanes in the long hot summer we had (such as Rolling Blackouts, Snail Mail…) hardly seems congruous with a damp cold foggy night in the weeks running up to Christmas. So, I chose some jazz. But not any old jazz. This is the debut outing by Maisha, a six piece jazz collective helped initially by the very influential organisation Tomorrow’s Warrior’s and their founders Janine Irons and Gary Crosby. Now only a few weeks before I came to DRC on that cold foggy night I was with both these good people at the 70th Anniversary of the formation of the University of the West Indies in London. Talking to them I learned about their incredible influence on an emerging new jazz scene from London, including other new talents that have blossomed this year, such as Ezra Collective (I will bring their new LP along soon).

It’s hard to write a review of a jazz record without sounding pretentious or inviting sneers of derision aimed at comparing you to the character in the Fast Show (‘nice’). I’ve liked jazz most of my adult life, but it’s always been more attuned to the traditional sounds of Coleman Hawkins, John Coltrane and Miles Davis. Just recently I ventured out to more experimental lands via The Art Ensemble of Chicago’s ‘Les Stances a Sophie’ and some of Robert Wyatt’s more eclectic recordings (such as his debut solo ‘End of an Ear’). After Maisha I’ll not look back, or more probably I will, to seek out its roots and influences. For theirs is a tradition of its own, but splitting into many roads and narrow lanes of various genres.

The album itself is beautiful. As the cover photo suggests a paradise, so the music journeys into a rich orchestral landscape (see I can do pretentious….). The incredible depth of sound that emanates from just six players is astonishing, drawing in hip-hop, afrobeat and funk. Members of the DRC, with more musical knowledge than I, found it hard to place in time. The frenetic lead single ‘Osiris’ opens the album. More symphonic saxophony of ‘Eaglehurst/The Place’ and ethereal piano-musings of closer ‘There Is A Place’ suggest a more contemplative mood. Overall the album has a richness of jazz folk (those of you who know Stewart Lee well can snigger now). Reworked jazz standards played with a distinctively urban and current sound. See it is possible to combine the two, and Maisha pay homage to their roots, but not too much deference to overshadow their craft.

Rob lent me Alice Coltrane’s ‘Journey in Satchidananda’ as a consequence of my choice for the night. Her album combined jazz with her interest in Hinduism – she became a disciple of the guru Satchidananda Saraswati. This intersection was apposite since my other track for the night was Poly Styrene’s ‘Code Pink Dub’ from her final album Generation Indigo – she became a Hare Krishna devotee for much of her later adult life. In a time when the idea of cultural appropriation is questioned we do well to remember that with respect (and respect is critical) this is how new forms of music develop. Styrene moved to dub reggae roots on her album, but on her earlier solo album she incorporated folk influences. Maisha continue this approach, drawing in influences that surely reflect the multiculturalism of London. So a jazz-folk genre is born.

Tomorrow’s Warrior’s vision is

“We believe in a world where opportunities for participation, ownership and leadership in music and the arts are available to all.“

Now, who could argue with that as a positive call for respectful appropriation and mixing of styles. Long may they be supported in this venture.

Given that we haven’t met for almost a year (and it’s early December), this felt like a ‘best of 2018’ evening in all but name. Out of the half dozen or so records I have purchased from this year (a ridiculously small sample size admittedly), I have had to concede to myself that Hop Along’s Bark Your Head Off Dog is my favourite.

I will admit that ‘have had to concede’ is a funny way of putting it but it’s how I felt as I went through the process of selection and found this coming out on top. Whilst I could have taken Low’s radical sounding Double Negative or Rolling Blackout’s motorik janglefest Hope Downs, or Georgia Anne Muldrow’s eclectic and soulful Overload, in the end the indiest choice won out and, as such, it felt almost like a guilty pleasure, the musical landscapes traversed on Bark Your Head Off, Dog being familiar territory for anyone who would have been taking their bowl haircut and misshapen jumper to the indie disco in the early to mid 90s (as I regularly did). In the end though this album was undeniable, the strength of the songwriting, the conviction of the performances and originality of the lyrics placing it, in my mind, in with a shout for the ‘best of the decade’ accolade that we will no doubt be wrestling with in 12 months time.

My first listen to BYHO,D was an underwhelming experience, as is so often the case when I first hear a future favourite; hooks being buried so deep within the writhing twists and turns of each of the song’s amazingly complex structures that on first listen they almost passed me by completely. However, I had already checked out Not Abel before buying the record and the fact that initially this sounded like the best of the bunch was perhaps an indicator of what was to come.

Sure enough, over the course of many listens over the balmy summer months of 2018, gradually each of the nine cuts on the album began to fall into place, so that eventually even the funereal How You Got Your Limp and its B-side sister, the ridiculously all over the place The Look Of Love (most definitely NOT an ABC cover) made sense, to such an extent that it was impossible to recall what was causing the problem in the first place.

And, strangely, once I had reached that point of understanding, Bark Your Head Off, Dog did the opposite of what so often happens and kept returning to my turntable. Why? Well, I don’t really know as I am always confused about how I choose the music I play but I imagine it’s a combination of the nostalgic qualities of the sound of the record, the multifarious qualities to Francis Quinlan’s voice (sometimes shrill, often sweet, occasionally raspy), the incredible drum and guitar work…and those lyrics, which are some of the most intriguing words put to song I have heard in a long, long while. Try these from Not Abel for starters: