John Coltrane

Album Review: Moor Mother- Jazz Codes

On “Easyjet,” a brief skit placed in the middle of 700 Bliss’s 2022 album Nothing to Declare, DJ Haram and Moor Mother mock the spoken word artist’s vitriolic persona: “who wants to hear that sh*t?… Moor Mother’s all like ‘blah blah blah blah blah blah’… is this even music?”

The bit is hilarious in part because Moor Mother is susceptible to accusations of being noisy for the sake of noise.  And her rage has occasionally lacked focus.  Yet she’s completely on point on the melodic new album Jazz Codes.  In reclaiming the notion of jazz as a revolutionary sound of freedom, Moor Mother crafted a vital work of art.  Rejecting polite supper club sounds and the associated cultural appropriation of the form, she insists jazz belongs on riot-torn streets.

Two of the best tracks celebrate the religious faith of Mary Lou Williams and memorialize the ill-fated trumpeter Woody Shaw.  Yet Jazz Codes isn’t nostalgic.  Homages to the likes of John Coltrane, Billie Holiday and Amina Claudine Myers are peppered with references to D’Angelo, Tupac Shakur and Kanye West.  Jazz Codes affirms that Moor Mother has grown into an invaluable component of that musical continuum.

Jazz scholar Thomas Stanley makes a statement of purpose on the last selection: “ultimately, perhaps it is good that the people abandoned jazz- replaced it with musical products better suited for capitalism’s designs. Now jazz jumps up like Lazarus if we allow it, to rediscover itself as a living music.”  Jazz Codes is capable of accelerating this welcome resurrection.  

My enthusiasm comes with a caveat.  I made a 300-mile round trip to see Moor Mother perform with Irreversible Entanglements in the midst of the pandemic.  The band’s Open the Gates was my second-favorite album of 2021.  And I featured Moor Mother’s Black Encyclopedia of the Air in the seventh episode of my In My Headache podcast.  Jazz Codes is my presumptive top album of 2022, but less adventurous listeners might wonder if it’s “even music.”

Album Reviews: Anteloper’s Pink Dolphins, I Am’s Beyond and Bennie Maupin and Adam Nussbaum’s Symphonic Tone Poem for Brother Yusef

Three sets of improvisational duos go out… way out, on new albums.  Jaime Branch has injected vital punk energy into the improvised music scene during the past several years.  The trumpeter puts her healthy irreverence to good use in Anteloper, a collaboration with percussionist Jason Nazary.  Thanks to the deft production of Jeff Parker, the wavy Pink Dolphins might even appeal to fans of Animal Collective.

Reading Tony Whyton’s Beyond a Love Supreme: John Coltrane and the Legacy of an Album last week put me in the proper headspace for I Am’s Beyond.  Saxophonist Isaiah Collier and drummer Michael Shekwoaga Ode channel the polarizing 1967 album Interstellar Space with uncompromising ferocity.

Skronky but slightly less confrontational, Symphonic Tone Poem for Brother Yusef features the veteran innovators Bennie Maupin and Adam Nussbaum.  Mixing electronics with organic sounds, the saxophonist and percussionist pay tribute to the late Yusef Lateef.  Pink Dolphins and Beyond are very good, but the old guys show the kids how it’s done in their exceptional ancient-to-the-future collaboration.

Stellar Regions

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

I recently attended a free, outdoor jazz concert at which solos were traded in a conventional post-bop style.  The musicians were superb, and while I enjoyed their low-stakes performance, I’m mystified by the dominance of a format that seems exceedingly stale in 2022.  

The unhealthy and unnecessary status quo is repeatedly denounced in Beyond a Love Supreme: John Coltrane and the Legacy of an Album, a 2013 study by Tony Whyton.  The debate about what jazz is and what it should be rages 58 years after the release of A Love Supreme.  The academic jargon employed by the author makes me want to gouge my eyes out, but his subject and the correspondingly fascinating ideas he explores are magnificent.

What is the true significance of the 1964 recording A Love Supreme?  And what’s to be made of the subsequent albums Ascension, Interstellar Space and The Olatunji Concert?  And why, in spite of the vital innovations documented on these late-career Coltrane works, does the jazz establishment continue to promote tiresome- and yes, boring- forms of the music?

Whyton addresses each of these questions thoroughly.  My unfairly simplistic summation of his answers: most fans and scholars are uncomfortable with the notion(s) of God, black nationalism, experimental sound, complicated narratives and democratic approaches to art.

A pal loaned me his copy of Whyton’s 160-page book knowing I’d be triggered by the contents.  As the tone of this screed suggests, the shameful dismissal of Coltrane’s post-A Love Supreme work makes me livid.  Yet I’m eager to discuss one of the most esoteric of the book’s topics with my friend.

Did, as McCoy Tyner once suggested, God speak to us through Charlie Parker and John Coltrane?  And did a divine power, as my friend insisted that night, reach out to us during a performance by the spiritual jazz practitioner Nduduzo Makhathini at the Blue Room two weeks ago? As Coltrane wrote in his liner notes for A Love Supreme, “all praise to God.”

Giant Steps

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Between my unkempt hair, tatty attire and weather-beaten face, I’m occasionally mistaken for an indigent person.  Charitable do-gooders regularly offer me assistance as I wander the downtowns of America.  I fit right in when I visited the Central branch of Multnomah County Library yesterday.  

Two unhoused men were engaged in a violent clash over a shopping cart on the steps of the magnificent building in downtown Portland.  Rather than joining the mob of amused derelicts shouting encouragement to the combatants, I asked the three police officers stationed at the door directions to Carl Henniger’s photography exhibit.

I traversed a gauntlet of catatonic zombies, raving lunatics and menacing miscreants to reach the We Had Jazz gallery on the library's third floor.  The gorgeous black-and-white photos of jazz musicians taken in the 1950s affirm that Portland- then as well as now- is supportive of touring jazz musicians.

Subjects range from the first-generation jazz giant Louis Armstrong to a young John Coltrane.  A shot of Dizzy Gillespie and Count Basie studying a chess board in 1953 is my favorite image.  Almost all of the iconic musicians dressed to the nines.  I was by turns inspired and humiliated when I reentered the chaos outside.

Acknowledgement, Resolution, Pursuance and Psalm

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

Original image by There Stands the Glass.

The value of gateway artists is underappreciated. If it took Vanilla Ice for listeners to get to A Tribe Called Quest, so be it. A lot of St. Paul & the Broken Bones fans surely make their way to Otis Redding. That’s fantastic. In my case, the Clash introduced me to Augustus Pablo. I discovered Bob Wills via Merle Haggard. I found Willie Dixon via the Doors.

I’m not annoyed that Nubya Garcia’s debut album Source is being hailed as the 2020 equivalent of John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme. Jazz needs stylish young artists to give the popular press and jazz neophytes something to rally behind. Besides, Source is pretty good.

After enjoying Garcia’s fashionable dispatch from London, I hope a few adventurous listeners turn to the like-minded new release by Idris Ackamoor & The Pyramids. Inspired by his mentor Cecil Taylor, Ackamoor founded the Afrocentric spiritual jazz collective almost 50 years ago. Now 69, Ackamoor and his longtime collaborators retain their vitality on Shaman!. The joyous grooves and inclusive sensibility are the best kind of communal folk music.


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I decry the blatant abandonment of social distancing on Kansas City’s jazz scene at Plastic Sax.

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Opera update: I’m currently 80 minutes into my 153rd opera in the past 153 days. A French staging of Benjamin Britten’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” #151 in my streak, receives my unqualified endorsement. The creepy bits are skin-crawling and the comedic scenes are outrageous.