Author Archives: Joseph Neff

No bones about it, we are on the cusp of a tumultuous time in a world already fraught with troubles, stress, and strife. But understanding that the path forward will be a struggle, let’s recognize that no fight is won and no trial endured without moments of respite. Refortification of the spirit through pleasure and joy is essential; for regular readers of this site, music is a major source of both. And so, please bookmark this week’s Best of the Year lists to revisit later when an emotional recharge is needed. As is our norm, we start with the box sets and expanded releases.

10. Creation Rebel – High Above Harlesden 1978–2023 (On-U Sound) 2024 was another solid year for the On-U Sound reissue program, starting out strong in March with the release of this 6CD box set collecting the six albums this estimable and persevering UK-based dub unit recorded in the titular quarter century. Those half dozen LPs were given concurrent standalone LP pressings, so vinyl hardliners take note. Maybe the biggest compliment that can be bestowed on this set (and by extension, the group and Adrian Sherwood) is that Creation Rebel’s most recent album Hostile Environment isn’t the weakest of the six.

9. Tsunami – Loud Is As (Numero Group) Having decided to devote a portion of their energies to assorted bands from the late-1980s-’90s rock underground, Numero Group’s resulting reissue program has been commendable, and nowhere better than this 5LP set. Tsunami’s frontwomen Jenny Toomey and Kristin Thomson co-founded Simple Machines, which quickly became one point on a thriving DMV label triangle with Dischord and Teen-Beat. The band’s guitar-based sound was pleasingly tough and raw and yet a needed antidote to rampant u-ground rock scene testosterone. Best of all, Tsunami’s music, which has become difficult to find in physical form, still sounds fucking great.

8. Soft Machine – Høvikodden 1971 (Cuneiform) Last year it was The Dutch Lesson, which took the seventh spot in this site’s Best Box Sets of 2023. Slipping one spot isn’t indicative of anything; Høvikodden 1971 is likely stronger than The Dutch Lesson, but I’ll confess that I haven’t thought of them comparatively that much, in large part because Mike Ratledge is the only commonality between the two bands. This set offers the “classic” lineup captured in two performances held in an art museum with projections rather than in a rock club. They sound inspired, and indeed progressively (see what I did there?) more inspired on disc two, as they got comfortable and really started dishing out the expansive grooves.

7. The Saints – (I’m) Stranded (In the Red / Universal Music Australia) With this 4LP set, the case can legitimately be made for The Saints as the greatest Aussie punk band of the original wave. There are other contenders, but we’re not going to list them, as this remarkable collection is wholly deserving of the entire spotlight. It holds the band’s classic debut remastered for vinyl, the previously unreleased alternate mix from 1976, the “This Perfect Day” 12-inch and the “1-2-3-4” double 7-inch, and two live sets, one short (five songs) and one album length. The title track has been anthologized countless times and will likely remain the band’s signature tune, but this set is positively stuffed with goodness.

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Remembering Professor Longhair, born on this date in 1918. —Ed.

Prior to his passing in 1980, the New Orleans pianist Professor Longhair reliably delivered the goods to club and festival audiences far and wide. For evidence, please consult Live in Chicago; cut at the University of Chicago Folk Festival on February 1, 1976, it offers a fine dose of the man’s immediately recognizable sound.

Professor Longhair’s 1970s renaissance is one of the sweeter late acts in the whole of 20th century American music; throughout the decade Henry Roeland Byrd was knocking out crowds on festival stages across the USA and Europe, but before the Alligator label’s 1980 release of Crawfish Fiesta the pianist was still primarily known on home stereos for his ‘50s work as collected by Atlantic on their classic ’72 LP New Orleans Piano.

Amid his newfound fortune new Fess material was largely approached with disinterest; as detailed in John Sinclair’s notes for Live in Chicago, he did record with Snooks Eaglin circa ’71-’72, but the results languished on the shelf until Rounder put them out in ‘87 as House Party New Orleans Style (Rhino followed suit four years later under the tile Mardi Gras in Baton Rouge).

Rock & Roll Gumbo paired the Professor with the guitar and violin of Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, but it was contemporaneously issued only in France on the Blue Star imprint, and other than Live on the Queen Mary, a ’78 album capturing a performance at a party hosted by Paul and Linda McCartney, there was basically nothing else.

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Remembering Frank Sinatra, born on this date in 1915. —Ed.

When it comes to pop music icons, they don’t come much more durable than Frank Sinatra. So it remains, as the singer has accumulated fans who weren’t even alive in 1998, the year of his passing at 82 years of age. And as an influential and revered figure, the majority of his artistic output (on record and on celluloid) is well-known; an exception is Watertown, the concept album he released in 1970 with the help of Bob Gaudio of the Four Seasons and Jake Holmes (the writer of “Dazed and Confused”). Don’tcha know it’s some folks’ favorite album by the guy? Deserving of reissue, it’s out now on LP with a new mix and on CD expanded with bonus tracks through UMe and Frank Sinatra Enterprises.

A pop icon, but also a pop idol in his youth, Frank Sinatra had the kids screaming. And one barometer of 20th century pop icon/idol status is that those on the list didn’t just cut records, they made movies. Bing Crosby, Frank, Elvis Presley, The Beatles (notably, the only band in the bunch), and Michael Jackson: they all interacted to varying extents with the film industry, as the careers of all but Jackson hit their high points in the pre-music video era (and Jackson was arguably the defining artist across the short heyday of music video).

The content of the above paragraph is the stuff books are made of, so let’s rein it in. The short of it; fans clamored to see these icons/idols on big screens, larger than life. What makes Sinatra somewhat unique is how he continued making films long after the screaming subsided, and in fact that’s where his most interesting movie work is located. Forget about the Rat Pack flicks, we’re talking Guys and Dolls (Joseph L. Mankiewicz, 1955), The Man With the Golden Arm (Otto Preminger, 1955), the sublime Some Came Running (Vincente Minnelli, 1958), and The Manchurian Candidate (John Frankenheimer, 1962).

Make no mistake, Sinatra also starred in some crap (more crap than gems, honestly), but what’s noteworthy here is that he was ever even inclined to make a handful of films possessing substantial artistic merit, a circumstance that also applies to his recording career circa 1970. A year earlier, he’d somewhat unexpectedly scored a hit with “My Way.” Instead of playing it safe, he took a risk with Watertown, though it’s fair to say that working with Gaudio and Holmes (the co-writers of the album) likely didn’t register as commercially precarious at the time.

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Vibraphonist and bandleader Cal Tjader established his name in part through a steady flow of records in the Latin Jazz style. Released in 1956 by the Fantasy label, Latin Kick is one of the earliest examples of such in Tjader’s discography; December 13 brings a fresh 180 gram edition from Craft Recordings as the latest entry in the label’s Original Jazz Classics series of reissues. If it seems crystal clear what’s in store, the album does offer a few unexpected twists as it plays.

Cal Tjader hit the West Coast scene in the mid-1940s as a drummer in an octet formed by pianist Dave Brubeck, and then in a trio with Brubeck; on recordings made for Fantasy in 1950, the bassist was Ron Crotty. It was in this group that Tjader began alternating between drums and vibraphone, eventually transitioning exclusively to the vibes as his profile rose.

After injuries sustained a car accident temporarily sidelined Brubeck, Tjader continued the trio with Jack Weeks on bass and either John Marabuto or Vince Guaraldi on piano. As for Brubeck, he can read details like the influence of life care plans on legal settlements for the sake of his own future.

Sessions released in 1951 by Fantasy subsidiary Galaxy were compiled onto a 10-inch and issued by Fantasy proper two years later. By that point, Tjader was working in the band of pianist George Shearing.

Upon exiting Shearing’s band and forming the Modern Mambo Quintet, Tjader’s opportunities to record as a leader increased. That group, with Manuel Duran on piano and Carlos Duran on bass, Bayardo Velarde on timbales, and Luis Miranda on congas, is featured on Latin Kick, with the addition of Brew Moore on tenor sax.

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Although her roots are in indie rock, Toronto-based singer-songwriter Jennifer Castle has more recently ventured into contemporary folk territory, and to considerable success. With her latest record, she continues to expand her sound and strengthen her songs; one track from the album in particular has given her a substantial boost in profile. Camelot is out now on 140 gram vinyl with a poster insert and on compact disc in a gatefold LP replica sleeve from Paradise of Bachelors.

Jennifer Castle’s last record, Monarch Season, was released four years ago. Featuring her alone on vocals, guitar, piano, and harmonica, it was Castle’s first release to be accurately described as a truly solo effort (and a fitting pandemic recording, although it was cut just prior to the outbreak). Contrasting, Camelot opens with vivid intimacy, Castle singing sweetly in the title track, her piano augmented by Evan Cartwright’s drums and the grand sweep of Owen Pallet’s string arrangements (performed by FAMES Skopje Studio Orchestra).

As noted above, Castle is a singer-songwriter, but “Camelot” is decidedly Singer-Songwriter in approach (reminiscent of those records of yore when an undersung performer landed a sharp producer and a budget). But for the album’s next song, Castle scales it back to just voice and guitar, and yet the sturdy coffeehouse strumming of “Some Friends” registers distinctly from the more fragile indie folk aura heard on Monarch Season.

The drums swing back in alongside Mike Smith’s bass in “Trust,” setting in motion a warm pulse that culminates in a subtly pretty crescendo. “Lucky #8” follows with a full-band melodic rock thrust that’s topped off with sharp jangle-chime guitars; when the solo lets loose, it brings to mind Lucinda Williams from back in her Rough Trade days.

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The latest arrivals in Elemental Music’s Motown Sound Collection hit stores just in time for holiday buying. The three selections, all dating from the early 1970s, are The Temptations’ Solid Rock, the self-titled debut album by The Undisputed Truth, and Gladys Knight & the Pips’ Neither One of Us. Taken together, they offer a solid hunk of soul, 140 grams each, all available December 13.

By 1972, The Temptations were on lineup number four, with Eddie Kendricks freshly out the door for a solo career and Paul Williams’ role greatly reduced; he sings on only one track, “It’s Summer,” on Solid Rock, the group’s sixteenth LP. Unlike Kendricks, Williams did stay with The Temptations in a choreographical capacity until his passing in 1973.

These lineup changes (Damon Harris and Richard Street entering as replacements) would spell irrelevancy under most circumstances if not utter disaster, but in the case of Solid Rock, there is Norman Whitfield to consider. Although this is far from the strongest joint Temps-Whitfield effort, it does hold another of the producer’s fascinating and frankly sprawling psychedelic soul efforts. Breaking 12 minutes, “Stop the War Now” is amongst the wildest of Motown’s psych-soul forays.

In holding nothing back (Whitfield surely knew that psych-soul’s time was nearly up), the track avoids mere excess, in part through the skills of the Funk Brothers, who build up a heavy, heady experience. If “Stop the War Now” doesn’t fully justify its length, it’s not a space filler masking a lack of material, as Whitfield had no issues with interpreting recent hits by other artists; a version of Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine” is one of Solid Rock’s standouts. There was also no hesitation over returning to Whitfield’s own songs, as album closer “The End of Our Road” had already hit for Gladys Knight & the Pips in 1968.

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Celebrating Joe “King” Carrasco on his 71st birthday. —Ed.

Casual research into the name Joe “King” Carrasco reveals the synopsis of a manic Tex-Mex bandleader better suited for the club stage than to the purposes of recording LPs. Mention his name to someone who’s seen him in action and you’ll likely hear an enthused recollection of a wild and happy night. Listen to Mil Gracias a Todos Nuestros Amigos, the 1980 Stiff Records debut of Carrasco and the Crowns, and the ear will be greeted by 12 songs from a group that from under the wide umbrella of the New Wave was briefly able to transfer their wild performance-based abandon into the grooves of long-playing vinyl.

There’s been a lot of debate over the years regarding the value of the late-‘70s musical surge known as New Wave. Setting aside the zealous haters that simply could not abide the movement’s departures from the Zeppelin/Eagles Arena Rock model, many detractors continue to associate the term with a weakening of the punk aesthetic set in motion by acts looking for wider success as encouraged by the interests of parties that were largely if not completely mercantile in character.

Naturally, some kernels of truth reside in this assessment, as the linguistic sleight of hand of Seymour Stein’s “Don’t Call it Punk” campaign easily attests. But naturally, it’s a far more complex situation than that. For example, new wave’s proponents often describe it as music made in direct response to ‘70s arena rock having reached a juncture of stylistic exhaustion, and for emphasis they point directly to the recycling of the buzzword applied to the cinematic uprising known as the Nouvelle Vague, which in the US, Great Britain and elsewhere was translated under the heading of the French New Wave.

That much needed and still influential development in film was surely a break with its home country’s Tradition of Quality, but it was also delivered by a small handful of auteurs, the most famous being Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut, Éric Rohmer, Jacques Rivette, and Claude Chabrol. Displeased with “a certain tendency in the French cinema” they surely all were, and they did certainly set themselves to the task of creating something fresh.

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Both in songwriting circles and in the oft harsh arena of departed personalities that never got their just due, the late Townes Van Zandt has grown into a mythic figure. Widely celebrated today for his very personal blend of smart country-folk expression, for the majority of his life Van Zandt was a frustratingly unknown entity. There exists numerous worthwhile entry points into the man’s rich body of work, but the best doorway is provided by his exquisite self-titled third LP from 1969, a record inching toward its forty-fifth year of existence with all of its artistic power undiminished.

Townes Van Zandt was one of the true bittersweet troubadours of American Music. The woeful obscurity that afflicted him during a life too short and rife with trouble (dead of a heart attack shy of his 53rd birthday in 1997 after many years of drug and alcohol addiction) is hard to reconcile with the nude beauty of his music.

The Velvet Underground’s now legendary lack of popularity while extant was basically tied to their being so defiantly ahead of their time, Big Star’s elusive sales figures were directly related to how they harkened back and revitalized the tidy appeal of ‘60s pop-rock in an era that greatly preferred excess, and Don Van Vliet was a kingpin of cult status mainly because he was such a blatant weird-meat, but Townes Van Zandt was just a powerful singer and brilliant songwriter whose early recordings should’ve been, if not huge, than certainly substantially bigger than they actually were at the time of their release.

From ’68-’72 Van Zandt recorded six albums that slowly solidified his reputation as a true rough diamond in the oft-problematic category of singer-songwriter, and it can be speculated that the guy’s natural blend of folk and country was perhaps a little bit urbane for the C&W hardliners of the time and maybe too tough for a folk-set that was preparing to turn the corner into the mellow hell of James Taylor etc. But at worst this should’ve somewhat limited Van Zandt’s appeal, not kneecapped it outright; it’s far easier to surmise that lack of promotion from the small Poppy label led to his misfortune as a musician’s musician.

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In the annals of jazz, tenor saxophonist and composer Sonny Rollins is simply incomparable. A man without a creative weakness, he is equally celebrated as an innovator and for his sublime transformations of jazz standards and classic American song. No record gets to the core of Rollins’ greatness better than Way Out West. Originally released in 1957, it comes out in a fresh 180 gram vinyl edition this week via Craft Recordings as part of the label’s Contemporary Records Acoustic Sounds series, remastered from the original tapes by Bernie Grundman and tucked into an utterly swank tip-on jacket.

Having debuted on record in 1949, backing hipster jazz vocalist Babs Gonzalez in his band Three Bips and a Bop on a 10-inch 78 rpm disc for the Capitol label, Sonny Rollins played and recorded extensively and by the mid-1950s he was the top tenor saxophonist in jazz. After cutting an LP a year as a leader from 1953-’56 for Prestige, Rollins exploded onto the marketplace in ’56 with a half dozen albums, all for Prestige, including what many consider his greatest recording, Saxophone Colossus.

After exiting his Prestige contract, Rollins became something of a free agent across an equally productive stretch, cutting three albums for Blue Note and one record for Riverside, plus half of a split album shared with the Thad Jones Ensemble for the Period label and the record under review here, all released in 1957.

Of the studio albums, Way Out West stands out for it’s lack of piano. On Rollins’ trip to California (hence the title and its accompanying cover motif, which was reportedly Rollins’ idea), he was joined by bassist Ray Brown and drummer Shelly Manne in a foray into what the saxophonist described as “strolling,” which in short means improvising in a band that lacks a chordal instrument (e.g. piano or guitar).

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Monk’s Music was the fifth Thelonious Monk LP released by Riverside Records across a strong mid-1950s stretch. It helped to increase the pianist-composer-bandleader’s visibility on the scene and repair an undeservedly formidable reputation, but even after it was selected for inclusion in the Original Jazz Classics series of reissues, it’s become one of the less celebrated masterpieces in Monk’s extensive discography. But a fresh mono edition by Craft Recordings should help raise the profile of an immensely pleasurable session with an august supporting cast. It’s available now on 180 gram vinyl, mastered from the original tapes in an attractive tip-on sleeve.

It might seem strange given Thelonious Monk’s secure position in the jazz pantheon, but the first two records he cut for Riverside consisted solely of standards, with his debut for the label entirely devoted to compositions by Duke Ellington and the second offering a blend of well-known selections from the American Songbook. Both hit stores in 1956.

Thelonious Monk debuted on record as a leader in 1951 for the Blue Note label with two 10-inch discs, each titled Genius of Modern Music. In 1956, those volumes were expanded into LPs with additional material from the original series of sessions Alfred Lion organized from 1947–’51, plus one more date from the following year. Those two albums, further expanded in the CD era, are the logical place to begin a solid Monk collection, but they didn’t a cause retail firestorm. The five records Monk cut for Prestige from ’52–’54 saw no curtailing of creative momentum but befell similar the same commercial fate.

In 1957, Riverside’s Orrin Keepnews pivoted with Brilliant Corners, which featured all Monk tunes save for one. Later in the year Thelonious Himself, a more balanced mix of originals and standards, was released. As the title suggests, Himself is a solo piano affair, with the exception of closing track “Monk’s Mood,” where tenor saxophonist John Coltrane and bassist Wilber Ware are added.

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Moroccan vocalist and guimbri player Maalem Houssam Guinia is poised to make a huge splash with his third release Dead of Night; it’s available now on vinyl and digital from Hive Mind Records. Guinia specializes in Gnawa music, a dynamic style with a long history that can be traced back to the Royal Black Guard of Morocco. Guinia’s father Maalem Mahmoud Guinia was one of the most renowned masters of Gnawa music; with the release of Dead of Night, it’s clear as day the style is in good hands.

Maalem Houssam Guinia first rose to international prominence through a collaboration with the British electronic musician James Holden, the 12-inch EP “Three Live Takes” released in 2018 on Holden’s Border Community label. Previously, Holden and Floating Points had collaborated with Houssam’s father Maalem Mahmoud Guinia on another 12-inch EP, “Marhaba,” which came out in 2015, also on Border Community.

Maalem Mahmoud Guinia passed in 2015, leaving behind a wealth of recordings, the majority of them released in Morocco on cassette. His son’s discography is much smaller, at least apparently so; following “Three Live Takes,” there is Mosawi Swiri, released in 2019 on cassette and digital by Hive Mind, and now Dead of Night.

While Gnawa isn’t the most high profile of African styles, the healing ceremonial music is far from unknown outside of Morocco, in no small part due to Mahmoud Guinia’s body of work. His most famous release remains The Trance of Seven Colors, a live recording from 1994 captured in Essaouira, Morocco by Bill Laswell and issued on his Axiom label. It paired Mahmoud on guimbri with free jazz tenor sax titan Pharoah Sanders. The success of that recording surely inspired The Wels Concert with multi-horn man Peter Brötzmann and drummer Hamid Drake, which was released in 1997 on Okka Disk.

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Formed in Cincinnati before migrating westward to San Fransisco, cLOUDDEAD emerged at the turn of the century to profoundly impact the sound of experimental hip hop. Comprised of lyricists Yoni Wolf (Why?) and Doseone (Adam Drucker) and producer Odd Nosdam (David P. Madson), cLOUDDEAD debuted with a series of six 10-inch EPs that were in turn compiled to form the group’s debut album in 2001, an eponymous 3LP set that still carries an avant-garde thrust nearly a quarter century later. Superior Viaduct’s reissue is due on November 29.

Experimental (or underground) hip hop was burgeoning from the late 1990s and into the new century, with Anticon, a label formed by seven individuals including the three members of cLOUDDEAD, one part of a wave that encompassed imprints ranging from Rawkus (Company Flow, Mos Def, Talib Kweli), Definitive Jux (Aesop Rock, Cannibal Ox, Mr. Lif, RJD2), Stones Throw (JDilla, Madlib, MF Doom), and 75 Ark (Antipop Consortium, The Coup, Dan the Automator).

Anticon was formed in 1998 and gathered a deep roster that crossed over into electronica and indie rock. cLOUDDEAD is amongst the label’s most lauded projects while also being somewhat mysterious, even as all three members were active prior to the group’s formation. Wolf and Drucker met in the mid-’90s and were part of the group Apogee before forming Greenthink as a duo and releasing two albums. With the addition of Madson, they became cLOUDDEAD.

Occasionally the experimental tag has been applied to hip hop that was better assessed as just quirky or raw or perhaps just dense with ideas. But in the case of cLOUDDEAD, the descriptor of experimental really fits, and to the point where some would argue that what they were up to wasn’t hip hop at all. But of course, upon encountering new developments in the music, many have decried “that’s not hip hop” for decades.

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Trumpeter-composer Richard Allen “Blue” Mitchell recorded steady as a leader and sideman from the early 1950 until his premature death from cancer in 1979. Along the way, Mitchell played rhythm and blues, funk, rock, and a whole lot of hard bop jazz, the style for which he is most renowned, if too often overlooked. His initial run of sessions as a leader were cut for the Riverside label, and one of the best is Blue’s Moods, a quartet date from 1960 featuring pianist Wynton Kelly, bassist Sam Jones, and drummer Roy Brooks. Added to the Original Jazz Classics line in 1984, it’s available now in a fresh 180 gram vinyl edition cut from the original tapes in a tip on jacket with an obi strip from Craft Recordings.

Blue Mitchell was a perennially inside guy, never dabbling in the avant-garde, even as a sideman. He debuted on record straight out of high school in 1951, playing R&B (unsurprising given his nickname) as a sideman in Paul Williams’ Hucklebuckers. Other R&B bands that benefitted from Mitchell’s contribution during these early days were those of Earl Bostic and Red Prysock. Entering the jazz field during this period, Mitchell worked first with alto saxophonist Lou Donaldson, then altoist Cannonball Adderley, who brought him into the sphere of the Riverside label, and after that, pianist Horace Silver.

But if a solidly inside player, Mitchell wasn’t a traditionalist, touring with Brit blues-rock kingpin John Mayall as documented on the 1972 live set Jazz Blues Fusion. Later in the decade, like a few of his contemporaries, Mitchell searched for commercial success by taking a trip to the Funktion Junction, his not highly regarded 1976 LP for RCA.

In terms of critical reception, Mitchell’s peak stretch began in 1958, the year he cut Portrait of Cannonball and his first LP as a leader, Big 6, and continued deep into the following decade as a productive run for Blue Note was winding down. Blue’s Moods, Mitchell’s fourth of six for Riverside, stands out in part through the lack of an additional horn in the lineup (his prior albums featured tenor sax and trombone).

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Elemental Music’s Motown Sound Collection continues to roll in November with a stylistically varied slate of three vinyl reissues: there’s a mono edition of Marvin Gaye’ When I’m Alone I Cry, a mono edition of the Four Tops’ self-titled debut, and a full-blown stereo edition of Eddie Kendricks’ People…Hold On, all available November 15.

Listeners who know Marvin Gaye primarily through his 1960s hits “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved by You),” and “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” and his ’70s masterpieces What’s Going On and Let’s Get It On, can be initially struck and then perhaps perplexed by just how tightly Gaye embraced a Middle of the Road sensibility early in his career.

An abbreviated assessment is that Gaye was following in the footsteps of Nat “King” Cole. That’s a smidge reductive, but it’s not off target as he did record A Tribute to the Great Nat “King” Cole for Motown in 1965. And it wasn’t Gaye’s only attempt at harnessing the supper club vibe, as the year prior he cut the pop and jazz standards set When I’m Alone I Cry.

What was Gaye up to? It’s important to remember that circa the early 1960s the supper club represented adult sophistication, not shmaltz. Note that The Supremes had success traveling down this avenue. Gaye was strong enough on vocals to pull it off, but he also wasn’t especially memorable in this mode. The arrangements are better than expected for this sort of thing, avoiding an overabundance of syrup, but the best tracks, “You’ve Changed” and “I’ll Be Around,” come early. Although not for completists only, a whole bunch of Gaye records should be picked up before When I’m Alone I Cry.

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Pianist Andrew Hill is most celebrated for his diverse run of recordings for the Blue Note label in the 1960s, but his work after that stretch is no less worthy of consideration. He continued pushing boundaries until the very end, and no recording illustrates this better than A Beautiful Day, Revisited, which expands and remasters exquisite 2002 live big band performances by the Andrew Hill Sextet Plus 10 from the stage of Birdland. An additional recording of the title composition is this new edition’s centerpiece, illuminating Hill’s method, which thrives on the spontaneity of a skilled, unified ensemble. The set is out now in vinyl, compact disc, and digital from Palmetto Records.

If Andrew Hill’s representation in the jazz canon is slimmed down to a single LP (which is frankly harsh treatment for such an important if undersung figure), then that record is almost certainly Point of Departure. Released in 1964, it was the fourth album he cut for Blue Note and the third to be released by the label, featuring Joe Henderson on tenor sax and flute, Eric Dolphy on alto sax, bass clarinet, and flute, Kenny Dorham in trumpet, Richard Davis on bass, and Tony Williams on drums.

The focus on Hill’s association with Blue Note is deepened by a return to the label for a pair of albums, Eternal Spirit and But Not Farewell, in 1989 and ’91. Time Lines, Hill’s final studio album prior to his passing in 2007, was also released by Blue Note in ’06; during the same period, a handful of unissued sessions from the Blue Note archive emerged, Passing Ships in ’03, Pax in ’06, and Change in ’07.

Sadly, Hill’s work for SteepleChase, Freedom, East Wind, Artist House, and Soul Note in the 1970s and ’80s is still too often overlooked. Dusk, the first of two records for the Palmetto label (A Beautiful Day being the other), is amongst Hill’s best-known work however, as it was chosen as the best album of 2001 by both DownBeat and JazzTimes magazines.

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