In 1969 four guys, namely Roscoe Mitchell, Lester Bowie, Joseph Jarman, and Malachi Favors, took a trip to Paris. Once there they became the Art Ensemble of Chicago. In striving to attain the goal of “Great Black Music” and refine the concept of “Ancient to the Future,” they have given us many important works. A particularly fine one is their first under the moniker, A Jackson in Your House.
A Jackson in Your House embodies an unusually high number of interesting discussion points. It might seem odd to begin with a survey of the company that initially released it, but doing so greatly illuminates one of the numerous challenges jazz musicians faced throughout the form’s development, an issue that was deepened when the music resided in the commercially thorny region of the avant-garde.
The album was put out by the French imprint BYG as part of their now celebrated Actuel series of free jazz recordings, a discography that sits alongside that of the American label ESP-Disk as the biggest repository of the movement’s development in its first fifteen years. It’s no surprise they were both independents. Where Impulse, Atlantic, and to a lesser extent Blue Note, Verve, and Savoy all contributed to the early documentation of avant jazz, they were all cautious over their offerings.
However, ESP-Disk and BYG jumped into the fray headfirst, frequently pressing up records of vital historical importance that the big boys wouldn’t deign to touch, which is the main reason they’re so beloved by free jazz fans today. Unless they know the whole story, in which case the adoration very likely comes with a major sticking point; in both cases the artists largely never got paid.
Looking into the narrative of the still extant ESP-Disk exposes a financial quagmire rife with naivety and the bootlegging of their biggest selling titles, the situation extending into the early ‘90s when a German outfit called ZYX reissued nearly the entire catalog (including the rock entries) on CD but then conveniently forgot to pay out royalties.
But on the subject of BYG, founded by Fernand Boruso, Jean-Luc Young and Jean Georgakarakos (the initials of their last names titling the label), with Actuel being the part of their catalog devoted to “out” jazz, experimental (Musica Elettronica Viva, Pierre Marietan & Terry Riley) and also a few rock releases (Gong, Ame Son, the Procol Harem affiliated band Freedom), the tale has been more succinctly and unfortunately related as a total swindle for the musicians involved.
It’s a familiar 20th century story, of course. For the last thirty years or so, the spotlight on record biz malfeasance has been directed mostly at the corporate level, but prior to that many smaller companies and independents were far from saintly in their dealings. And for those working in a new and controversial jazz realm with a very dicey market value in comparison to longer-established “inside” genres (as the surging growth of rock and pop was putting the retail squeeze on the whole thing) the harsh reality of getting the shaft must have stung even harder.
A Jackson in Your House was the second LP issued by BYG/Actuel as part of a late-‘60s tidal surge of expatriate avant-jazz activity (trumpeter Don Cherry’s “Mu” First Part, a duo session with drummer and fellow Ornette Coleman alumnus Ed Blackwell, was the first) that included marquee names (Archie Shepp, Sun Ra), giants to be (Anthony Braxton, Sonny Sharrock, the Art Ensemble themselves), reliable vets (Paul Bley, Grachan Moncur III, Frank Wright, Dave Burrell), valuable lesser-known players (Arthur Jones, Clifford Thornton), and even a few non-Americans (Jacques Coursil, Kenneth Terroade).
While A Jackson in Your House is the first LP actually released as the Art Ensemble of Chicago, saxophonists Roscoe Mitchell and Joseph Jarman, trumpeter Lester Bowie and bassist Malachi Favors had already been playing and recording together in the Windy City for a few years. Favors had been on the scene since the mid-‘50s, making his wax debut on the great pianist Andrew Hill’s first album So in Love, and he began playing with Mitchell and Jarman in the early ‘60s through the Experimental Band of pianist and key Chicago figure Muhal Richard Abrams.
All joined the collective AACM (the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians), and when Bowie moved to Chicago from St. Louis in ’66 things really started falling into place. That year Mitchell, Bowie, Favors, saxophonist Maurice McIntyre, trombonist/cellist Lester Lashley, and drummer (and founding AACM member) Alvin Fielder recorded Sound as the Roscoe Mitchell Sextet for the Delmark label.
It’s one of the most important documents in the ‘60s avant-garde, and for reasons much deeper than the detailing of the rough beginnings of the Ensemble, for it also brought evidence of a fresh conception in free jazz. Based far less on lung fury and a “horns up-front drums and bass in-the-back” hierarchical structure, the group also employed non-trad instrumentation (the Art Ensemble’s soon to be signature “little instruments”) and a decidedly unique approach to collective sound that while openly tied to Coleman’s huge breakthrough was also distinct in soloing, rhythmic pulse, and use of space.
It was a new thing from the midst of the New Thing, and in ’67 followed two dates for the Nessa label, the unreleased until ’75 Old/Quartet, made under Mitchell’s name and featuring the saxophonist with Bowie, Favors, and drummer Phillip Wilson, and Numbers 1 & 2, an LP credited to Bowie with Mitchell, Favor,s and for the first time on disc, Jarman. And the next year, sans Jarman and with drummer Robert Crowder briefly on board, they recorded Congliptious for Nessa under the heading of the Roscoe Mitchell Art Ensemble.
All three albums are very fine listens detailing their growth into a unit, but they were still one year away from Paris and the solidification of their lineup. And once there it didn’t happen overnight. Wilson had apparently decided to join the blues outfit of Chicagoan Paul Butterfield, so the foursome of Mitchell, Bowie, Jarman, and Favors made the trip without a drummer.
It took them until 1970 to hook up on record with drum scientist Don Moye, but they didn’t let the delay slow them down. In ’69 they completed seven LPs, with three of them for BYG/Actuel. While the Art Ensemble’s profile and their critical esteem grew substantially with the material they released on Atlantic and later ECM, their brief but bountiful pre-Moye era shouldn’t be overlooked, and it all begins with A Jackson in Your House.
Working without a drummer would’ve been unthinkable for the vast majority of avant-jazz artists at the time. Yes, the sax was the star of the free movement, and much of the music also eschewed the anchor of the piano, but rhythm was still a truly essential component. For instance, when John Coltrane scaled things down to a duo for Interstellar Space, his lone instrumental counterpart was drummer Rashied Ali.
But the Art Ensemble’s music, based upon collectivity (as the name clearly states, there were no leaders) and the abandonment of traditionalism as it dove deep into jazz history (and beyond, to Africa and Europe), the endeavor aided by the depth of their multi-instrumental concept (if lacking a drummer, percussion was still very much a factor), turned this seeming absence into a great positive.
It was largely a Chicago, and namely an AACM-based thing. For evidence, please see AACM-member Anthony Braxton’s 1970 solo sax 2LP For Alto. Released on Delmark, it’s an expression of creative firepower from a luminous mind that remains absolutely brain-flaying to this very moment. Unsurprisingly, these Chi-town progressions were far less celebrated than the largely New York-based maelstroms of Fire Music, a Coltrane/Shepp/Albert Ayler-influenced scene where the main directive was to pick up thy sax and blow abstractly to the heavens, and for long intervals of time.
But A Jackson in Your House is abstract in a very different way. For starters, it’s consumed with history, and it’s also often theatrical in nature and features vocals, frequently in the mode of the poetic. The title track begins the record with a very stately horn theme punctuated with squeaks, honks, and rattles only to drop into a section of near silence and slowly developing ruminations upon that opening line.
Then the theme is reasserted, this time less stately and more vibrant as Favors’ bass assertively walks right down the middle. It all ends just as quickly, this time concluded with the sound of celebratory voices. But on the third run comes words, and they’re chanted with the slurring of an ecstatic drunk holding court: “One, two, three, there’s a Jackson in your house…” That suddenly we are in the midst of a party.
Specifically, we are in New Orleans at the turn of the 20th century. From there the Ensemble establish confident swing and bluesy vigor as they reestablish the intensity and brilliance of early jazz in the context of the new. Unlike the motions of the Neo-Trad guys soon to come, this wasn’t a gesture of conservatism but a reassertion of the music’s tough and often dangerous beginnings.
On first listen the ideas of “A Jackson in Your House” might seem a tough nut to crack, but it’s actually very methodical social commentary from what can be accurately described as a protest album. And nothing expresses this with more clarity than the synapse frying horn blitz of “Get in Line.” Prior to joining Abram’s Experimental Band, Mitchell and Jarman had done time in the military, a circumstance that surely impacted their outlook in the days of the Civil Rights struggle and the rise of the Vietnam War.
“Get in Line” begins with a scream of its title in the drill instructor mode as the music engages in a march-like cadence. Naturally, things fall out of lockstep, but the severity of the Art Ensemble’s chaos is breathtaking. To be blunt, when the volume’s turned up loud enough, the guts of the tune continue to sound like the whole fucking world’s being torn to shreds, and it culminates with emphatic percussion and a wash of cymbals and gongs.
By comparison, the rich and wonderfully played “Waltz” is a moment of tranquility, but it’s also a very short one. It does establish the group’s ties to non-jazz and notably Euro-based concepts, but along with Favors’ exquisite bass work the piece is also just slightly off-center. And the brevity seemingly expresses a very valid point: In the middle of all this madness, how can we dance?
From there we move into the realm of the poetic with Jarman’s recitation of his work “Ericka.” The integration of poetry and free jazz wasn’t novel at this point since writer Amiri Baraka, then known as Leroi Jones, had participated in some important sessions, namely the ’64 self-titled ESP-Disk of the New York Art Quartet and drummer Sunny Murray’s ’65 LP Sonny’s Time Now, a very cool all-star affair which was released on Jones’ small Jihad imprint.
Jones is often considered a Beat writer, and his influence extends to Jarman to the point where he’s explicitly mentioned in the reading. While Jarman isn’t in Jones’ linguistic league he’s certainly much more capable of appealing turns of phrase than the majority of Beat-inspired word slingers, and while the merger of jazz and poetry is frankly a troublesome zone, “Ericka” goes down very well, with nary a beret or bongo in sight, as sax and the “little instruments” motif accent his musings.
It segues into the extended piece dedicated to their then recently deceased cohort, bassist and AACM-member Charles Clark (he can be heard on Jarman’s ’67 Delmark recording As if it Were the Seasons.) “Song for Charles” is an intriguing listen, full of ample space as everyone rises into the flow of ideas with equality.
Along the way the concept of swing is set aside, the Ensemble exploring the possibilities of pure sound as they mark the departing of a valued friend, their motions entering a realm that’s often associated with avant-garde classical music. It’s also an influence that audibly extends to the early work of John Zorn and Eugene Chadbourne.
But the last seconds of the LP circle back to the beginning. Again, it’s words; “okay boys, you can pack it up now and take it on home.” It very much recalls a show promoter at the end of a long night. What once was born out of necessity has now become regulated; it’s business as usual. And the piece contrasts very well with another BYG/Actuel tribute, Frank Wright’s One for John.
Wright’s LP, dedicated to John Coltrane, is solidly in Fire Music territory, and “Song for Charles” is quite different. For example, that same voice at the end can be heard earlier demanding “give me a hand with these bodies up the basement.” It adds a troubling and ambiguous sense of indictment to the proceedings.
But one thing Wright and the Ensemble share is reportedly getting bilked by BYG. Delmark’s Bob Koester, and the Nessa label’s namesake Chuck Nessa are reputed as up-front fair-deal guys who in simply documenting their local scene did jazz (and in Koester’s case, blues) a great service. The music of BYG/Actuel is also a huge resource, but the evidence sadly reveals them to be profiteering wolves masquerading in revolutionary garb.
In the end, what’s left is the music. And in the case of A Jackson in Your House, what’s left is worth a bundle. The LP has reissued many times, both on standalone vinyl and also on CD in combination with their other BYG sets A Message to Our Folks and Reese and the Smooth Ones. It may not be the apex of the Art Ensemble of Chicago’s substantial achievement, but in serving as a crucial early chapter in their story it remains a captivating listen.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A
