Liberation Music Orchestra: The Rennie Davis Treatment

This is a makeshift incarnation of the Plastic Ono Band looking almost as if they're aware of what's going on. It's a fascinating photograph but probably not for reasons that may be initially assumed: I love the fact that I can name all of about six people in it. That's a double-chinned Eric Clapton about to whisper something slurred and incomprehensible into Lennon's ear and George Harrison standing above him, looking as cheerful as ever. Keith Moon is unaware of just what's going on and, finally, there's Billy Preston who mostly stands out due to his skin colour (it isn't just Yoko Ono's ethnicity and gender that distinguish her from the rest of these rogues, it's the fact that she appears refreshingly unconcerned with the proceedings). I suspect that's Pete Ham or another minor member of Badfinger in front of him at the far right but I can't be certain. I should acknowledge that possibly at this very moment there's a girl called Laurie or a boy called Christopher who's looking at their Grade 1 class picture and wondering just who the hell the buck-toothed bean pole is and in that respect I can fully empathize with the individuals in the back row.

Drugs and self-absorption had already curbed Lennon's remarkable talent but his politicization was probably the last nail in his creative coffin. (Upon hearing of the death of Elvis, Lennon famously remarked that the King had actually died when he began serving in the army; perhaps Lennon met his true premature passing when he began dissing the military...what, is it still too soon? Okay, fine, Lennon work tirelessly for world peace and it's only a pity he he then hit the bottle and completely lost interest. Is that better?) I'll never be so arrogant to suggest that politics has no place in popular music but it seems to inevitably affect artistic quality control. (How else did Lennon manage to convince himself to pen such uncharacteristically innocuous songs like 'All You Need is Love', 'Give Peace a Chance' and 'Power to the People'?)

Perhaps sensing this, Charlie Haden's Liberation Music Orchestra makes a game attempt to tackle issues while maintaining an admirably high standard of musical creativity - at least some of the time. The second side lags largely due to dullness on tracks 'Song for Ché' and - a particular disappointment - the otherwise outstanding Ornette Coleman composition 'War Orphans': in the case of the former, Haden's obvious admiration for Guavara probably puts him too close to its subject as the performance commences with him trudging through an over-long bass solo before finally moving on to some free-form nonsense courtesy of Don Cherry and Dewey Redman; the latter just drifts along, as if waiting for someone in this thirteen-piece orchestra to do something - a curiousity considering the foundation of this outfit was formed around Coleman offshoots. Once again, Haden's heart is probably at too close of a proximity to the subject matter to make objective creative decisions.

Haden's vision for the album is stirring but muddied and this is probably why Carla Bley was such a boon to these sessions. The Spanish Civil War medley 'El Quinto Regimento/Los Cuatro Generales/Viva la Quince Brigada' is the highlight and, as twenty-minute tracks go, is surprisingly concise. The whole thing is held together by Sam Brown's guitar and Bley on piano and they manage to keep the free-form madness from getting too out of hand. Gato Barbieri's section is especially memorable and it reminds me of some of his equally wonderful work on Cherry's minor masterpieces Complete Communion and Symphony for Improvisers. (It's possible that he knew how to best combine Haden's passion with Bley's professionalism, which seemed to have escaped the rest of the orchestra.) The shorter numbers - Bley originals 'The Introduction', 'The Ending to the First Side' and 'The Interlude (Drinking Music)', as well as shots at 'Song of the United Front' and 'We Shall Overcome' - are all great call-to-arms hum alongs with some stellar group playing: nothing gets especially out of hand but the rebel rousing isn't compromised one bit. If anything, the best case for the revolutionary spirit of Liberation Music Orchestra is in these numbers.

Similar to the way an actor or singer will coyly smile into a camera that strays into the audience at an awards ceremony, the figures in the Plastic Ono Band picture seem convinced that you know who they are - which obviously makes my ignorance as to their identities all the funnier; the Liberation Music Orchestra personnel don't appear to care whether you're able to recognize them or not. They cared about making a statement and creating some lovely music. At least they tried.

The Avant-Garde / My Favorite Things / Coltrane Plays the Blues: Atlantic Ocean

In the John Coltrane mythology, the great saxophonist learned his trade in some wartime big bands playing blues numbers before establishing his popularity as a soloist with some pop standards and, finally, moving on to completely altering the boundaries of jazz forever. This nice, tidy little story makes Coltrane hero #1 to all the Wellsians out there.

Recorded all in 1960, The Avant-Garde, My Favorite Things and Coltrane Plays the Blues represent a time-compressed piece of Coltrane's progress. But note that they were in fact recorded in opposition to history: he began by working on an attempt at radicalism and culminated with some blues: the anti-Wells, where ECM's back catalogue progresses for the next seventy years into the Hot Fives.


Similar to contemporaneous works like Coltrane's Sound and Coltrane Jazz, there's an implication in the title that Coltrane Plays the Blues is a minor effort (unlike Miles Davis, whose punular, rather jokey albums - Miles Ahead, Milestones, Miles Smiles, Miles in the Sky - betrayed a certain monumentalism; perhaps Davis was better suited to vanity projects; even Blue Train and Soultrane seem like he was stretching it). There's something novel about it too; as if standard blues fare wasn't something his work wasn't rooted in. Still, even if you aren't convinced by the virtues of the twelve bar, just listen to the soloing: "Blues to Elvin" and "Mr. Day" are as powerful as anything on the awesome Giant Steps; "Mr. Syms" and the then-unreleased "Untitled Original (Exotica)" represent some of the loveliest playing of his career. Easily one of his most underrated albums,Coltrane Plays the Blues could well be exhibit "A" for anyone trying to make a case for the theory of less is more.

If any work can be considered minor it is The Avant-Garde, a well-intentioned but hugely flawed attempt at responding to Ornette Coleman's advances in free playing. Sharing the billing with Don Cherry is a nice gesture and an acknowledgement that the cornetist's star had risen to the extent that by 1966 he merited a co-headline but seems like nothing more than a gesture. Then you realise that it is Cherry himself who steals every solo break. Coltrane is simply in over his head, doing his utmost to prove that he was Coleman's equal but, ultimately, only pushing him further into his rival's shadow. No wonder it was buried for half-a-dozen years before it was finally released.


As for My Favorite Things, what can be said? Critics point to the title cut's brazen influence on the remainder of Coltrane's life and his desire to frequently return to it even as he moved deeper into his chaotic Impulse! era. Few, however, seem to acknowledge that this is as much due to the magnificence of Richard Rogers and Oscar Hammerstein's composition (and, by extension, Coltrane's own faltering songwriting skills) as anything else. The same goes for Cole Porter's "Everytime We Say Goodbye" and the Gershwins' "Summertime" and "But Not for Me", which, alas, he did not return to. This is now interpreted as gimmicky, that the serious artiste in Coltrane would never have taken on such a project in earnest. Indeed not. But the Coltrane who placed value on performance and swing and melody probably didn't mind. A pity he wasn't around much longer.

It seems, then, that Coltane was better off being somewhat kooky and lighthearted and focused rather than being caught up in getting too serious, a side he either failed to recognize or ignored altogether as he entered his crucial Impulse! period a couple years' after these recordings. As for the Wellsian myth, as a true artist, Coltrane used his time on Atlantic to shift, to change pace, to delve into every nook and cranny and his music was all the better for it. Isn't that progress?