June 1999

From the Inside Out
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By Chris M. Slawecki

It seems like some dream from long ago, so far away, sometimes. And other times it seems so clear and near.

The folks at Koch Jazz, god bless ‘em, just released on CD two of the first pieces of jazz that I got into as a teenage kid: Gary Burton’s Good Vibes, a genuine rock-jazz record, one of those from the maelstrom of 1970 that managed to stick, which I managed to find in the record library of Villanova University for my radio show as a sophomore in 1979. Billy Cobham’s A Funky Thide of Sings was about the only other fusion album I could listen to (except for the first Mahavishnu record) and came out so long ago I used to ride around in my ’74 Maverick listening to it on my eight-track tape player.

What kind of music did you listen to when you were a teenager? I believe that people remain more emotionally attached to the music of their youth than to any other music. Sure, people do grow to appreciate different music – but the music of their youth generally remains among their favorite music. My grandparents did it with Sinatra and the swing bands. My parents did it with Elvis and Chuck Berry. And the beat goes on.

I don’t want to mislead you that all I listened to was jazz or other music in the advanced state of the art, because mostly I listened to some pretty dreadful stuff. But this wild-eyed youth, caught up in the heady swirl of late 1970s electric music, somehow dumb-ass lucked into these two records. And they not only constructed a major part of my late ‘70s soundtrack, they helped open my ears to other electric dreams and adventures in the jazz landscape. For the most part, I’ve never looked back.

On Good Vibes, Burton throws down with members of the popular funky fusion ensemble Stuff – guitarist Eric Gale, keyboard player Richard Tee, bassist Chuck Rainey and perhaps the original "funky drummer," Bernard "Pretty" Purdie – plus bassist Steve Swallow (who continued to play an important part in Burton’s more traditional "jazz" recordings and performances) and others.

Burton’s original "Leroy The Magician" was one of my first favorite funky jazz jammies, if that means anything; one of the first jazz tunes that I really grabbed hold of rhythmically and melodically, perhaps the first instrumental that I learned to walk around and sing. It swung so cool yet hot, shot through with New Orleans funk, blue and tangy guitars, and those chiming, warm yet crystalline vibes…damn! A personal favorite, from an album that also includes Aretha’s "I Never Loved A Man The Way I Love You" and a temperamental journey through Gil Evans’ epic "Las Vegas Tango." "Vibrafinger," which opens this set, unleashed some of the most phosphorescently fractious, knob-melting jazz-rock riffing I’d ever heard. Thus made hip to the talents of Gale & Crew, I knew to check out their other soul and jazz sessions for the Atlantic label, and got lost down that trail for years.

It’s really hard to describe now how DIFFERENT this Billy Cobham album sounded to me back then. Cobham is considered by many to be THE fusion drummer, as a veteran of several seminal Miles sessions in the field (Bitches Brew, Live-Evil and Jack Johnson) and the rhythmic linchpin of the aforementioned Mahavishnu Orchestra before embarking down his own musical path. Cobham refused to be heard in the background. His muscular, flashy, breakneck drumming insisted that you hear and listen to it. This powerfully explosive and hectic style seems the very embodiment of fusion drumming – when Billy Cobham beat them traps, they stayed beaten.

I had never heard of Miles or Mahavishnu. I damn sure never heard anybody play drums like this, and never heard music like A Funky Thide of Sings before either. Despite the hip-pocket presence of the funky "Panhandler" and a quicksilver makeover of Keith Jarrett’s "Sorcerer" on side one, the bulk of the matter is resolved on the second half of this set with bassist Alex Blake, keyboard player Milcho Leviev, and guitarist John Scofield (on one of his first recordings), plus Randy and Michael Brecker (still relatively unheard of – and therefore still relatively cool – brothers at the time, I assure you).

One of those charts that still has me shaking my head in amazement, Randy’s "Some Skunk Funk" ends up a fuzzy, stinky blur, it’s so fast and full of funk. It’s clean, commercial sound flat blows the doors off much of what passes for modern, contemporary jazz radio; imagine, if you would, Earth Wind & Fire exercising a particularly inventive Weather Report workout. Cobham’s "A Funky Kind of Thing" is his nine-minute solo tour-de-force on drums, programs and synthesizers, the likes of which I had never heard. Melody on drums! Leviev’s titanic (twelve minute plus) "Moody Modes" presents a panoramic landscape full of color and wildlife – where the band prowls, stretches and roars – to close this expansive set.

Twenty years later, am I a different person from when I first heard this music? Or was I a different person then? One thing’s for sure: It was so cool getting to hear this music again, you know? It’s nice to remember the way things used to sound, when they sounded so electric and fresh and vital. So nice to feel that way again occasionally, too.