Buster Williams: Pinnacle

As if producer and archival sleuth Zev Feldman weren’t already busy enough unearthing lost jazz treasures, he has recently launched a new imprint, Time Traveler. A devoted collector in his own right, Feldman has turned his attention—at least initially—to the storied catalog of Muse Records. Founded in 1972 by Joe Fields, with significant contributions from Don Schlitten, Muse weathered the shifting tides of the industry for a quarter century. While portions of the catalog have resurfaced on CD over the years, Time Traveler now delivers these titles back to their intended analog format, marking their first vinyl reissues since the original pressings.

Following earlier Muse revivals featuring Roy Brooks, Carlos Garnett, Kenny Barron, Larry Young/Joe Chambers, and Woody Shaw, Buster Williams’ Pinnacle receives the Record Store Day treatment. This 1975 session is presented with care: mastering by Matt Lutthans, pressing at Optimal Media, a Stoughton tip-on jacket, and newly commissioned liner notes accompanied by a period photograph of Williams.

Recorded in the wake of Williams’ tenure with Herbie Hancock’s groundbreaking Mwandishi ensemble, Pinnacle carries forward many of that group’s exploratory, groove-oriented sensibilities. The expansive opener, “The Hump,” unfolds with a serpentine pulse, its bass clarinet textures and collective improvisation later finding new life through sampling by The Fugees and A Tribe Called Quest. Williams’ bass navigates the shifting Latin undercurrents of “Noble Ego,” enriched by wordless vocals and the percussive colors of Guilherme Franco. The title track closes side one with a striking, angular theme voiced by trumpet, saxophones, and ensemble vocals, with both Shaw and Sonny Fortune contributing concise but memorable solos.

Side two opens with the fluid, gliding lines of “Tayamisha,” where Williams’ melodic sensibility gives way to a firmly swinging feel. Fortune’s soprano cuts through with angular phrasing, while Onaje Allan Gumbs adds depth on acoustic piano, supported throughout by the responsive drumming of Billy Hart. Any notion that straight-ahead swing had fallen out of favor in the 1970s is quickly dispelled. The shimmering Rhodes textures of “Batuki” bring the session to a close, its laid-back funk underscored by Fortune’s luminous flute work and an especially commanding presence from Shaw’s trumpet.

Ultimately, Pinnacle stands as a vivid reminder of a fertile, often underappreciated period in jazz. With this thoughtfully produced reissue, Feldman once again makes a compelling case for revisiting the margins of the canon—where, more often than not, the real discoveries await.