50 reasons why 1973 music rocks, Part 7: from Herbie to Hall & Oates
#40–45: Sublime soul albums from Al Green and Hall & Oates. And jazzy odysseys from ex-Miles Davis sidemen, Chick Corea, Herbie Hancock, John McLaughlin & Dave Holland.
As with rock, 1973 saw funk, jazz and soul maestros double up too.
The last of the great soul singers, Al Green, made two classics: Call Me and Livin’ For You.
Jazz pianist and revered composer Herbie Hancock mixed novel fusion flavours with the electrifying Sextant and funk masterpiece Head Hunters.
Keys wizard Chick Corea beguiled with the airy Light As A Feather and battered the senses with the far denser Hymn Of The Seventh Galaxy.
Meanwhile, The Wailers were already stirring up reggae as one of the era’s sound sensations with Catch A Fire and Burnin’.
But only one of these could make the final selection. Because a broader selection of musicians engenders greater diversity.
(Sadly I couldn’t find room for these albums from Barry White, Donald Byrd or Fela Kuti. Or Gladys Knight & The Pips, who delivered this trio.)
And you have to be ruthless to cut down from 66 to 11 albums representing such varied takes on the funk, jazz, R&B, reggae and soul scenes.
Now let’s enjoy this classy half-dozen, starting with the legendary Al Green.
40. Al Green — Call Me
Fame came calling for Al Green when he finally found his own voice.
Memphis record producer Willie Mitchell discovered him in a floundering soul group and hired him to sign with his own band in 1969.
On the strength of Green’s vocals, Mitchell signed him to Hi Records and became his mentor, coaching him to find his unique soul flavour.
Modest success arrived in 1971 with Gets Next To You, thanks to the bluesy shuffle remake of The Temptations’ #1 smash I Can’t Get Next To You.
But follow-up album Let’s Stay Together changed the game completely.
Opening with the title track, one of the greatest soul songs of all-time, its iconic status cemented two decades later on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack.
And continuing with a string of exquisitely crafted, flawlessly executed R&B pearlers, all gleaming with the lustrous timbre of Green’s tender rasp.
The album’s reputation rests on another standout.
With the Hi Rhythm Section’s compelling groove, Green elevates the Bee Gees’ sublime How Can You Mend A Broken Heart to rarefied heights.
Because of that voice.
One that caresses all the pain we feel in those love songs, each cadence an empathic hug serving us a nourishing balm of soul.
And Green was only just getting started.
For his second masterpiece of 1972 lay just around the corner.
I’m Still In Love With You boasted three classic singles: the title track, Love & Happiness and Look What You Done For Me.
And the slick drum skills on I’m Glad Your Mine created their own legacy, appearing on two decade-delineating tracks of the 1990s.
Trip-hop quad Massive Attack’s floor-quaking Five Man Army and The Notorious B.I.G.’s posthumous single Dead Wrong.
As 1973 approached, Green was already laying down what became his third soul sensation in a row.
Call Me can make a claim to be a career-best, cushioned by Green’s intimate inflections, producer Mitchell’s assured studio touches and stellar backing.
Like the tasteful guitar and wistful strings of Call Me (Come Back Home).
That yearning vocal harmony in Have You Been Making Out O.K.’s plea for another chance.
Those strident, proud horns in Stand Up’s clarion call for self-reliance.
But most of all it abounds with gorgeous songs heavy with heartbreak and regret.
Whether from Green’s own pen or his soulful renditions of songs from country legends Hank Williams and Willie Nelson.
And album closer Jesus Is Waiting’s message of religious salvation gave a hint of Green’s future direction.
But personal tragedy the following year convinced him to turn towards gospel music.
His girlfriend Mary Woodson scalded him with a pot of grits while he was taking a shower, then fled and shot herself dead with his gun.
Green was burned so badly he spent several months in hospital, and the traumatic incident opened a new chapter in his life.
As the 1970s drew to a close amid declining popularity, he became an ordained minister, returning to the faith inculcated in him as a child.
Taking an on-stage accident to be a sign from God, he withdrew from the public eye to focus on the church and gospel music.
Yet his legendary status and the lure of the spotlight tempted him back to pop music.
His undimmed talent and star power netted him a Grammy award and induction into Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame.
Fitting tributes indeed for the last of the great soul singers.
41. Chick Corea & Return To Forever — Light As A Feather
One of a supreme quartet of post-Coltrane era jazz pianists, Chick Corea made his accomplished debut with the 1966 set Tones For Joan’s Bones.
That quintet’s work only emerged in April 1968, right after he’d recorded follow-up Now He Sings, Now He Sobs in a trio with drum titan Roy Haynes.
Both hard-bop recordings established Corea as an exciting talent, one who quickly caught the attention of boundary-pushing bandleader Miles Davis.
Soon Corea had appeared on two cuts of Filles de Kilimanjaro and the pioneering electric jazz of In A Silent Way and Bitches Brew.
Next he swerved into the avant-garde in Circle, a trio that planted gnarly thickets of sound, later entangled with Anthony Braxton’s frantic reeds.
So maybe it came as a surprise when his next project embraced warm Latin flavours on Return To Forever in 1972.
But Corea knew he needed to become more accessible, to play music that people would “carry home with them after they leave the gig”.
That tropical-hued album launched the superstar career of bassist Stanley Clarke, anchoring what would soon become a jazz-fusion juggernaut.
Yet Corea’s first incarnation floated, free and airy, with buoyant flute and sax from Joe Farrell, and intoxicating infusions from a Brazilian couple.
Jazz singer Flora Purim and her husband, percussionist Airto Moreira, had escaped Brazil’s repressive regime after her protest songs were banned.
And their sense of freedom imbued Return For Forever with an anticipation and wonder that Corea’s skills on Fender Rhodes heightened even further.
The same quintet coalesced on sequel Light As A Feather, which sings with heavenly melodies amid tinges of Samba and Flamenco.
You’re Everything starts as a duet between Corea’s gleaming runs and Purim’s sultry voice before a brisk, irresistible Samba rhythm kicks in.
Brooding syncopation ushers in the title track ahead of an extended improv section of Clarke’s quicksilver walking bass and compelling grooves.
Now if your body isn’t swaying and your feet aren’t tapping by this point, then please: check your pulse!
Rapid Samba vibes return on Captain Marvel with florid flute and Corea’s spiralling solos entwining themselves around syncopated rhythms.
And it would be no exaggeration to suggest that 500 Miles High may induce a touch of altitude-inspired headiness amid all the dazzling interplay.
The short, more abstract instrumental of Children’s Song serves as a palate cleanser for the finale, perhaps the ultimate finale of jazz fusion albums.
Spain wears its Flamenco influence elegantly, with an adagio from Joaquín Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez.
Yet soon you’ll be galvanised with infectious clapping and gorgeous, nimble melodies as your body Samba-dances with delight.
It remains one of Corea’s best known songs, but he quickly left behind such majestic beauty.
The influence of John McLaughlin’s ferocious Mahavishnu Orchestra ensemble had inspired him to strike out in a more robust direction.
With Stanley Clarke returning on bass, and debutants Bill Connors on guitar and Lenny White on drums, Corea pitched for jazz-rock stardom.
And the mind-bending Hymn Of The Seventh Galaxy saw them blast off the launchpad a few months later, heading inexorably for the stars.
42. Daryl Hall & John Oates — Abandoned Luncheonette
Hall & Oates have been delighting fans across the decades with a discography rich in pop, soft rock and soul music.
But recently they became embroiled in a bitter legal dispute about selling the rights to their music, leaving a sour taste to their legacy.
Rewind 55 years to when the duo first met in more frenetic circumstances.
Picture a battle of the bands at the Adelphi Ballroom in Philadelphia, 1967. Darryl Hall heads up the Temptones, while John Oates rules The Masters.
Suddenly gunfire erupts between rival gangs and, fleeing the mayhem, Hall & Oates find themselves squeezed into an elevator.
The rest is history.
They finally became a musical duo in 1969, but struggled to find their definitive sound, starting out with some tentative folk-rock demos.
Yet their 1972 debut album Whole Oats contained some real promise as producer Arif Mardin tried to bring out their R&B influences.
And their follow-up, Abandoned Luncheonette, remains an under-appreciated classic perfecting their signature blend of soft rock and soul.
For the first time the duo’s vocal styles and songwriting skills unify in heavenly matrimony.
Right from the easy groove and those soaring Eagles harmonies on first track When The Morning Comes.
While the bittersweet tang of regret and missed opportunities has rarely sounded so delicious on Had I Known You Better Then.
And these set us up for album highlight She’s Gone, a stealthy opening of muted melancholy that builds into an irresistible, inconsolable chorus.
But the album’s centrepiece uses the evocative imagery of an abandoned luncheonette as a tale of contrasts.
Between people who move on with their lives and those who give up and stay put: a metaphor for lives slowly abandoned in the passage of time.
Also memorable is the how the album draws to an experimental close.
First, Hall’s unusual progressions catch the ear in ballad Laughing Boy.
Then final track Everytime I Look At You juxtaposes coiled funk verses with an expansive coda featuring banjo and fiddle.
These intriguing edges make for an album that rewards repeated listening with even richer experiences.
And it paved the way for the imperial phase of Hall & Oates from the late 1970s through to the early 1980s.
43. Dave Holland — Conference Of The Birds
British double bassist Dave Holland was virtually unknown until 1968, when Miles Davis saw him in an opening act at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club.
After two whirlwind weeks, Holland had flown to New York and become part of Davis’s band as he was taking jazz electric.
On In A Silent Way, Holland had played acoustic bass in an unobtrusive manner, wholly in service to all those swirling soundscapes.
And after Bitches Brew, ex-Stevie Wonder bassist Michael Henderson had replaced him as Davis searched for deeper funk grooves.
So Holland stretched out in more demanding directions, carving out savage walking basslines on the free-jazz maelstrom of Where Fortune Smiles.
With Chick Corea he hurtled into the avant-garde in Circle, featuring drummer Barry Altschul and sax firebrand Anthony Braxton.
And in 1973 he assembled a freewheeling quartet comprising Altschul, Braxton and woodwind wizard Sam Rivers for his studio debut.
Conference Of The Birds as a title conjures up choruses of avian melodies, and that’s exactly what greeted Holland outside his flat every morning.
Taking mellifluous birdsong as their inspiration, this quartet soar and dive like an arcing, twisting flock tracing hypnotic patterns in the air.
44. Herbie Hancock — Head Hunters
Ask jazz fans for the era’s greatest pianists, and you’ll be guaranteed that four names will crop up time and again.
Chick Corea, Keith Jarrett, McCoy Tyner and Herbie Hancock.
(OK, maybe Bill Evans too, but that’s a debate for another time.)
Each had their own style, and Hancock’s lay in elegant chordal approaches, like a magician shuffling the deck and dealing hands in a mesmeric flurry.
Hancock was already an accomplished composer and performer before coming of age in the Miles Davis Second Great Quintet in 1965.
When Davis went electric in 1969, Hancock had resumed his solo career, moving increasingly towards fusion with Mwandishi, Crossings and Sextant.
On Head Hunters, his 12th solo album, Hancock embraced funk with a new rhythm section: drummer Harvey Mason and electric bassist Paul Jackson.
Bennie Maupin, a seasoned sideman from the Mwandishi sextet, returned to lay down woodwind timbres via sax, bass clarinet and alto flute.
And new percussionist Bill Summers infused an ethnic flavour with instruments like the agogô, balafon, cabasa, shekere, surdo and slit drum.
Hancock plants his flag firmly on funk territory with the mighty Chameleon, an epic juggernaut that opens with that iconic 12-note synth bass riff.
But just when that starts to feel repetitive, it swerves off-key and into a swinging extended improv full of bravura performances.
It’s one of the most compelling passages of jazz funk you’ll hear, thanks to telepathic dynamics from one-take players at the top of their game.
The whole piece comes full circle with a return to that confident strut and a final funky breakdown to round off a freewheeling, breathless journey.
Perhaps the best-known track is his radical remake of Watermelon Man, with a hindewhu-inspired intro and outro.
This style of singing mixed with whistle-playing formed a key part of life for Central African pygmy tribes, announcing the return from a hunt.
Summers blew into beer bottles to imitate this evocative sound, which you can hear on ethnomusicology album The Music of the Ba-Benzélé Pygmies.
And the track luxuriates in laidback funk arrangements, punctuated with Jackson’s trio of major-tenth double stops creeping up chromatically.
Hancock’s Sly tribute to Sylvester Stewart erupts in a series of startling riffs interspersed with uncanny passages of cowed yet restless grooves.
But the intrigue doesn’t last.
Pretty soon the entire piece blows wide open with a torrent of hectic solos, perhaps alluding to Sly Stone’s well-documented caprices.
The album concludes with the simmering staccato funk of Vein Melter, drifting along on a reverie buoyed with layers of ethereal synth.
Hancock followed Head Hunters, which became the first ever jazz album to go platinum, with Thrust in 1974 featuring Mike Clark’s unorthodox beats.
And he spent the rest of the 1970s cementing his superstar status with a series of ever more commercial jazz-funk albums and live recordings.
45. Mahavishnu Orchestra — Birds Of Fire
Now arguably jazz fusion peaked in the early 1970s, before it became too stale and schmaltzy.
And at the vanguard in 1971 were supergroup Mahavishnu Orchestra.
Their leader John McLaughlin was an English guitarist renowned for dazzling technique and ferocious chordal slabs of proto-heavy metal.
He’d played with the cream of the mid-60s UK jazz and R&B musicians: Alexis Korner, Georgie Fame and GBO with Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker.
And he gave guitar lessons to Jimmy Page, focusing on advanced harmony and jazz chords.
As a new decade turned, he became even more prolific, releasing a string of distinctive solo albums.
From his lively jazz fusion debut Extrapolation, via the meandering acid rock of Devotion, to the Indian influences of My Goal’s Beyond.
While getting involved in trailblazing ensembles.
Like the raw jazz-rock juggernaut Emergency! with The Tony Williams Lifetime and the freewheeling Where Fortune Smiles.
And biggest of all, his key part in his hero Miles Davis’s electric fusion sound on four essential studio albums between 1969 and 1972.
Augmenting textures on In A Silent Way, Bitches Brew’s roiling funk stew, the pugilistic Tribute To Jack Johnson and On The Corner’s turbid currents.
His experiences with Miles Davis taught him how to lead a band, “directing without directing”.
Enhanced via his embrace of Indian spirituality, following the teachings of Sri Chinmoy, who gave him the name Mahavishnu.
Which became his new band’s moniker: Maha meaning great in Sanskrit and Vishnu referring to the Hindu deity.
Now he needed a supreme calibre of sidemen to realise his vision.
Enter drumming powerhouse Billy Cobham, who played with McLaughlin on his 1971 solo album My Goal’s Beyond. As did violinist Jerry Goodman.
On keys he recruited Jan Hammer, who became much more widely known in the 1980s with Miami Vice Theme and Crockett’s Theme.
And old acquaintance Rick Laird, who was house bass player at Ronnie Scott’s Jazz Club, finally answered McLaughlin’s call.
This diverse quintet established their groove with several gigs before making their coruscating debut Inner Mounting Flame in August 1971.
Right from the incendiary opening Meeting Of The Spirits, which sets up a heady brew of blazing virtuoso performances and more reflective pieces.
Keeping alive the creative spark, the band were soon laying down the breathtaking and fierce Birds Of Fire in the late summer of 1972.
As soon as you hear the opening gong and that doom-laden 18/8 riff, you know you’re in for a wild ride on the relentless, seesawing title track.
And an even more mind-boggling time signature can be found on the 19/16 terrain of Celestial Terrestrial Commuters.
Yes this is music to sit in awe of, rather than dance to. Unless you want twisted blood. Best to just settle for twisted brain cells.
And you can’t help but be in thrall to the musicianship on display.
From Cobham’s lithe drumming and Laird’s scurrying fretwork via Hammer’s florid ripples to the duelling riffs of McLaughlin and Goodman.
Combustible components in ordinary circumstances, but sudden fame and an exhausting touring schedule then set ablaze the band’s relationships.
They abandoned a third studio album in the summer of 1973 and split up shortly afterwards as recriminations swirled in the music press.
