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He Survived

Just a tribute to the great Sonny Rollins, whose birthday it is today. A true survivor of the 60s, and practically every other jazz legend of his generation (a genre not exactly renowned for the longevity of its greatest performers). Incredibly, at 81 he's in great shape and still plays damn well too. He's largely avoided commercial bandwagons or embarrassing attempts to woo the youth audience; sticking to a distinctively joyous style with quiet integrity throughout his very, very long career. Here's two clips from the 70s, where he does what he does better than anyone, refreshingly free of the stodgy/coke-addled/indulgent/rock-pandering/discofied/prog-bloated/cod-mystic/desperate 70s career moves that doomed so many jazz greats into unlistenable gatefold landfill. And anyone remaining so effortlessly cool over an acclaimed career spanning seven decades demands respect. Saxophone Colossus indeed...

Going Solo, Selling Out

An artist for whom 'Faustian' surely applies ('sell-out' back in the days when it actually meant something), George Benson was considered the world's greatest jazz guitarist during the 70s. Getting a considerable leg-up from his appearance on Miles Davis' Miles In The Sky he was in huge demand as a session player and solo performer; and managed to sell millions when jazz was either retreating into  avant-obscurantism, curating museum pieces, or shooting itself in the pedal with the increasingly absurd indulgences of 'fusion'. Around 1976 his highly complicated, deceptively accessible, playing became complemented by his rather nice voice (arguably imitating Stevie Wonder's imitation of Donny Hathaway). Radio programmers and pop audiences loved it. Scoring huge mainstream hits and radio play after Breezin' and tunes like the below, his career changed course to focus on his talents as a polished purveyor of pop-soul.

After this decisive career turn, the hits got blander and less convincing; and the guitar faded further back into the mix. Disco for the middle-aged isn't noted for its longevity. Like so many other pop-soul stars, he was barely resistant to the onslaught of Thriller and MTV. After the golden touch of Quincy Jones, platinum pop hits and Grammies (and shameful performances at apartheid Sun City) his reputation as one of the 70s greatest jazz musicians didn't quite recover. To mention his name now conjures dreadful memories of bland MOR disco-lite pap and dinner party naffness: Music for Mike Leigh characters. Returning to his real talent (and skin colour - 'lightening' being a worrying trend among 80s black pop stars) he still packs houses, but these days 'cool' or 'cutting edge' are rarely applied to Benson. Pop is a fickle beast, but I have to remind readers that as a jazz musician Benson was - and is - peerless. For that alone, he deserves his due. That broad showbiz smile only ever seemed convincing when he was letting rip on his guitar.

The Man Machine

A relatively obscure figure today, Jeff Beck was one of the great sonic pioneers of the late ‘60’s and early ‘70’s. Whereas for most musicians the possibilities of the electric guitar lay in its ability to conjure rebellion and carnal heat, Beck’s approach was coolly technical - he played the guitar like a precision machinist, as though it were a milling machine or a lathe. A notorious perfectionist, he once asked his record company to withdraw a released album from the shops so that he could add some more overdubs to the mix.

Beck first came to prominence as Eric Clapton’s replacement in The Yardbirds, and who, during his tenure, became the most aurally adventurous group of the pre-Hendrix era. Their masterpiece, "Happenings Ten Years Time Ago" was a modernist vortex that seemed to suggest almost endless possibilities, though it marked Beck’s departure before Mickie Most destroyed the band and Jimmy Page rebuilt it in his own image.

During 1967/68 Beck recruited his own group from the roster of established and up-and-coming musicians that constituted the British R'n'B scene, including Rod Stewart, Ron Wood, Nicky Hopkins, and even on occasions John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page and Keith Moon. The two albums he recorded with this first incarnation of the Jeff Beck Group, "Truth" and "Beck-Ola" were awesome explorations of the possibilities of stereophonic sound - the lost midpoint between early pioneers such as Joe Meek and Phil Spector and later dub magicians such as Lee Perry and King Tubby. His version of The Yardbirds’ "Shapes Of Things" is a veritable Spaghetti Junction of a recording, with great arches of phased guitar whizzing over the listener's head from every possible angle. "Beck’s Bolero" is similarly mindbending, alternating as it does between fuzzbox-distorted riffing and a clear, echoing slide guitar that recalls the vintage modernism of The Shadows or the soundtracks to Gerry Anderson shows.



"Beck-Ola" was heavier than "Truth", and is often cited as a precursor to heavy metal, but even amongst all the thunder, there’s a precision to the playing and the recording that is so characteristic of Beck’s work. Perhaps that is what is so anomalous about his music to post-punk attuned ears - the sounds that he created weren’t accidental to what he was intending - Beck left nothing to chance, and recorded exactly what he wanted to record, no matter how abstruse the original sounds in his head. Indeed, this is what separates us from all the early sound pioneers and renders them marginal and slightly kitsch: they had full authority over what they recorded, and so what they have bequeathed to us is rarely fortuitous, and can rarely be explained by the picaresque rock anecdote.



With the break-up of the original band, Beck formed a new group with a collection of virtuoso unknowns, and moved in the direction of jazz-rock. Although his music of this period is often criticised as being self-indulgent, my personal objection to it is the opposite - that it’s far too restrained and tasteful. That said, when they did rock out, the results could still be jaw-droppingly impressive. In truth, we are less likely to see another Beck than we are to see another Hendrix; the values of dedication, temperance and modesty being generally scorned. Nevertheless, if there are few post-war British musicians who really merit the attribution of the accolade of "genius", then Beck should really be considered amongst the foremost candidates.

Freak Out

Oliver Nelson was a musical giant who was unfortunate to live in an era of supergiants. Most famous for the classic cool jazz of "Stolen Moments" his music was all over the 1970's as incidental compostions for TV shows such as The Six Million Dollar Man, Columbo and Ironside, as well as arrangements for films such as Last Tango In Paris and records by the likes of James Brown, Nancy Wilson and The Temptations.



Nelson's life was largely one of incident-free dedication, being both a consummate professional and an educator who spent a great deal of his time in the practical teaching of music. He was one of the quiet but ceaselessly active backroom technicians who keep the cogs of the music industry turning, while drawing little attention to themselves and creating opportunities for others.



His last record before his tragic death of a heart attack in 1975 was "Skull Session", that took a wild new direction that was deeper out and farther in than even Miles Davis's fusion work. Its brain-frying stereo-panning synths anticipate the sci-fi gonzo rock of his fellow Los Angeleans Chrome. It's fascinating to speculate how Nelson's music could have evolved over the rest of the decade, perhaps succeeding in a true fusion of jazz, funk and rock that seemed to evade everybody else who tried it.