John Coltrane

What one heard in 2019

In 2019, one heard a lot of music across multiple genres. Aside from intently focused or plain distracted home listening, one spent a considerable amount of time listening to music on headphones while commuting to and from work. Even though one definitely discovered new and engaging music in 2019, one was unable to come up with a top ten list of favorite albums actually released in 2019. Maybe one is not too big on year-end lists anyways. Be that as it may, one hopes you readers out there find your groove in this random selection and take a listen to some of the music.

January confirmed one’s relatively new interest in electronic music and its interactions with jazz, namely Mark Guiliana’s Beat Music and Brad Mehldau’s Gabriel. One was reminded that one had liked (for the most part) and been pleasantly surprised by their collaboration on Mehliana a few years back, an album of kindred spirits.  

February was bass month as double bassist Larry Grenadier released his first bass solo album The Gleaners on ECM, a musical event – one being a bass practitioner – one just couldn’t miss that one and had to dig deep into it once it was available. Though a longtime devotee, one was impressed with the scope of Grenadier’s bold project and how well he delivered on that promise. Bass is not just beautiful. In those hands, it approaches the transcendent.

In March, one went on a John Coltrane transcribing binge but mostly indulged oneself in idle listening to favorite masterpieces, including A Love Supreme, Sun Ship and Transition. One was reminded – if one needed to be reminded – of the lasting and timeless qualities of this divine music. French quartet Flash Pig also put out a great record in 2019, with the appropriately titled Year of the Pig. In March, one also dipped into the Carpenters for a week and wondered why the innocuous schmaltz of saccharine pop still somehow appeals to one’s ears. One assumes it’s about the harmony and Karen’s angelic voice.

April saw a deliberate urge to acknowledge women artists and feminize one’s male-centric Spotify downloads. As in most art, there are just as many great women in music as there are men but it takes twice as much effort to track them down online. One particularly enjoyed listening to guitarist Mary Halvorson’s Code Girl, pianist Kris Davis’ discography as leader and sidewoman, Angelica Sanchez on drummer Chad Taylor’s Circle Down album, and Angelika Niescier’s New York trio. On the more swinging front, one appreciated (and still does) the work of bassist/vocalist Katie Thiroux. One has probably forgotten a few more.

In May, one was turned on to singer Gabriel Kahane, about whom one knew nothing. Kahane has written some poignant songs, as epitomized by his Book of Travelers album, where he accompanies his short stories on piano. In May, one also set out to fill a gap in one’s knowledge of Stravinsky’s ballets russes. Accordingly, one listened and daydreamed to various renditions of Appolon Musagète, Firebird, and The Rite of Spring. One also checked out Tim Hecker’s follow-up to Konoyo, namely Anoyo, and enjoyed the ride.

What the hell did one listen to in June? Not knowing where to look, one assumes one played one’s musical obsessions on a loop. Somehow one only remembers listening to Armand Hammer’s Paraffin on a crowded subway ride, wondering how to search for good hip hop when one has lost touch with the state of rap these days.

One highlight of July has to be a drive through Pennsylvania’s pastoral countryside with very dear friends, and that moment when Bill Callahan’s Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest came on. Just perfect. One thinks one revisited Eric Revis’ City of Asylum and Crowded Solitudes at some point that month.

One is positive one listened to music on a daily basis in August. But one is equally positive one didn’t discover anything new or catch up on any new release. One probably kept the same music on rotation. With Bach’s cello suites and keyboard inventions a comforting touchstone.

September flew by but one really enjoyed the Stranahan, Rosato Zaleski trio’s Live at the Jazz Standard. What a great chemistry these three have. In a different style, one latched on to the trio of Reid Anderson (of The Bad Plus fame), Dave King (same) and Craig Taborn and their outfit Golden Valley is Now. Wow, one sure didn’t see that one comin’!  And so one had to review it here.

In October, the highly awaited Activate Infinity by the Bad Plus came out. The second one since Orrin Evans replaced Ethan Iverson on piano. Up there with everything they’ve done so far. October also brings the Fall season and – out of nowhere – Ivo Pogorelich playing a selection of Sonatas by Beethoven and Rachmaninoff came on the radio. One immediately checked out the full album. A timely and inspired offering.

In November, one reveled in the power of the bass, as one would. One stumbled on the duo of Scott Colley and Benjamin Koppel. Their album How to get there is as good as this kind of dialogue can get. Also, one got to listen to Chris Speed, Chris Tordini and Dave King’s Respect For Your Toughness (reviewed here) a lot. One saw this trio live and vividly remembers it. One will definitely look out for the next adventure.

In December, one chanced upon Arvo Pärt’s The Deer’s Cry, as performed by the Vox Clamantis ensemble (ECM) and was sucked into its choral beauty. While one listened to other music that month, this one probably tops anything else in peacefulness and lyricism.

Of course, one took some detours through some old-time favorites and heard a lot more than is featured here. But off the top of one’s head, this is it.

Who knows what one will be listening to in 2020?  How weird can the pronoun “one” get?

A complex emotion

How did you come to jazz? To this question, I often find myself scratching my head and typically settle on a vague answer only made more vague by an impulsively apologetic shrug. “Well, you know, it just happened”. There was never any kind of jazz-related music playing around the house and even my childhood piano lessons didn’t put the genre on my radar the whole time I took them. It wasn’t exactly frowned upon or disregarded by my circle of friends and relatives. It simply didn’t exist. The closest I ever got to an awareness of the music growing up was a scuffed compilation CD of Glenn Miller my parents had left sitting on a dusty bookshelf in the living room. How did it get there in the first place? I will never know. As I moved into my late teens, I picked out a Coltrane retrospective CD while shopping with my parents at a grocery store in my hometown in France. I remember it had the song Russian Lullaby on it, the last track. I had never heard anything played with so much intensity and fire, at that breakneck speed. And no amp or savvy production to give it a boost. What the heck is this, I thought. This beat is infectiously fast! Is this humanly possible? From here on out, I went on a Coltrane binge – mostly the late and supposedly less accessible recordings – that didn’t leave much room for any other jazz artist or other music style for a while. After wearing out Stellar Regions and the Live at the Village Vanguard sessions – which ripped apart any sense of metronomic stability – I worked my way back through the earlier records and slowly gravitated toward the more straight-up swinging jazz I had only had a glimpse of before at the time. That’s when Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue caught my attention. Low and behold, it had my new hero on it, blowing his heart out on every tune. So, it is possible to make a truly distinctive and individual statement  in the most collective setting one can think of, I mused. Thus began my sinuous initiation to this thing called jazz. Twenty years down the road and a new instrument to practice – the double bass – I’m still struggling to define the contours of the art form. There are times when I just can’t take the polyphonic quality of some of the music and  go into a jazz-free regimen for days, only playing rap, classical and what not,  or no music at all.  Jazz can be overwhelming as complex emotions are.

I guess that’s where I’m getting at with his post.

As much as I have denied it defensively for years, I came to realize that yes, jazz is complex.  But complexity is not a sanctuary for intellectuals or an elitist class of the Enlightened. Human emotions are complex. To me, when played sincerely, jazz is the epitome of a complex human emotion, one that ties the cerebral to the elemental seamlessly. At the risk of overstating the point, we all have something jazz inside us. Sure, the term originated under unfavorable auspices. As the BAM (Black American Movement) controversy made abundantly clear, the word jazz itself is morally problematic when we look at its racist and derogatory beginnings. It’s no wonder, then, that most jazz lovers and haters are still fairly opinionated about where to draw the line between jazz and non jazz, not realizing that this line has never been and will never be scored in indelible ink.

To me, the difficulty of defining the genre is a testament to its cultural importance, enduring appeal and vital energy. It will not be pigeonholed because it has change, difference and human interaction at its core. I’ve always been struck by the fact that in the early days of the nascent jazz idiom – predominantly in the music of New Orleans – performers often played over each other and rarely got a solo spot to shine. They all soloed together simultaneously,  so to speak. Yet it was the combination of individual talents that shaped and guided the overall sound of the band. In that way, people like Louis Armstrong  or Duke Ellington clearly deserve the jazz originators label that they usually get credit for. Their music served as a catalyst of the marriage of Black folk culture and European classical-inspired white America.

Ask your friends if they listen to any jazz and the handful of those who do will likely mention a couple of classics from the 60s but probably nothing past this golden age of the music. I understand that, that’s what I started listening to when I was first turned on to it. It’s probably harder to know where to look for jazz artists today as the music is stylistically more varied than it was sixty years ago, and paradoxically a lot more accessible, just a click away on social media or the Internet in general. Yet, in this day and age of hip hop, pop or other-infused jazz, even today’s up and coming artists always have some kind of connection to these foundational roots, however unconsciously buried they may seem to be. 

Since this is a place where I should recommend things, I’d like to share some of the relatively recent releases that I have been listening to over the last year or so. Inevitably, they reflect my personal inclination but hopefully also the diverse range of music that today’s  “jazz” artists are creating. Jazz alert: the styles range from the post-post-post (are there more?) bop vernacular to plain esoteric stuff. As guitarist Bill Frisell simply puts it on his recent solo album, Music Is, “music IS”.

If any of you out there reading this wants to share their story of how they encountered jazz and how they look upon the music, I’d be very happy to feature their story as a guest post on wellyouneedit. So, fire away.

Matt Brewer  Mythology

Brad Mehldau   Gabriel

Flash Pig Year of the Pig

Andrew Cyrille Quartet  The Declaration of Musical Independence

Bill Frisell  Thomas Morgan  Small Town

Craig Taborn   Daylight Ghosts

Eric Revis  Sing Me Some Cry

Glenn Zaleski    My Ideal

Mary Halvorson   Code Girl

The Bad Plus  Never Stop II

Mark Guiliana  Quartet   Jersey

Etc…

ON TRANSCRIBING JAZZ AND THE REWARDS REVEALED THEREIN

bass and headphones

There are many lessons to learn from transcribing your favorite jazz musicians. It turns out that I’ve been on a saxophone transcribing binge lately, which I hope will not go away too soon. Or better still, I hope it will effectively become part of my day-to-day practice routine if I can put in the time and energy.

As any musician knows, jazz is a lifelong apprenticeship in many ways. You’ve got to learn the trade through hard work and patience and that’s that. Instrumentally speaking, it’s always been about intent listening, copying the masters, and incorporating whatever exciting or relatable stuff into one’s creative imagination. Your most insightful theory books on bebop harmony or modal language, however valuable they may be, have nothing on delving into someone’s creative mind and going through the spur-of-the moment process.

Now, I have to admit, the task has always seemed daunting to me, and the whole notation process so unforgivingly tedious. Time is tight, there’s so much stuff to practice, so many things that need work, errands to run, groceries to pick up, hell, a life to live, why bother to break down Coltrane’s solo on, say “Body and Soul”. Sure, it’s unbelievably searing, beautiful and just absolutely fantastic but you’re never going to sound like him. But here’s the flip side that hit me like a ton of bricks recently. Deep listening is worthwhile, and the consequences are profound.

You have to hear the music first, to absorb it thoroughly into you brain and body so that it becomes your natural pulse. And then, you write it down if you want to keep it on file for later use. You might want to go back to it later on, and that’s where notating the notes comes in. But other than that, it’s the hearing that matters. When you start being able to sing a phrase and internalize it so much that it feels like you created it in the first place, the rewards are pretty amazing. Before you even come to that point when you want to break it down and analyze the heck out of it, you want to hear the thinking, the vibe, the intuitive process, you want to feel and breathe as one with the improviser. To achieve that, you have to listen hard, very intently, over and over again.

As a bass player, transcribing 40 seconds of a saxophone solo makes life very challenging but worth living! It pushes you way out of your comfort zone and forces you to reach the limits of your own physicality. Of course, the immediate payoff is that you build your chops, get around this cumbersome instrument more easily and develop your articulation in a very exhilarating setting. For a few seconds, you play the trumpet like Miles Davis, piano like Thelonious Monk, and saxophone like John Coltrane. Except, you’re doing that on bass, not the easiest instrument for big intervallic jumps and fast runs. Delivery, hand speed, left and right arm coordination, intonation, rhythmic foundation, time feel, all of these are brought into sharp focus and any sloppy move will get you thrown off track in no time. It’s an ordeal to get it right.

Over the last few days, I’ve been trying to cop Coltrane’s opening statement/solo on “Resolution”, from the classic A Love Supreme record. What the hell has gotten into me? Why not pick a bass solo? There are so many inventive bass players these days to get ideas from. Well, the title is self-explanatory. I wanted to get “inside” that resolution. As an atheist, Trane’s love anthem to God has always moved me profoundly. That deceptively simple line, stated three times after Garrison’s rumbling double stop bass intro, has such an uplifting power it can get you out of your chair on the crappiest day.

Try to nail a saxophone phrase on upright bass without stumbling and see how that feels. I dare you. Before you know it, your hands are racing around the bass and tendinitis is just around the corner if you don’t hold your horses. Believe me, my sporadic morning jogs are a joke compared to the sweat I’m burning off on this. It took me about 10 hours of intense listening and practice to figure out Trane’s phrase right after the opening statement. Another 5 hours to be able to play it through, and that’s still a little choppy. About four seconds of music and countless hours of deep listening later and I’m still debating what fingering works best for that line. To my credit, I’m not using any phone app or transcription computer software that can slow down a piece of music for analytical purposes. So I plug in the headphones and listen, pause, go back, play, pause, listen, over and over again. And I haven’t written one note down yet.

What I think I’m doing though is that I’m tuning into the idea, the intention, the pulse, the drive, the rhythm, the tone, the feeling. The soul. In other words, I’m slowly starting to speak Coltrane’s language, much like I learned to write and speak English. I heard it, liked it, and decided to learn it. Ultimately, the goal is not to break out your Coltrane phrase on your next gig to impress your peers– though it may come up unwittingly – but to channel your influences beyond the natural parameters of your instrument. I doubt I will ever get through the entire Trane solo without impairing my chest and hands permanently but attempting and somehow managing to get a few bars down satisfies my soul beyond words. It’s not just about bass. It’s not just about virtuosity. It’s about expanding your creative horizons by incorporating something apparently impervious to imitation. To use a linguistic analogy, it feels like you’re piecing together a sentence in a language you don’t master yet. When does the sentence begin? When does it end? Is there an ascending or descending pattern in the tone? What kind of verbal process is used here? Do we have a relative clause that links disparate ideas together with well-placed commas, a kind of question and answer phrasing or do we hear a linear movement propelled by one powerful phrasal verb? How does the discourse (the melody) lay in the rhythm? It’s a tighly cohesive band. Everything is organically and beautifully integrated. Stunning. As I fumble my way through Coltrane’s “Resolution”, a melodic line based on an open-ended Eb minor scale, I discovered, I’m exploring a variety of fingerings I didn’t think were possible on the bass. Here’s another reward right there. I get to explore new territory on the fingerboard. Whether or not I will ever use those fingerings again in my own playing is unclear. It will probably depend on how many more hours of diligent practice will be needed for them to feel natural or make sense for one particular song that requires fast and clean execution. But beyond all that, what started off as an ear training exercise has become a more noble endeavor. I’m blowing fragments of a saxophone improvisation by one if not the greatest creator on the instrument, but I’m doing it by pushing air through weathered wood with my fingers.

The greatest lesson – or more accurately the most compelling reminder – I get from this workout is that to play fast successfully, you have to slow everything way down in your mind and body, be able to hear the punctuation, adjust your heartbeat to a snail’s pace, catch your breath in the little silences and imagine you have all the time in the world. For lack of a greater purpose, that’s enough to make my day.

 

The eternal John Coltrane quartet on Resolution

 

PS: My shot at Trane’s opening statement will probably appear on my Low Spectrum Instagram page when I have 40 seconds of listenable bass music together. Check back soon if you’re curious.

BEYOND JAZZ RECORDS

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Put it this way: if jazz is dead, it does a great job resuscitating. The deluge of releases by a groundbreaking cast of emerging and accomplished talents is so astounding it makes records reviewing feel like a Sisyphean task. Everywhere you turn, a new gem sprouts. Yours truly has learned it the hard way. Whenever I get around to reviewing a new favorite of mine, I realize it has already been extensively reviewed, blogged about and shared on social media on a massive scale. And a month ago…Fair enough. At least the music does get talked about. But it is really the place where it’s happening? At its core, jazz is live music. At the risk of sounding sanctimonious, this is an important no-brainer to keep in mind when evaluating the quality of this music.

My point is this. No matter what label you want to put on it – and there is no shortage of post-bopisms out there – there is something about the essence and evolution of jazz that transcends its documentation on record. And that is the element of surprise that’s anchored in the art form and that appears so blatantly when you go hear musicians perform live. You can hear that on albums of course, especially the live ones. But at best they’re only a one-night snapshot of a much more eventful process, a process of mutability that doesn’t have anything to do with studio production but instead with the varying levels of inspiration and interaction happening during a collective performance. How does the drummer choose to drive the music, are they playing behind, on or ahead of the beat? How fast does the band react if one member stumbles? Is the piano comping during the sax player’s solo? Does that interfere with the solo? In a good or bad way? Is everyone improvising collectively in the moment or taking solos in turn? How effective is the drum and bass connection? Etc. On records, whether or not the wrong notes, the skipped beats, the fluffed starts, the misunderstandings in the form, the solo overlaps, and the whole range of unpredictable twists and turns will be left in the final mix is a matter of production discussion. Oftentimes, producers choose the polished sound over the rough edges of human imperfection. Pick an old classic from the 60s and enjoy all the kinks. It’s really fun and educational to hear the masters fumble their way through their art and get away with it. It humanizes their artistry. Has Miles Davis’ enormous contribution to jazz ever been questioned because he played wrong notes? Put on any record by Miles from any period and there is at least one big glitch, often intentional in his case as the man was reportedly temperamental.

I’m no nostalgist for a bygone era I wasn’t even born to experience. I didn’t go hear Coltrane and co stretch out for 35 minutes on “My Favorite Things” in a smoke-infested club or Monk breaking into dance during bass solos. In a sense, yes, that era of jazz is gone. That nighttime club culture is dead. Replaced by a lounge-oriented culture that too often misrepresents the art form as background mush it never was and never will be. So there’s solace in having this music available on tape as it provides a time capsule of a bygone era, in all its glorious and occasionally embellished mythology. I also acknowledge the invaluable sonic and graphic contributions that definitely helped sell jazz to the general public. The bulky catalogues of original and reissued Blue Notes and Impulses are the treasure trove of the art form. Thank you Rudy Van Gelder for acknowledging Elvin Jones’ genius with that beautifully crisp ride cymbal.

Like most aficionados, I love Kind of Blue, A Love Supreme or Money Jungle and consider them sublime works of art in their own right. I cherish my copies like the collector’s items that they are. But at the end of the day, they are only the tip of the iceberg. Compare those records with their recorded live renditions when they exist and it’s not even the same music. Consider this: how many nights have the masters played amazingly well to utterly inattentive audiences and produced music that makes their resulting albums look like tepid rehearsals? Records have a way of taming down the music sometimes. At any rate, they will never convey the full picture of the precarious art of live improvisation. Don’t get me wrong, they need to exist and be heard – and the Internet has helped tremendously to make them more widely and easily accessible – but if there is still such a thing as “jazz”, it’s happening on the bandstand, not in the museum.

Enough ranting. You got the point.

For your interest, let me give you two examples to illustrate what I’ve been rambling on about. It occurred to me on a train ride recently. On “Evidence” off the live album Monk At the It Club, drummer Ben Riley finishes his solo after which time Monk is supposed to restate the theme (the melody if you prefer). That’s how classic jazz is done. Head-chorus-head. Well, what Monk plays at this critical moment (the song please!) is the melody of another Monk tune, “Straight No Chaser”. When I heard this I almost jumped off my seat with laughter. I could just imagine the band exchanging puzzled looks and wondering how in the world they are going to take the tune out. Luckily they segue back into “Evidence” pretty seamlessly. Phew! Now, put on the blues “Sid’s Ahead” from Miles Davis’ Milestones. And pity the poor Paul Chambers, who, along with Philly Joe Jones’ indestructible hit-hat shuffle, has been bravely chopping down thumping quarter notes like a diligent lumberjack through Miles, Coltrane and Cannonball’s solos respectively, wondering when the hell he will be able to take his spot. He tries repeatedly, and sure enough 12 more bars follow. Listen to how he almost makes it, at the 8:10 mark, and shoot!, it’s not now yet, Paul! Jazz can be merciless.

These examples may sound esoteric, anecdotal and not even funny at all to the uninitiated, but they’re at the core of what makes this music so engaging and unpredictable.

So yes, today’s major jazz artists release well though-out, nicely produced records by the ton but the sad truth is they are not selling! Sure, we have to keep those albums coming and people need to keep buying them. But if today’s jazz performers have any chance to survive in an increasingly competitive market, with young kids coming out of schools with kick-ass chops, there needs to me more venues to hear them perform. The masters of the past had a tough time living off their art, for different reasons. It’s always been hard. Today is a different kind of hard. Ideally, we should check out the music live and buy the records afterward. What a peculiar irony that jazz seems to be everywhere, except where it should be. On a bandstand. We only need to look a little harder to find them (the bandstands!).

References:

Thelonious Monk, Live at the It Club (Columbia), “Evidence”

Miles Davis, Milestones (Columbia), “Sid’s Ahead”

For contradiction’s sake, here is a short list of albums you and I should be checking out now:

Matana Roberts, Coin Coin Chapter Three, River Run Thee (Constellation). Jazz is clearly a reductive term for the multi-talented artist. Matana Roberts keeps weaving her “panoramic soundquilt” on her third installment. A fascinating agenda.

Vijay Iyer Trio (with Stephen Crump and Marcus Gilmore), Break Stuff. No drawn-out soloing here. But a potent rhythmic machine that keeps pushing ahead.

Mark Turner quartet (with Avishai Cohen, Joe Martin and Marcus Gimore) Lathe of Heaven (ECM): Same drummer, very different music. Cohen’s trumpet is the perfect lyrical match for Turner’s approach.

Matthew Shipp Trio (with Michael Bisio and Whit Dickey) To Duke (Rogue Art)Haven’t listened to this yet. But looking forward to hearing the trio’s deconstruction on the jazz master.

Steve Lehman (with Mark Shim, Drew Gress, Tyshawn Sorey, Jonathan Finlayson, Jose Davila, Tim Albright, Chris Dingman), Mise en Abîme (Pi Recordings). Don’t ask me what spectral harmony is. I’m clueless. But I’m curious to hear their take on Bud Powell.

Thank You John Coltrane: on the 50th anniversary of A Love Supreme

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Get the damn horn out of your mouth,

Miles snaps out in his rasping tone

John blows and blows,

driven by an unyielding resolution

 

Elvin thrashes about to polyrhythms

Jimmy pulls hard and braces for his next soliloquy

McCoy’s fingers fly and sparkle across the keys

John has had his quartet together for a while

 

There’s sweating, vocalizing, humming

the psalm of four committed boxers

has all the makings of eternal transcendence

a song of praise that will not stop.

 

In that acknowledgement Coltrane’s four-note motif

travels through the twelve keys of the tonal system

it’s a path that signals further explosions ahead

the pursuance of goals at once achieved and redefined.

 

Thank you John Coltrane

In steady rotation

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As 2013 draws to a close, wellyouneedit celebrates its one-year anniversary. How did that happen? It’s been a bumpy road and I’m still not sure why I bother to put these thoughts out there. Oh well, for writing’s sake, I guess, which is a pretty good reason, isn’t it? Here, I want to thank my handful of faithful readers scattered around France and the globe. You know who you are.

The year-end lists are flooding the Internet. With a jazz-heavy listening and playing schedule to handle, I simply don’t have the time to check out the plethora of good “non-jazz” music released in this day and age. As a music fan, though, I like to think that this thing called jazz is not as insular and monolithic as the naysayers would have you believe. Today’s prominent improvisers tap into all kinds of music and extramusical sources to shape their path in the continuum. The result of that blending process doesn’t always work but it is integral to this art. As the aggressive debates raging on the Internet and the blogosphere show, the term jazz is very restrictive and contentious in many ways. Specifically, it doesn’t acknowledge the shape-shifting qualities at work in spontaneous collective improvisation, and it doesn’t do justice to the musicians who have continuously pushed the envelope to move the music forward. But for lack of a better and all-embracing term, we’re just going to have to stick with it for a while! If there’s anything to change about the presentation of jazz to the neophyte, it might involve defining it not so much as a music style per se as an approach to addressing and appropriating musical content – Duke Ellington or Bjork, it doesn’t matter.  The purists will take issue with that view, but the purists are wrong. Get real, purists! Trying to dictate what an art is and what it is not is a pointless struggle. The following list is a random and unrated selection of albums that played on a regular basis or caught my ear, here at wellyouneedit, in 2013. Inevitably, a lot of it is jazz, but in my book good music transcends category. Enjoy.

Dave King, I’ll Be Ringing you (2012)

With fellow Minnesotans Bill Carrothers and Billy Preston, the drummer revisits the standards with haunting introspection.  A well-tended fire smolders through this quiet record.  Huddle up, make some tea and kill the lights. And swing by the wynit archive for the short album review.

Brad Mehldau Trio, House on Hill (2006)

I finally decided which of Brad Mehldau’s albums I would take on a desert island. Right down to the enlightening liner notes (on Bach, Brahms and Monk), this one is a stellar document of the early trio (with bassist Larry Grenadier and drummer Jorge Rossy). Strong compositions and high-caliber playing for all involved.

Orrin Evans, Flip the script (2012); Blessed ones (2001)

The ability of these tight trios (bassists Eric Revis and Ben Wolfe and drummers Nasheet Waits and Donald Edwards) to bend the swing tradition and honor it at the same time keeps astounding me. The demotion job on Autumn Leaves will have you scratching your head first time around but sound magically obvious after a few listens.

Matana Roberts,  Mississippi Moonchile (2013)

A powerful artistic statement from the great alto saxophonist and multidisciplinary artist. This beautiful suite is Roberts’ personal take on Black American history, specifically through her female lineage. The music is a seamless collage/conflation of the various strands of African-American music. The fascinating story continues.

The Bad Plus, Made Possible (2012)

Epic melancholia, joyful abandon, frantic energy and telepathic cohesion. The trio does make anything possible. In the words of drummer Dave King « this band contains some of the most punk energy I’ve ever seen or heard as a musician ». But make no mistake, this is unquestionably as tight and honest a modern jazz trio as it gets. Watch the EPK for their 2012 record and check out the amazing discography.

Vijay Iver Trio, Accelerando (2012)

The award-winning pianist has the critics divided. Undaunted, I listen to the staccato rhythms of bassist Stephen Crump and Marcus Gilmore and nod to the vibe.

Glenn Gould,  Bach English Suites , Inventions & Sinfonias (1982)

To think that all of Bach’s keyboard music was conceived for the harpsichord is confounding, especially when played by Glenn Gould on piano. Timeless.

Mark Turner, Yam Yam (1994), Dharma Days (2001)

Whether the album cover of Yam Yam was a wise marketing decision is a matter of personal aesthetics but the music shows off Turner’s tasteful lyricism and hugely influential voice on tenor. Dharma Days is the one to get. Features Kurt Rosenwinkel (guitar), Reid Anderson (bass), Nasheet Waits (drums).

Eric Revis, Parallax (2012)

The potent bassist delivers a fine inside/outside jazz offering. Serious chops and burning grooves across the board. Features Nasheet Waits (drums), Jason Moran (piano) and Ken Vandermark (tenor sax and clarinet)

J Dilla, Donuts (2006)

The legendary hip hop producer probably owned a sizable record collection. This album splices together a nice selection of soul and rap cuts from the 60s onward. I usually play the first song and find myself listening through the album.

Geri Allen, The Life of a Song (2004)

In the company of such heavyweights as Dave Holland and Jack de Johnette, Geri Allen found sympathetic support to deliver her groove-packed set of originals and rearranged standards. There isn’t a weak moment in this program. Highly recommended.

Darius Jones & Matthew Shipp, Cosmic Lieder (2010)

Smooth-flowing dialogue between two singular voices of free forms. Shipp’s dark low-end tones take on a welcome brightness against Jones’ honking enthusiasm.

Melanie De Biasio, No Deal (2013).

With the pared-down instrumentation of flute, drums and keyboard, Melanie De Biasio’s enveloping vocals push through the ether with grace and a sense of subdued drama.

Drew Gress, Black Butterflies  (2005)

Lush writing, infectious grooves and free blowing make up this alluring album.For Craig Taborn’s solo on the song Bright Idea alone, this one is worth a good listen. Features Tim Berne (alto sax), Ralph Alessi (Trumpet), Craig Taborn (piano), Tom Rainey (drums).

John Coltrane  The Classic Quartet – the complete Impulse studio recordings (1961-1965)

Immortal. What would jazz have sounded like if that quartet hadn’t existed? Eternally inspiring.

Thelonious Monk

Do I really have to drum the point home? You have to get with Monk. Period.

Craig Taborn Light Made Lighter (2001)

Taborn’s debut album amply demonstrates his versatility in the classic piano trio format. A good place to start.

Butcher Brown – A sides B sides

On their self-released and generously free (cop it on their website) debut, Butcher Brown make instrumental groove music that sounds oddly new despite the overt references to 70s funk. An ideal moodsetter that doesn’t sacrifice musicianship for chilling’s sake. Check it out.

Elmo Hope, Complete Studio Recordings

What a tragic life his was. It’s time to restore Hope’s profound contribution to modern jazz piano music. No less than Monk’s best friend and favorite player.

Julia Holter  Loud City Song (2013)

Wow. This one almost didn’t make my list. There is definitely more than ambient and pop to this music. But for now I’ll settle for uncategorizable.

And countless more to satisfy the music junkie’s appetite but that I’m too lazy to write a single word about.