











---by Michael Zwerin---
the village VOICE, March 9th 1967
I went. Public relations, however, ended with the release because the concert looked like a total economic disaster. The theatre was maybe 10 percent filled and a good deal of those seemed to be the Ayler family. The 25th was a very cold night and the prices were an absolutely frigid $3, $4, and $5. There had been little advertising other than the posters in front of the theatre, which has a capacity of about 2500. Whoever booked it was an optimist with a poor memory because only two months ago, when Ayler played the Village Vanguard, even that little room was far from packed. Audiences seem to stay away from Albert Ayler—a shy, sad-looking little man who has something to say.
The Albert Ayler Octet—Albert Ayler, alto and tenor saxophone; Donald Ayler, trumpet; Michel Sampson, violin; Beaver Harris, drums; Bill Folwell and Alan Silva, basses; Joel Friedman, cello; and Call Cobbs, harpsichord. Beforehand, in the lobby, Cobbs said he wasn’t playing because he had just found out there was no harpsichord in the place. “The music wouldn’t sound right on a piano,” he explained. So strike him, and add George Steele on trombone.
Also add Mary Parks on MC—an avant-garde chick. “Good—evening—space friends,” she said, her golden gown sparkling reflections no doubt from Venus, “tonight—we—will—hear a—concent—of—music—of the—year two—thousand.” With free punctuation she got the concert started 45 minutes late, not apologizing for the delay either. I thought of John Cage’s line about “the importance of being on time for anyone involved with the art of music.” But there’s a logical unreality to Albert’s music—kind of like a Ray Bradbury story—which seems to penetrate people even before he starts playing and the waiting was perfectly okay with everybody.
The tunes, all written by Albert, have names like “Light in Darkness,” “Heavenly Home,” “Spirits Rebel,” and “Truth is Marching In.” They are fiercely tonal, resembling primitive marches or folk songs, and use only three chords, if that many. Improvisation is abstract, spaced by recapitulation of the theme, usually played Germanically by Don Ayler’s trumpet along with a Liszt – cadenza – gone-wild on Sampson’s fiddle. Albert solos most of the time—on some tunes the others do not play at all other than behind him or on the ensembles.
Scot LaFaro revolutionized the jazz bass before he was killed in an automobile accident in the late ‘50s. Instead of just walking , he played swift, complex, melodic obligatos and since then many bass players have delusions of violins. They began using the bow more often and, whether arco or pizzicato, forever lean way over the instrument, both hands near the bridge, eeking the most unlikely harmonies from their instrument. Truly astounding. The only trouble is that, with the increased importance of percussion in the new jazz, the audience usually can’t hear their cascades of notes. At the Village Theatre, though, the trouble was stupid balance, unfortunately common with the avant-garde, because Beaver Harris is one of the better free drummers, keeping a pulse, no matter how abstractly, and keeping it with sensible dynamics.
Anyway, Folwell and Silva made a hell of a visual impression, scooting all over their instruments. I’m pretty sure they were playing some impressive stuff. As a matter of fact, a couple of duets between them, with everybody else tacited, were very lovely and exciting. And one tune featured Albert plus only the cello and two basses. It was cloud-like and dewy music. Albert, who did not squeak on this one, was brilliant in his abstractions, instinct supplying all of the criteria needed. And the three strings were empathetic to perfection.
Now, about Albert’s squeaks…Squeaking is nothing new of course. Illinois Jacquet and Flip Phillips did that years ago. It’s a way of transmitting energy—but it’s too easy a way and I mistrust it. Besides, it hurts my ears. Albert’s squeaking is the low point of his playing. He starts doing it without continuity and stops abruptly without form—an insert, out of context. Few tenor players can get around up there as he can, but if he wants to hear those sounds, why not take up the piccolo or something.
Donald Ayler’s trumpet playing impresses me as being pure chance—no choice—a random combination of fast-flipping valves and embouchure adjustments. Every solo sounds alike. He rarely holds a sustained note. When he does, however, a pleasant sound comes out (I mean that as a compliment). More of that would be nice.
Albert’s music is strangely warm and loving. The freneticism I once minded so much seems less pronounced now than two years ago. Maybe I am better tuned to him—or possibly he has matured some. Either way, I was wrapped up in the music and stayed until the end of his concert, something I’ve never wanted to do before.
But without more artistic handling, Ayler will continue to be only the obscure underground hero he now is. That’s a shame too, because, given the chance to hear it, a lot of people could find his music important."


My 22-month old daughter has learned how to get a record onto the turntable and start it. Of course, yesterday she tried to put a cassette tape on the turntable, so she still has plenty to learn. I have a few old 45’s that are pretty beaten up, so I let her experiment with them. Once the music starts, she quickly communicates her endorsement or critical disappointment, with the latter typically displayed by a guttural noise akin to a cat trying to hack up a hairball. I blame her mother. However, she expresses her approval by doing a strange dance – bending her arms at the elbows, swaying them, and bouncing around. Again, I blame her mother. Or at least I’d like to, but I am pretty sure she is doing a pretty spot-on portrayal of her dancing father. And of course you can't help but dance around the room with her, imitating her dancing style, which likely results in a vicious positive-feedback loop. But I guess middle-school dances are a long way off.
So far she has given the hair-ball-wretch review to singles by Crosby, Stills, and Nash (who can blame her really?), David Bowie, and Emerson Lake and Palmer. However, she dances like crazy to Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog.” Again, I blame her mother.
A couple days ago, I put Charles Lloyd’s “Forest Flower” LP on the turntable. I’ve listened to this album several times after picking it up in the used bin a couple years ago, finding it pleasant but not particularly moving. However, I stumbled into a really positive review of it recently so I decided to give it another chance. I was working on other things, so admittedly it didn’t have all of my focus, but I was really surprised at how much I was enjoying it. I didn’t remember the driving energy and passion of this album! How did I miss this! Then the announcer came on at the end of the record, with a voice like Alvin the Chipmunk. This time, I blame my daughter. Yes, I played the entire record at 45 rpm instead of 33 rpm, because that is where the setting was left after the last "Black Dog" dancing session. I listened to a bit more of the Charles Lloyd record at normal speed and it is much less exciting. If you have a copy of this album, definitely give it a spin at 45 rpm.
Anyway, I actually have been listening to quite a bit more than bad Crosby, Stills and Nash, vinyl-pop laden takes of “Black Dog,” and hopped-up Charles Lloyd. Although I haven’t had time to post on this blog for a couple months, I have had plenty of time for free jazz, so that brings me back to Ayler….
In the fall of 2006 I noticed “Vibrations” available for download at the Itunes store for around 6 dollars. The availability and price surprised me and given that the “money was (still) not strong enough,” for the real thing I purchased the download. Albert Ayler, Gary Peacock, Sunny Murray, and Don Cherry….six dollars well spent. Someday I’ll get the CD or the vinyl.

Albert Ayler, Vibrations
Freedom (among others), 1964
Albert Ayler: alto and tenor saxophones
Don Cherry: trumpet
Gary Peacock: bass
Sunny Murray: drums
“Vibrations” was recorded in Denmark on September 14, 1964, about two months after “Spiritual Unity” and “New York Eye and Ear Control.” Don Cherry joins the Spiritual Unity trio and the result is an exhilarating, fast-paced, free-for-all frolic, structured by the repetitive simple melodies so associated with Albert. At least for me, the emotional feel of the album is not quite as varied as the previous albums of 1964, and I think this is mostly because Don Cherry’s trumpet adds a bright and upbeat quality to the music – even when Albert seems to be taking things to deeper and darker emotional places. The album is must-have for any Ayler collection, and not a bad place for the uninitiated to begin. Get it. Play it. Maybe even play at 45 rpm. You can blame me.
Buy it at Amazon
I picked up “Lorrach, Paris 1966” in a local CD shop during the spring of 2006 (which I now realize was lucky given that it is apparently out-of-print). By early summer I was getting anxious to explore more of the man’s music. I was particularly excited to sink my ears into some of the work he did with Don Cherry. I had picked up a copy of Don Cherry’s “Symphony for Improvisers” when I lived in Madison, but after a few listens it just didn’t hold my interest; however, early that summer I gave it another try. Perhaps my brain chemistry had been permanently altered by all the free jazz I had been listening to for the past couple years, but this time the album really resonated with me. The disc remained in the player for much of the summer, oftentimes in rotation with "Lorrach, Paris," and even made several road trips with me.
Albert Ayler, Music is the Healing Force of the Universe
Impulse!, 1969
Albert Ayler: tenor saxophone, vocals, bagpipes
Bobby Few: piano
Stafford James: bass
Bill Folwell: bass, bass guitar
Muhammad Ali: drums
Mary Maria Parks: vocals
Henry Vestine: electric guitar
Recorded in late August of 1969, “Music is the healing force of the universe” is quite a mixed bag. Gone are the march-like themes and the oscillating energy of “Love Cry” and the staggering live work of 1966-67. The first song on the album is the title track, and the music itself is fantastic. Bobby Few’s distinctive style provides waves of tinkling piano and Albert’s playing is emotionally moving and at times raw. He takes several trips into the upper register. Muhammad Ali provides a spectacular underpinning for the music. However, that said, Mary Maria’s vocals nearly ruin the piece. What was Albert thinking? Blinded by love? I just can’t find anything enjoyable about her singing.
Some singers are really good at taking relatively shallow lyrics and make them sound important. Take for example, the somewhat vacuous lyrics of “Tupelo Honey” by Van Morrison: “You can take all the tea in China. Put it in a big brown bag for me. Sail it right around the seven oceans. Drop it smack dab in the middle of the deep blue sea. Because she's as sweet as Tupelo honey. She's an angel of the first degree. She's as sweet as Tupelo honey. Just like honey from the bee.” Just like honey from the bee? Seriously? Yet when Van Morrison sings this stuff, he somehow makes it seem profound. Mary Maria on the other hand, manages to take relatively shallow lyrics and make them even more empty.
Of the songs where Mary Maria sings, the title track is actually the most appealing; in fact, I can enjoy it if I tune her out (which is hard at first, but gets easier after repeated listening). The two other tracks she sings on, “A man is like a tree,” and “Island Harvest” are downright awful. On “Oh! Love of Life” Albert himself provides the vocals, and although I don’t find his undulating, wide vibrato, saxophone-like vocals offensive, I don’t find this song interesting or compelling either.
The second track, “Masonic Inborn Part 1” is perhaps the reason that this album is worth owning. “Masonic Inborn” finds Albert Ayler on bagpipe (!) (actually two bagpipes, overdubbed) with the ethereal accompaniment of Bobby Few’s piano and the free drumming of Muhammad Ali. This is fantastic stuff – I would have been happy with a whole album of free-jazz bagpipe songs!!
The final track on the album, “Drudgery” features a straight-ahead blues chord progression and a steady rock beat. Although it is fun to hear Albert play in this context, and he is quite competent in this setting and even stretches it out a bit toward the end of piece, I can’t get very excited about the music. Coming after three miserable tracks, the piece doesn’t have to be very good to exceed expectations – and it does manage this. However, after repeated listening it becomes increasingly tiresome.
Buy it at amazon