Back in June I posted a list of “Ten Non-Essential Jazz Platters” and the wave of enthusiasm in response to it was both shocking and exciting. One word dominated the general feedback to the post: more. So here are ten additional non-essentials that would benefit a newcomer’s jazz collection, aka it’s the remix, son!

Albert Ayler New Grass Impulse! 1968

Free jazz luminary Albert Ayler lost so many fans and critics at the time of the release of New Grass (1968) that I’m slightly nervous about introducing it here, but I’ve had little success in the past with pointing curious novices in the direction of Spiritual Unity (1964) (a record famously likened to hearing someone scream the word ‘fuck’ in St. Patrick’s Cathedral). New Grass was considered such an abomination that it lingered in obscurity for nearly forty years, but time has revealed a wealth of treasures in a record that signaled such a drastic stylistic shift for Ayler. I’ve found the most challenging obstacle between Ayler and a new listener is the tone of his sax, an unharnessed, primal roar that takes some degree of preparation in order to assimilate. The strong blues influences, gospel inflections, and Motown grooves of New Grass tend to cushion the saxophonist’s wildest outbursts, although a first-timer could hardly be faulted at particular moments for thinking a dog was being slowly tortured over a Temptations backing track. An open mind is absolutely mandatory in approaching this record, a bold statement on the face of the late-’60s jazz avant-garde and one that I strangely continue returning to, perhaps more than any of Ayler’s other albums.

“Sun Watcher” – Albert Ayler 7:30 (New Grass, Impulse! 1968)

Miles Davis Ascenseur pour l’échafaud - Original Soundtrack Fontana 1958

Undoubtedly one of the most talked-about items in the Miles Davis canon, this soundtrack to an obscure French film noir flick is as fascinating as the story behind its recording. While Miles was visiting Paris in December of 1957, he was approached by director Louis Malle to compose the music for his latest psychological thriller. In typical Miles fashion, he entered the studio with a group of four local musicians and a few skeletons of harmonic changes and completed the score in an afternoon, all by watching looped scenes from the film that were projected in front of the band. Beyond the initial “It was late on a rainy night when this dame struts into my office…” vibe, this record is a remarkable study in opposing extremes: it’s immediately approachable yet distant, cold yet radiating with mysterious sexuality. Miles’ trumpet has rarely ever been so chilling, and the hefty dose of the most gorgeous reverb applied to it doesn’t hurt matters in the least. This is a record to accompany those last lonely moments before sleep, when consciousness finally succumbs to the aching warmth of the liquor and the stale taste of unfiltered cigarettes.

“Générique” – Miles Davis 2:50 (Ascenseur pour l’échafaud, Fontana 1958)

Jack DeJohnette Oneness ECM 1997

For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, I don’t purchase much modern jazz; the bulk of my collection ends around the mid-’70s. I can also bring to mind twenty drummers I’d rather listen to than Jack DeJohnette, despite his participation in some of the most phenomenal jazz records of the past forty years. Exceptions can always be made, however, and I fell in love with Oneness (1997) immediately upon first listen about ten years go. Essentially a collection of improvised mood pieces, the atmosphere here is spacious and surreal, like wandering through a dense fog on a beach during a December morning. Percussionist Don Alias is a lively foil to DeJohnette’s white-noise textures, though the real focus here is on pianist Michael Cain, who commands each of these sound-worlds with rich colors and subtle accents. Detectable here is the stark aural environment familiar to most ECM releases which tends to dull me to weariness, but I could get lost in this record for days.

“Free Above Sea” – Jack DeJohnette 5:54 (Oneness, ECM 1997)

Duke Ellington Far East Suite Bluebird 1966

Ellington is another jazz giant that newcomers have no idea where to start with. Instead of reciting a list of a dozen Ellington essentials, I’ll simply recommend my personal favorite from his massive catalog, a record whose elegance and beauty is something I still can’t fully grasp. Far East Suite (1966) has always been one of the more acclaimed Ellington/Strayhorn vehicles in part because the duo incorporated the music of non-Western cultures without the slightest hint of pretension or patronage. Taken at face value it’s one of the most instantly likeable and listenable jazz platters in the history of the genre, with something for everyone, whether it’s the bold strokes of Paul Gonsalves‘ tenor, the exotic harmonies that color “Agra” and “Depk,” or the animated horn arrangements that punctuate the proceedings. Really, it’s impossible to be bored by this record; I’ve easily listened to it over a hundred times and still can’t get enough of it. If you’re not completely swooned by “Isfahan,” one of the most stunning four minutes of the past half-century, then you’re sadly probably not going to like anything else on this list, if not jazz in general.

“Isfahan” – Duke Ellington 4:10 (Far East Suite, Bluebird 1966)

Joe Henderson Page One Blue Note 1963

Like the Prestiges of the ’50s, much of Blue Note’s catalog from the early ’60s consists of simple blowing-themes dates, sessions-by-numbers in which the musicians showed up, ran through a handful of standards, and left the studio a few hours later with enough cash for the month’s rent. Saxophonist Joe Henderson’s debut, Page One (1963), would appear to fall into this category were it not for the remarkable quality of the compositions and the level of playing here. Henderson is one of those jazz giants who rarely puts a foot wrong, whose solos are more like nebulous concepts that yield incredible rewards upon dissection, and he has an endless stock of irresistible licks that young sax players crib from to this day. There are six tunes here, all composed by Henderson and trumpeter Kenny Dorham, and all are undeniably memorable, even the requisite blues number “Homestretch.” Pianist McCoy Tyner refrains from his usual knotty and cerebral voicings and delivers a straightforward and classy performance. Page One has long been considered a second-string jazz classic and is deserving of its own place in the upper echelon of must-haves.

“Recorda Me” – Joe Henderson 6:01 (Page One, Blue Note 1963)

Freddie Hubbard Straight Life CTI 1970

Straight Life (1970) has a skimpy running time of 36 minutes and there are only three tracks – and one of them is a polite little throwaway. So why would I recommend this? Simply because the other two selections, the title track and “Mr. Clean,” are some of the most exciting electric jazz committed to analog, executed by a band that most musicians would only dream of: Hubbard at the helm with the aforementioned Joe Henderson at his side, with a pre-”This Masquerade” George Benson on guitar, Herbie Hancock on keys, and a rhythm combo comprised of the legendary Ron Carter and Jack DeJohnette, supplemented by percussionists Richie Landrum and Weldon Irvine. Sparks are bound to fly in a musical setting like this, a more streamlined variation of the no-frills funk that Miles was experimenting with at the time. Benson and Hancock rip into the laid-back pimp groove of “Mr. Clean” with a bold impulsiveness rarely seen by either, though the highlight reel for every player here is extensive. Straight Life has always been overshadowed by its older sibling Red Clay (1970), but I’ve always felt it was the pinnacle of Hubbard’s stint at Creed Taylor’s CTI Records during the early ’70s.

“Mr. Clean” – Freddie Hubbard 13:37 (Straight Life, CTI 1970)

Bobby Hutcherson Montara Blue Note 1975

The lovely Montara (1975) is a no-brainer for those looking to get their feet wet in the waters of Latin jazz. I featured this record in a post for EarFuzz a while ago and found that many already knew of it through its appropriation on Madlib’s Shades of Blue (2003). Surprisingly, Blue Note waited nearly thirty years to reissue this album, an odd move since it helped keep the label afloat during the ’70s. It’s one of the most approachable records that I know of, Latin jazz or otherwise, consisting of seven beautiful little gems that demand nothing and offer an abundance in return. Hutcherson switches between vibraphone and marimba for his idiophone of choice, backed by an amazing band who interprets the material flawlessly, from Blue Mitchell’s rounded trumpet lines to Ernie Watts‘ delicate flute. So many albums from this era sound painfully dated, but Montara has held up well, with percolating congas sizzling under a well-balanced mix of Fender Rhodes and Harvey Mason’s tastefully restrained drumming. For me, this record is rendered meaningless by cold temperatures and faint daylight; Montara holds the just as much potency on that first warm day of spring as soundtracking a late-afternoon barbecue in the park as summer comes to an end.

“Montara” – Bobby Hutcherson 4:58 (Montara, Blue Note 1975)

Brother Jack McDuff Moon Rappin’ Blue Note 1969

Moon Rappin’ (1969) is another worthy Blue Note that took too long to reissue. Though far from Brother Jack McDuff’s finest hour – check out any number of his ’60s dates for Prestige to hear what made him a legend – it’s a delightful curiosity in his catalog, with plenty of flighty grooves and greasy funk. The term ’soul-jazz’ tends to trigger my gag reflex, but McDuff’s lively Hammond B3 licks are impossible to dislike here, with some particularly fine breakbeats from drummer Joe Dukes and lively guitar work from Jerry Byrd. “Oblighetto” is a definite highlight and compresses the essentials of the record into a compact six-and-a-half minutes: a bluesy vamp, wordless ’spaced-out’ vocals from Jean DuShon, a bouncy, jubilating rhythm for McDuff to solo over (and yes, we all know who sampled those two bars). Moon Rappin’ was one of Blue Note’s “limited edition reissues” (still trying to decipher the logic behind that), so unless one discovers an original on vinyl, it would be best to acquire a copy sooner rather than later.

“Oblighetto” – Brother Jack McDuff 6:36 (Moon Rappin’, Blue Note 1970)

Archie Shepp The Way Ahead Impulse! 1968

As long as Archie Shepp’s Fire Music (1965) inexplicably remains out of print, I’ll enthusiastically continue to push the next best thing, The Way Ahead (1968) from a few years later. Shepp’s tenor had an urgency that could create seismic shifts in the Earth’s crust and its power is rampant on this record, capturing a turning point as the saxophonist was attempting to find a new harmonic language for himself. There are only four cuts on the original release, but all are pure fire: Shepp’s atonal honking on the standard blues opener, the blistering romp through “Frankenstein,” drummer Roy Haynes‘ vigorous workout on “Fiesta,” and the dark, stealthy exploration of Duke’s “Sophisticated Lady.” (The CD is rounded out by two additional tracks from a session that would yield Kwanza [1969] a year later.) The touch of reverb that enhances Shepp’s tone is spine-chilling, and the overall atmosphere of the recording is spacious and dark. Perhaps not the best place to begin investigating Shepp’s brand of challenging, modern jazz, but absolutely riveting nonetheless.

“Frankenstein” – Archie Shepp 13:53 (The Way Ahead, Impulse! 1968)

Wayne Shorter Night Dreamer Blue Note 1964

It’s tough to pick a favorite of Wayne Shorter’s Blue Notes from the ’60s, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Night Dreamer (1964), his first outing for the label. After the mandatory Speak No Evil (1964) (and arguably Adam’s Apple [1966]), this unassuming and frequently overlooked release is a worthy second step. Shorter’s unique compositional talents aren’t as developed here as they would be during his tenure with Miles’ second great quintet a few years later, but this is a solid collection of tunes regardless, from the autumnal title track, his charming arrangement of “Oriental Folk Song,” or the intoxicating themes of “Black Nile” and the sweet ballad “Virgo.” Pianist McCoy Tyner, especially, seems exhilarated by the material, though trumpeter Lee Morgan contributes some thoughtful discursions as well. Like Joe Henderson’s Page One (above), Night Dreamer seems to fall into the dime-a-dozen blowing-themes department, except that we’re talking about Wayne Shorter here, so if anything the writing is guaranteed to be stellar.

“Night Dreamer” – Wayne Shorter 7:18 (Night Dreamer, Blue Note 1964)