A pivotal depiction of free jazz horn wielder Joe McPhee, recorded during the 1970 sessions that made up his debut side ‘Nation Time’, but far wilder, lusher, and giving a strong taste of his inspirational records to come - RIYL John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, Albert Ayler
‘Black Magic Man’ is effectively the ruder, more romantic, and rambunctious sibling to ‘Nation Time’, which first placed McPhee on the jazz map via Craig Johnson’s private label, CjR; established solely to give McPhee’s music a proper platform. A painter by trade, Johnson was inspired by McPhee’s earliest performances in the mid ‘60s to teach himself audio engineering and gather kit in order to capture and share McPhee’s brand of spirited free jazz juju. They would record both ‘Nation Time’ and ‘Black Magic Man’ during a concert and across the following day, with the former becoming one of the earliest releases on CjR, while the latter remained in storage tape due to lack of funds.
Five years later Werner X. Uehlinger, a Swiss businessman for Sandoz Pharmaceuticals, and jazz fan, had dinner with McPhee whilst working in the US, and would return home with the unused tapes of ‘Nation Time’, which became ‘Black Magic Man’ - the first release on his Hat Hut label. As McPhee’s first international release, it introduced him to a wave of keen European ears who have embraced his music ever since, proceeding to inspire, jam and record with like so Ken Vandermark, Peter Brötzmann, Evan Parker, thru modern day artists Mats Gustaffsson and The Thing.
Crashing in with the muscular tumult of its title track, spurred by duelling drums of Brice Thompson and Ernest Bostic, McPhee cuts the fuck loose extraordinarily expressive shred, joined by Mike Kull’s clattering keys in the latter stag. ‘Song For Laureen’ follows to temper that power to a more blue rumination, before shrugging it off for more aggressive approach in 2nd half, whilst the 17’ soundscape ‘Hymn of the Dragon Kings’ takes the B-side for a ride from quiet spittle flecked scree into lazier lines of thought, and tempestuous havoc with a dare-to-differ zeal that has long been McPhee calling card.
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A pivotal depiction of free jazz horn wielder Joe McPhee, recorded during the 1970 sessions that made up his debut side ‘Nation Time’, but far wilder, lusher, and giving a strong taste of his inspirational records to come - RIYL John Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, Albert Ayler
‘Black Magic Man’ is effectively the ruder, more romantic, and rambunctious sibling to ‘Nation Time’, which first placed McPhee on the jazz map via Craig Johnson’s private label, CjR; established solely to give McPhee’s music a proper platform. A painter by trade, Johnson was inspired by McPhee’s earliest performances in the mid ‘60s to teach himself audio engineering and gather kit in order to capture and share McPhee’s brand of spirited free jazz juju. They would record both ‘Nation Time’ and ‘Black Magic Man’ during a concert and across the following day, with the former becoming one of the earliest releases on CjR, while the latter remained in storage tape due to lack of funds.
Five years later Werner X. Uehlinger, a Swiss businessman for Sandoz Pharmaceuticals, and jazz fan, had dinner with McPhee whilst working in the US, and would return home with the unused tapes of ‘Nation Time’, which became ‘Black Magic Man’ - the first release on his Hat Hut label. As McPhee’s first international release, it introduced him to a wave of keen European ears who have embraced his music ever since, proceeding to inspire, jam and record with like so Ken Vandermark, Peter Brötzmann, Evan Parker, thru modern day artists Mats Gustaffsson and The Thing.
Crashing in with the muscular tumult of its title track, spurred by duelling drums of Brice Thompson and Ernest Bostic, McPhee cuts the fuck loose extraordinarily expressive shred, joined by Mike Kull’s clattering keys in the latter stag. ‘Song For Laureen’ follows to temper that power to a more blue rumination, before shrugging it off for more aggressive approach in 2nd half, whilst the 17’ soundscape ‘Hymn of the Dragon Kings’ takes the B-side for a ride from quiet spittle flecked scree into lazier lines of thought, and tempestuous havoc with a dare-to-differ zeal that has long been McPhee calling card.