 Gil Evans Rarely do I run across such a disc as this one, a burnin' jazz set that pretty much goes nowhere. It's a 1978 concert recording of the Gil Evans Orchestra, certainly not in its prime, with Gil on electric piano leading a 9-piece band through some music as wayward as Gil's 1978 fashion sense. The set really belongs to George Adams (mainly tenor sax, also flute) and Lew Soloff (trumpet), who each contribute some fiery soloing, but given the fact that the shortest song on the disc is more than nine minutes long, there are plenty of long stretches that lead the listener down a dark alleyway, only to discover a brick wall and a garbage can full of pizza crusts. That doesn't make sense? Well, neither does most of the soloing on this disc. All that said, Little Wing will be of interest to lots of people, I'm sure. There's bound to be a contingent of Gil Evans diehards who absolutely love this album. Hendrix fans might be interested in the 25-minute exploration of the title cut (though Evans recorded a couple of other superior versions). People who discovered jazz and/or Gil Evans and/or "Little Wing" through the Sting version on Nothing Like the Sun (featuring an Evans arrangement) will be most fiercely stung by the screechin' on this album, as will people who love the Miles Davis/Gil Evans albums. This band is a far cry from the classic Gil Evans Orchestra – it's fully electrified, and even features a synth player. I'm not one of those jazz purists that won't allow for electric bass or synths, but the main thing is that the playing is very long-winded throughout the set. It's like catching a jazz concert by a legend who's having an off night. Lots of huffin' and puffin', but the house never does get blown down. The 16-plus minute rendition of Jackie McLean's "Dr. Jekyll" that opens the disc is probably the best track, and it's the only one that doesn't lose focus (for the most part). "The Meaning of the Blues" dwindles down to a George Adams sax solo that is mainly unaccompanied for a long ass time – surely it was great to watch if you were there, but the recorded document is less thrilling. "Little Wing" is very, very, very long and sadly, bereft of any semblance of groove – quite plodding, a situation not helped by Rob Crowder's comatose drumming. It sounds as though the band recorded this at the end of a 50 hour marathon set, at like 4:30 in the morning. Not worthless, by any means, and certainly interesting (at least on paper), but not the most comfortable listen. Gil championed this song for decades, deservedly so, but this was not its nor Gil's finest hour. The disc closes somewhat obtusely with a ten minute tune called "For Bob's Tuba," featuring, yes, Bob Stewart on tuba. It's as remarkable as the title is – basically a jazz tuba stumbling around looking for something to say. The jury's still out on whether any success was had. I'm all for the tuba, I mean, I'm no anti-tuba crusader or anything, but I know when I'm being insulted by one. When it finally hits a groove, it's refreshing, but the whole band just sounds tired and extremely loose. Final tally: Gil Evans and band, 0; listener, 0. Rare groove hounds won't find anything worth sampling, and jazz fans (knowledgeable or not) won't find too many rewards. This is not for a casual admirer of Gil Evans or Jimi Hendrix, but it's a reasonably tasty piece for the seriously hardcore Gil Evans fan. Honestly, I feel compelled to say that if you're in that camp, it may be time to get some fresh interests. Start by removing the headband, then go outside and breathe some fresh air. I'll send you a mix tape of late 60s Nashville sound stuff, and we'll see if it's not too late to bring you back to the real world. And no Zappa for two weeks; consider yourself grounded.
Review by Will Smythe |