Recording of the Week,
Joy - Joy (1976)
The British jazz scene was in an interesting shape in the mid-1970s. The gates of swinging London had been blown wide open by the vast swathes of cultural change which the nation had undergone over the course of the previous decade. What started out as a pastime consigned to the seedy world of underground clubs had exploded into a vibrant subculture and artform – one which, at its most innovative, was blending the best of home-grown jazz, folk, rhythm and blues with the heady flavours of West Indian and African music in experimental vigour.
Although this microcosm of collaborative expression would eventually give way to the more glamorous live entertainment values of psychedelia and rock ‘n’ roll, burgeoning jazzers were liberated in part thanks to their open-minded attitude that aimed to bridge societal divides – not to mention the music industry eventually turning onto these exciting new sounds. Ian Carr culminated his tenure with Don Rendell by moving with a plucky finesse to form Nucleus, Britain’s jazz-rock answer to Miles’ Electric Band. But outside of its few notable successes such as Carr’s, the British scene failed to ride the wave of mainstream recognition as it descended back into a den of unsubsidised subterrenity.
Fast forward several years down the line, and you'd be forgiven for thinking this raw spring of creativity had all but dried up. And yet, before pinning me as some sort of revisionist doom-monger, there indeed comes a string of light at the end of this tunnel. The fire beneath the cultural melting pot remained sturdily aflame. Had the recording industry really lost its faith in modern jazz? Whilst this was true for the major labels and their subsidiaries, along came several upstarting young players with a renewed DIY-ethic and a burning desire to be heard. Now was the time for jazz to branch out and become altogether weirder.
Enter Joy, whose 1976 self-titled LP is being reissued today as it was back in the day on the newly-revived Cadillac Records, a label currently celebrating its golden anniversary. Aiming to capture the trailblazing spirits of its forebears, this was one of a handful of independent labels that played its part in releasing fresh jazz cuts to a fringe audience at a time when a large portion of the industry had turned its back on the genre as a whole. As for the group, an international lineup of three Brits, an American and a South-African comprises this short-lived motley crew. And, safe to say, the music is as fascinatingly diverse as the musicians whose performances are captured here on record. Incorporating elements of boundary-pushing jazz that had come before it, Joy highlights the intrinsic influence of pioneers such as John Surman and Alan Skidmore whilst displaying an acutely perceptive edge of its own making. The tracklisting weaves its way around funky latin breaks to enthrallingly spiritual vamps, pulsating wildly as it goes. The album's persistent energy reminds present-day listeners that, in truth, the essence of British jazz was neither gone nor forgotten but rather survived in the hotbed of its own self-renewing capacity, crouching for the employment of those who sought it out. Though this recording came as the first break for a few of the group's members, several others emerged with an impressive string of qualifications: accomplished bassist Ernest Mothle cut his teeth sharing the bandstand with both Hugh Masekela and Mankuku at different junctures in his career, whereas Frank Roberts would quickly go on to assume the post of resident pianist at Ronnie’s (a job title formerly held by the great Stan Tracey).
Over the years, Cadillac has simultaneously nurtured promising young talent while providing business for pre-eminent jazz artists gaining second wind, lest they be forgotten: Tracey, Mike Westbrook, Chris McGregor’s Brotherhood of Breath; all of the above feature prominently amongst the likes of Joy and their contemporaries. Evidently, if these musicians once found themselves facing obscurity, then at least they possessed the freedom to revel in it.
Barney Whittaker
