When The World Was One: Last Train Jazz Essentials #4

If you've got this far, you'll probably have worked out that I'm not much in favour of the obsessive labelling that many music lovers seem unable or unwilling to get past. That said, I'd have to admit that albums commonly tagged as 'spiritual jazz' on my Bandcamp feed usually pique my curiosity before any others, Jazzy G's recent purchases included. That shouldn't be a great surprise to anyone - the genre is hardly what you'd call strictly defined - but it's fair to say that a sizeable chunk of my collection fits somewhere in that spectrum stretching back to John, and particularly, Alice Coltrane.

Enter Matthew Halsall & The Gondwana Orchestra's When The World Was One. 

Okay, full disclosure here, I'm a big fan of the Mancunian trumpet player / composer / band leader / DJ / Gondwana label boss. That his output would make an early appearance in LTJ Essentials was never in doubt, but the choice of album was more open to question - right up until I started this post.

I stumbled across Halsall some years ago, listening to an internet radio station while (sort of) working from home. The tune Mary Emma Louise, from his Fletcher Moss Park cut, quickly wrestled my attention away from half-reading emails. I immediately got hold of the album. It was, without a doubt, the loveliest thing I'd heard in a long time.

Shortly afterward, I casually flourished it in Jazzy G's direction with my customary, 'have you heard this?' Naturally, he already had it in his collection. 

From there it was a short step to hoovering up most of Halsall's output and catching a couple of memorable performances, including a great night at St John's, Hackney, where the only thing more breathtaking than the band was the bar tariff. 

So why does this 2014 release make it to the LTJ Essentials list? 

Firstly, because it hangs together more completely as an album than some. The afore-mentioned Fletcher Moss Park contains easily my top Halsall tune (not telling, work it out for yourself) but doesn't quite feel so much of a self-contained work as WTWWO. Secondly, because it unites the core Gondawana Orchestra and the amazing Nat Birchall to produce what, to me at least, is the archetypal Halsall sound. And thirdly because, on every listen, I decide a different tune is my favourite. It really is that good and, leaving aside my super-fan status, this would be a landmark recording in any discerning jazzer's collection.

Go on, do your ears a favour and submerge yourself in its sublime wonderfulness. 

Coltrane's Sound: Last Train Jazz Essential Recordings #1

In the spirit of starting as I mean to continue, I'm kicking this off with a controversial choice. It's a great record, but among the many classic cuts by The Man, there are many others that would doubtless rank above this 1960 recording in most critics' choices.

How can my single choice of essential Coltrane album possibly not be Blue Train, or Giant Steps, or A Love Supreme? You see my problem, right?

But there's more to my decision than the impossibility of selecting a lone beacon from this embarrassment of riches. I've chosen Coltrane's Sound simply because, for me, this is where it all began.

Picture the scene: a teenage malcontent on the cusp of permanent eviction from the family home, thanks to an extended and escalating history of 'challenging' conduct; a helpful offer from a well-loved maternal auntie to spend the summer at her place; the chance to put 300 miles between said malcontent and his parents jumped at by all concerned... 

It would be one of my best summers ever. My beatnik, artist auntie ran a very laid back household in a small Northumbrian town. My younger cousins ran pretty much as wild as they pleased. Auntie tolerated and even sponsored my tastes for underage drinking and, ahem, herbal experimentation. 

One blurred afternoon, I discovered her modest collection of old jazz LPs and began flicking through. I had no idea what I was looking at, but was fascinated by the cover art. I recognised a couple of names: Miles Davis (well represented in Auntie's collection) and Herbie Hancock were familiar, if not especially enticing names for this particular callow youth. 

It was the sleeve that caught my eye. I slipped it from the rack, blinking at the impressionistic, melting image. The back wasn't nearly so alluring - those classic, staid liner notes held no interest for me back then - but I found myself setting vinyl to turntable. 

'Congratulations, you've discovered Coltrane.' Auntie had heard the first few bars of Body And Soul (characteristically contrary, I'd put the B-side on) and joined me as I stood, transfixed. She eased the joint from my unfeeling fingers and took a long toke. 

'This one's a nice introduction,' she croaked, almost as if she'd planned for this to happen all along.

And so it began. I'm not going to indulge in any of the well-worn clichés about hearing Coltrane for the first time, other than to say it was a genuinely game-changing moment for me: the day I left behind some decidedly questionable musical tastes and began my lifelong journey through jazz.

So Coltrane's Sound will always hold a special place in my heart, but why should you listen to what is, after all, a relatively minor entry in the great man's canon? 

For starters, Auntie was right. This is a very accessible record - ideal if you find some of Coltrane's later work a bit of a stretch. Three quarters of the legendary quartet is here, but it's early days. In the main, Coltrane plays 'in'. Early stirrings of his phenomenal technique are evident, but he's not found sheets of sound territory yet. If anything, McCoy Tyner sounds the more radical at times here. 

There's a lightness and melodiousness through many of the tracks, like that treatment of Body And Soul, which still sounds joyously subversive compared to all those breathy, down-tempo classic versions. And the ballad-ish Central Park West conjures up sultry city afternoons evocatively. Yet the intensity of later outings is predicted in the brooding Equinox (still one of my all-time favourite tunes) and the embryonic atonality of Coltrane's solos on Liberia and Satellite. 

In short, this may not be one of Coltrane's monuments, but it's a priceless snapshot of his early development as leader, bursting with the potential he was later to realise. 

A treat for the ears - it may not have prevented my inevitable eviction, but it sent me on my way much happier.