Date: 1970
Release: WOUNDED BIRD
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A startlingly original departure from the trademark soul-jazz sound of Herbie Mann, this spacious and atmospheric 1970 recording flows within the vein of Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew-era explorations. Throughout the record, Mann’s flute floats in and out over sparse string arrangements, a light and airy gust of psychedelic bliss. The album opens with the exotic Eastern sounds of “In Tangier,” arranged with unmistakable references to the original version recorded by 60s pop-icon Donovan on Hurdy Gurdy Man. Violins, viola and cello are all used to create a feeling of sailing through the celestial ether in a stoned state of mind.

The second track is a rare cover of “Flying,” the spaced-out Beatles instrumental from The Magical Mystery Tour, which Mann manages to recreate with an even more hallucinatory vibe. “Miss Free Spirit” is a strongly avant-garde affair, held together by Miroslav Vitous (soon to join Weather Report), who keeps things grooving along with just the right amount of restraint. Vibraphonist Roy Ayers showcases his bold imagination and technical prowess as a forward-thinking jazz player, a talent that would soon be suppressed as his commercial funk persona took over in the 70s. A major highlight is guitarist Sonny Sharrock’s solo on “Miss Free Spirit,” which makes a strong case for why Miles Davis recruited him to play (albeit uncredited) later that year on the epic Jack Johnson soundtrack.

This is a totally unique Herbie Mann record, a must for fans of late 60s and early 70s fusion experiments of the highest caliber.

Date: 1968
Release: Atlantic AMCY-1240
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A funky, swirling, heady pair of side-long grooves from one of the most soulful jazzmen to ever record on the Atlantic label. Check out some of the assembled talent on this classic late-60s live date—Roy Ayers, Sonny Sharrock, Miroslav Vitous—whew!!! The chemistry was definitely happening with this super group. Both tracks stretch into a marathon of soul grinding funk, giving each of these energetic soloists room to run and run without anyone dropping the ball. Mann gives ample proof that he really was “The Man” when it came to getting down deep into the groove long before the 70s funk revolution made it the thing to do. Mann infuses each of these tasty tunes with his distinctly soulful sound, giving his compatriots plenty of heavy ideas to play with. Still, it is Sharrock’s mind-expanding guitar on “Philly Dog” that undeniably steals the show, demonstrating without a doubt that Jimi Hendrix actually had some real competition in 1968. Now for the bad news: this disc is only available on import, confirming once again the sad fact that some of the best jazz ever recorded in the States can only be found in Japan.

Date: November 17, 1961
Release: Rhino #1380
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If I were going to remix the CD release of At The Village Gate, I would add a faint track of a diamond needle hissing along a vinyl groove. There’s something about this recording that smells of cheap grass and whatever else Bleecker Street smelled like in 1961. You just wish you had an old hi-fi stereo system to play it on. Still, I’ve already ripped through three copies of At The Village Gate CD–I can imagine how many LPs I’d need.

This live disc was recorded before jazz clubs were like museums, before musicians were like curators. Listening to it, you feel the crowd at the Village Gate always evident behind the music, a low hum. The talkers in the club who came just to catch a drink on a felicitous night were welcome–their presence pulls you into the room.

Herbie Mann, born Herbert Solomon, had gone to South America that year on a concert tour and had been on the world music kick before, experimenting with instruments and different international personnel, especially from Africa. He picked up a few things down south. In the late 50s, through the 60s, and into the 70s, Mann stood almost alone as a jazz flutist, and certainly among the higher strata of his peers in fusing varied influences into a mix that had cool and plenty of swing.

“Comin’ Home, Baby,” the first track of only three, starts off with a double-bass front line, plunked slowly in combination with conga and drums to create an overflowing rhythm section. From the smoke-filled room, a woman with a whisky voice testifies from the audience: “Oh yeah!” or “Play it!” Then Mann’s flute comes in soft, tight, with Hagood Hardy‘s vibes playing the same melody. They play low, easy phrases, and then the solos: first Mann, playing both beautiful clear tones and broken hoarse Coltrane notes. Who knew the flute could be this cool? Well here it is, cooler than we’ll ever hope to be. And then the vibes solo, with Hardy humming the notes moments before he playing them. And then a great solo by Ben Tucker, the composer of the tune, sounding like Thelonius Monk picking at the upright bass.

Next you get two great Gershwin songs. First, “Summertime,” often played to death, but not here. No, in Mann’s hands in 1961, the song’s bittersweet essence is distilled and transported to Rio. The drums and percussion come up a samba beat. Fingers snap in time, and it’s all Bossa Nova: you need a martini, or a batido, a cold drink. Mann’s solo builds to a crescendo that includes a minute-long one-note samba that lingers, teasing and returning to that one note, for bars at a time. That same woman yells again, at the end of the solo: “Bravo!” maybe. The performances drip with sweat. It never lets you up. It’s a samba, but only in part, just as Sketches of Spain is only part Spanish music.

Next, and last, is the long “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” clocking in at almost 20-minutes. Here’s evidence of the full synthesis Mann created. Mann’s smart solo on this track wails like something from the Middle East, Hebrew or Arabic. It’s like an updated “Caravan,” with the vibes and the bass falling into line. And before percussionist Chief Bey‘s solo—before, when’s the last time you saw that?—the crowd goes wild. His solo rises up from the rhythm section, settles back in, and rises up again, over and over.

Though Mann made some great records after this live disc, he was soon getting used to tidiness, and tidiness has never served jazz musicians. His later Brazilian stuff is even tidier, safer. Lately, it’s all gone south; I’ve seen Mann a few times live since 1990, and what you get from the updated version is a light Brazilian jazz rehash. But back in 1961, there it all is: a base of bebop with the Latin beat, but also Middle Eastern and African influences. There’s funk on this CD, there’s cool, and Boss Nova, and samba, and bebop. There’s a skinny white kid from Brooklyn playing flute, a Canadian, someone from Dakar, an African American from the Bronx, a Peruvian/Puerto Rican, and a Sudanese. At this rare moment in Mann’s career, it all held together, and it just swings. Mann is still out there playing, and he will come to your town someday, but forget it. Just buy this CD instead.