Abdullah Ibrahim, Alice Tully Hall, 1977
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In November 1973 Matthias Winckelman of Enja Records showed up at my barely one-year-old recording studio with a busload of great musicians, who were nominally led by the then, as now, legendary South African pianist, Dollar Brand. He’s since changed his name, but he played just as well in 1973, as he does today, no matter what name he uses. I remember this first recording session with Abdullah very clearly. It was one of the largest ensembles Fred Miller had recorded in the studio, and the music wasn’t easy. The other day I looked it up in a discography and there it was, African Space Program, but it alleged the recording had been produced in Europe, which I knew wasn’t so, unless the struggling guys from Enja had transported the entire twelve piece band to Ludwigsburg to duplicate the recording. I remember it as a frantic date, but I was particularly impressed with Abdullah’s playing, and even more impressed with his demeanor. He was as calm as the eye of a tornado, and much of the music swirling about him was pretty frantic. A couple of years later, Abdullah was back in the studio, once more for Enja, but this time, instead of his space children, he brought along Cecil McBee and Roy Brooks. By now, I’d not only heard the Enja recordings, but also the wonderful ones he’d made for John Norris in Canada and Alan Bates in the UK, and I was astounded. Abdullah was the first musician I’d ever encountered who was really drawing on an African experience, because that was his experience. Any number of US-born performers drew on an imaginary experience, wore colorful African clothing, changed their names and so forth, but Abdullah was the real thing, and it was apparent in every note he played. I don’t know if this was why he was able to seemingly play without boundaries, but something made the difference. He could play Ellington, Monk, be as out there as anyone in town, swing with mainstreamers and compose beautiful melodies as well. Of course, everything he did had an edge to it, unlike anyone else, and it was an edge I liked. The Enja trio date, later released as The Children of Africa, was recorded in January 1976. Later that year, Abdullah met with Bill Gallagher and myself at Bill’s office on West 57th Street. This is how I remembered it in the Producer’s Notes for the CD reissue of an album I produced in 1977, Buddy Tate Meets Dollar Brand, now Buddy Tate Meets Abdullah Ibrahim. This wonderfully eclectic recording, originally entitled Buddy Tate Meets Dollar Brand, is now nearly twenty years old. I spoke with Bill Gallagher the other day to elicit from him his memories of how and why we embarked on various projects with Brand/Ibrahim in 1976/76. I simply remember how exciting it was to work with this wonderful musician and the fine recordings that resulted. Bill, of course, was a little more to the point and somewhat less emotional; that’s why he was capable of running CBS Records. He recalled that Dollar Brand (as he still refers to him) simply showed up at the Audiofidelity Enterprises door one day in 1976. I don’t remember how this came to be, but it may well be that I encouraged him to come by; he had, after all, recorded two exciting albums at Downtown Sound for Enja, one in mid-1973, another in early 1976. Neither of these albums was remotely similar to the music he was to play for Bill that day. No matter what the reason, Bill asked him in, heard what he had to say and, more importantly, heard what he had to play. There was a poor spinet-type piano in Bill’s office in those days, and Abdullah played the wonderful melody that was eventually retitled Cape Town Fringe, and issued on CR 2004 later that year, or in early 1977. Bill remembers the song as being the most infectious jazz melody he’d heard since Take Five, a song he describes as “The biggest jazz hit on my watch at CBS.” In 1977, Bill was struggling to turn the largely corrupt and inefficient Audiofidelity Enterprises he’d inherited into a real record company, and sensed in Abdullah a genuine artist, one he’d be proud to have associated with the revamped company. He believed sufficiently in Abdullah to release many of his recordings, three licensed from Gallo in South Africa, two originals I produced for Chiaroscuro, plus some Enja releases, which Audiofidelity was distributing at the time. In the space of perhaps twenty months, I helped put seven or maybe eight Abdullah Ibrahim records into the marketplace. Each was a wonderful musical statement, but neither these records or any others could overcome the problems that existed at Audiofidelity Enterprises. Cape Town Fringe was the first licensed release, followed in quick succession by Black Lightning, and Soweto (African Herbs, when it was released in South Africa on Gallo). Cape Town Fringe was also Chiaroscuro’s first release that sold in excess of 20,000 copies, making the Billboard jazz charts and, twenty-five years later we still get calls for it. Unfortunately, someone else owns the masters and it has never been reissued as a CD. In the excitement of the times, I managed to produce two additional records with Abdullah, neither of which was remotely similar to Cape Town Fringe, or even to one another. I added Buddy Tate to the basic trio Abdullah had used for his Enja recording in 1976. It seemed a strange union, but Buddy and Abdullah were up to the challenge, and it worked because both of them wanted the recording to be successful. Abdullah taught one of his African melodies to Buddy so well that he laid out for an entire track and just let Buddy play. The rest were Ellington, Basie and standards. That Buddy and Cecil McBee had friends in common back in Oklahoma, didn’t hurt. The second record was far more complicated, a larger ensemble with musicians about as far removed from Buddy Tate as possible, with great artists such as Don Cherry and Hamiet Bluiett. The band was scheduled to perform in Alice Tully Hall on Saturday night, a Cape Town Fringe concert. The group was to record at Downtown Sound the next day. The concert was terrific. The only problem was the title song had to be played on a spinet. To create the distinct Cape Town Fringe sound, I had to put a thumbtack in each hammer, which displeased the piano rental company. For one song, we bought a set of hammers. The Sunday recording session was the last time I ever worked with Abdullah in a studio or a concert hall. The record that resulted, The Journey, was exceptional, but never had a chance. Within months the situation at Audiofidelity began to unravel, the records weren’t properly promoted, funds were scarce, and everyone who wanted to turn the company around was very disappointed. The last of the three licensed records, Soweto, was released, but today it is so obscure it is not even listed in discographies. It probably did no better than a few hundred sales. The Journey, probably sold fewer than 1000 copies, and remains the single most difficult Chiaroscuro recording to find on the secondary market. It was reissued on CD in 2003. Abdullah, however, never looked back. He’s continued to record prolifically, including a few sessions in the United States. His appearances in this country, however, are not as frequent as should be the case. He’s almost as hard to find in the United States as some of his recordings, but when he appears it is an event and always well-received. In August 2007 he was at the Newport Jazz Festival. I had responsibilities on the main stage but managed to get away for a moment to listen to Abdullah. He was performing in a tent by the water. All the seats were taken and the crowd was fifteen or twenty deep in all directions. I could barely see him he was so far away. All I could do was listen and he sounded wonderful, just like he had at my studio thirty years earlier. |
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Abdullah Ibrahim, Downtown Sound, 1977