This week In Jazz Legends 06/52

1 . Michel Petrucciani, Anthony Jackson & Steve Gadd – So What

“Whipping Boy,” a track nestled in Ben Harper’s 1994 debut album “Welcome to the Cruel World,” serves as an early blueprint for his intertwining of blues, folk, and rock sensibilities.

Its placement within a 13-track collection that includes highlights like “Waiting On an Angel” and “I’ll Rise” positions it as both distinct and connected—like a spoke in a quietly turning wheel. The album, charting modestly at number 94 in Australia and soaring to number 11 in France, reflects the international tug of Harper’s aesthetic, though “Whipping Boy” as a standalone doesn’t carry its own documented chart weight.

Musically, the song floats within Harper’s foundational mix, with his guitar-playing and vocal delivery showcased in live performances and music videos that lean into the visceral yet restrained energy of his early years. What stands out isn’t an attempt to overwhelm but an invitation to linger—though whether that lingering lands as invitation or stasis depends on the listener’s patience.

As a part of a debut release that later became the cornerstone of a career eventually garlanded with three Grammy Awards, “Whipping Boy” feels more skeletal than fleshed out. Its charm lies less in innovation and more in its quiet resolve to stick to its lane. There’s intention here, but it never roars—it merely speaks. Whether that’s restraint or timidity is open to interpretation, but Harper’s hand remains steady if not daring.

Lifted from : Petrucciani, Jackson & Gadd are in Stuttgart (1998)

2 . John Coltrane – I Want To Talk About You

“Baby,” featured on Brandy’s self-titled debut album from 1994, captures the essence of mid-’90s R&B with precision. Boasting songwriting credits from Keith Crouch, Kipper Jones, and Rahsaan Patterson, and production helmed by Crouch, the track strikes a balance between youthful exuberance and polished craftsmanship.

While the song’s background vocals and instrumentation, recorded largely in Crouch’s bedroom, lend it a raw intimacy, Patterson’s hesitation before contributing his layered harmonies adds an intriguing narrative to its creation. It’s a track that feels both meticulously constructed and casually natural, embodying a bedroom-made charm that predates the dominance of DIY aesthetics in pop music.

Chart success came swiftly—”Baby” peaked at an impressive number four on the Billboard Hot 100 and dominated the Billboard Hot R&B Singles chart for an entire month. Its global traction, with peaks at number four in New Zealand and number 16 in Australia, showcases its broader appeal, though Canada’s lukewarm response at number 68 suggests some geographical divides in resonance.

Critics were quick to recognize the track’s potential. _Billboard_ highlighted its radio-ready allure and magnetic appeal for younger audiences, though such praise doesn’t entirely shield it from scrutiny. Despite its undeniable earworm qualities, the song leans more on Brandy’s infectious delivery and the trend-conscious production than on lyrical depth or innovation. Still, these traits defined her rise in the ever-competitive pop/urban market of the 1990s.

“Baby” is a study in capturing a moment—its blend of melodic hooks and rhythmic backbone situates it firmly in its era, yet it remains tethered to the unpretentious locales of its creative birth. If anything, the single’s million-unit sales in the U.S. serve as a tangible reminder that, in R&B, authenticity and accessibility can occasionally intersect with effortless grace.

Lifted from : John Coltrane records his fourth album : ‘Soultrane’ for Prestige (1958)

3 . Chick Corea – Moseb The Executioner

Released in 1999 as part of Whitney Houston’s album “My Love Is Your Love,” “It’s Not Right but It’s Okay” occupies a fascinating intersection of personal defiance and late-90s production trends.

Rodney “Darkchild” Jerkins, alongside collaborators LaShawn Daniels, Fred Jerkins III, Isaac Phillips, and Toni Estes, crafts a soundscape that thrives on crisp beats and synth-driven drama. The production exudes a kind of mechanical coolness, perfectly framing Houston’s assertive vocal delivery. If the lyrics narrate betrayal and resilience, the arrangement mirrors that determination with clinical precision—sharp, deliberate, and unapologetic.

Peaking at number four on the US Billboard Hot 100 and achieving platinum status via the RIAA, the track clearly resonated. Its number-one spot on Billboard’s Hot Dance Music/Club Play chart further highlights its adaptability, bolstered by remixes like the Thunderpuss Club Mix, which Rolling Stone later memorialized among the 200 greatest dance songs of all time. This version reimagines the song as a pulsating anthem for the club floor, trading subtlety for big-room theatrics.

Vocally, Houston strikes a poised balance between disdain and self-assurance. Her Grammy win for Best Female R&B Vocal Performance in 2000 feels apt, though it’s fair to question whether the vocal lines lean more on technical precision than raw emotional range. The Kevin Bray-directed video, meanwhile, leans into stylized visuals that complement the song’s sleek texture, though it risks being more serviceable than memorable.

Internationally, the song’s success—chart-topping in Spain and breaking the top five in territories like Canada, Iceland, and the UK—underscores its wide appeal. Yet, its enduring legacy feels less tied to its melodic inventiveness and more to its moment-specific synthesis of R&B and dance-pop sensibilities. “It’s Not Right but It’s Okay” thrives in its contradictions, channeling both robotic detachment and human empowerment, much like the late-90s music scene it represents. The song is not without its limitations, but its high points are undeniable enough to cement its place in a year as musically rich as 1999.

Lifted from : Chick Corea releases the album : ‘The Ultimate Adventure’ (2006)

4 . Dizzy Gillespie – A Night In Tunisia

“Brown Sugar,” the lead single from D’Angelo’s 1995 debut album of the same name, simmers with a heady mix of funk, soul, and jazz, creating a track that feels both rooted in tradition and quietly boundary-pushing.

Co-written and produced by D’Angelo and Ali Shaheed Muhammad, the song crafts its sultry atmosphere with Jimmy Smith-style organ flourishes, snapping snare drums, and hazy, atmospheric percussion. Yet for all its musical sophistication, the track’s real intrigue lies in its lyrical conceit—a metaphor that personifies marijuana as a brown-skinned woman. This thematic sidestep, common in hip-hop, gives the song an understated edge without veering into outright subversion.

In the Brett Ratner-directed video, D’Angelo performs in a jazz club setting, a visual choice that reinforces the track’s retro-modern aesthetic. Recorded at Battery Studios in NYC and mixed by Bob Power, the song gestures toward influences like Marvin Gaye, Prince, and even Rick James in its sensuous celebration, but it never fully claims their electric dynamism. Instead, “Brown Sugar” feels more like a slow burn, captivating yet restrained.

Chart-wise, it peaked at number 27 on the US Billboard Hot 100 and number 24 on the UK Singles Chart—respectable positions that reflect its niche appeal. While the track’s thematic focus and sonic palette spark admiration, they also risk a certain monotony, offering more mood than movement. Still, as an early glimpse into D’Angelo’s neo-soul vision, “Brown Sugar” holds its own intrigue.

Lifted from : Dizzy Gillespie records ‘An Electrifying Evening with the Dizzy Gillespie Quintet’ live at MOMA in New York City (1961)

5 . Jimmy Smith – Honky Tonk

“Other Side of the Game,” nestled within Erykah Badu’s celebrated debut album “Baduizm” (1997), offers a measured take on crisis and commitment.

Co-written by Badu alongside Questlove (Ahmir Thompson), James Poyser, and Richard Nichols, the track brims with the kind of minimalism The Roots mastered in the mid-’90s—an arrangement crafted in a single day in Philadelphia, evocative without feeling overworked.

Lyrically, the song delves into the weary push-and-pull of loyalty: a woman grappling with her partner’s entanglement in illegal activities and the inevitable weight of her own pregnancy. It’s all narrated in Badu’s rich, conversational alto, which teeters between intimate despair and cool detachment, sidestepping melodrama in favor of quiet anguish.

The track exudes restraint, a slow-burn ballad rather than a soaring anthem. It peaked modestly in the U.S. at number 14 on the R&B/Hip-Hop Airplay chart and climbed to number 2 on the Adult R&B Songs chart, demonstrating its more niche lyrical and stylistic appeal.

Badu self-directed the accompanying music video, enlisting André 3000, her then-partner and father of her son, Seven. Shot in a continuous take, the video mirrors the song’s domestic intimacy but paints it in stark relief with the looming threat of societal consequence—a visual extension of the track’s lived-in moral tension.

In hindsight, “Other Side of the Game” neither strives for immediacy nor broad accessibility. Its pacing risks monotony, and the understated composition borders on too careful. Yet, this precise subtlety cements the narrative’s realism, a quiet resistance against sensationalizing a story rarely afforded such tenderness in R&B.

Lifted from : We remember Jimmy Smith. ‘Jimmy Moved On’

6 . Wayne Shorter Quartet – Starry Night

“My Favorite Mistake,” the lead single from Sheryl Crow’s 1998 album “The Globe Sessions,” strikes a bittersweet chord as it unpacks the betrayal at the heart of a faltering relationship.

Co-written with Jeff Trott, the song rides on Crow’s knack for blending personal angst with an almost breezy accessibility. Lyrically, it keeps its cards close to the chest—much like Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain”—as Crow leaves the central figure’s identity unknown, teasing listeners with an air of unsolved mystery. The potency of its theme isn’t just in the admission of emotional injury but in the ambivalent warmth directed toward the titular “favorite mistake,” a phrase that softens culpability without absolving it.

Musically, it leans on a clean yet textured guitar arrangement, courtesy of Trott and Wendy Melvoin, lending the track both depth and immediacy. Mixed by Tchad Blake, the production maintains an organic polish, balancing grit with just enough radio-friendly varnish. The song did more than hold its own, peaking at number 20 on the US Billboard Hot 100 while finding greater success in Canada and the UK, charting at numbers two and nine, respectively.

The accompanying Samuel Bayer-directed music video leaned into late ’90s aesthetics with moody visuals that matched the track’s reflective undertones. Testing its live endurance, Crow included this song in her Central Park performance in 1999, a move that underscored its staying power within her repertoire.

On the accolades side, “My Favorite Mistake” clinched a Grammy for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance, though its strengths lie in nuanced understatement rather than outright showmanship. Its legacy persists, topping The Guardian’s 2023 list of her greatest songs and landing at number six on a 2017 Billboard ranking. Yet, for all its accolades, the track’s most notable strength may lie in its refusal to overplay its sorrow—heartbreak here is as restrained as it is devastating, letting the listener feel the sting without the melodrama.

Lifted from : Blue Note publish Wayne Shorter’s ‘Without a Net,’ an album recorded with Brian Blade Danilo Pérez and John Patitucci (2013)

7 . Mahavishnu Orchestra – Meeting Of The Spirits/You Know You Know

The Black Crowes’ rendition of “Hard to Handle” takes Otis Redding’s 1968 classic and drenches it in raw Southern rock grit, trading in the original’s soulful strut for a swagger that is both unpolished and purposeful.

Appearing on their debut album, “Shake Your Money Maker,” the track is clearly designed to showcase the band’s high-energy aesthetic. Produced by George Drakoulias, the song amplifies its blues-rock roots, leaning more on serrated guitar riffs than Redding’s horns-inflected arrangement. Chris Robinson’s vocals, while gripping in their guttural intensity, eschew the emotional nuance of Redding’s original delivery, favoring a brash confidence that fits the band but strips the song of its layered charm.

Released on February 13, 1989, the album’s reception was anything but subtle, peaking at No. 4 on the Billboard 200 chart and pushing “Hard to Handle” to No. 1 on the Mainstream Rock Tracks chart. The choice to include this cover was undoubtedly strategic, crafting an entry point into a broader rock conversation for an act still finding its identity. Yet, its brassy boldness can feel more rehearsed than revelatory—a calculated move rather than an intuitive homage.

Over 5 million copies sold cement “Shake Your Money Maker” as a touchstone of Southern rock, and in that framework, “Hard to Handle” serves its function as a loud, electrified calling card. The 2020 HD video release celebrating the album’s 30th anniversary lacked the same urgency, offering instead a neatly packaged nostalgia trip more concerned with optics than sonic innovation.

The track, while brimming with volume and attitude, invites scrutiny in comparison to its progenitor. Where Redding’s arrangement allowed space for breath and sway, The Black Crowes’ version bulldozes through with a single-minded intent that, though impactful initially, suggests a band more eager to prove than to probe.

Lifted from : On English TV today, The Mahavishnu Orchestra at ‘BBC in Concert’ (1973)

8 . Milt Jackson , Benny Golson , Art Farmer & Nhøp – I Remember Clifford

“Discothèque,” the lead single from U2’s ninth studio offering, “Pop,” released in 1997, operates as both an experiment and a contradiction. Produced by Flood, the track clings to the band’s stadium roots while plunging headfirst into the eclecticism of ’90s dance culture, with mixed results.

Musically, the song’s hybrid nature feels deliberate yet uneven. Beneath its pulsating beats and swirling guitars lies a tension between U2’s rock legacy and an almost irreverent plunge into club-ready electronica. Bono’s lyrics, co-penned with The Edge, flirt with introspection, though their emotional resonance feels slightly diluted amidst the layers of production. The result is more sonic collage than cohesive storytelling.

Commercially, “Discothèque” achieved notable success, topping charts in countries ranging from the United Kingdom to Norway. Its peak at number 10 on the US Billboard Hot 100 underscores its broader appeal to dance and alternative audiences. Yet the song’s performance suggests it found better reception outside the mainstream American rock framework.

The Stéphane Sednaoui-directed music video amplifies the song’s playful ambition, immersing the band in surreal mirrored visuals and a pointed parody of the Village People. Here, U2 appears self-aware, as if acknowledging and skewering their own flirtation with pop tropes. Described as “sublimely bizarre” by *Stylus Magazine*, the video holds up as a curious artifact of MTV’s late-’90s dominance, further cemented by its inclusion in a marathon of U2’s videography before its debut.

Live, “Discothèque” gained another dimension, serving as a staple during the entire PopMart Tour in 1997–1998. Its inclusion in subsequent tours, including Elevation and the epic U2 360°, demonstrates the band’s commitment to recontextualizing the track beyond its studio origins. It has also found a home on 2002’s “The Best of 1990–2000” compilation, a signal of its enduring, if contentious, place in their catalog.

While the UK and European CD single featured remixes like “Holy Joe,” and other remix variants appeared on formats such as the US 12-inch release, these iterations only reinforce the track’s identity as a genre experiment. Yet, for all its ambition, “Discothèque” is less a bold reinvention and more a chaotic wrestling with identity—too electronic for purists, too rock for club-goers, and too self-aware to ignore.

Lifted from : Art Farmer and Benny Golson record together ‘Meet the Jazztet’ (1960)

9 . Lalo Schifrin – Mission Impossible (W/ Rté Concert Orchestra)

Tin Machine’s rendition of “Go Now” sits at the intersection of reverence and reinvention, a calculated deviation from the band’s usual abrasive sonic palette that echoes their penchant for eclecticism.

Originally penned by Larry Banks and immortalized by Bessie Banks in 1963, the track witnessed mainstream breakthrough when The Moody Blues reimagined it in 1965. Tin Machine, helmed by David Bowie during their brief but experimental tenure, revives the track with live performances, most notably in Tokyo during their 1992 tour promoting “Tin Machine II.” The decision to leave this cover off their studio albums suggests it was more of a live indulgence than a core creative statement.

The contrast between the song’s romantic roots and Tin Machine’s jagged, hard-edged ethos leads to tension, sometimes productive, sometimes jarring. Bowie’s distinctive vocal phrasing injects a theatrical melancholy absent from the original’s soulful earnestness or The Moody Blues’ almost maudlin delivery. While the band’s live translation strips the song of its original R&B warmth, replacing it with an icy detachment, this detachment paradoxically creates an appealing kind of poignancy—perhaps unintentionally.

Despite this, the performance occasionally skews toward affectation, lacking the vulnerability that anchors the song’s core. Tin Machine’s ensemble presence, while typically muscular, comes across as oddly restrained here, their infamous raw edge tempered to an almost perfunctory discipline—perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of miscalculation.

“Tin Machine II” may have charted modestly—#23 in the UK and #126 in the US—but the inclusion of “Go Now” on their tour setlist reveals the band’s ongoing dialogue with influences outside of their wheelhouse. Whether successful or not depends largely on the listener’s appetite for such idiosyncratic juxtaposition.

Lifted from : Lalo Schifrin conducts in Dublin (2010)

10 . The Bad Plus – Everywhere You Turn

“Spoonman,” released in 1994 as the lead single from Soundgarden’s “Superunknown,” straddles the line between homage and experiment.

Chris Cornell’s lyrics pay tribute to Artis the Spoonman, a Seattle street performer who transforms clinking utensils into percussive art. While most bands name-drop influences, Soundgarden recruits theirs—Artis not only opens one of their shows but also contributes his spoon virtuosity directly to the recording. Few frontmen would bother to write a song inspired by someone wielding kitchen utensils, and fewer still would turn that inspiration into a Grammy-winning track for Best Metal Performance in 1995. Yet here we are.

Musically, “Spoonman” is a knot of complexity. Drop D tuning gives the song its characteristic crunch, but what really defines it is the time signature. Shifting between predictable 4/4 and the less intuitive septuple time, the track teeters on the edge of the abstract, refusing to settle into traditional grooves. That restlessness is amplified by Matt Cameron’s choice to substitute pots and pans for standard drums, suggesting a playful irreverence while still sounding grounded. Ben Shepherd’s backing vocals add just enough dissonance to keep things off-kilter without descending into chaos.

The accompanying Jeffrey Plansker-directed video eschews typical rock band tropes, reducing the band to black-and-white stills while focusing on Artis himself. It’s rare for a band to cede the spotlight so thoroughly in their own visual narrative, and here that choice feels as unconventional as the song’s structure.

Chart-wise, “Spoonman” peaks at number three on Billboard’s Mainstream Rock Tracks chart and number nine on Modern Rock Tracks. It’s a respectable showing for a track that casually inserts spoon solos into a genre more associated with guitars. Still, its appeal feels as niche as its subject—admirable for its oddities but not quite engineered for mass consumption.

Including “Spoonman” on retrospective compilations like “A-Sides” and “Telephantasm” suggests the band acknowledges its importance to their catalog, though “importance” doesn’t necessarily translate to universal appeal.

Ultimately, “Spoonman” occupies a peculiar space: a spiky experiment wrapped in the guise of a charting single. It may not convert skeptics, but as an artifact of Soundgarden’s willingness to color outside the lines, it sticks the landing—even if the landing comes with a metallic clatter of spoons hitting the floor.

Lifted from : Columbia publish The Bad Plus’ second album : ‘These Are the Vistas’ (2003)

11 . Stan Kenton – Artistry In Rhythm

Every band needs its ballad, but “My Friends” from the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ 1995 album “One Hot Minute” feels more like a necessary exhale than a fully-formed breath.

Melodic and melancholic, the track trades the band’s usual funk-infused explosivity for a restrained lament, simmering with themes of loneliness and depression.

The lyrics, inspired partly by an offhand remark from a child in a beauty pageant, offer a fragmented exploration of self and connection, though their weight occasionally feels undercut by Anthony Kiedis’s wavering vocal delivery.

Commercially successful, it became their third number-one on the US Billboard Hot Modern Rock Tracks chart, holding the spot for four weeks, but its broader legacy is muted—appearing as the lone representative from “One Hot Minute” on their “Greatest Hits” compilation.

Rick Rubin’s production is as polished as expected, though it leaves little room for daring, and the added percussion by Lenny Castro provides texture rather than depth.

Two music videos accompany the song, the first—a brooding Corbijn-directed visual of boats and turmoil—clashes awkwardly with the band’s chaotic energy, while Gavin Bowden’s studio performance version, featured on their “Greatest Hits” DVD, feels serviceable but uninspired.

Live, “My Friends” felt at home on the One Hot Minute Tour but has all but vanished from the Chili Peppers’ setlists since 1996, barring a rare 2021 revival by Chad Smith, Dave Navarro, and guest musicians at the Ohana Festival.

The existence of two unreleased B-sides on the single, “Stretch” and “Let’s Make Evil,” adds intrigue, though their absence from the album underscores the song’s standalone vibe—a project unto itself, untethered from the Chili Peppers’ larger identity.

At its best, “My Friends” provides a glimpse into a band attempting vulnerability; at its worst, it risks being an experiment that isn’t revisited for good reason.

Lifted from : Stan Kenton takes his Orchestra to London (1972)

12 . Count Basie – Basie Boogie, Lil’ Darlin’

“Rape Me,” the fourth track on Nirvana’s swan song, “In Utero,” walks the tightrope between blunt commentary and unsettling provocation. Kurt Cobain, both lyricist and frontman, crafts an anti-rape statement from the victim’s perspective, wrapping survival in layers of defiance that dare the listener to squirm.

Recorded in February 1993 at Pachyderm Studio in the quiet surroundings of Cannon Falls, Minnesota, and shaped by Steve Albini’s unvarnished production, the song is a sonic grenade. The abrasiveness is intentional, stripping polish in favor of raw, almost uncomfortable clarity. Its directness seems engineered to repel sanitized listening experiences—and perhaps the big-box stores that initially declined to stock it, like Walmart and K-Mart, proved his point.

When “Rape Me” was double-billed with “All Apologies” in December 1993, it nudged its way to number 32 on the UK Singles Chart, an achievement that speaks less to its melodic hooks and more to Cobain’s thorny charisma and a public unable to look away. The controversy surrounding its title ensured the song gained reluctant attention—as exemplified by MTV blocking it from the 1992 MTV Video Music Awards. Cobain’s cheeky gesture of playing its opening chords before segueing into “Lithium” remains a sharp jab at corporate timidity.

Live performances of the track, such as on “Saturday Night Live” in September 1993 or Nirvana’s farewell concert in Munich in 1994, underline its place in the band’s canon as a visceral challenge to listener comfort. Yet, the song risks being overshadowed by its controversy, the starkness of its title, and the unease it courts. While poignant as a statement, its relentless abrasiveness can feel one-note, leaving listeners appreciating its intent but perhaps hesitant to revisit.

Lifted from : Count Basie takes his Orchestra to Zurich (1959)