MOSE KNOWS

In the early 1970s jazz labels started to mine their back catalogues by re-issuing material repackaged for a new, younger audience. These compilations were often priced lower than a new release and provided opportunities to explore less familiar styles and artists. It was a fine idea and it worked. Well, for me, anyway.

Just recently I uncovered a 1972 double-sided flyer exploring (exploiting?) two of jazz’s most famous imprints: Prestige and Milestone.

I’m pretty sure I had the Modern Jazz Quartet set at some point, and although it may be long gone others have survived… or been added. A particular favourite is the Mose Allison, combining two early albums, Back Country Suite (1957) and Local Color (1958).

The re-issue has a worthwhile biographical essay by critic Ira Gitler and a marvellously enthusiastic endorsement from Pete Townshend.

From that day as I walked down city streets I imagined myself to be Mose. Singing, “Everybody’s talking’ ’bout the … seventh son, in this whole wide world there is only one… an’ I’m the one.” The thing was I wasn’t the one. I was a fairly lame individual with a big nose, a Beatle fringe and still had time to learn a few Jimmy Reed tunes, but Mose was MY MAN.”

I’m with Pete. It’s nothing short of criminal that there aren’t statues of Mose Allison dotting the globe.

If I could choose to be one musician, it would probably be him. His swinging piano playing with its accessible melodic lines and Monk tropes coupled with an effortlessly hip singing style are timeless. Add his witty lyrics and gift for irony and you have a master songwriter. No wonder his songs have been covered by everyone from Bonnie Raitt to The Who.

Pulling LPs out of the shelves for this piece, I came across one from the Milestone series, featuring Bobby Timmons. Being totally unable to recall anything about Mr Timmons I added it to the playlist and was very pleasantly surprised.

The double album draws from half a dozen album from Timmons relatively brief career, mostly in trio settings. The list of drummers tells you heaps: Jimmy Cobb, Art Blakey, Connie Kay. The bass players are Sam Jones and Ron Carter. His style is not a million miles away from that of Mose Allison; a robust post-bop approach (the recordings date from 1960-63) with a strong blues sensibility. It was a very enjoyable (re-)discovery.

Finally, another 1972 re-issue, one that has a special place in my collection.

This double combines two Antônio Carlos Jobim albums, Tide (1970) and Wave (1967) and was re-titled Tidal Wave. While a bit clever, this bears no connection to the music whatsoever. In fact it is impossible to imagine anything less overwhelming and destructive than Jobim’s elegant bossa nova tunes and light, deft arrangements. Well do I recall being enchanted by this music when I played it in Max Rose Electronics, the shop where I worked. At the time, it is unlikely I recognised the famous Rio de Janeiro statue, its fog-shrouded silhouette tinted ocean blue, but I could pick the giraffe on the inner gatefold. There was something about the contrast between the mysterious blue of the front and the vivid life-blood red of the photo inside that captivated me. And the music was so different for anything I’d heard to that time. Like a cascade of multi-coloured dancers, lighter than air.

Max was OK with me putting records on lay-by, so it went into a carrier bag with my name on it and was filed with the other pay-by-instalment records behind the counter. On Saturday lunchtime when Max handed over my earnings—recollection is hazy but I think the Friday night / Saturday morning shift netted me $15 cash in hand, circa 1974—I’d hand back a couple of dollars and adjust the total on the bag. Talk about delayed gratification. But there you are, Jobim is still bringing pleasure half a century later, long after Max and the shop have gone. Delayed pleasure perhaps, but long-lasting.