Jaco Pastorius and the music of the spheres

Ever get the feeling that the Blues has taken up permanent residence in that ratty apartment called your soul and invited Despair and Melancholy over for some beer and barbecue? I was in one of those moods last week (an Attila the Hun of a week I should say) until I chanced upon the very first Jaco Pastorius anthology titled "Punk Jazz." It was the cosmos’ way of telling me all is fine. That music can be one’s ticket out of a self-created rut. That music can be a way out of misery even if that piece of music was created out of misery and the musicians were far from being themselves unmiserable in the first place (so goes the Nick Hornby philosophy). Jaco records helped me survive the puppet show called college – the misery, the exquisite tragedy, the Tina-Turner-wig-wearing professor of it all. Now, the new Jaco retrospective is helping me deal with the puppet show called pre-death and post-everything.

I was supposed to write about a different topic. I was supposed to review Linkin Park’s "Meteora," which is nothing but superbly packaged crap. I read in the liner notes that on one song guitarists Brad Delson and Mike Shinoda kept fussing with their parts, even altering them at the last minute, while turntablist Joe Hahn "recorded the opening scratch solo on the first take." What do you expect? A turntable is more of an appliance than a musical instrument as Dave Barry correctly pointed out. It’s more of a goddamn toaster than a guitar. How many variations can you do with twheech-twheech-twheech?

And with lines like "It’s easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb," or "Memories consume, like opening the wound," I tell you those who hate poetry and Pablo Neruda will love "Meteora."

I also intended to write a sequel to my article last May 2 titled "Love Songs from Beautiful Losers," which ruffled the feathers of a few female yuppies. The intro deals with inaccessible women ordinary blokes like me could never be with unless we get biceps, triceps (or forceps, whatever!), and swanky German cars. One girl sent me an e-mail saying she’s without a doubt one of the "goddesses" I was talking about, dismissing everything I wrote and everything I experienced firsthand as pathetic drivel. Such pride, such arrogance, such hubris (put down that Wallpaper for a minute, self-proclaimed goddess, and look the word up) just reinforces my views on planet yuppie and its close-minded citizens.

Anyway, when I got a hold of the two-disc Jaco anthology, I shelved everything. I’ve always wanted to write about Jaco Pastorius, Weather Report, Word of Mouth, etc. – and that chance came like deus ex machina to a writer in the throes of a personal wasteland.

Jaco reinvented the electric bass guitar; his self-titled debut album (released in ’76), paved the way for a paradigm-shift and changed the role of the four-stringed instrument forever. Sure, there were innovators before him (Stanley Clarke, James Jamerson, Chuck Rainey, Chris Squire of Yes, John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin, Jack Bruce of Cream, among others), but Jaco made use of chords, harmonics, lightning-fast arpeggios, syncopated grooves and melodic passages with his fretless Fender Jazz – an instrument he called "Bass of Doom." Other bassists were content with mindlessly thumping roots (like what U2’s Adam Clayton does on With or Without You – DDDD-AAAA-BmBmBmBm-GGGG), but not Jaco who put nasty funk riffs, classical phrases, and mind-bending low-end sorcery into the "bass-ic" brew – stuff that can be heard in his solo albums, his outings with jazz fusion super-group Weather Report, as well as his sideman roles for Joni Mitchell, Pat Metheny, Mike Stern, Ian Hunter, etc.

(If you equate instrumental jazz with Kenny G., Mike Francis or stupid elevator music, like all ‘em yuppies and poseurs with Vanilla Ice hairstyle, don’t waste your light beer and Anne Rice book money on Jaco Pastorius CDs. Go find a cliff somewhere and jump off it.)

Non-bassists (or even non-musicians) will be made aware of how amazing Pastorius is on bass guitar simply by listening to tracks like Portrait of Tracy, Continuum, Donna Lee, Three Views of a Secret, and other cuts from the legendary Jaco Pastorius discography. Hey, Jaco even proved that the bass could transcend its limitations by making it function as a piano, a conga drum, a fu*kin’ horn section.

Name today’s bass greats and I’m quite certain they were influenced by Jaco one way or another – like Sting, Flea, Marcus Miller, Stu Hamm, Victor Wooten, John Patitucci, Bakithi Kumalo (who played exceptionally on Paul Simon’s "Graceland"), our very own Dondi Ledesma, etc. Heck, even the guy who plays bass on Joyce Jimenez’s videoke tracks or soap and iodized salt jingles probably dig Jaco’s playing.

Jaco is to the bass what Jimi Hendrix is to the electric guitar. And it’s not just about how mesmerizing the man’s bass chops are. It’s also about how evocative and extraordinary the music is (the fretless bass is just a medium). The music is up there in the spheres. It’s like the song of the sirens, but it won’t drive everyone as batty as Odysseus’ sad sailors. It’s a gift for us world-weary wanderers sick of our empty and meaningless little lives.

(How ironic it is that Jaco was a tragic figure himself, succumbing to drugs, alcohol, burnout and mental illness; becoming a panhandler on the streets of New York City; and being beaten to death by a Florida club bouncer in ‘87. I suggest you check out Bill Milkowski’s JACO: The Extraordinary and Tragic Life of Jaco Pastorius to know more about the "world’s greatest bass player" – even if that book overstates Jaco’s tragedy.)

Jaco explored a slew of soundscapes – straightahead jazz, jazz-rock fusion, folk-jazz, soul, R&B, blues, reggae, calypso, Afro-pop, Cuban, Brazilian, Caribbean, etc. But in the end, none of the categories mean a damn thing because music is supposed to be boundless, and genres in the hands of great artists tend to cavort, flirt and have sex with each other. Jaco’s music is up there in the spheres. It’s forever spiraling upwards, hurrying into the celestial.

And sagging spirits can hitch along for a blessed ride.

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Punk Jazz: The Jaco Pastorius Anthology" is the first-ever career-spanning collection from the bassist extraordinaire. For novices, it makes for an excellent introduction to the Jaco legend. The caveat: Longtime Jacophiles may be disappointed since there are no alternate takes of masterpieces and too few previously unreleased material. No coveted bootlegs or even live recordings from gigs that went particularly well (a rarity in Jaco’s autumnal years). No Hendrix or Marley covers. No matter. The trouble is, crabby critics insist on looking for and griping about what ain’t there. Just to be able to listen to a true-blue Jaco compilation is in itself a musical manna from heaven.

The first track is an early Jaco demo of Pee Wee Ellis’ The Chicken, featuring the musician on guitar, bass, drums and sax. Which is followed by one of his early compositions titled Amelia as performed by Wayne Cochran’s C Riders. Very funky it is. The oddest for me is the third track, a soulful, funky number called I Can Dig It Baby, the only cut in "Punk Jazz" with vocals (shades of Come On Come Over featuring Sam & Dave).

Batterie from the album waxed by Jaco, guitarist Pat Metheny, drummer Bruce Ditmas and pianist Paul Bley showcases the bassist in an avant-garde context. This track is in the same territory as Gateway and an edgier, electric Miles Davis. It’s an acquired taste.

Continuum from Jaco’s first, on the other hand, is atmospheric and accessible, since it has a really catchy melody. Dig Lenny White’s tasty percussions and Herbie Hancock’s celestial Fender Rhodes. It’s a mystery: Continuum is purely instrumental yet Jaco communicates volumes with his lyrical fretless lines. The same can be said about Pat Metheny’s Midwestern Nights Dream, from "Bright Size Life" which starts with textural guitars and settles into a languid groove. Drummer Bob Moses punctuates the riffs with well-placed fills. The Jaco solo is transcendent.

Foreign Fun with trombonist Albert Mangelsdorff is sinister and brooding with its dark Castilian chords and pummeling pace. Other highlights of Disc 1 include Weather Report’s Birdland, the group’s biggest hit, as well as two Joni Mitchell songs – Goodbye Pork Pie Hat (a tribute to bass great Charles Mingus) and the rampaging The Dry Cleaner From Des Moines.

Jaco throws in a couple of artificial harmonics into the rich aural brew set by keyboardist Joe Zawinul and saxophonist Wayne Shorter in Birdland. In Goodbye, Jaco becomes the anchor of the song, counterpointing Joni’s vocals and "having dialogues" with Hancock and Shorter. In Dry Cleaner, recorded live, Jaco plays a nasty combination of swing and funk with drummer Don Alias and sax titan Michael Brecker. The trio cuts loose as Joni scats and doo-wops in the outtro.

Disc 2 begins with a couple of tracks from "Word of Mouth," Jaco’s big band masterpiece: the poignant Three Views of a Secret, Liberty City, Chromatic Fantasy (by Johann Sebastian Bach), Blackbird (by the Beatles), the snarling Word of Mouth, and John and Mary, which Jaco wrote for his kids.

The double-album retrospective is worth foregoing coffee and cigarettes for. You can even move your purchase of Tom Robbin’s Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates till the next payday. Or abstain from beer and peanuts and conversations with Apples or Nicole at the David Lynchian strip joint you visit on sleazy Saturdays. So what if your hemp Gazelles start sprouting molds from use, abuse and moisture, and scream for replacement? So what if your Keith Haring shirts have faded from too much wear, tear and Downey, and scream for replacement? So what do all these matter if you haven’t for the life of you listened to one of the greatest musicians to ever walk the earth? He’s the equivalent of Ludwig or Amadeus to listeners high on classical gas. He’s the jazzers’ Jimi Hendrix or Jimmy Page. "Punk Jazz" is the shit. It’s far from being the definitive Jaco (lots of great cuts left out like Havona, A Remark You Made, Portrait of Tracy, Refuge of the Roads), but it’ll do… for now, until a bigger and better box set comes along.

Blues and Despair and Melancholy can sign a permanent lease on that ratty apartment called your soul but once you put these discs on, you start journeying toward the spheres.

Dig?

Rating: 5

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Thanks for your letters. For comments, suggestions, curses and invocations, e-mail iganja@hotmail.com.