Baker Gurvitz Army: Live

BAKER GURVITZ ARMY: LIVE (2005)

1) Wotever It Is; 2) The Gambler; 3) Freedom; 4) 4 Phil; 5) Remember; 6) Memory Lane; 7) People.

If, for some reason, you are still in the mood for more gurvitz-bakery, this extra release, also from 2005 and, seemingly, also from the post-Elysian Encounter tour, might do the trick. Unpreten­tiously called Live (or, as some sources put it, Live Live Live, or even longer, depending on how many times you spin around the CD cover), these are not remastered, but still good quality re­cordings that only partially overlap with Live In Derby, and thus, have some real appeal that warrants at least a quick reconaissance download (or even a certified purchase, although I am not even sure that the artists themselves get anything from these limited-issue foreign imports).

Anyway, there is at least one song here that is totally unavailable anywhere else — the introduc­tory ʽWotever It Isʼ, a jiggly hard-funk number, unfortunately, mostly keyboard-driven for the first half, but once Adrian finally steps in with burning solos, the groove starts unfurling, and by the fourth minute, the BGA are completely in their element. Then there is a rather faithful, and not very intriguing, rendition of ʽThe Gamblerʼ, and a somewhat more intriguing version of ʽ4 Philʼ which, as Ginger says, «starts off as it used to be, and finishes as it is» — that is, with a new section, now featuring life-asserting vocals from Mr. Snips, thrown in. Finally, the major addition to Live In Derby is the red-hot finale with ʽPeopleʼ — Baker-Gurvitzes are always at their most infectious live when doing fast stuff, and this here is no exception.

The stage banter tidbit to be associated with the album is Ginger's mid-show mumble about how «the police have said that they are gonna raid the place, but the stage is a sancrosanct area, so you if you all throw your illegal things onto the stage, we promise we'll look after them for you». Jud­ging by the average comprehensibility of the mumble, you'd think that quite a few «illegal things» had already landed on the stage by then — then you remember that it's just Ginger, and that he always talks that way.

If you are still in the mood for one more red hot gurvitz on your baker, keep in mind that there is more: for instance, Still Alive from 2008, featuring even more archival live stuff from the same tour, scattered on 2 CDs. There is a bit of good stuff there, too — such as an early, and quite im­pressive, live version of ʽHearts On Fireʼ, and the only official live version of ʽHelp Meʼ (which should really have been a stage favorite — I have no idea why they didn't do it in Derby). Oh, and during his stage banter bit, Ginger actually says «drugs» now instead of «illegal things». I guess that must be the difference between knowing you're being recorded for the BBC and not knowing you're being recorded at all.

But the whole thing still shows clear signs of being scraped together, since (a) the overall sound quality is much worse than on Live, and (b) there are no less than four separate drum solos, altogether add­ing up to about thirty minutes — and each of them sounds just like ʽToadʼ. To be sure, Ginger Baker was one of the most distinctive drum soloists in the business, but it's not as if the fifth minute of a ʽToadʼ-style drum solo is all that distinctive from the eleventh minute of a ʽToadʼ-style drum solo. Well, actually, the eleventh minute is usually louder than the fifth (that's just about the time when the drummer goes into full acceleration mode on each limb). But that, too, is sort of predictable.

Overall, it is always sort of a lottery — which one of the «lost legend» bands will be the next in line to start getting the let-it-all-hang-out treatment, particularly now that the task of digitalizing an archive recording and releasing it as a «limited issue» pressing has never been easier. In reality, nobody but the starkest fan should care about Live (Live Live), and nobody but the looniest re­viewer should care about Still Alive. Which should never detract from the fact that the Baker Gurvitz Army were a dang fine band anyway, both in the studio and live.

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Baker Gurvitz Army: Live In Derby '75

BAKER GURVITZ ARMY: LIVE IN DERBY '75 (1975)

1) The Hustler; 2) Space Machine; 3) Remember; 4) White Room; 5) Neon Lights; 6) Inside Of Me; 7) Memory Lane; 8) Sunshine Of Your Love; 9) The Artist; 10) Freedom; 11) Time; 12) Going To Heaven.

Although, at their peak (and they were almost always at their peak, considering they only lasted three years), Baker Gurvitz Army were a real swell live act, somehow they never got around to putting out a live album — probably because there was little hope of commercial success, given the failure of the studio ones (too bad they never got inspired by the example of KISS). The vaults did open, eventually, in the 2000s, with a whole stream of low-budget, but sometimes sur­prisingly high-quality releases, the most representative of which is this show, recorded for a live BBC broadcast (hence the quality) during the Elysian Encounter tour.

In the true spirit of progressive ambition, the setlist barely fits onto a single CD with only twelve numbers — but, in all honesty, the seventy eight minutes never feel tedious. These are just long songs, sometimes launching into jam mode for brief periods (this ain't Cream, really), sometimes giving the guitarist or the drummer an individual chance to shine (only one, and a relatively brief at that, drum solo — probably at the BBC's cordial request), but most often fixed in a steady groove mode, just getting it on, with the Gurvitz brothers providing the hard rock excitement, Ginger adding a jazz foundation, and the keyboard guy laying on the funk 'n' fusion. Although, honestly, to hell with the keyboard guy — his presence is notable, but as a keyboard guy, he is the weakest link in this chain.

The setlist is predictably concentrated on Elysian Encounter, with a couple of numbers from the debut album, a «preview» of ʽNeon Lightsʼ from Hearts On Fire, and a 7"-only song (ʽSpace Machineʼ, "our last single that vanished without a trace", Mr. Snips says) to hold up some balance — as well as two Cream classics (guess which ones) donated specially for Ginger fans, and a late period Jimi Hendrix cover, because what fun must it be to feel yourself in the shoes of The Band Of Gypsies from time to time.

The spirit of the transformation into the band that made Hearts On Fire is already evident — there is a very strong emphasis on danceable funk grooves throughout the show, most obvious on the drastic rearrangement of ʽInside Of Meʼ, where they drop the melancholic blues and lay on the dirty funk like there was no tomorrow. But it works much better in the raw live setting than it would work in the polished confines of the studio. As I said, it ain't Cream — there is never any feeling that the players are fighting a mortal combat against each other, even Ginger seems fairly content to be just a member of the team — but there is no fear, either, of letting their hair down and sacrificing, where possible, precision and discipline for the sakes of gutsy excitement.

They could actually do without the Cream covers, though: it is quite clear that both were per­formed for purely perfunctory reasons, and that neither Mr. Snips (who omits an entire verse from ʽSunshine Of Your Loveʼ) nor Adrian Gurvitz (who refrains from playing the last solo on ʽWhite Roomʼ) have any real interest in playing a Bruce or a Clapton. But I suppose that having Ginger Baker in your band surmises certain ironclad obligations — especially when one starts thinking of all the potential ticket buyers. Anyway, that is just six minutes out of seventy-five, and they don't sound awful or anything.

Overall, a content thumbs up here: the whole thing is a sweaty, crunchy, agile, and intelligent sample of mid-Seventies' «hard-art»-rock with a respectable balance between the hard and the art parts. Less elitist and esoteric than something like The Mahavishnu Orchestra, perhaps, but high­ly recommendable for all those who'd like to combine intelligence with headbanging without having to take it from the likes of Uriah Heep.

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Baker Gurvitz Army: Hearts On Fire

BAKER GURVITZ ARMY: HEARTS ON FIRE (1976)

1) Hearts On Fire; 2) Neon Lights; 3) Smiling; 4) Tracks Of My Life; 5) Flying In And Out Of Stardom; 6) Dancing The Night Away; 7) My Mind Is Healing; 8) Thirsty For The Blues; 9) Night People; 10) Mystery.

Now who was it ordered a change in style? They had such a lovely thing going on, and without a single warning, in just one year's time, they went from a smooth synthesis of jazz, prog, and roots stuff to a disheartening brand of heavy funk, bordering on disco (and sometimes crossing over directly — on ʽDancing The Night Awayʼ, which, alas, is anything but a throwback to Cream's ʽDance The Night Awayʼ, even though Ginger at least must have felt a slight discomfort). I'd like to place this burden on the conscience of Mr. Snips (because what the hell of a name is Mr. Snips, anyway?), but apparently, he is only credited for two of these songs, so what we are really deal­ing with is nothing less than a shameless sellout by the Gurvitzes — and Ginger playing submis­sive accomplice.

Not that these songs are all that awful. The Gurvitzes' songwriting instincts were honed well enough by the first two albums to produce a set of decent riffs, shuffle in some variety and play around with guitar tones and overdubs. It's just that ʽHearts On Fireʼ, with its macho stomp and electronically treated guitar solos, rather belongs on a Peter Frampton album. These guys did not really have enough brawn to «sex it up» — Mr. Snips, as a vocalist, lacked personality or power, and the riffage was too clean anyway to inspire the expected dirty thoughts.

There is one interesting composition here: ʽNeon Lightsʼ, despite the misleading title, is actually a tight, swinging blues-rocker with a subtle, cool-oriented chorus and a weird selection of guitar tones — hard to describe, but it seems to generate a gloomy forcefield all its own, with a wobbly psychedelic aura, not terribly original, but standing out a bit. Everything else is simply «listen­able» and even «memorable» after a few listens, but you'd have to have those few listens first, and why should you, when there were probably about five thousand albums released all over the world that year, covering the same grounds?

The band even stoops to including a generic 12-bar piece, dressed in a «blues-de-luxe»  treat­ment (ʽThirsty For The Bluesʼ) — to my ears, even more of a lowlight on this album than the cheesy disco stuff: Adrian Gurvitz is no B. B. King, and neither is Mr. Snips, and the worst they could do was drag down the tempo so that, for over five minutes, we'd have to slowly savour each bar, de­livered in pseudo-vintage fashion (and wasting Ginger's presence — this man has no business whatsoever doing generic blues material).

Granted, ʽThirsty For The Bluesʼ may simply have been a chunk of filler that they came up with at the last moment, with ideas running low and contractual obligations pressing closer. But the truth is that I really cannot recommend any other tracks — ʽNeon Lightsʼ is okay, and «funk-rock» collections may probably benefit from ʽHearts On Fireʼ and ʽFlying In And Out Of Star­domʼ (the latter is at least fast and furious, if only they had a better singer), yet even these are only impressive while they last.

Consequently, here is just another of the many examples of decent bands eaten up by the com­mer­cial bug — since Elysian Encounter did not cut it with the crowds (it hardly had a chance anyway, with progressive rock already drifting out of mainstream fashion by 1975), they tried to go the Physical Graffiti-era Led Zep route here with a foray into accessible, danceable hard-rock and predictably fell flat on their faces. The only honorable decision after that would be to commit seppuku, and that they did, disbanding once and for all. Which is a pity: had they been able to remain satisfied with what little they had, and develop it further, we might have seen many inte­resting developments that could organically grow out of the Elysian Encounter stylistics. As it is, they just cruelly aborted the baby, and for that, they get a merciless thumbs down from me — even though, on my third listen, having overcome the initial disappointment, I could already sto­mach most of these songs with good old toe-tapping indifference. But is that enough for a change of heart? And speaking of hearts, an extra -100 for the album title. I cannot exclude that Mr. Snips' heart was indeed on fire during these sessions (you'd have to be a professional cardiologist to reach a proper diagnosis), but I am more interested in Mr. Ginger, and this just isn't the sort of music that he was born to play.

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Baker Gurvitz Army: Elysian Encounter

BAKER GURVITZ ARMY: ELYSIAN ENCOUNTER (1975)

1) People; 2) The Key; 3) Time; 4) The Gambler; 5) The Dreamer; 6) Remember; 7) The Artist; 8) The Hustler.

This is probably the best of the three Baker/Gurvitz albums, even though the general movement tendency leaves space for worrying: the vector is strongly biased towards «more Gurvitz, less Baker», which would culminate in the trio's disappointing final album. But for the moment, the major difference is just that there is no equivalent of ʽMad Jackʼ. Elysian Encounter, starting already from the cool-sounding, but overtly pompous title, is bent on taking itself more seriously and ra­tionally — which leaves more space for «layman-accessible» melodic overlays and less space for one of the world's favo­rite crazy drummers.

Not a lot less space, though; and fortunately, for Elysian Encounter, a sort of concept album built as a «musical portrait gallery», the Gurvitzes come up with a coherent framework, a fine set of riffs, melodic themes, and vocal hooks, and a fine production style that takes the best of all worlds — progressive, R&B, fusion, roots-rock — and leaves me no grounds for complaining. Okay, so the vocals are a bit hicky in places: for some or most of the parts they hire an additional vocalist, hiding behind the suspicious pseudonym of ʽMr. Snipsʼ (real name is Steve Parsons), who is absolutely nothing special — then again, I wonder if hiring Meat Loaf would have really been a better idea. Probably not. In any case, the music of Baker Gurvitz Army is not about great vocals — it's all about setting up a melodic groove and putting as much on top of it as the faithful horsie can stand without burying its hooves in the ground.

Thus, ʽPeopleʼ is exactly the sort of jazz fusion that I like the most — with all the trademarks of the genre (technique, speed, complexity), plus a strong basic riff-based hard rock theme, plus vocals, plus crazy solos that contrast nicely with the vocals. In the end, the energy, precision, and «intelligence» of the whole thing are not squandered, but tightly packed into a four-minute long thunderfest that might well be worth an entire album by the Mahavishnu or late period Soft Ma­chine (not any album, but you probably know what I mean).

ʽThe Keyʼ, on the other hand, is a somber cold shower after the thunderstorm — a tight, swinging groove with a soulful atmosphere and several «devil-or-angel»-type slide guitar overdubs that sounds like everything else and nothing else at the same time. Eventually, the whole thing starts inducing trance, as the slide parts pile up and the wailing reaches psychedelic heights, with Gin­ger's drumming and the "God only knows how I found you" mantra acting as the «lullifier» and the slide guitars acting as the «covert indoctrinator».

This is just two examples, but, really, each and every song on this album joins together disparate, familiar, oftentimes trivial elements and results in a synthesis that is, at worst, curious, and at best, awesome. Look how, on ʽThe Artistʼ, Ginger masterfully wiggles his way around a basic waltz melody, and a set of pretty, pastoral slide lead lines (well fit for a George Harrison solo record) are perfectly integrated with jarring electric blues solos. Wonder at how ʽTimeʼ sounds so much like early 1970s Traffic, and yet packs so much more angst and tension than a typical Traffic track (so is it our problem that Steve Winwood and his pals never whetted their instruments be­fore entering the studio?). Think about whether ʽThe Dreamerʼ would have fit in on the Allman Brothers' Brothers And Sisters — probably wouldn't, since the vocal melody is more Byrds than Allmans — making it an even quirkier combination, since these busy country guitar runs are just so much Dickey Betts in style.

They leave the busiest for last, though: ʽThe Hustlerʼ wraps up things on an even more frenzied, self-choking note than they were opened — here we have nearly seven minutes of groovy phased guitar backing, freight train drumming, and overdriven speed runs (this time, with some of them worthy of an Alvin Lee or even of an Angus Young) that never feel like seven minutes. It's a bit cheesy, yes, but heck, that's just what the progressive genre needed in 1975 — a little novelty and cheesiness, just a little whiff of cheap excitement atop the complexity and the seriousness.

Maybe if it weren't so over-the-top derivative in all respects, Elysian Encounter would not be as forgotten as it is today. People like their masterpieces with at least something that's totally indi­vidualistic — a personal chord change, a guitar tone, a unique vocal, anything. This here is a mo­saic, consisting of shrink-wrapped, sold, and delivered pieces, in which even Ginger's drumming style is sort of reduced to a slightly inferior imitation of itself. But then there's always the cooking process, and in this particular case, the three chefs are beyond reproach. Thumbs up — for one of the most underrated records of 1975.

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Baker Gurvitz Army: Baker Gurvitz Army

BAKER GURVITZ ARMY: BAKER GURVITZ ARMY (1974)

1) Help Me; 2) Love Is; 3) Memory Lane; 4) Inside Of Me; 5) I Wanna Live Again; 6) Mad Jack; 7) 4 Phil; 8) Since Beginning.

In the late 1960s, there used to be a band called Gun in the UK, run by the creative brotherly duo of Adrian Gurvitz (guitar) and Paul Gurvitz (bass). Both were accomplished musicians, but not terribly original songwriters, dabbling in psychedelic art-pop, progressive hard-rock and whatever else there was en vogue at the time. They were young, naïve, derivative, and not quite sure about how best to dispose of their talents. They did have one hit (ʽRace With The Devilʼ, a grinning mock-evil boogie piece that may actually have been a bit of an influence on Black Sabbath, evil laughter and all), but couldn't capitalize on it, dissolved, reunited as yet another band (Three Man Army), then crashed again in a commercial stupor.

And then along came Ginger Baker, fresh from the dissolution of his five hundred and fifty se­venth project (Ginger Baker's Air Force). Ginger, of course, wasn't much of a songwriter, but he was much of an «adventurer», and the ensuing brief romance between Baker and the Gurvitzes turned out to be almost surprisingly fruitful — particularly on this self-titled debut album. In a strictly mathematical sense, it was probably incorrect to label their power trio an «army», but they certainly generate enough rucus for at least a small squadron.

Essentially, the relative uniqueness of Baker Gurvitz Army comes from the clashing back­grounds. The Gurvitzes cut their teeth on blues-based «heavy art-rock», with a somewhat conven­tional approach to «aggression» and «beauty» in music. Ginger, on the other hand, came from a less «common-sense-oriented», so to speak, jazz background, to which he had also been adding a passion for the true African roots of jazz (he'd been living in Nigeria in the early 1970s). And the merger is lucky. On his own, Ginger couldn't have supplied the songwriting (not to mention the singing), and the Gurvitzes, without his aid, would have probably just made another Gun album — smooth, bland, and forgettable.

As it is, the record alternates between pop-rock anthems à la Grand Funk Railroad (ʽHelp Meʼ), stern, arena-flavored jazz-fusion workouts (ʽLove Isʼ), rootsy confessionals with weeping slide guitars (ʽInside Of Meʼ), orchestrated gospel sendouts (ʽI Wanna Live Againʼ), freakout jams (ʽMad Jackʼ), electric blues sendups in the style of Duane Allman (ʽ4 Philʼ), and atmospheric major key improvisations to brighten up your day (ʽSince Beginningʼ). It's not really quite as di­verse as that, because all of the band members have their trademark tricks that they reproduce in all genres, but still, fairly impressive, eh?

Ginger takes the firm spotlight only twice — during a (fortunately) brief drum solo on ʽMemory Laneʼ and lengthy spoken (actually, muttered) ramblings on ʽMad Jackʼ. But his presence is just as deeply felt, and overall, more impressive everywhere else. On ʽLove Isʼ, for instance, in be­tween all the mammoth riffs and flashy soloing, it is his polyrhythms, off-beat venturing, and unstoppable energy that breathe real life into the music. The Gurvitzes may be a little too stiff and stern at times, taking more care not to make any technical mistakes than to let in real rock'n'roll drive — Baker, on the other hand, couldn't care less about conventions, and simply flails in all directions with the same recklessness he showed in his Cream days (still sort of fresh in his me­mory, I guess, at such an early date). For those used to tighter, less impressionistic, but more te­chnically complex patterns in 1970s prog drumming (think either Bill Bruford or Carl Palmer), this combination might be a fine distraction (or a sacrilege).

Not that I'm diminishing the merits of the Gurvitz brothers in any way, because they do come up with lots of cool riffs and occasionally breathtaking bits of guitar interplay. The slide melodies of ʽInside Of Meʼ, for instance, have that emotional enigma that should be embedded in the best of 'em; ʽ4 Philʼ does deserve the comparison with Duane (as derivative as those bends and vibratos are, they are delivered with honesty and inspiration); and ʽHelp Meʼ, as funny as it is, sort of pre­dates all the best sides of Ozzy Osbourne's solo career a semi-decade before the fact (the idea came to me as I realized the similarity of the vocal parts, but really, the whole idea — cheery, me­lodic pop disguised as hard rock — is quite comparable).

The only track that does not manage to get off the ground is, amusingly, the one track that for­mal­ly tries to — ʽI Wanna Live Againʼ is pompous soul with gospel overtones, too idealistically pretentious for a bunch of white guys to pull off convincingly and, furthermore, misplacing Gin­ger's talents: this is the only track on which he is just a backing player, nothing else. But I sup­pose they just didn't dare put out an album without a single ballad on it, and I cannot imagine Ginger making a valuable contribution to a ballad, anyway.

Overall, the album did not leave a strong trace on the scene of 1974, falling through the cracks as usual — too much of a stylistic melange to amass a strong, devoted fan base, too many fluctuati­ons to appeal to «prog» crowds, «hard rock» crowds, or «glam» crowds in particular. But for to­day's retro-favoring fans of various intellectual or «intellectualized» directions of the 1970s, Ba­ker Gurvitz Army is a must. It's professional, it's loud, it's memorable, and it features a one-of-a-kind talent combination — what's to ignore? Thumbs up, of course.

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