Go to:
- First Aural Art Exhibition (1992)
- Entertainment USA (1994)
- Mayfest '94 (1995) by Billy Jenkins w/ Fun Horns
- S.A.D. (1996) by Billy Jenkins with the Blues Collective
- Suburbia (1999)
- Billy Jenkins Website
First Aural Art Exhibition (1992)
9.5
Brilliant / Expensive Equipment / Fat People / The Blues / Sade's Lips / Johnny Cash / Discoboats at Two O'Clock / Cooking Oil / Donkey Droppings / Elvis Presley
Quick!
Give me the names of all the British jazz musicians you're familiar with or
that you've heard. And no, you can't include Charlie Watts!!
I bet you didn't get to five. If you had five or more names, you're either a Brit or one of those rare jazz nuts really familiar with British jazz. Third option: you're a liar. Which is to say that Britain isn't really known for its blossoming jazz culture - not on the European continent, that is (Germany or Denmark would probably be likelier picks, despite the fact that they're - for obvious reasons - not as influenced by Anglo-Saxon culture). The few British jazz musicians I can think of are people many a jazz fan wouldn't even consider to be proper jazz musicians: Evan Parker, Derek Bailey, etc, you know, difficult stuff. What every jazz-loving person in the world needs, to ensure those condescending smirks don't appear when somebody accidentally puts "British" and "jazz" in one and the same sentence, is an introduction to Billy Jenkins. Which is exactly what First Aural Art Exhibition is, a compilation of material recorded between 1984 and 1991, previously (still the case, as far as I know) only available on cassette and LP. Jenkins' music, approach and persona are real eye-openers for those expecting something uptight, annoyingly conformist and harmless - jazz that goes well with Martinis and olives. A rebel in the purest sense of the word and adventurous eccentric who'd rather go against the grain that be predictable (gasp), Jenkins constantly walks the thin line between a satirical and respectful approach, throwing the standard rules in a bag, keeping half of them and substituting the others by his own nutty twists and turns. On top of that, Jenkins is also a shrewd thinker about the entire production process of music, paying attention to the music, but also the packaging and message. As such, it's not only clear from his album (Scratches of Spain, Uncommerciality, Beyond E Major) and song titles ("There Is No Lord Up There," "Cliff Richard Spoke to Me," "Jazz Had a Baby (And They Called It Avant Garde)") that there's a true individualist at work, but also from the album covers with their references to the most diverse styles, precursors, labels, as well as the ideas that run through his catalogue. His disrespectful humour, so typical of a self-taught virtuoso, in this case one who's never allowed himself to be pinpointed - has always been a constant (that's obvious even though this is the only of his pre-1990s music that I heard), whether he was part of a jazz-rock band, a jazz-comedy duo or leader of his own bands. In other words: Jenkins is a national treasure, but a secret one, so I don't think you're supposed to tell anyone. As for a stylistic direction, you usually find him creating a kind of hybrid of jazz and other genres (funk, rock, blues, country, etc), but rarely is the peculiar result anything you could lump in with a genre without reserve.
As a guitarist, Jenkins sounds equally weird: while capable of classic, fluid solos, he'd much rather have fun and create weird, scratching sounds, tear through decades and styles of music, having more in common with Adrian Belew, Robert Fripp and Rahsaan Roland Kirk (the spirit, at least, is sometimes reminiscent) than Wes Montgomery, John McLaughlin or Pat metheny. "Brilliant" immediately is a fine showcase for his semi-demented guitar antics, as the more conventional sax and bass clarinet solos are alternated with the sound of a guitarist who just found out some new ways of extracting music from those six strings. It's jerky, angular, hiccupping playing, but it's a shit-load of fun to listen to as well. Similarly, "Expensive Equipment" also draws from (funk-)rock, features some soulful ensemble playing with a big, catchy chorus led by the horns and sounds & styles you'd never find on the albums of a more conventional musician. The diversity that is displayed is also mirrored by the line-ups used here. Even though all performances are credited to Jenkins and the Voice of God Collective, the latter group seems to be a name for whoever was available at any given moment. By result, some of the music is played by 7 or 8-piece bands and some of it recorded in a more intimate surrounding with a smaller band. The live recorded "Fat People" is a swell example of the guitarist only surrounded by bass, drums and alt sax (courtesy of Iain Ballamy, founding member of jazz collective Loose Tubes and Bill Bruford's Earthworks) and it's definitely a highlight on the album, as the entire performance is characterised by an exciting, nervous pulse, a fantastic live sound (it really sounds these guys are standing in your living room) and an exotic groove combining the sensual mood of Miles Davis fusion work, the rhythm of early Santana and a strutting Dixie-mambo fusion you could also find on a Roland Kirk-album. The sounds Jenkins squeezes from his guitar would horrify the average jazz fan, but we don't need them anyway. Even though jazz is perhaps the ultimate "live music" due to its improvisational character, the performance has all the excitement of a rock & roll show as well. This punk energy isn't kept up throughout the entire compilation (it would make these 65 minutes quite demanding), but the quality is. "Sade's Lips" hovers between the lush mysteriousness of Masada and the restrained sexiness of the singer (and features a fantastic bass clarinet solo by Dai Pritchard), "Johnny Cash" delivers lean and clean country-pop-jazz, "Discoboats" comes off as a jazzy homage to The Specials, while "Cooking Oil," the only cut from what many consider Jenkins' best album (Scratches of Spain) isn't jazz at all, but a moody piece of cello-dominated (no guitar on this one) melancholy that would serve perfectly as a soundtrack to some fatalistic love story set in dreary Scotland. After the good-natured humour of the previous 50 minutes, it comes a bit of a shock and a stylistic rupture, but I guess it also shows Jenkins is capable of toning down the humour and let introspection reign for a while. Some songs are easy to take ("The Blues), others are quite demanding (for instance "Donkey Droppings," which hovers somewhere between John Zorn's game card-approach, ecstatic Dixie-joy and mainstream jazz), but you can always feel the presence of the guitarist. Because he's so devoted to 'lightweight' genres and incorporating them, disassembling them and putting them together in a jazz context, you could argue that Jenkins' music is nothing but a disposable joke, but if it's done in such a creative, commanding way - despite the rough sound quality and disdain for technical perfection -, the spirit of the music redeems all the flaws you might come up with, including the fact that the closing track (a previously unreleased bonus) is basically 90 seconds of filler. In case you didn't get the message: your coolness will simply explode once you've bought this album. In my book, at least.
Entertainment USA (1994)
8
Ronald Reagan / Ray Charles / Johnny Cash / Doris Day / Don King / Oliver North/Twisted / Charles Manson / Elvis Presley
The
album description you find on Jenkins' website - Back porch ruminations
on a far away country as perceived from media and second-hand information
alone - already suggests this album is not just a tribute of sorts. When
you're dealing with this guy, it's best to disband the most obvious
answers right away. In a way the album does incorporate several sounds
and styles that originated from or were fully explored in the US - ranging
from jazz, rock, blues, funk and pop to even zydeco and country -, but the
irony goes further than the mock-patriotism of the album cover, as Entertainment
USA is loaded with smirks, winks and goofy gimmicks. The opening song,
for instance is actually sung by Ronald Reagan - as a bunch of samples
about nothing in particular (actors, food, easy slogans), which may not be
that far removed from what he actually stood for, are set to easily digestible
jazz-pop. Some of the picks are quite obvious - I mean, it is hard
to ignore the importance of icons like Ray Charles, Johnny Cash and Elvis
Presley (whose song is cut short right at the moment when he starts singing!)
to popular 20th century music - and the genre is usually picked to accompany
the songs' titles: "Ray Charles" is a funky R&B work-out in the vein of their
earlier "Expensive Equipment," while the small group Jenkins picked (Martin
Speake on alto sax, Steve Watts on bass, Roy Dodds on drums and a bunch of
session players that add their two cents or horn accents once in a while)
plays the game fairly straightforward, making it the most accessible album
of Jenkins' album you'll find on this page. The other icons that not necessarily
owe their reputation to their musical contributions are treated in a similar
way: "Doris Day" swings like a zydeco-styled tune recorded in the swamps of
Louisiana, "Don King" mixes a simple blues stomp with expressionist free jazz
and avant-nonsense, while the be-bop-styled "Oliver North/Twisted" constantly
threatens to collapse under the weight of party noises and radio static. The
album works best when digested in one sitting as if it's one extended radio
broadcast, but the one stand-out for me is the lengthy "Charles Manson," which
seems to borrow its rhythm track from Paul Butterfield's "East-West" and combines
it with impressively flowing, exotic soloing by Martin Speake (who gets to
steal the show several times) and white-hot Stratocaster scribbling by Jenkins,
who oversees the proceedings, sneaking up to you like Zappa's central scrutinizer.
While the album incorporates a myriad of styles, it's bound to offend those
who have the character to be interested in only one of those genres. However,
if you're a greedy melomaniac who couldn't care less about (or basically encourages)
a healthy disdain for conformity and lives by Jenkins' slogan "the religion
is music," you're in safe hands here. It's an album for all occasions, so
play it often. (Feb. 13th, 2006)
Mayfest '94 (1995) by Billy Jenkins w/ Fun Horns
8
Arrival of the Tourists / Fat People/Clowning Glory / Heavy Metal/Eurostern / Cuttlefish / Greenwich One Way System / Bilbao (St. Columbus Day) + 4. Saxophonie Nr. 3 - The Mayfest Variations
Jenkins
has quite a live reputation to live up to, one that originated from the days
when he was a member of "alternative musical comedy" duo Trimmer & Jenkins,
and one that over the course of more than two decades and a bunch of bands
and projects has only strengthened. The man's supposed to be quite a sanguine
player and leader on stage, jumping up and down to encourage his collaborators,
randomly yelling words (like "JURASSIC PARK! JURASSIC PARK" at the end of
"Arrival of the Tourists"), fool people with false starts or cut off a musician's
solo when he doesn't like it. There's nothing that outrageous as that here,
but it's hardly your average jazz performance either. In fact, it wasn't even
meant to be recorded, which probably explains why the sound isn't always that
clear - especially piano and guitar are mixed in the background. For this
set, recorded in Glasgow, Jenkins was helped by German quartet the Fun Horns
of Berlin and Voice of God Collective members on piano, bass and drums. With
8 players giving their all, Mayfest '94 is a very energetic sounding
album that only benefits from the lack of production sheen. This is not the
kind of jazz to be digested with Martini and olives. At this point in his
career, Jenkins has reached a phase where anarchy is an unavoidable part of
the deal, as such blurring the lines between old & new, high & low, classiness
& dirt. Most importantly: the music on Mayfest can be exciting as hell,
even though it can be disorienting when you hear the endless switches to and
from hectic free jazz, hard bop, contemplative moments, avant-rock, jittery
struts and different kinds of deconstructed folk music.
Perhaps the most endearing aspect of the performance is the eternal presence of humor. It's the kind of sardonic arrogance and childish enthusiasm that (when coupled to the nearly uncontainable force the musicians conjure) is totally infectious, even though you were taught to know better. When the opening track reaches its hectic climax, you'll hear that Jenkins has become a master of structured chaos, allowing the music to tickle, provoke and offend while never losing its ultimate destination. By consequence, also the band switches from a racket to a sudden, ultra-tight stop as if it's the most normal thing. Throughout the rest of the performance, Jenkins & Co keep astounding, sometimes subtly, but more often brashly. As such, the ridiculing swagger of Jenkins' "Fat People" gives way to the modesty of the Fun Horns' "Clowning Glory." Other highlights are "Heavy Metal" (a great showcase for the leader's scratchy guitar playing) and the final track, which switches from gypsy jazz (with pianist Huw Warren switching to accordion) to Klezmer to contemporary classical, complete with Glenn Miller-reference and an imitation of a Dixie band on drugs. On the one hand, this relativism is refreshing because it keeps you from becoming an elitist jazz snob with a stiff upper lip, but on the other hand, it can also be pretty demanding, requiring your full concentration. Of course the latter won't be a problem if you know what you're in for… which you do now. You're welcome.
S.A.D. (1996) by Billy Jenkins with the Blues Collective
8
Ain't Gonna Play No Jazz No More / Don't You Turn Your Back / Pissed Off Boy / Every Night You Turn Away / Where Did I Stay Last Night? / I'm On An Island / Where Are You? / I'm Stuck on You / Walking Back to Crappiness / Jazz Had a Baby (and They Called It Avant-Garde) / Give Me the Money Quick / Goodbye Blues
Billy
Plays the Blues. Sort of, because sometimes it sounds like the aural equivalent
of walking into a Hell's Angels clubhouse totin' a pink water gun, asking
whether one of the ladies cares to dance. As usual, when a bit of intelligent
disrespect is involved, the results can be pretty damn great, too. Jenkins
has proved throughout his career that he feels at ease within almost any style
(whether it be classic jazz, avant, rock, funk, country, etc), while he has
no troubling maintaining his peculiar playing style either. With blues music
being so guitar-oriented and Jenkins being helped by just a three-piece band
(Gerry Tighe on harmonica, Thad Kelly on bass, Mike Pickering on drums), this
is - perhaps even more so than any other of his albums - the ideal album for
those who want a first taste of his furiously scribbling guitar style. Whereas
First Aural Art Exhibition and Mayfest were dominated by ensemble
playing (and on top of that, Jenkins was buried in the back on the live album),
this one offers a dazzling string of solos, some nearly traditional (yet always
with a dash of anarchy), some obviously the product of a lunatic giving rigid
thinkers the finger. Jenkins being Jenkins, a meta-musician commenting on
genres and the way they're presented, there's an extra joke here, as the album's
title is an abbreviation of Seasonal Affective Disorder Syndrome, "a
form of depression in which mood changes occur with the seasons." By consequence,
the lyrics are indeed mainly concerned with the subject matter of yore: (disappearing)
women and money (and lack of it in particular), as well as some nonsensical
wordplay that could've been expected from Jenkins ("Walking Back to Crappiness,"
"Jazz Had a Baby (and They Called It Avant-Garde").
S.A.D. definitely has appeal, but it also has one major downside: the song order. For some reason, Jenkins must've thought it would be nice to divide the album into three separate chapters with a different feel, but unfortunately this seriously disrupts the pace of the album, as the album's middle consists of no less than five slow blues songs (# 4-8) in a row. None of these songs is bad, mind you. If anything, they prove Jenkins and his apt colleagues - especially Tighe gets to shine here - grasped it very well, by playing some smooth, funny ("I'm stuck on you…. like super glue") and sincere (okay, almost) songs that would sound great in any blues club after midnight. But when you start off an album with three high-energy songs, +20 minutes of lowdown blues are a bit too much. The songs that kick off the album feature Jenkins at his hyperkinetic best. Merging boom-chicka-boom country, blues and rockabilly, the band tears through "Ain't Gonna Play Jazz No More" with the swing of Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks (actually with girlie backing vocals!), while Jenkins growls like a demented barfly who's just been singing along to Johnny Cash's "Cocaine Blues." The next two songs are possibly even better, "Don't You Turn Your Back" being a fuming, speedy rock & roll song and "Pissed Off Boy" a "Mannish Boy"-styled rave up with entirely fractured solo and semi-chaotic stops with the entire band yelling "P-I-S-S-E-D" at the top of their lungs. The third chapter - three songs that feature old acquaintances the Fun Horns, as well as a phoned in solo blues - is opened by the horn-fest of "Walking Back to Crappiness," but the winning cut here is "Jazz Had a Baby (and They Called It Avant-Garde)," a merger of swing jazz and blues with Jenkins and the Fun Horns all offering jerky solos. "Give Me the Money Quick," finally, harkens back to the powerful start with some stomping boogie and a shredding solo, the kind of material that probably works brilliantly in a live setting. S.A.D. contains some of Jenkins' most inspired, livid and seething playing, but as suggested above, a different song order with less prominent slow burners could've turned it into a masterpiece of deranged blues. Still, half of the album is some of the best blues of the past decade. Whatcha waitin' for? Money? (Jan. 1st, 2006)
Suburbia (1999)
8.5
Pointless Adornments / Hello, I'm Your Next Door Neighbor / The Perfect Lawn / The Unknown Car Across Your Drive / Corner Shop with Security Grills / Coke Cans in Yer Garden / Silence Stalks the Sleeping Streets / Suburbia (A Place to Come From)
Besides
being a genre-bending artist tiptoeing the thin line between savage primitivism
and eloquent brilliance with an evident aplomb, Billy Jenkins is also a conceptual
thinker, always looking for new challenges that might tickle his curiosity.
He for instance organized big fights: "Improvised musical boxing matches
complete with referee, boxing ring and timekeeper." Also, in typically English
fashion, he recorded and released a series of albums depicting suburban life,
which is no mean feat for a jazz musician who usually doesn't have the means
of a pop singer doing something similar (Ray Davies, Jarvis Cocker, etc).
The first one of those albums, Sounds Like Bromley, appeared in 1982
and was followed by Greenwich (1985), Still… Sounds Like Bromley"
(1997) and finally, Suburbia in 1999. I haven't heard the previous
three - the first two of which have been out of print for long and never were
released on CD - but if the quality of this most recent volume is any indication,
what we're dealing here is a mini A Dance to the Music of Time, a multi-parted
opus continually reshuffling its familiar styles & concerns. It's not that
Suburbia is a homogenous release that's easy to pin down stylistically
(far from it, actually), but what it does accomplish in a very convincing
way is create the illusion that its fragmentary nature and diversity all serves
the big, kaleidoscopic picture. And it sure is a trip to get from "Pointless
Adornments" to the title track, coincidentally also the cuts that are most
likely to appeal to the average rock/blues fan.
One of the most interesting and appealing things about the album is that several listens will show you how appropriate the music that accompanies these songs titles really is. The simple blues stomp of "Adornments" (with its child voices reminiscent of the earlier "Brilliant") and its jerky scribbling guitar playing seems nothing special, until you realize that its nervous vibe is the ideal accompaniment for a story about having to commute in order to get those "pointless adornments," a horrendous ritual redeemed for by the glory of fitting in with the neighborhood's other people. And so the album strides on to the head-splitting cacophony of "Hello, I'm Your Next Door Neighbor" (can you imagine the ruckus they make upstairs?), the corny lounge jazz of "The Perfect Lawn" (on which the show is stolen by Mark Lockheart's irresistibly silky sax solo), the ECM-pastiche of "The Unknown Car Across Your Drive" (complete with nervous theremin) and the drunken waltz of "Corner Shop with Security Grills," which could've been a Lounge Lizards song. Classy, slick or plain, Jenkins incorporates it all to achieve his narrative goal and even though he also gets to shine a few times - adding metallic shredding to "Coke Cans in Yer Garden" and the familiar blues of the title track that revisits the territory explored on S.A.D. - it is a truly collaborative effort. With a backing band consisting of Lockheart, Dave Ramm (keyboards), Steve Watts (bass) and drummers Martin France and Roy Dodds, Jenkins has surrounded him with top players who are capable of aiming for the same vision as well as adding marvelous contributions. That he also manages to include a minimalist song written for a string quartet ("Silence Stalks the Sleeping Streets," a bit reminiscent of Scratches of Spain's "Cooking Oil") and make it work, is another bonus. Suburbia may not be the ideal album if you're wondering what Jenkins the player is capable of, but like the earlier compilation First Aural Art Exhibition, it's a great showcase for Jenkins the composer, an all-round artist raiding several genres while keeping his quirky sense of humor (the presence of playground noise, lawn mowers, alarm clocks, etc) intact. Few jazz albums are this funny and invigorating. (Jan. 11th, 2006)
Read album reviews of similar or related artists: Bill Frisell