Once in a great while, an album comes along that’s filled with so much god-awful beauty and spiritual intensity that every majestic note contained therein cuts deep into the dark places of your soul and leaves you with nothing more than the promise of sweet deliverance...
Albert Ayler’s Spirits Rejoice is that kind of album. At least it is to me.
Spirits Rejoice emerged in 1965, around the time when the Stones were singin’ idiotically simple (albeit great) pop songs about frustration and discontent. On the other side of the Atlantic, we had Bob Dylan completely blitzed out of his gourd on mountains of speed, cranking out 15-minute rhapsodies that were more on the order of Ginsberg’s Howl than anything broadcasted on popular radio before or since. Meanwhile, Elvis was thundering his way through Tinseltown, galvanizing the silver screen with nothing more than his hillbilly charm and swagger. Never mind the fact that he couldn’t act worth a lick. When he gyrated his hips, girls everywhere screamed their lust-filled heads off – and when The King let his pipes loose with a serenade, it was then when history was in fact being made, because it was then when an aw shucks, po’ dunk truck driver became more popular than Jesus Christ. It was undoubtedly a seminal peak in the musical and cultural landscape. Boundaries were being crossed and possibilities seemed endless. In some cases, art was being made. And in rarer instances, something more than art was conceived – which is where Albert Ayler enters the picture.
See, Spirits Rejoice is a milestone, dig, a one-of-a-kind album that taps into the belly and heart of Americana, if not the Godhead itself. Moreover, you’ll never hear anything like this album today. Like those precious recordings on the Smithsonian folk and blues collections, the music in Spirits Rejoice encapsulates the hardships and joys and spirit of a very specific time and place in American history. And as far as innovations go, Spirits Rejoice adds a new entry into the annuls of jazz by combining Louis Armstrong’s brand of traditional New Orleans brass jazz with the wild, manic, almost uncontrollable swing of hard bop; which, incidentally, for awhile there, were two completely opposing factions within the parameters of jazz music. In fact, Tommy Dorsey dismissed Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie as musical communists (which is an insult I’m not exactly sure I completely understand beyond being a shitty thing to say to any red-blooded American during McCarthy-era America). Anyway, Ayler fused these two forms of music so beautifully that it soon became ridiculously obvious that both camps were hopelessly ignorant in their attitudes about who holds the philosopher’s crown when jazz styles were concerned. I mean, it’s all just a heap of notes thrown together anyway. Whether it’s bop, punk, rock, rap, or whatever -- as long as it possesses some real vibrancy and swings hard and strong, why cheapen any form of expression by placing it into specific demarcated categories?
That was undoubtedly one of the questions coursing through Ayler’s fevered brain when he was blowin’ every fiber of his poor misbegotten soul through that tenor axe of his, because Spirits Rejoice is an amalgam of so many different musical styles – marching band, R&B, blues, soul, vaudeville, etc. – that the overall effect sounds like a blast of undeniable Truth. Jazz-writ extraordinaire Ralph Gleason wrote something along those lines in what was essentially Albert Ayler’s obituary in his column in Rolling Stone magazine. That Ayler was more focused on seeking eternal truths and beautiful melodies than he was with technical aptitude or how many thunderous notes he could cram into a single scale (which, incidentally, was the prevailing rage at the time). In fact, by most conventional definitions that many jazzbo’s adhere to, Ayler was far from the greatest jazz cat to touch a horn. Regardless, the closest sax player I can think of that matched Ayler’s aim was John Coltrane; and truth be known, Coltrane crushed Ayler by the simple fact that Coltrane had more of an impact than Ayler by his prolificacy. But what the hell? That ain’t sayin’ much cuz Coltrane was laps ahead of damn near everyone in music. And as far as technical virtuosity goes, heavyweights like Sonny Rollins and Charlie Parker creamed Ayler, who albeit had a beautiful tone and fingers as nimble as say, Stevie Ray Vaughn, could nonetheless not keep up with those giants. And again, who could? Even when considering those who frontiered new platitudes and concepts in jazz composition, guys like Ornette Coleman and Charlie Mingus and Sun Ra beat Ayler by a long shot. But this ain’t a slam on Ayler; with all said and done, he ain’t no crumb. Moreover, as far as I’m concerned, Spirits Rejoice can stand toe-to-toe with any of the established masterpieces by those aforementioned legends and hold its own. Coltrane and Ayler's similarities stem from their ability to express such raw emotive passion on wax (which makes the likes of emo poster child Connor Oberst seem like a sniveling, whiny punk by comparison).
Ultimately, however, what we have with Spirits Rejoice is essentially a lament on the plight and deliverance of the oppressed and downtrodden. When you’ve been pushed down and kicked in the teeth for so long, you are left with only two viable options: fight back or embrace your oppressors with love, and Spirits Rejoice is an emblem/tableau about choosing love in the face of pain, abuse, and hate. It’s a beacon of what could be, and what should be, no matter what the trappings of our environment are – and that, my friends, is ultimately why this precious little album means so goddamn much to me. It’s a constant reminder to choose LIFE no matter how dire your circumstances are. I mean, I have little doubt that Ayler’s life was no picnic. He was an African-American living in a volatile time. Plus, he was a penniless musician, his nigh obscurity punctuated by the fact that he died at the age of 34. Furthermore, suspicious circumstances surround his death. His body was found floating in the Hudson River, and nobody to this day knows how his body got there or what he died of. Perhaps the pain in his life finally got to him. Everybody has their breaking point, and a man can only take so much wretchedness before he breaks down for good. And poor ol’ Ayler was undoubtedly up to his ears in agony. But despite all his troubles, I believe Ayler had a lotta love in his heart; Spirits Rejoice articulates this love — love for people, love for God, love for life – deeper and more eloquently than any other album I’ve ever heard in my life.
