When Kohsuke Mine led a band into the studio to record First in 1970, the Japanese jazz scene was progressing fast. A new school of artists were testing the limits of composition, arrangement, and improvisation, evolving away from hard bop and Blue Note methodology towards free jazz and a more electric boogaloo. You could say it reflected the post-Bitches Brew world, but Japanese jazz musicians only partially looked to Miles and his fellow Americans for inspiration; they were drawn toward sounds from all over the planet. There are good reasons why BBE’s J Jazz compilation series—the recently released third installment of which includes a cut from First—picks up the story of “Deep Modern Jazz From Japan” in 1969.
BBE’s restoration of Mine’s previously rare debut album ensures it takes its rightful place in the narrative. Born during the Second World War, Mine’s childhood was marked by a temporary evacuation from Tokyo to relative safety in Miyako. An early interest in mambo and cha-cha-cha—music with a bit of swing to it—as well as six years playing the clarinet filtered into a taste for jazz and alto saxophone. Mine spent the 1960s traversing the scene, rubbing shoulders with all its key figures, playing clubs and even U.S. air bases when the opportunity arose. His first recording appeared as part of the live record Jazz in Tokyo ’69, cut at Hibiya Open-Air Concert Hall and issued by Nippon Columbia. It wasn’t long before Mine was offered a chance to record his own studio album for the company.
First is the sound of breaking away from old ways in favor of a daring new future. Sure, it feels like an organic jazz LP—a layman would have no difficulty identifying the genre and its typical instruments. But the rich textures, experimental arrangements, and elongated solos predicted the inventiveness to come: Japan’s jazz was about to get bolder and more intense. First arrived at the intersection between traditional and unfamiliar, mannerly and chaotic.
Mine didn’t do it alone. He was joined by two American players, bassist Larry Ridley and drummer Lenny McBrowne, both in town to record a live album with guitarist Kenny Burrell. On electric piano was Masabumi Kikuchi, a venerated figure in the movement who wrote and recorded with artists at a phenomenal rate. (It was Kikuchi who convinced Nippon Columbia to roll the dice on a Mine album.) Each musician brought an original composition to the table—Kikuchi presented two—with a version of Thelonious Monk’s “Straight No Chaser” rounding out the set. The album cover is identical in concept to that of Let It Be, with the casual photography reflecting a shift in Japanese jazz culture from sharp suits and good manners to a more laid-back look.
The quartet recorded in Tokyo over two days in June; they’d never played together before and would never do so again. Yet First is incredibly well-tuned and measured. The music rarely swells; it grooves. The peppy opener “Morning Tide” features dueling keys and bass that nonetheless maintain smooth synchronicity, as if Kikuchi and Ridley were moving in opposite directions in matching patterns, a musical palindrome. The blustering “Love Talken” keeps up the energy, with McBrowne’s drum rolls and rapped cymbals driving the song from the corner of the room. On “Straight No Chaser,” Mine launches straight into the famous blues riff—played a little more hastily than Monk’s famous version from the album of the same title—before indulging in a zigzagging solo. Kikuci’s keys and Ridley’s bass appear in opposite speakers, battling in glorious stereo sound, as if each man were attempting to elbow the other out of the way.
First might be an illustration of uninhibited studio collaboration, but it would be wrong to minimize the input of the man whose name adorns the cover. Mine’s sax work is cast in the spirit of Coltrane’s post-Ascension freedom, soaring around the room in fluttering flight. The sleek, sly “McPhee” begins with Ridley’s fingers creeping up and down his double bass like a cat burglar on an uneven roof; Mine joins him in creating the rhythm, before cascading away without losing the song’s sense of collectedness. His performance on “Little Abbi” is a clinic in midnight-cool jazz sounds. The album ends with “Bar ‘L’ Len” and some eccentric orchestral stabs that make way for a huge drum solo. It’s like finishing the night with a shot of hard liquor before dashing out the door.
In a recent conversation about First for the reissue’s liner notes, Mine admitted that he “cannot remember that much response or assessment received around the time of release.” Nevertheless, his influence grew. Recorded just a few weeks later for the prominent Three Blind Mice label and released first, the more kinetic Mine incorporated spiritual jazz and futurist post-bop. For Mine and for Japanese jazz, it was another step towards the new-fashioned. The orchestration became more intense; artists began incorporating a wider range of global sounds. First helped set the table for all of that. It is a critical album in a crucial period for Japanese jazz—the sound of everything changing and a new order taking form.
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