Pianist Chick Corea and saxophonist Anthony Braxton were not destined to be creative partners for long. But the year these virtuosos spent in the free-jazz supergroup Circle proved to be a notable one. By 1970, Corea was a master of high-energy, abstract playing, thanks to his tenure in a particularly wild edition of Miles Davis’ group. And Braxton’s work alongside fellow Chicagoans like Wadada Leo Smith had already put a charge into progressive improvisers on multiple continents—though Braxton was also down in the mouth over the long odds he faced in getting his ambitious classical pieces heard in New York and Paris. On the night he met Corea, Braxton considered himself more of a chess-game hustler than a working musician.
The origin story goes that Braxton was prodded into a one-off gig by some longtime associates. After the concert, drummer Jack DeJohnette led the crew over to the Village Vanguard, where Corea was playing in a trio with drummer Barry Altschul and bassist Dave Holland (another Davis veteran, as was DeJohnette). Braxton sat in with Corea’s group, and when the night came to an end, the pianist gave Braxton his address and asked him over to jam. Six months later, CBS Records was taping a show by Corea, Braxton, Holland, and Altschul—a quartet going by the name Circle.
Circle 1: Live in Germany Concert was originally issued in 1971, along with the final studio session the group produced before busting up (Circle 2: Gathering). CD reissues of both albums came out through Corea’s Stretch imprint in the ’90s, before falling out of print. Now both records have been introduced to the digital catalogue. As none of Circle’s other studio sessions and live recordings are available on streaming services, these reissues would be welcome even if they were of middling quality. Luckily, each one comes across as a worthy addition to this short-lived band’s discography.
*Germany *shares a setlist with the latter half of Circle’s other famous live album—though at this gig, the band pushes prettiness and aggression to greater extremes. A long suite of two compositions by Holland opens the record. Corea gives “Toy Room” a haunted solo introduction that keeps the childhood nostalgia of the main theme from seeming too innocent when it arrives. With the rhythm section offering free-time support, Corea’s long feature only gives brief glimpses of the prickly side of his playing. Braxton’s entrance on flute has a similarly lyrical quality, even when his lines create strange harmonies. Corea occasionally follows Braxton into freer vistas before pulling the saxophonist back to the underlying tune. Despite the fact that the song never gets that far “out,” there’s a compelling drama to the way the players negotiate this loveliness.
After an improvised, transitional section in the suite, another Holland tune follows. (In keeping with a typo from the original pressing, the song “Q & A” is once again spelled “O & A” on this reissue.) Given its jabbing, repetitive hook, this composition was well suited to demonstrations of Circle’s collective power. But this take from Germany sounds particularly energetic. From the outset of his first soprano solo, Braxton is heard mixing all the paints from his “language music” palette—with harsh overblowing quickly giving way to longer-held tones, then wide-interval attacks.
In addition to the timbral intensity of the performance, the quick juggling of such different sound styles has its own hardcore feel. And when the band relents, they keep the experimental vibe afloat by rustling around with miscellaneous percussion instruments and whistles. Later on, Corea flashes some powerful cluster-chords (which owe a debt to Cecil Taylor), and then Braxton helps thrash through Holland’s theme again, this time on alto. He stays on that instrument for the band’s frequent concert closer, the standard “There Is No Greater Love.” It has a buoyant strut—at least until the band bashes its form to pieces.
Though each show could prove distinct, Circle’s setlists never seemed to alter greatly. By contrast, their output in studio sessions could result in unstructured group improv, as well as tight duos, trios, and full-quartet workouts. The only studio album released near-contemporaneously with the group’s existence was Circle 2: Gathering. After Corea found a large public with his rock-influenced Return to Forever ensemble, Blue Note records hurried out archival collections of Circle’s first studio rehearsals with Circulus and Circling In. But while those vault-clearing sets are interesting, they don’t cast the same spell that Gathering does.
The album is one long track, credited to Corea’s compositional pen. But the openness of the performance—and its simultaneous balance—is an achievement that only a well-drilled group can deliver. The poetic understanding between Braxton and Holland is announced early on when the string player (on cello) offers gorgeous bowed lines behind the soprano saxophonist’s soulful phrases. Corea’s opening melodic material is similarly attractive, and he provides well-timed transitions and smart support to other band members throughout.
Circle’s two biggest personalities may have both been impatient to explore their new ideas. For Corea, that meant a hard turn away from the free-jazz fringe, and an embrace of both Scientology as well as what he called the more “communicative” sound of his subsequent rock-fusion style. Braxton had electronic music, big-band albums, and multi-orchestra concepts knocking around in his head. But on Gathering, they still had the patience necessary to make a collaborative group work at a high level.
