The early 1970s were a unique time for jazz because the era was impossible to define. The major innovations of the previous decade, from free improvisation to the first stirrings of jazz fusion, had been embraced as part of jazz proper, and a new sense of possibility loomed. The electric groups that would move huge numbers in the decade were all rolling by 1973—Weather Report, Return to Forever, Mahavishnu Orchestra—but the avant-garde, though still vital creatively, was moving back underground. The commercial success of Impulse! in the ’60s, fueled by John Coltrane’s astonishing run during his final years, hadn’t been able to sustain itself, and “out” jazz became once again more of a niche concern, with some of the most exciting music emerging from the DIY New York loft scene. Meanwhile, the incorporation of non-Western instruments into jazz, helped along by John Coltrane himself in the early ’60s (see his piece “India”) was developing into something truly beautiful under the watchful eye of the late giant’s collaborators, including Pharoah Sanders and John’s wife Alice.
In this hothouse environment, Joe Henderson—a widely respected but relatively traditionally-minded saxophonist—could try his hand at flowing, impressionistic music with a decidedly global bent. On 1973’s The Elements, newly reissued in a Concord Music series that highlights out-of-print vinyl, he found himself with a band of visionaries that included bassist Charlie Haden, violinist Michael White, and percussionist Kenneth Nash. But the crucial energizing spirit behind the record is Alice Coltrane, who, in a rare role as a side musician, contributes harp, piano, tambura, and harmonium. After her husband’s death, the vast majority of Alice’s recorded output was recorded under her own leadership, but though this is Henderson’s record and these are his compositions, on The Elements, she and Henderson are essentially equal partners.
Henderson’s early background, dating to his emergence in the early ’60s, found him playing funky hard bop, and he was a regular fixture on dates for the Blue Note label. As the decade turned, he began to explore new settings for his music, including a brief stint in the jazz-rock band Blood, Sweat & Tears. But The Elements was basically a one-off for Henderson as a leader. Arrangements like these, found on records like Journey in Satchidananda and Ptah, the El Daoud (the latter album features Henderson) are where Coltrane created her most stirring work, and this record has to be counted among them.
The Elements is a sort of concept album—its four tracks are titled “Fire,” “Air,” “Water,” and “Earth.” The music is an unusual assemblage of open-ended blowing, loping funk, and drone, with a heavy emphasis on sounds and scales from North Africa, the Middle East, and India. The live interplay is important, but a metallic studio crispness provides an intriguing tint: Henderson’s horn is often processed electronically and obvious tape splices and overdubs appear throughout.
The compositions range from horizontally expansive tone paintings to sample-begging groovers that touch on R&B. “Fire” is a percussion-heavy workout with a slight Latin tinge. Henderson’s horn is slathered with echo and delay, giving it an exploratory spaciness amplified by Coltrane’s dreamy comping on harp, while White’s violin sawing brings the piece back to the ground. “Air,” with Coltrane moving to piano, plays like an explosion in slow motion, as instruments cluster and swell and decay, riffing on tonal color rather than harmonic structure. “Water” begins with Coltrane setting the table with buzzing drone on tambura as Henderson plays a pinched and fractured solo, his horn heavily treated. The mix of electronics and drone and the strong feeling of studio creation brings “Water” into the realm of ambient pioneer Jon Hassell, whose album 1977 Vernal Equinox would lay the foundation for his future/past “fourth world” musical conception. The closing “Earth” incorporates aspects of the previous tracks, but adds a seriously sample-ready bass/drums groove to mix, bringing the album in conversation with contemporary developments in soul and funk. Each piece is distinct, but they lock together perfectly, offering different angles on similar ideas.
The reissue itself, newly remastered from the original analog tapes (not a given these days), is exceptional, with rich sound and packaging that focuses on quality and staying true to the original issue rather than offering sheer heavy-cardboard weight. And its attention to detail reinforces something important about the record as a whole: how well The Elements works as a single statement. There are no earth-shattering solos, no star turns, every musician is there to create this primordial sound-world. This collective approach is something Alice Coltrane did particularly well. Spiritually-minded cosmic jazz came into its own at the turn of the ’70s, and this is one of the best albums the scene produced.
