Percy Jones - The humility of a fretless bass entrusted to History

One example would suffice. Track down the masterpiece by Brian Eno “Before And After Science”, released in the year of grace 1977. Cue up the fourth track, the brief instrumental “Energy Fools The Magician”; the arrangement and fretless bass on this icy gem, which without a word coins the ambient-fusion subgenre, are the work of Percy Jones. Welsh by birth but American since the eighties, born in 1947, he is among the most significant British session players of his generation, a deity of the instrument on a par with someone like Jaco Pastorius, though his background lies not in jazz but in early 1960s rock. Over the decades his services have been sought by, among many others, names such as Soft Machine, Roy Harper, Steve Hackett (on the extraordinary solo debut “Voyage Of The Acolyte”), David Sylvian, Kate Bush, Suzanne Vega. His are the most moving touches on some tracks of “Music For Films” and of the milestone “Another Green World”, both by the aforementioned king Eno. His too is the obscure riff that, on the track “Chemestry”, opens the “Possible Musics” by Eno/Hassell, credited with reinventing world music.

But Jones is also, and above all, a superb composer, co-founder in 1974, together with guitarist John Goodsall and keyboardist Robin Lumley, of Brand X, an institution of the most original fusion imaginable, with a discography of at least five essential titles, spanning '76 to '80, on which he shared much of the rhythm section duties with Genesis's Phil Collins. The quartet's fusion is certainly no run-of-the-mill “brand X”, boasting, alongside impressive technical stature, a surreal sense of humour that makes even its most abstract episodes enjoyable, surpassing in originality, at its most inspired moments, the output of certain big names in world jazz. And pay no mind to that specialized critical tendency to cut things short, which regards the still-overwhelming debut “Unorthodox Behaviour” ('76) as the band's finest hour; doing so risks missing the flashes of genius that also abound in seemingly minor works, such as the overlooked “Masques” ('78) or “Do They Hurt?” from 1980. If the musician is, even today, through the MJ-12 project, a volcano in constant eruption, the man remains cautious in his public statements, firmly bound to a modus operandi that favours deeds and creativity “in the field” over musings on the big picture. Revealing a humility that is truly rare in show business today, Jones's feats on his instrument appear all the more gargantuan, having ridden out 60 years of career producing a pioneering legacy for the fretless bass (his wrist control on three-finger arpeggios is phenomenal) but, more broadly, for anyone who loves popular music turned into Art.

Percy, how would you describe Brand X to a listener who's never heard them before?

Fusion? There was obviously jazz and rock in there, but other influences too. Fusion, though, has two faces: one is what's also called "elevator music," background music that I really can't stand, and of course we weren't that. Another fitting definition might simply be... instrumental music!

A lot of musicians have a knee-jerk reaction when they hear the word fusion.

Well, some people, when fusion comes up, say: "Oh yeah, those guys who play a million notes really fast with no substance." For me, though, fusion, as I said before, is a mix of different genres. The rest is music you can wash the dishes to. Whereas jazz-rock is just jazz and rock, mixed together, I think! I really don't know. It's a tricky question, because you're trying to explain terminology that's been slapped onto an artistic fact.

How would you like to remember John Goodsall and Robin Lumley, who passed away in 2021 and 2023 respectively?

They were both excellent composers, and John, on top of that, was also a brilliant musician. On a personal level, John could have a pretty wild streak, while Robin came across as more level-headed, even though he was a real character. But I'd rather not mention the things they used to get up to.

What are the differences in approach to drumming between Phil Collins and Mike Clark, another excellent drummer who played with you between '78 and '80?

Yes, they're both great drummers, but very different from each other. Phil comes from rock. Mike comes from jazz, having played fusion and funk, before us, with Herbie Hancock. If you like, we could say Phil moved from rock to jazz, while Mike went the opposite way. Now, though, Mike has gone back to his first love, jazz. Playing with him was a real growth experience for me, because he has very syncopated drumming, so you had to be perfectly locked in with the drums to do a good job. With Phil I also shared a lot of studio work back in the Seventies; an interesting example of the two of us as a rhythm section is "Vimana," the second album by a band from your country, Nova.

What qualities do you look for in a musician?

The ability to innovate, unpredictability. People who show up with ideas you don't expect and who inspire you, because they push you to do things you wouldn't otherwise have done. And if they're also good people, well, that helps too. The argumentative and the rude ones are mostly just a nuisance.

Jazz musicians of the past you feel you owe a debt to?

Among many, the main one is probably double bassist Charles Mingus. I discovered his music in the late Sixties: at the time I was in Liverpool and playing in Liverpool Scene, a band formed with the aim of combining music and poetry, but which ended up just playing rock 'n' roll; it was saxophonist Mike Evans and singer (and poet) Adrian Henri who introduced me to Mingus; it sparked a love that's still with me today. What I like, above all, is the dynamics of his compositions, their, precisely, unpredictability. Listen to tracks like "Goodbye Pork Pie Hat," "Fables Of Faubus" or "Haitian Fight Song." Truly a great composer. But I also love Igor Stravinsky, Gabriel Fauré, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Dr. John. And Paco De Lucía, I really appreciate Spanish and African sounds. But Mingus stays at the top.

Listening back to "Product," I found myself wondering whether you were trying to simplify the formula.

Actually, the parts I played on that album are, from a technical standpoint, more complex than what's on the earlier records. Keep in mind I only appear on three tracks: "Not Good Enough-See Me!," "Dance Of The Illegal Aliens," which were mine, and "Wal To Wal," where there are two basses, mine and John Giblin's — he's also the composer — interacting with a drum machine. John plays on the other tracks. But as far as what I played goes, especially "Not Good Enough-See Me!," it's definitely not easy material to play.

How would you explain the concept of "groove" to someone with no particular musical knowledge?

Tricky question, because I consider myself someone without any particular musical knowledge; you can see how a person without particular musical knowledge trying to explain something related to music to another person without particular musical knowledge sounds a bit odd. Anyway, as far as my rather limited understanding goes, groove is a repetitive, highly effective pattern that carries a kind of hypnotic quality. There are also people who've criticized me, claiming I don't have enough groove, so...

For a bassist, is it important to learn the repertoire traditionally considered formative for the instrument?

I couldn't say, because, speaking for myself, I never studied a conservatory repertoire. I know a lot of bassists, when they go to college, Berklee or wherever, dive right into studying the Fake Book, I think it's called that, and memorize a ton of standards. Since I've never done that, I can't tell you whether it's useful or not. But I think it probably is, because I'm sure it broadens your knowledge of the instrument and of composition in general either way.

What's your current gear setup?

Most of the time I use a 5-string fretless Wal, which was given to me by the manufacturer back in 1984, so it's nearly 40 years old now. I also have a 5-string fretless Ibanez, I don't know which model, they don't make it anymore, and it has piezo pickups, no magnetic pickups, but I only use it on certain things. I actually used it a lot in recent years with Brand X, and it has a bit more of a vertical sound compared to the Wal, though over the last 12 months I've gone back to playing the Wal. I have a Euphonic Audio combo amp, a brand that unfortunately shut down a few months ago, which is really sad because they made excellent gear; it's an 800-watt head with a 12-inch speaker built into the cabinet, since it's a combo. I also have a second cabinet with a 12-inch speaker, and I believe that second cabinet is a Reflex Port, though I'm not entirely sure. All in all, it's fairly compact and sounds great, I really like it. As for strings, lately I've been going with Ernie Ball. I also use an Eventide H9 multi-effects unit.

How have you used your electronics skills to arrive at an original sound?

I've been building my own effects since the late '70s. Things like a voltage-controlled filter with low-pass and band-pass outputs, a flanger; these were customized in certain ways, because the flanger could be set so that the delay time, which I think went up to 25 milliseconds, was roughly proportional to the pitch of the note. So on lower notes, you'd get a much wider delay time. The filter had an analog memory that stored the peak amplitude of the note being played. Then there was an envelope generator that let you set the attack time, so the envelope would rise up to the peak value even if the note had already decayed, which I always found very musical. You could play short, staccato notes and get this raw, filtered, sighing sound. Lately I haven't built anything new, though I've been toying with the idea of designing something to give me better control over the Eventide H9. But I'm still trying to figure out how.

Writer's block: when it happens, what do you do?

It happens to me a lot. Sometimes I get to a certain point in a composition and I just get stuck. Usually, I stop and go do something completely different and non-musical. Maybe I'll come back to it later, and sometimes something comes to mind that lets me get past that impasse and keep going. Other times I just can't crack it, and then I throw the whole thing away and stop thinking about it. I don't have a foolproof strategy, other than stopping and coming back to it after a while. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

Which recording are you most proud of?

Well, among the many albums I've enjoyed working on, there are the ones with Eno; with him it's always interesting, because he has a genuinely unusual creative approach. You know, he'd tell you he wasn't a keyboard player, wasn't a musician, but for me, when something works, that's all that matters, there's nothing else to worry about. A significant example was the track "Sky Saw" on "Another Green World"; we were in an Island recording studio: he sits down at the piano, that was the starting point, and plays this "dun-dun dun-dun dun-dun" and then there was a chord change. So Collins and I stuck to those general guidelines. I think in the end there were four changes total, over which we layered a few embellishments here and there. For that track he also added some synth parts, and John Cale on viola, and it all fit perfectly. When the album came out, Brian mailed me the vinyl: I remember that after listening to it I thought, "Wow, this is seriously strong stuff." And in fact we did quite a lot of things together. We'd record a bass riff, say, and then I'd play something else over it. I think some of those recordings ended up on "Music For Films", but a lot of others are still unreleased to this day. So yes, that was an example, in my view, of real creativity, and honestly I was hoping he'd push further with that approach at the time and do more with it, but he didn't. In the early '80s, after I'd moved to New York, I recommended Mike Clark to him. We ended up going into the studio, me, Mike and Eno, and we put down some material, a few ideas, but Eno didn't like it at all; he said he was too busy to work on it, and that was that. I thought the three of us could have made some really great stuff, but nothing came of it. Then, of course, there are a few Brand X albums I'm very proud of. But also projects that turned out to be half-disasters, so it's a bit of both.

For landmark albums like "Another Green World" and "Before And After Science", did Eno ever give you any illuminating direction?

Like I said, he'd start off giving very vague instructions. What that meant was that he let every musician be themselves, so everyone brought out the best of what they knew how to do. In my case, he'd listen to what I'd done and say things like: "Take these two bars and repeat them, put some groove into it." He had the ability to walk a tightrope, giving musicians freedom while still keeping them on the track of whatever he had in mind. And in the end, the result held together. I remember once we got into a discussion about how best to approach a certain track; after 10 minutes of back and forth he suddenly said: "Let's have some cake"; he pulled a fruit cake out from under the desk, along with paper plates, cut it into slices and we stood there eating it. After that we never went back to the earlier discussion, so much so that I wondered if the cake hadn't been a clever ploy.

The most overrated quality in a bassist?

I'd say the cliché of playing bass lines as fast as possible, so that speed wins out over everything else. Being able to play fast is a good thing, it's a quality you want to have in your back pocket for when it's needed. But sometimes long sustained notes, or the space between one note and the next, turn out to be far more effective. Because in the end, what actually sticks with you? You listen to a bass part and think "That guy's got amazing chops," but beyond that, nothing else stays with you. Think of the bass lines on those Tamla Motown productions, technically brilliant stuff, with a masterful use of counterpoint and everything else you'd need, but they're straightforward, they hold up on their own without needing a lot of flash.

In the pop and rock world, there's a certain reluctance to let the bass lead the melodic line.

That's something tied to our tradition. The bass has never been considered a solo instrument, or one suited to dictating the melodic line. Maybe it's also because it was born for another purpose, one that certainly wasn't melody-related. But of course, it can absolutely be used in a melodic way. Let's say it's been around for so long in the role of "background" within the rhythm section that, by now, the average listener expects that to be its role.

Among the special thanks listed in the liner notes of your solo debut, “Cape Catastrophe,” there's also Joyce. How did the Irish writer influence your aesthetic?

No, Joyce is my wife's name! She's supported me in my career as a musician for 40-odd years, so at the time I liked the idea of mentioning her on the album.

“Cape Catastrophe” is a great debut; it has something of the Zappa of “Jazz From Hell” about it…

Well, first of all thanks for the kind words; when the album came out, in 1990, it wasn't well received. Some critics pointed out that it didn't sound like Brand X's material, but obviously I didn't want it to sound like Brand X. One journalist, in particular, claimed there was too much cut-and-paste editing going on, which is strange since, at the time, I didn't even own a computer. Interestingly, it gets a better reception today than it did when it came out. Personally, I'm still happy with it.

How did that album come about?

Back then, in the late '80s, I was in New York and didn't have a band, so, trying to stay productive, I went to the Sam Ash music store chain to buy a MIDI sequencer. I was about to leave the store with this cheap Roland MIDI sequencer when I ran into Elliot Sharp, who told me he was booking some nights at the Kitchen for the following week and then, glancing at the box I had under my arm, added that I could bring that stuff and play it, if I felt like it. I went home, thought it over, and decided to say yes. So I wrote a very long piece, called “Barrio,” which, when I played it at the Kitchen, was met with real enthusiasm. I ended up taking other gigs around town, which meant I had to write more material, and I kept performing solo for at least another 18 months, in places like Cbgb and the Knitting Factory on Houston Street, and then I started playing out of town too - I remember a few dates in Chicago.

What gear did you use in that solo guise?

Besides the bass, I carried around the sequencer, a four-track cassette Portastudio, a Yamaha RX-11 drum machine, a Casio Cz-101 synth, and a 12-bit Korg digital delay. Finally, I built an FSK decoder and encoder, so I could record a sync track onto one track of the Portastudio and use that (sync) track to lock the sequencer and drum machine to the three audio tracks available on the Portastudio. The system, a bit makeshift maybe, worked, although a couple of times the sync did drop out. After those 18 months, I thought about recording the material, if only to leave some record of it for posterity, because I wanted to close that chapter and go back to playing with a band. A friend showed up one day with a two-track Sony recorder he'd found on the street, and since it seemed to be in good shape and the heads weren't worn out, I paired it with a Dolby C Noise Reduction unit, and we recorded and mixed the album at my place, all in one go. “Cape Catastrophe” knocked on quite a few doors for a couple of years, until an offer came in to release it on CD from Bert Gerecht, a German record man who founded the small label Hot Wire Records. Oh, and the artwork is by Samantha Mae Dorfman.

How did the modus operandi of the Tunnels project, active from '93 to 2006, differ from that of Brand X?

Like I said, after the solo experience I really wanted to get back into a band. At the time I was teaching a course at the Drummers Collective school, and among the people who taught there occasionally was drummer Frank Katz, who Mike Clark had spoken highly of to me. We jammed together a few times and his playing impressed me, so for me it became an obvious choice. Then guitarist Van Manakas joined, along with Marc Wagnon on MIDI vibraphone, who came from the Doctor Nerve ensemble. The writing was mainly centered on me and Wagnon. The similarity to Brand X, if you want to call it that, is that we played instrumental pieces with plenty of room for improvisation, but of course the sound was different. Every band is different from every other because it's the sum of its members, even though, sure, the approach of Brand X and Tunnels was similar. We recorded five albums, and then, at some point in the new millennium, we reached a stage where things weren't evolving anymore, so everyone moved on to other projects.

What do you think of a bassist as celebrated as Bill Laswell?

I know he's done a ton of stuff, and I heard a lot about him back in the '90s, but apart from that, I don't know much else about him. So to answer your question properly I'd have to go look him up on Wikipedia...

And so we get to the MJ-12 project. What does it add, musically, compared to your previous bands?

This project started several years ago, when I was playing gigs with Stephen Moses, who's the drummer in MJ-12. I'd just moved to New York and had joined Noise 'R Us, a band he'd been part of for a while. We started doing improvised duo gigs in Brooklyn, and every time we'd invite a different guest; we played with guitarists, cellists, horn players, and even a guy who used an amplified bicycle wheel. Eventually I suggested to Steve that we write some material and turn the project into something permanent. Chris Bacas joined us on saxophone and Dave Phelps on guitar. I wrote a few tunes, and in 2016 our self-titled debut came out. The reasons behind this project? I like playing with these guys, they're easygoing, I like the music that comes out of it, it's all very simple, and playing with them makes me happy.

Duke Ellington: "Sensible musicians are the ones who play what they can actually master."

I suppose I agree. Yes, you have to play what you've mastered, but at the same time, I think an artist has to take risks. I mean, I definitely put myself out there. Sometimes I try things I haven't fully learned, and occasionally it works out, while other times I mess it all up. Still, that's part of the learning process too, so even when you get it wrong, you have some sense of how it should sound, and you go home and work on it, confident it'll go better next time.

The greatest love of your life?

That one's easy: my lady, Joyce!

What would the Percy of today say to the Percy of 40 years ago?

On the musical side, I'd tell him not to give up, to keep working, and not to listen to the people who try to bring you down by saying you're just wasting your time. I didn't mention this before, but back in '69 I met Mingus. I was touring with Liverpool Scene, and we ended up in New York too, where I ran into him and his wife, quite by chance, in a bar in the Village. He didn't hand out advice, but he was very courteous; he seemed pleased that a young Englishman, I was 20 at the time, was so passionate about his music. To the Percy of back then, I'd say keep your eyes open for the sharks in this business, because my experience with Brand X over the years has, commercially speaking, been pretty negative.

What happened?

In 1980, our record label and the management company handling us both dropped us at the same time, leaving us with a considerable debt as a parting gift. They never gave us any accounting for that figure, there was no way to know where the money had gone, all I know is we had to pay it back over the following 40 years.

Did you make up for it with the 2016 reunion?

No, we ended up in trouble again. One of the two managers handling us, who also played in the new lineup, told me one day: "Don't tell anyone I'm financing the band." And once again, zero accounting, nothing in writing. Just to give you an idea, at one point I found out through the Burning Shed label that he'd been paid more than $30,000 in royalties. I ended up giving him an ultimatum: if he didn't provide the accounting I'd asked for within three months, I wouldn't work with them anymore. And so I stopped working with them. And what did they do? They tried to recruit another rhythm section to keep touring under the Brand X name. Can you believe it? Me, Goodsall and Lumley, the founders of the band, were still paying off the old debt, while these guys were selling themselves as the real Brand X. And the former manager is still running a Brand X Facebook page that he has the nerve to call official, acting as if he owns it! To the Percy of 40 years ago I'd say watch your back for the crooks, because the music business is full of them. Fortunately, young musicians today are far savvier about it, much more attentive to the business side than my generation was.

What's the most extraordinary aspect of being an artist?

The chance to write a solid song, record it properly, play it live and win over an audience. That's a rewarding feeling, really. Also, among the best things, there's playing in quality venues, where everything works as it should, the sound is good, and every musician can hear things perfectly, just as well as the audience in the room.

07/01/2024

(Images by Gorilla Productions Ltd. – photographer Brian Hoodenpyle)

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