John Mayall

John Mayall is known as one of the greatest talent scouts and mentors in the history of British blues and rock. His backing band, the Bluesbreakers, served as a launchpad for musicians who would go on to found groups of the caliber of Cream, Fleetwood Mac and Colosseum. However, his own work as a musician is less well known. Everyone knows that guitarists like Peter Green and Mick Taylor were forged on his records, but not everyone is willing to actually give him a listen. His prestigious role as mentor is acknowledged, but among those who aren't fond of the blues there lingers a sense that it's enough to know what those names went on to produce on their own.

To be fair, at least in the case of "Blues Breakers With Eric Clapton", the celebrated 1966 album, the prejudice is partly justified. A historical document of undeniable importance, it nonetheless shows some limitations, and Clapton's electric blows and John McVie's hefty bass aren't always enough to enliven its blues orthodoxy (by 1966 the genre had already been turned inside out by the likes of Manfred Mann, Rolling Stones and Yardbirds - the latter with Clapton himself).

Mayall was, however, much more than that. Particularly between 1968 and 1972, when he released a series of albums in which blues material was shot through with experimental ambitions, ranging from psychedelia to jazz, from a need to swim against the current (turning the volume down when everyone else was cranking it up) to a desire to surprise audiences with bizarre arrangements (horn sections, solo flute and violin, vocal games and so on). Several titles from that period - among them "Bare Wires", "Blues From Laurel Canyon", "Jazz Blues Fusion" - are now sacred texts for any self-respecting blues fan. They are not, however, among rock listeners, and there seems little room for that trend to reverse.

The pinnacle of this period probably coincides with "The Turning Point," one of the most creative blues records of all time, though the album also excels on the folk and jazz fronts, elements through which Mayall sought to recapture the dynamism and sense of excitement that the great Black masters he so admired had been capable of.

"The Turning Point" arrived at a peculiar moment for the artist. "Bare Wires" had sold better than any of his previous albums, even reaching number 3 in the UK, yet "Blues From Laurel Canyon" saw a sharp drop in acclaim. The root cause was probably the decision to drop the "Bluesbreakers" name from the cover, a tag that by then may have felt too confining. In truth, the album still featured musicians from that circle, but Mayall would soon decide to wipe the slate clean and turn the page: "The Turning Point" proved it beyond any doubt.

Recorded live in July 1969 at New York's Fillmore East, it consists of seven previously unreleased tracks and retains only bassist Steve Thompson from the prior lineup. Two new members joined, destined to deeply shape the record's sound: Jon Mark on acoustic guitar and Johnny Almond on saxophones and flute.

Drums are entirely absent, as are the smoking electric guitar solos that had defined his work up to that point. The album isn't quite as acoustic as it's often made out to be, though: Mayall's guitar is a Fender Telecaster, and the bass is electric too. What's new is that they were amplified through a rudimentary setup, forgoing the distortion and thunderous volumes typical of the blues rock of the era. As a result, the acoustic guitar stands on equal footing — and sometimes even takes the lead — during the frequent interplay.

This clean, stripped-down sound allows unexpected dynamics to emerge. The absence of drums is barely felt, because Thompson does superb work, laying the foundation for the entire tracklist with his polished tone and jazz-tinged sophistication.

"The Laws Must Change" immediately shows off an impressive rhythmic verve, with Thompson's groove punctuated by Mark's acoustic jabs and Mayall's raucous harmonica, while Almond unfurls a flute solo worthy of Jethro Tull. The lyrics are among the most political Mayall ever wrote, cautioning young people protesting violently against the police, agreeing with them on the need for change but not with their methods.

Lenny Bruce was trying to tell you

many things before he died,

don't throw rocks at the policemen,

but untangle the knots of the law

"Saw Mill Gulch Road" has a more typically blues structure, with Mayall's weeping slide guitar underscoring the story of a young girl abandoned by the narrator, who had been smitten with her. The ending is moving, a mix of illusion and nostalgia:

A deck of cards for solitaire,

hidden meanings to put away,

a bunch of things as a keepsake,

for when she dreams of days to come

“I’m Gonna Fight For You J.B.” is instead a militant blues, where tenderness gives way to pride, and Mayall declares with grit his determination to carry on the music of his guiding star, J.B. Lenoir, who had passed away a couple of years earlier (Mayall had already dedicated the poignant “The Death Of J.B. Lenoir” to him, from the 1967 album “Crusade”).

Well, I want people to hear your blues

and keep thinking about it day and night.

You were born in Mississippi

and now you're buried out there,

but I'm gonna fight for you, J.B.,

I want your blues spread everywhere

“So Hard To Share” is a love song in expanded form, its textures opening up into new expressive shapes. The bass pulses relentlessly, building tension, the guitars chase each other forging geometries that need no distortion or effects to cut like blades, and the sax wanders, passionate and cosmic at once.

Even more extreme is “California”, a nine-minute tour de force in which Mayall gives his three collaborators total freedom, each of them free to indulge, invent riffs, dismantle them and rebuild them, edging toward anarchy. The acoustic guitar strings seem almost torn apart by the sheer force of Mark's touch in places, while Almond makes his sax roar and turns toward the Middle East during the flute solo.

“Thoughts About Roxanne” starts out as a sentimental blues before turning into a boogie stomp. The electric guitar solo is so energetic that one hardly dares imagine the result had the instrument been amplified as usual.

The closer is “Room To Move”, one of the most infectious tracks Mayall ever recorded, an all-out folk assault with a long harmonica interlude and a labyrinthine display of vocal percussion. The ecstatic crowd is the obvious corollary to such a finale.

The album would be embraced wholeheartedly by the American market. Although it initially stalled at number 32, it would stay on the charts for more than a year, marking an unexpected success for such intricate music. Back home, on the other hand, the initial number 11 would prove a flash in the pan, prompting Mayall to turn increasingly toward the United States, eventually relocating there.

In 1970 Mark and Almond would leave his band to found their own project, Mark-Almond, whose self-titled 1970 debut and 1972's “Rising” are at least worth hearing, with their successful blend of progressive folk and jazz. Mayall, meanwhile, would continue his explorations up to the electric, horn-driven triumph of “Jazz Blues Fusion”, another landmark live album, after which craftsmanship – however respectable – would come to replace fire, invention and daring.

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12/03/2017