Concord Records

Having garnered acclaim for her sophisticated and artful blend of jazz and R&B, bassist/vocalist Esperanza Spalding has continued to expand her sound, growing increasingly experimental and organic with each album. It's an approach she takes to yet another boldly creative level with 2021's Songwrights Apothecary Lab. The record shares its title with a class Spalding curates at Harvard that's advertised as "half songwriting workshop, and half guided-research practice," all of which sounds like it is intended to make both the writing and listening of music a more healing and uplifting experience. If that sounds somewhat esoteric and pseudo-spiritual, it is. Songwrights Apothecary Lab is a gorgeously rendered production that skirts the lines between art rock, free jazz, and wordless modern creative improvisation. Rather than using distinct song titles, Spalding designates each track as a numbered "Formwela," a term that implies something between a song, a healing mantra, and a magical incantation. Some, like "Formwela 2" with vocalist Ganavya Doraiswamy, are wordless tone poems rich with vibrant harmonic colors. Others, like "Formwela 7," are dark theatrical works featuring Spalding's half-sung/half-spoken word lyrics against a crashing cacophony of horns, all of which evokes the work of the Art Ensemble of Chicago. Yet others, including three mid-album songs with vocalist/trombonist Corey King, are more lyrical, drawing upon folk and jazz influences and showcasing the duo's warm vocal harmonies. While there are deeply engaging moments on Songwrights Apothecary Lab, not to mention songs of deft compositional precision, it's an album far afield of the post-bop jazz, Latin, and R&B that initially earned Spalding attention. It's an expansive, challenging album that often feels as if we are hearing each song leap out of Spalding in the moment, fully formed or not. Nonetheless, it's clear that she is an immensely gifted and technically adept performer, something that remains at the forefront of Songwrights Apothecary Lab as she bounds with sprite-like joy through her kaleidoscopic formwelas. © Matt Collar /TiVo

Having garnered acclaim for her sophisticated and artful blend of jazz and R&B, bassist/vocalist Esperanza Spalding has continued to expand her sound, growing increasingly experimental and organic with each album. It's an approach she takes to yet another boldly creative level with 2021's Songwrights Apothecary Lab. The record shares its title with a class Spalding curates at Harvard that's advertised as "half songwriting workshop, and half guided-research practice," all of which sounds like it is intended to make both the writing and listening of music a more healing and uplifting experience. If that sounds somewhat esoteric and pseudo-spiritual, it is. Songwrights Apothecary Lab is a gorgeously rendered production that skirts the lines between art rock, free jazz, and wordless modern creative improvisation. Rather than using distinct song titles, Spalding designates each track as a numbered "Formwela," a term that implies something between a song, a healing mantra, and a magical incantation. Some, like "Formwela 2" with vocalist Ganavya Doraiswamy, are wordless tone poems rich with vibrant harmonic colors. Others, like "Formwela 7," are dark theatrical works featuring Spalding's half-sung/half-spoken word lyrics against a crashing cacophony of horns, all of which evokes the work of the Art Ensemble of Chicago. Yet others, including three mid-album songs with vocalist/trombonist Corey King, are more lyrical, drawing upon folk and jazz influences and showcasing the duo's warm vocal harmonies. While there are deeply engaging moments on Songwrights Apothecary Lab, not to mention songs of deft compositional precision, it's an album far afield of the post-bop jazz, Latin, and R&B that initially earned Spalding attention. It's an expansive, challenging album that often feels as if we are hearing each song leap out of Spalding in the moment, fully formed or not. Nonetheless, it's clear that she is an immensely gifted and technically adept performer, something that remains at the forefront of Songwrights Apothecary Lab as she bounds with sprite-like joy through her kaleidoscopic formwelas. © Matt Collar /TiVo

Einem texanischen Sprichwort zufolge eignen sich „alte Gläser am besten für Frozen Margaritas“, und das passt perfekt zu Billy Gibbons drittem Soloalbum. Nachdem er sich auf The Big Bad Blues (2018) und Perfectamundo (2015) durch verschiedene Genres hindurchgeschlängelt hatte, ohne deswegen gleich eine stilistische Revolution auszulösen, kehrt der Mastermind der ZZ Top nun mit diesem Hardware wieder voll und ganz zu seinen Prinzipien zurück, das wie eine private Jukebox daherkommt. Eine Funken sprühende Maschine, in der alles zusammenprallt, was seit 1971, also den Anfängen des legendären, langhaarigen Trios, seine Musik ausmacht: Blues, Hard Rock, Country Rock und sogar Surf Music. Einzig und allein Eigenkompositionen – abgesehen von der Coverversion des Hey Baby, Que Paso von den Texas Tornados – die er zusammen mit alten Kumpeln geschrieben hat, darunter Matt Sorum, ehemaliger Schlagzeuger der Guns N’Roses, Austin Hanks, Gitarrist, Mike Fiorentino oder Chad Shlosser. Und in Stackin’ Bones unterstützen ihn im Background die noch ganz jungen Schwestern Rebecca und Megan Lovell, die zusammen das Duo Larkin Poe bilden…In My Lucky Card erkennt man den authentischen Gibbons gleich an seinen ersten Riffs, wenn er uns seinen typisch texanischen, dreckigen Mega-Bluesrock serviert, und der genauso unerbittlich wie die Sonne in der kalifornischen Wüste rund um Palm Springs auf einen niederbrennt, eben da, wo Hardware eingespielt wurde. Selbst das integre Telecaster-Solo in der Vagabond Man-Ballade beweist die einschlägigen, schon unzähligen Male gehörten Sound, den Billy Gibbons menschlicher gestaltet als alle anderen. Egal ist auch, ob man auf die Boogie-Hymne La Grange (1973) abfährt oder auf den bei Radiosendern hitverdächtigen Gimme All Your Lovin’ (1983), der ZZ Top-Bandleader schmeichelt hier all jenen, die immer schon auf seine recht markanten Ideale eines unsterblichen Rock’n’Roll schwörten. Zeitlos, solide, unschlagbar. © Marc Zisman/Qobuz