Larry Young
Unity

In 1965, the label Blue Note was already producing a plethora of long playing records by organists such as Baby Face Villette, Freddie Roach, Big John Patton, etc., in addition to continuing the recording work of the most famous of all: Jimmy Smith. Things were changing, the era of hard bop (a genre that had made the historic jazz label famous) was giving way to a weary commercialization of boogaloo. Alongside this, Alfred Lion's company did not miss the opportunity to produce the most "in" artists of the new thing, from Ornette to Don Cherry, Cecil Taylor, Sam Rivers, and brought together old glories, such as Jackie McLean, the extraordinary alto saxophonist discovered by Art Blakey, with Ornette on trumpet (!!!), in the legendary "New and old gospel."

Larry Young was an organist of the r'n'b/jazz stable but had already shown signs of impatience with the rigid school that brought Lion so much money. The previous album "Into Somethin'" featured Sam Rivers on winds and his ungracious and awkward sound. Also on drums was Elvin Jones, his loyal collaborator, whose magical stint with John Coltrane in the dream quartet need not be recalled.

With "Unity," we are presented with his absolute masterpiece and one of the most perfect "Blue Note" records ever pressed in the label's history "since 1935." A work of irreproducible beauty and unity (unity, indeed) that consecrates Young as the greatest Hammond organist of all time. From this work, Young would take flight to produce the following fascinating "Of Love and Peace," close to free jazz, and his subsequent career with Tony Williams' Lifetime. This continued until his untimely death in 1978 (Young was born in '40). In "Unity," in addition to Jones on drums, we find a young but already outstanding Joe Henderson on tenor and especially Woody Shaw on trumpet, barely in his twenties.

I say especially Shaw because "Unity," apart from a theme by Henderson and two "standards," is entirely composed by him. One might say that in reality, it is Shaw's album if it were not that Young's Hammond B3 is the true key to the sound of the LP. "Unity" is not an innovative work, on the contrary; let's say it is a synthesis of many things already happening in the '60s: from the hard bop of the Messengers, to a hint of free (just a touch of nutmeg), and especially the shadow of Coltrane, of whom Young is a true transliterator on the keyboard. This is a record that is loved not for its influence but for its completeness. Its swing, its intensity are so contagious that one cannot resist its joyous vigor. If this could be said for other hard bop albums, what elevates "Unity" is the overwhelming personality of the result. Despite being many things together, it is a unique album!!!

Let's talk about the tracks: we open with a march punctuated by Elvin Jones' snare drum to which is joined an equally martial figure in 2 from the Hammond bass. The entrance of the brass is exceedingly military, like a fanfare, but it is softened, thanks to the afro opening, into the Lydian harmonies of the theme "Zoltan" (Shaw). The intro is a homage to the composer Zoltan Kodály, taken from his Hary Janos suite. Solo sequences, opened by the trumpet, where Shaw already shows his use of passing chord tones, achieving his typical slippery and insinuating effect, close to that of his contemporary colleague Charles Tolliver. For Young, there are no half measures either: his solo openly declares that we are not in Jimmy Smith's world but in the intricate, ascending coltranian universe. The elastic 4/4 with Jones brings the return of the theme to Kodaly's march. A frenetic and joyous performance (Unity is one of the happiest jazz records ever pressed).

The second track sees the organist duetting with Jones on the theme and harmonies of Thelonious Monk's theme, "Monk's dream." A dialogue where the two musicians' polyrhythmic conceptions find perfect, Siamese harmony. The "chamber" moment of the record. Young loves to tangle himself in chromaticisms and in pursuing a phrase while Jones rolls on his Gretsch.

"If" is the only Joe Henderson composition featured on the record. At the time, the tenor saxophonist was considered one of the many good "soul" musicians of Blue Note; perhaps due to his stints with groups of Horace Silver ("Song for my father," a bestseller) and Lee Morgan ("The sidewinder," The Blue Note bestseller). This allowed critics to overlook this magnificent artist with a tobacco sound and a very particular rhythmic pulsing of phrases, not just the synthesis of Rollins and Coltrane but an entity in itself, which in maturity rose to prominence, consecrating Henderson as one of the great saxes of all time. "If" is the blues of the situation: in the theme, you can already notice the sharp rhythmic accentuations characteristic of Henderson's discourse, which opens the solo contest by parceling out the improvisation to hysterical climaxes à la Trane. When it's Young's turn for a solo, we find ourselves in the coltranian "Impressions": leader and drums, without bass, interchange equally in a frenzied chase of statements, reconsiderations, and re-statements.

"The moontrane," by Shaw is the trumpeter's most famous theme, a piece he would always reprise in his live repertoire. The trumpet solo is perfect in its logic and use of pauses, remarkably easy to memorize. I find similarities between Henderson and Young in their solo phrasing; cunning, insidious, composed. Without respite, the 3 on four and the paradiddles triplets of an unrelenting Elvin, who even intuitively grasps certain keyboard phrases in real-time, leading to a rousing solo of intertwined triplet doubles.

And we come to what I consider the absolute pinnacle of the entire album: the most thrilling interpretation of "Softly (as in a morning sunrise)" (Romberg-Hammerstein III) ever captured on record. One might not even mention Henderson's masterful solo, warm, earthy and guttural, with a ferocious logic, or Shaw's frantic trumpet blaring, but one cannot remain silent about what is the most perfect Hammond solo that exists on the face of the earth!!! Indeed, Young, who already seems well-intentioned, judging by the tight voicing with which he accompanied the solos, liberates his imagination orgasmically, constructing a dizzying solo played on tension and release. When the horns counterpoint the Hammond's rising settings, they do nothing but launch it into the liberating and explosive sequence of the solo's climax. Listen to believe: at the end, the theme, performed by Shaw (at the opening, only Henderson played it, composed and subtly subdued) appears frayed, destroyed, after so much fury.

"Beyond all limits," the last track of "Unity" is somewhat the "Milestone" of the occasion. Fast time on which various voices chase each other, supported by Jones's ride cymbal sparks. After so much fire, one might expect some relaxation, but the quartet seems to run on a Ferrari, still eager to convey the joy of speed and the will of power.

Listen to it!!!! You will find it hard to believe that none of these artists are alive anymore…