Otomo Yoshihide's New Jazz Orchestra
Plays Eric Dolphy's 'Out to Lunch'

Of course, to orchestrate such an operation, one must certainly be decidedly crazy.

And I'm not referring to the act of completely covering someone else's work: the skilled musician from Yokohama is certainly not the first to take such a daring dive and (I believe) will not be the last either.

The "worrying" fact is that we are in the presence of an absolute cornerstone, the type that makes knees shake at just the mention of them and that form a significant part of the history of "our" favorite music of all time.

Trying to mold such an incandescent matter can be quite risky: one may come out with melted bones.

And yet.
The tribute from this charming scoundrel with almond-shaped eyes and the large group that accompanies him in this sketch of abuse (published in 2005 by an obscure
label: Doubtmusic), is at the same time challenging and spectacular!

The revival of the third-to-last work over a long distance, dating back to the early sixties, produced by the volcanic mind of the historic African-American musician, not only succeeds in the arduous task of not overturning the mortal remains of our hero within the sarcophagus - and that alone would be a definitive Ace on the first Match Point - but also configures itself as an exciting torture for the entire auditory apparatus: and I believe not only those of the usual fanatic/completist or the "large" circle of followers of the Los Angeles musician who pride themselves on knowing every single moment of this fragment of history (not just of jazz).

The tracklist is presented in a strict (and resounding) sequence just as it was originally:

what Otomo and his (many) brothers "inject," let's say, is that pinch of dynamite madness of a two-thousand-year free-jazz origin, with a libertarian and zealously cacophonous - but not that much - performance approach, the child (or rather grandchild) of the moment in which this record was conceived and captured that, perhaps, for demographic-structural reasons could not have existed back in the lost 1964.

And so we let ourselves be joyfully overwhelmed by the explosive rereading of "Gazzelloni" and the deadly "Hat And Beard" as well as the shattering final ditty "Straight Up And Down - Will Be Back": there would be a reason to mention all of them, as usual.

The tracks are duly battered: "refreshed" by the treatment of the delinquent band, without losing even an ounce of the wonderful charge and evergreen charm of the record that was.

You may have guessed it: the record is quite ugly.
Actually: I didn't even like the original.
Oh.