Olu Iwa

We Say...

Review by Steve Smith

For many avant-garde jazz enthusiasts, the foremost attraction of Cecil Taylor’s Olu Iwa, taped live in Berlin in 1986, is the presence of ferocious German saxophone improviser Peter Brötzmann. Yet anyone who checks in for that reason alone could be disappointed: Devotees of both players have had trouble discerning Brötzmann’s presence in the 48 minute opening track, “B Ee Ba Nganga Ban’a Eee!”

The blistering onslaught that starts 27 minutes into the track bears Brötzmann’s signature sandpaper tone. But two saxophonists are credited — Frank Wright, an Albert Ayler acolyte and no shrinking violet, is the other, and nowhere are the two heard together. The drooping sobs that begin at minute 34, opposite trombonist Earl McIntyre’s sputtering and the pianist’s glossolalia poetry, must surely be Wright’s.

That mystery aside, there are two key reasons to check out Olu Iwa. The first is Taylor’s magisterial pacing during a performance filled with unusually contemplative passages, not least the haunting theme that opens “B Ee Ba Nganga Ban’a Eee!” (One possible explanation: This was Taylor’s first unit without his longtime musical soul mate and foil, alto saxophonist Jimmy Lyons, who would die of lung cancer just over a month later.)

The other is the sublime rhythm section of bassist William Parker, percussionist Thurman Barker and — in his sole appearance on record with Taylor — mercurial Chicago drummer Steve McCall. Sans the horn players, the quartet shines at length in the even more intense “Olu Iwa (Lord of Character),” recorded the previous day.