Sometimes there isn’t much left to be said. Case in point: George Ohtsuka’s Maracaibo. A jaw-dropping masterpiece of Japanese jazz funk that could only come through a miraculous meeting of two minds, those of Japan’s Trio Records and Germany’s ECM Records. Released in 1980, Maracaibo, marked genius drummer George Ohtsuka’s final departure from the meditative jazz of his earlier history into this brief period where moving to areas of joy — where things just flow and everyone is invited to come (including the listener) — moved him to create music that made you move.
Joining him here would be two inspiring guests: Miroslav Vitous and Nana Vasconcelos. Everyone involved from the masterful Tsunihide Matsuki gracing us with his most sunkissed licks ever to the sparkling keyboard duo of Toshiyuki Sekine and Hiroshi Irie who inject all sorts of wonderfully moving counterpoints — some blue, some ardent red. Mabumi Yamaguchi, head sax man, came driven by the music of Fania and wild, free jazz. Everyone involved seemed to be moved by the spirit of Latin America (somewhere in the whereabouts of Venezuela and Brazil).
Recorded and released in 1980, in Roppongi, Tokyo (at the site of various CBS/SONY Sound Image album recordings), Maracaibo brought to mind those same super technical but utterly, impeccably created, complex slices of urbane Japanese jazz. Over the course of three days in mid-April, bassist Miroslav Vitous, came armed with skeletons of songs — mostly drum and bass strictures — that the others added to as George made space in his rhythms. Before things were said and done the album was in the can (probably taking a lot less to write than I will writing about it…), without any high-minded concept — all involved wanted something you could conceivably hear booming from anyone’s stereo system. And like many divine things, things just flowed, naturally.
In NYC, the site of George’s previous album Maracaibo Cornpone, released two years earliers, we were treated to Masabumi Kikuchi’s decidedly alternate take on Don Cherry fourth world-esque jazz, joined by a few of the compatriots who’d travel with him here. However this here, in comfier confines, tracks like “American Tango” and “Spring 80” speak of this grand vision of approachable “free” jazz. As a group they functioned as one that moved unconsciously towards, under one (of many) grooves.
Going further away from their own urban jazz, the music of Maracaibo belonged down in the trenches or out somewhere sticky and muddy, where all the good things come from sun-drenched drips of perspiration. Where glory comes in meeting the mind with the booty. As the strains of dubby guitar whisk away, via Hiroshi Irie’s organ, one starts to entertain the idea that perhaps it’s time to step away from the computer and do something else. Here’s to that something else.