Even though I’m sincere when I insist that this release is the most impressive album I listened to in 2010, I’m not sure who I would recommend it to. That said, I do believe anyone with a remotely open mind could be quickly convinced. Convinced of what, exactly? That your world was too small without it, for starters. Not unlike the way a great novel, movie or even a new type of cuisine will remind you that there are places and times you were unaware of, and that someone—or something—else can transport you without the use of machines or magic (or even drugs). If, understandably, that sounds a tad too precious, this is music you can put on while you meditate, do yoga, think or have sex. So there’s that.

The Heliocentrics have not wasted any time establishing themselves as an indispensable part of the contemporary avant-garde. In addition to their impressive 2007 release Out There (a nice nod to Eric Dolphy), in 2009, they collaborated with legendary Ethiopian maestro Mulatu Astatke and dropped one of the best releases of that year, Inspiration Information 3.

Who, you ask, is Lloyd Miller? Do a Google search and you’ll find he’s been around for a long time (we’re talking decades) and has been an influential force in world music. His distinct amalgamation of Persian music, American jazz and a sort of psychedelic far-east vibe (think zither and gongs) is quite unlike anything anyone else has done, although serious fans will hear traces of Alice Coltrane, Pharoah Sanders and even Santana (circa Caravanserai). For an amazing—and addictive—overview of what he’s done, check out the very fittingly titled collection A Lifetime In Oriental Jazz. Considering how much music he has made, it’s disconcerting how little he seems to have recorded. Let’s hope there are lots of dusty treats in the vaults waiting to see the light of day.

The challenge in reviewing Lloyd Miller & The Heliocentrics is twofold: it is necessary to convey how remarkable the music is, and it is necessary to attempt describing what it actually sounds like. For starters, it is not only reminiscent of Sun Ra, it’s reminiscent of peak Sun Ra, circa The Futuristic Sounds album (which, for anyone interested, is an ideal gateway to that wonderful and eccentric artist’s intimidating catalog). But that comparison is inadequate, because even Sun Ra, circa 1958, was incorporating Eastern sounds and rhythms into his Arkestra. Eventually, those tapestries would grow larger, and longer and, for many ears, overwhelming. But from the mid-’50s until the early-to-mid-’60s his compositions were tight, focused and brimming with musical delights that, despite the bizarre persona he cultivated and encouraged, were very much of this world. All of which is to say it is probably more accurate to observe that Miller (and The Heliocentrics) are invoking similar sounds and motifs, from a more ancient-feeling place: far East passing through a syncopated prism of strings, flutes and percussion.

Where Miller’s earlier work, understandably, features time signatures and instruments (oud, anyone?) more associated with Eastern cultures, this collaboration with The Heliocentrics—aside from being inspired—manages to further erode any distinctions between Persian music and modern jazz. It sounds improbable on the page (as well as in theory, this being 2011, not 1972) but it is executed practically to perfection throughout this astonishing album. Miller’s reputation and history precedes him, so we should not be surprised at the consistent quality of this work. Special mention, then, must be made of how sympathetic and seamless The Heliocentrics’ accompaniment is throughout these proceedings.

The propulsive bass grounds album opener “Electricone” in a contemporary jazz groove, and the flute and percussion drive a blend of exotic sounds off into the distance. Perhaps the most straightforward number, “Nava”, could easily fit in on an early ‘70s McCoy Tyner album, with its post-bop momentum flavored with Eastern spices. “Bali Bronze” invokes the cymbal-laden call and response of the Balinese Gamelan; flute and gongs weaving a hazy mist that conjures up an Opium dream straight outta Coleridge. One of the standout tracks is the appropriately named “Spiritual Jazz”: Opening with a gorgeous and languid piano soliloquy, it slowly opens up, like a flower straining to reach the sun. Perhaps intentionally, album closer “Sunda Sunset” circles back from tomorrow and gently drifts into the past, like closing titles for an imaginary Kurosawa film.

Miller and his band are effortlessly tapping into feelings that are at once peaceful and ever-so-slightly disorienting. Unforced and never formulaic, this music manages to be adventurous without descending into pretense or abrasiveness—it is reminiscent of far-away times and places, but ultimately situated comfortably in the here-and-now. Our world is big enough for that, now, and Lloyd Miller has helped make this possible.

Perhaps the most illuminating way to attempt discussing Henry Threadgill’s music is to begin by discussing the man himself. Biographically speaking, Threadgill is one of the most respected, if recalcitrant members of the post-‘70s avant-garde. Of course, his roots stretch back a bit further, as he first made a name through his association with AACM (Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians) in the ‘60s. By the way, referring to him as recalcitrant is intended as the highest form of praise. Though he spent a minute signed to a major label (his mid-‘90s work for Columbia Records produced some quiet masterpieces which, being both masterpieces and jazz albums, sold enough copies to ensure that the association was brief). Threadgill, suffice it to say, has always followed his own path, making no apologies for the wonderfully challenging music he makes. Upon winning a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2003, his extended hiatus from recording was starting to seem ominous, which makes the release of This Brings Us To, Volume 1 cause for considerable joy.

Virtually any Threadgill recording is like the indiscreet hole in the wall joint that happens to serve the best food in town. No bells or whistles, no valet parking or wait lists, but it manages to stay in business by retaining the loyal clients it attracts. Take the name of his working band, Zooid. For the benefit of folks who had difficulty with math class (like myself), the name does not signify the number of musicians (Octet…Nonet…Zooid?). A zooid, to quote the press materials, “is a cell that is able to move independently of the larger organism to which it belongs.” To be certain, there are examples of pretense without sense (we can all think of examples without naming names), and then there is intelligence so genuine and unrestrained it is slightly intimidating but ultimately exhilarating. Just listing the titles of select Threadgill compositions illustrates his keen and refreshingly unorthodox mind: “Just the Facts and Pass the Bucket”, “First Church of This”, “I Love You With an Asterisk”, “Dirty in the Right Places”, “Go to Far”. One always gets an adequate sense of Threadgill’s perception of the world, and the amount of thought and attention that has occurred, before a single note is played.

And that is where the listener comes in. This Brings Us To, Volume 1 is, once again, Threadgill’s first release since 2001, and a most worthy companion piece to the excellent Up Popped the Two Lips. A few words about the Zooid. A handful of people in the world who are inspired, or forced by their parents, to play tuba actually grow up to become badass musicians: one of them, Jose Davila—who also plays trombone—is in this band. The rest of the quintet is comprised of Elliot Humberto Kavee (drums), Stomu Takeishi (bass) and Liberty Ellman (acoustic guitar). Then there is Threadgill himself, who alternates between alto sax and flute.

The music, as usual, has overtones of Eastern influence but is firmly rooted in Western (jazz) tradition. As always, it obliges the listener to slow down, concentrate, and receive. The opening track (and enigmatically titled) “White Wednesday Off the Wall” is a tone poem of subtle expression: the flute whisks in between the strings being plucked and pulled, while the tuba crouches like a crocodile, just beneath the surface. It is, like much of Threadgill’s calmer pieces, beautiful but ever so slightly foreboding. It also conveys a certain prehistoric vibe that recalls the first installment of Sun Ra’s Heliocentric Worlds series.

The pace quickens with “To Undertake My Corners Open”, showcasing Kavee while Ellman makes cerebral, always tasteful contributions throughout. “Chairmaster” opens up ample space for Davila, who takes an extended solo before dueling with Threadgill’s serpentine flute runs. “After Some Time” is an insanely syncopated—and appropriately named—workout for Threadgill on alto saxophone, with Kavee gamely keeping pace at every turn. The bandleader remains on alto for “Sap”, another frenetic romp that encourages Ellman to stretch out, working into a hurry-up-to-slow-down solo that is reminiscent of Marc Ribot. Finally, “Mirror Mirror the Verb” is a quirky exclamation point on the proceedings, and sounds more than a little like Eric Dolphy woodshedding with the Art Ensemble of Chicago.

So, like I said, this is not music for everyone, but it is music for anyone. Even for jazz hounds, Henry Threadgill is somewhat of an acquired taste; not so much because his music is impenetrable or off-putting, but because it is a foreign film that does not provide subtitles. You may not always be able to follow it, but you always know what is going on. Hopefully it goes without saying that I mean that in a good way.

Everyone knows YouTube is the best shortcut to favorite, as well as forgotten video clips. And while it is well worth recognizing, and celebrating, the millions of anonymous DJs out there manning the Internets have been doing work bringing the noise. Literally. YouTube is becoming (or has become) a reliable source for tunes. Everyone knows this, but there is no accounting for what gems you might stumble upon while surfing for that favorite (or forgotten) song. Of course, that is what Last.fm, Rhapsody and LimeWire are for. YouTube is less for programmed setlists and more for dedicated investigatory treasure hunts. Like the universe itself, the site is buzzing with signs of life and ready-to-be revealed secrets. If you boldly go where some men (and women) have gone before, you can collide with some very happy accidents.

Category One: Live Gems

Marvin Gaye!

Emerson Lake and Palmer (prog-rock nirvana!):

Oh, you want more prog rock? How about some Genesis? You may recognize that reverse-mohawked lead singer…

The Moody Blues keeping it REAL:

Pink Floyd (not live, but there is plenty of that to be had; here is a rare promotional video, i.e., Prog rock apotheosis!):

John Fahey!!

Category Two: Jazz!

Big Friendly Jazz Orchestra: “Fables of Faubus”
(First of all, that these songs are available is awesome; that this is a high school band (!) of Japanese girls (!!) playing –among other things– Mingus tunes (!!!) is bordering on miraculous. God bless them and God bless the Internets.)

Version One:

Version Two:

Charles Lloyd and Billy Higgins:

Art Motherfucking Blakey:

William Parker!

(Special appreciation for the things you were looking for all of your life — but didn’t know it until you found them):

Sun Ra:

The Keith Tippett Group. Who? Exactly. (King Crimson fans will recognize this woefully underappreciated pianist):

Grachan Moncur III:

Pharoah Sanders:

Category Three: Personal Favorites

And then there are the old friends you sometimes need to dial up just to get through another case of the Mondays:

(I mean, a little Funkadelic never hurt anyone; in fact, it did a lot of people a whole lot of good. And hopefully a few of you have never heard of Standing on the Verge of Getting It On, and are now addicted. I know what you’re thinking: Wow, what an incredible album title! Here’s the best part, that’s not even the second best Funkadelic album title from the first half of the ’70s. How about Cosmic Slop? Or the truly hysterical (or hysterically true) America Eats Its Young? Of course there is also Free Your Mind…And Your Ass Will Follow. And, for anyone still not convinced, we can cut through the cleverness and get to the heart of the matter with Maggot Brain. Yeah, you may be thinking, but how serious can a band be with album titles like that? The answer, incidentally, is: serious as a fucking heart attack.

Two words: Eddie Hazel:

Category Four: The Wisdom of Crowds

And finally, there are the geniuses amongst us who take the time not only to upload great music, but create arresting –and original– images to accompany it:

Exhibit A, Portishead:

Exhibit B, OutKast meets The Peanuts:

Exhibit C, Jimi Hendrix meets Earl King!!!

Exhibit D, Klaus Kinski, remixed:

And finally, Karlheinz Stockhausen — the only possible way to conclude this particular list:

Yes, sometimes you can judge an album by its cover. Especially if it Jazz. Most especially if it was from the ’70s (that Sun Ra cover is from the ’60s, but nevertheless…)

A lot of people don’t understand, or appreciate Jazz.

A lot of people don’t understand, or appreciate, the ’70s…

We cannot help these people.

Pharoah Sanders:

Lonnie Liston Smith:

Pat Martino:

Sun Ra:

Miles Davis:

Herbie Hancock:

Or, as Sun Ra would say, Welcome to Brainville!

(Uh oh. Looks like the YouTube police are not allowing this one to air any longer…WHY? Is someone making money off of an obscure Sun Ra song from the late ’50s? Give me a personal break. Anyway, if they want obscure, I’ll give them obscure. Keeping with the Chicago theme, let’s roll out Chi-town’s baddest mofos, and no, it’s not the Cubs):

My name is Kurt Rambis and I approve this message!