Like, Digsville! Dept. - Grover Washington

Watch out! This swell platter rushes at you from 1972 in a time tunnel vertigo swirl. Grover's made more albums than you've made hay, but this one is super-special. His second as headliner, it epitomises the adventurousness back when pretentiousness and over-production weren't an issue for anyone but beetlebrowed jazzbos, who being mostly white and middle class were well qualified to keep the torch of True Jazz burning while black guys had to get out and earn a living.

Kudu label boss Creed Taylor still gets the critic's sneer for allegedly sweetening jazz into jello, but that's an insult to everyone who made music like this. There's nothing in professionalism and craft, in knowing what you're fucking doing, that devalues jazz. And these guys are following the tradition established (I think - I'm no music historian) [you got that right - Ed.] by Duke Ellington. The roster of virtuoso musicians here is dizzying. Looking at the back line first, always the right thing, you'll see Bernard Purdie, Billy Cobham, and Richard Davis. Uh-huh. In between them and Grover we have Cornell Dupree, David Spinozza and Eric Gale on guitar, Richard Tee on keys, and full-budget horn and Nice Jewish Boy string sections. Bob James writes charts for tunes by Aretha Franklin, Bill Withers, and ... Henry Purcell? Yup. The rug-sporting harpsichord-botherer of th' Baroque grabs his composer royalties - and jazz cred - at last.

If all this makes the album sound in some way worthy, or due academic respect, that was far from everybody's mind when the album was cut. It's a freaking blast.

Note sartoriality.