Live albums are notoriously dull and tend to be superfluous, with the notable exceptions of 'Bob Marley And The Wailers Live', 'Thin Lizzy Live And Dangerous', 'James Brown Live At The Apollo', 'The Velvet Underground Live 1969', 'MC5 Kick Out The Jam' and 'The Who Live At Leeds'. 'Alive With Terry Callier', recorded at London's Jazz Cafe last year, isn't quite destined to join this illustrious list but it comes a damn sight closer than most.
A dignified, deeply spiritual artist, Callier purveys a unique fusion of jazz, soul and folk, crowned with richly reflective lyrics. Hailing from Chicago, his debut release was 1962's 'Look At Me Now', which later become an anthem on the UK's northern soul scene.
However, it was his seventies output, significantly the albums, 'Occasional Rain' and 'What Color Is Love?', that found favour with the goatee'd set and forced him from a premature retirement. Indeed, the early 90's Acid Jazz movement may not have contributed much of musical merit - Jamiroquai, gee thanks - but its re-discovery and promotion of Terry Callier's Chess/Cadet recordings was singularly responsible for initiating his spectacular renaissance.
This deftly crafted live set spans Terry's career, from 'Occasional Rain' to 'Lifetime', his most recent album released back in 1999. 'Ordinary Joe' is perhaps his best known song and the version here is coolly compulsive. A nimble fingered guitarist himself, Callier is backed by a dextrous nine piece band, including the blissfully beatific vocalist, Veronica Cowper.
Thankfully, there's little jazz noodling, leaving the stark simplicity of the arrangements to accentuate the sheer, heart-stopping beauty of these songs. Ultimately, however, it's Callier's revelatory vocals and plainly perceptive poetry, that truly transcend. His voice spirals and tumbles, like a male Nina Simone, one moment seraphic, the next, gruff 'n' husky.
According to no less an authority than Gil Scott-Heron, "Everyone should own a Terry Callier album". 'Alive With...' is a terrific place to start.
