ECM Jazz: Unfamiliar, Undefinable, and Endlessly Creative

Anybody who knows me knows that I have a few intense interests, one of them being jazz. I love all types of jazz, but I have a particular love for the music of a certain German record label, ECM, whose music is known for its superior sound quality and its tendency toward the abstract.

Why, you might wonder, do I have such a deep love for such a niche and inaccessible variety of music? Is it because I have a deep feeling of exclusion from society stemming from my sheltered upbringing? A self-affirming feeling of otherness that subconsciously encourages me to seek out interests that almost nobody shares so that I can believe more strongly that nobody relates to me and thus more effectively wallow in loneliness and self-pity?

It’s very astute of you to ask! Maybe!

Psychoanalysis aside, ECM is a label that has, since its inception in the 1970s, released some of the most interesting and creative music out there. Its founder Manfred Eicher, who also produced many of the label’s output, is known for caring more about creativity than marketability. The result has been some astonishingly beautiful, interesting, and high-fidelity music that very few American record labels would be willing to fund or release.

If I were to assemble a list of albums that have been the most important to me throughout my life, a solid portion of them would be from ECM. I’d like to list some of them here, both as a reflection of my personal taste and as an overview of ECM as a whole, its sound, and its place in jazz history. I’m listing these albums, not in chronological or alphabetical order, but in the order I discovered them. Because it’s my list and I can order it however I like.

Keith Jarrett — Koln Concert (1975)

Ah, the Koln Concert. A live recording — and one of the few I can think of that somebody has written a whole book about. It is, without a doubt, the most popular ECM release, and as far as I know the most popular solo piano album of all time. Its sales effectively financially sustained the whole record label in its early years.

To somebody unfamiliar with the concept of the performance, it sounds strange and unappealing: an hour-long free improvisation? A single musician, not playing any familiar song but making it all up as he goes along? What’s the draw?

To me, it’s a unique opportunity to hear a virtuoso express creativity without limits. With the exception of the final song on the album, which is based on the structure of an obscure standard, the performance was totally improvised.

It was a format that granted Jarrett total musical freedom — he wasn’t bound by any musical structure that he himself did not choose. He wasn’t depending on any other musician for rhythmic or harmonic ideas. Once creative mind, one instrument. An iconic recording.

Pat Metheny — Bright Size Life (1976)

I play guitar and bass guitar as a hobby, so I’ve always been interested in finding the best of the best on those instruments as inspiration. Music is subjective, and nobody can truly be called the best — but do any research into the best bass guitarists of all time, and you might run across the name Jaco Pastorious more than any other.

He’s my favorite bass guitarist, at least, and he plays alongside drummer Bob Moses on this guitar trio album led by Pat Metheny. I had heard of Metheny, but I came to this album mainly to hear Jaco. Little did I know that I would also discover one of my favorite guitar players.

It’s the only recording Pastorius made with ECM, and it goes without saying that his playing is excellent. It’s fluid and clean, and in a style that was uniquely his own. His bassline in the title track is, as they say, so in the pocket. Metheny’s playing is also incredibly unique — just the simple sound of his guitar is different from any that came before him. His solo on ‘Missouri Uncompromised’ is effortlessly impressive, and his interplay with Pastorius and Moses at the end of the track is incredible.

I’ve had the great pleasure of seeing him live twice, and they have been some of the greatest music performances I’ve ever witnessed. I only wish that Jaco lived past the age of 35. There is no telling what kind of creative music he could have continued to make.

Keith Jarrett — Belonging (1974)

Keith Jarrett is one of my absolute favorite musicians, and his name is going to appear several times on this list. On Belonging, Jarrett plays as part of a quartet, backed by drummer John Christiansen, bassist Palle Danielsson, and saxophonist Jan Garbarek — another all-time favorite. This specific group of musicians is often referred to as the ‘European Quartet’ and Belonging is the first of their releases together.

ECM albums tend to have a specific yet tough-to-define ‘sound,’ and Belonging is one great example. The audio quality is crystal-clear and you can pick out each instrument. Jan Garbarek’s playing is unmistakable, piercing, and attention-grabbing.

The song ‘Long as You Know you You’re Living Yours’ features one of my favorite melodies ever — fascinatingly angular and perfectly tapped into the band’s heavy rhythmic pulse — followed by one of my favorite of Garbarek’s many fantastic solos.

It’s a song that I’ve come back to many times, especially in the lower parts of my life. Something about it is liberating, and the moment the musicians return to the main melody after the solos can induce goosebumps.

Chick Corea and Gary Burton — Crystal Silence (1973)

I’m always fascinated by duo albums. They allow for a very special kind of self-expression that I don’t think musicians can achieve either solo or in larger groups — a kind of intimate musical dialog. ECM has released several great duo albums, and Crystal Silence may be the most well-known.

Pianist Chick Corea and vibraphonist Gary Burton, two of my favorite players of their respective instruments, form one of the most compelling duos I’ve ever heard. Burton’s playing is dynamic and has an instantly recognizable flow. Corea’s performance is equally distinctive, driving the rhythm at some times and floating effortlessly in the silence at others.

This is an absolutely classic album and for good reason. The music is beautiful, at times almost overwhelmingly so.

Terje Rypdal — Odyssey (1975)

Terje Rypdal is a Norwegian guitarist who, like Eberhard Weber, is unlike any other who plays his instrument. Odyssey was my introduction to his music, and is one of those albums that had a huge impact on me.

I remember right where I was and exactly what I was doing the first time I heard it — it was otherwise an unexciting moment, sitting in my dining room studying for a midterm exam. But when I heard Rypdal’s solo on the groovy and unsettling second track ‘Midnight’ I distinctly remember thinking that I had never heard anything like it before.

It was loud and distorted, but the recording was so clear. It was restrained, but with an anxious feeling of anticipation, a wildness begging to free. It includes some volume swells and and octave effects, devices which almost always sound gimmicky — but Rypdal uses them tastefully.

‘Adagio’ is a synthesizer-soaked atmospheric track that builds to another emotional and explorational guitar solo from Rypdal. On ‘Over Birkerot’ free jazz meets hard rock in a way that still sounds fresh and exciting over three decades later.

Odyssey is one of the most compelling albums on the list. It’s aptly named — beginning to end, this double album is an epic musical journey.

Keith Jarrett — My Song (1977)

Another offering from Jarrett’s European Quartet. In composition and sound, it is effectively an extension of Belonging, but in my opinion they could have retread the same ground forever without it growing stale. ‘Questar,’ ‘Country’ and the title track are among my favorite songs ever, once again largely because of Jan Garbarek.

Almost every review of Garbarek’s playing uses the word ‘soar.’ “…soaring melodies from Garbarek,” “his deftly-crafted melodies seem to soar over the rhythm section,” “Garbarek’s playing soars,” etc.

I think it’s become something of a cliche, but only because it’s true. His playing is dynamic and emotional in a way that very few others can achieve.

Jan Garbarek — Witchi-Tai-To (1974)

I know that I’ve already spent paragraphs gushing about how much I love Jan Garbarek, but I simply cannot speak highly enough about this album. You could not find a more perfect example of Garbarek’s style than the track ‘A.I.R.’ — his tone, his sustain, his note choice, it’s all perfect. The buildup of tension and ecstatic release, just perfect. If you listen to a single song after reading this, please make it ‘A.I.R.’ Words simply can’t describe.

Eberhard Weber — The Colours of Chloe (1973)

I could create a list of the best bassists out there — and I don’t want to pat myself on the back — but I think I’d do a pretty thorough job. To be frank, I don’t know if I’d include Eberhard Weber. Not because he isn’t talented — he surely is. His style is just so fundamentally different than other bassists, it’s almost as though he plays a different instrument.

The Colours of Chloe is another of the most ECM-y ECM records. ‘An Evening With Vincent Van Ritz’ is a symphony that transforms into a groove led by Weber the way only he can. The title track is a classic example of ECM minimalism that evolves into an infectious, fast paced jam before crashing back into a strange melody that will be burned into my mind forever.

Dave Liebman — Lookout Farm (1974)

Dave Liebman is a saxophone player and a musical genius who has forgotten more than most of us will ever know. Much of his music is so intense and cerebral that it becomes challenging even to diehard jazz fans like me. Lookout Farm is among his more accessible works, and I still find it a lot to swallow.

The first track, ‘Pablo’s Story,’ is a fifteen-minute epic that opens with a long guitar solo from John Abercrombie, before becoming a fast-paced Latin-flavored jam that grows in intensity until Liebman finally takes a quiet solo.

It’s a lot to chew on. ‘Sam’s Float’ features loud electric guitar, screeching soprano saxophone and even wordless shouting. It’s an album that you almost want to call disjointed or haphazard — but it’s simply too impeccably executed to warrant that kind of criticism.

Lookout Farm is an album that I find myself periodically returning to, but never quite grasping as a whole. Sometimes it’s nice to not understand or fully enjoy music — why not be challenged sometimes?

Pat Metheny Group — American Garage (1979)

Pat Metheny, as I wrote earlier, is one of my favorite musicians. Another is keyboardist Lyle Mays, who was the only constant member of one of Pat Metheny’s most important bands, aptly but uncreatively called the Pat Metheny Group.

American Garage is my favorite and most-listened-to album by the Pat Metheny Group. The songs are well-written and perfectly exemplify the sound of the group — the opening track, ‘(Cross The) Heartland,’ is one of my favorite tracks ever. ‘The Search’ is beautiful and seems to have floating quality.

More than any other, this album has helped me through many midterm and final seasons. I can explain why I love it, but I can’t explain why it’s exactly what I need to get me through those stressful periods. Either way, it’s one of the only albums that I have ever wanted to put on loop — and I’ve done so many times.

Dave Liebman — Drum Ode (1975)

Another Dave Liebman album that is characteristically strange. It opens with a brief spoken word section in which Liebman thanks the drummers of history for their music and dedicates the album to them.

Most of the music is very fast, with multiple percussionists, and Liebman leans heavily into the avant-garde with his saxophone playing. On ‘The Call’ his saxophone screeches loudly over a fast drumbeat — it’s almost overwhelming.

Like Lookout Farm, though, it rewards relisting. It also has a special place in my heart because it’s one of the first albums I ever discovered organically, simply buying it from a record store because I recognized Liebman’s name. I like to put it on when I clean, which is a little odd

Oregon — Crossing (1984)

Jazz-fusion is a genre that is difficult to define — nevermind the fact that nobody can agree on what jazz is in the first place. But when you begin talking about fusion, people will think about classic music by Miles Davis, John McLaughlin, Chick Corea, Herbie Hancock, and other talented musicians.

‘Fusion’ as a genre-label refers to the fusion of jazz and any other genre of music. For all intents and purposes, that other genre of music is rock, funk, or some combination of the two. There are countless amazing intersections of the genres.

One genre of music that jazz has almost never touched, though, is folk. It seems like an unlikely or even impossible combination; speaking very broadly, folk songs tend to be compositionally very simple while jazz is known for its harmonic complexity. Folk songs are primarily based around lyrical expression or storytelling while most jazz is instrumental.

Oregon is one of the few groups that ever played jazz-folk music, and I have to say that I am disappointed in the lack of recognition they get outside of very small jazz fanatic circles. Their music is often labeled ‘world music’ which is a term even more ambiguous and infinitely more stupid than ‘jazz.’

Oregon’s music, to repeat an overused but nevertheless accurate cliche, defies genre. Paul McCandless, a key member of the group, plays the oboe. Who has ever heard of a jazz oboeist?

The music on Crossing is Oregon at their best, atmospheric but still engaging. ‘Pepe Linque’ is driving and catchy. ‘Alpenbridge’ is haunting and slow. ‘Looking-Glass Man’ is a brilliantly composed piece with flawless playing from McCandless and pianist Glenn Moore. In classic ECM fashion, there is plenty of space — the silence is just as much a part of the music as the four musicians.

Dave Holland — Prime Directive (1999)

At this point in my life, although I love music more than almost anything, it is rare for me to find something new that truly blows my mind. As I grow more mature, I find that my wider knowledge of music allows me to appreciate a fuller spectrum of music than when I was younger — in many ways, I feel like I appreciate it all more deeply than before.

What I miss about being younger, though, is the feeling of discovering an album totally unlike anything else I’d encountered before. I still discover new music that I am continually excited about, but rarely does any album totally shift my frame.

That’s why, over the COVID winter of 2020 — which, for me, was filled with bleak sadness and solitude — Prime Directive was so important to me. It was a genuinely joyful discovery in one of the most joyless times I can recall.

The album, led by bassist Dave Holland, features a very nontraditional five-piece band, with drums, saxophone, trombone, and vibraphone. The resulting music is as unique as you would expect: rhythmically energetic and melodically curious. I’ll never stop being fascinated by this record.

There are countless other albums from ECM that I love, but these have been the most important to me. This list focuses almost totally on records from the ’70s, but ECM artists tend to be as prolific as they are talented and there have been fantastic releases every year.

This list scratches the surface of the music I’ve explored, which in turn barely scratches the surface of ECM as a whole. I only look forward to discovering more creative and fascinating music.

All pictures are taken from ECM’s website.