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ESP reissues these albums from the late free jazz legend.

Saxophonist Albert Ayler recorded Spiritual Unity for a new label called ESP-Disk in 1964. For years, ESP-Disk has been semi-dormant, licensing its back catalog to other labels for manufacture, but they've now reasserted control and have started a reissue campaign. Spiritual Unity and Live on the Riviera, which are interesting pieces in Ayler's astonishing run, are part of the first wave.

My favorite Ayler material involves him working with another horn. Something about his fat, driving tone-- the way it conveys joy even as his overblowing threatens to crack his instrument-- sounds a little lonely with just bass and drums. Still, some of his best music was recorded in the trio format, and he had a telepathic empathy on Spiritual Unity with bassist Gary Peacock and drummer Sunny Murray. Together Peacock and Murray form a sound backing that at times seems more like an endlessly shifting cluster of sound than an actual rhythm section. Murray has a light, rapid touch, keeping the cymbals and snares going pretty much constantly, never breaking the flow of the music with a heavy roll, and Peacock functions as an extension of his textures.

Out front is Ayler, sounding strong and huge, opening and closing with versions of "Ghosts". His approach to this signature piece sets the tone for what he tried to accomplish with his music. Though he obviously has a deep love of simple folk melodies, the intensity of his feeling is such that a tune could never contain it, and the sound spills over and around the structure until it eventually bursts forth in a chaotic torrent. "The Wizard" doesn't begin quite as catchy and features an even harsher tone, moving into more challenging areas of free jazz, and "Spirits" is a swooning lament that has Ayler stretching notes to melodramatic and deeply moving lengths. Spiritual Unity is short (just under 30 minutes), intense, and a deserved classic.

Fast forward to the final year of Ayler's life, 1970, as he toured Europe with a quartet. Constantly searching for new textures, during the past couple years he'd experimented with vocals, bagpipes, harpsichord, and rock bands. On Life on the Riviera, the main remnant from these restless years is the presence of Ayler's girlfriend, the poet and musician Mary Maria. While her spoken words on "Music Is the Healing Force of the Universe" are on the one hand painfully dated hippie drivel ("music causes all bad vibrations to faaaade away") there's something oddly fascinating about the clash between her sentiments and Ayler's insane screeches. He's screaming through his tenor, pinching it to sound like a kazoo as the force of his wind drives it up a few octaves, and yet Maria's words ("it makes one want to love instead of hate, it puts the mind in a healthy state of thought") imply that what they're doing is a universal expression of affection and warmth.

Maria's voice is scattered throughout, sometimes reciting verse, sometimes singing, sometimes mimicking Ayler's phrasing with blubbery scat. Her crooning on the straighter ballad "Heart Love" is pretty solid, and when Ayler pipes in to sing a verse, as he often did in his later years, he makes her sound like Dionne Warwick. But as awkward as the vocals can get, the material is strong enough to survive it. The bouncy "The Birth of Mirth" shows that Ayler was writing great themes all the way to end.

A rousing version of "Ghosts" is the closer. Seven minutes into it, the band stops playing-- it's the apparent end of the set-- and the crowd applauds appreciatively. After 15 seconds or so of cheers the band kicks in with a reprise of the theme, the crowd explodes, and then, for three more minutes, the variations continue. It's incredible to think of how many places Ayler could still take the tune. Sadly, within four months the ending would be final and his opportunities would cease.

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