John Scofield Band

Überjam

Verve Records

“John Scofield wants his audience to know that [despite evocative tune titles] he has not used drugs or alcohol since 11 July 1998” read the liner notes to the jazz guitarist’s Überjam—an appropriate admission since the album has all the trappings of an experimental drug-fueled trip. With Hindu-themed artwork, haunting strains of sitars and a profusion of distorted, screeching guitars, Scofield’s latest jazz-funk fusion feels much like an experimental album from the ’70s when Miles Davis brought fusion into popular consciousness.

On this album, Scofield’s grand experiment is to introduce a second guitar, complementing his own with a rhythm guitarist. The fusion combines funk with electronica, eastern influences and hip-hop into the scope of the album.

But it never seems like eclecticism for its own sake. Amidst the cacophony, Scofield is still the most important element; with rhythmic onus shifted elsewhere, he’s given considerable freedom to improvise. His playing emerges cleanly from the mix and runs fast, daring and wide, forging a raw sound that’s simultaneously unsettling and engrossing. But his best moments, as in “Ideofunk” and “Tomorrow Land,” are when he slows down his fingers and mellows his sentiments. Eclectic as the day is long and with virtuosity to spare, Überjam is yet another noteworthy marker on Scofield’s journey from jazz to funk to jazz and back again.

—James A.M. Crawford

Wu-Tang Clan

Iron Flag

Loud

Once upon a time, nine hungry emcees prowled through a war-ridden concrete jungle and tamed the people with their flawless lyrical shadowboxing technique. Entire cults rose in worship of their new discipline, which some extravagantly christened “horrorcore.” For a moment, the world was united under the sign of the yellow phoenix.

But times have since changed: The art of mic-slaying has been driven underground by plastic gun-toting, golden-toothed infidels draped in gloss and glitter. The horrorcore style has become as clichéd as the old kung fu movies from which it was spawned. Gone is the grimy street noir of Wu-Tang Forever; on Iron Flag, we instead have more party jams (“Soul Power”), gangsta crooning (“Back in the Game”) and traditional boom-bap (the DJ Premier-esque “Rules”). It’s an admirable try and not without its high points. These include the sounds of a widescreen street battle that open the album, the positively deadly ninja star whizzing by your head in “Radioactive,” and a wonderfully ambiguous verse from Ghostface Killah (“America / Together we stand, divided we fall / Mr. Bush sit down, I’m in charge of the war!”). It could either be a ferocious battle rhyme or a sly mockery of the belligerently patriotic Americans that want Osama’s head on a stick. Iron Flag was warmly embraced by fans, simply by virtue of its relative consistency and the absence of the earth-shatteringly whack Cappadonna. However, one thing is clear: the Wu belong in the shadowy, dust-ridden depths of the city. Without a trace of moodiness or grime, they sound sadly out of place. And though every emcee is in top form—particularly Inspectah Deck and GZA—the chemistry is gone. In the chorus to “Uzi,” the crew chants “Y’all dudes is whack / Face it, the Wu is back,” but in retrospect, this sounds like a desperate plea from a lost beast.

—Ryan J. Kuo