The Mainstream label might be most known to the, um, mainstream for the rock it recorded during the psychedelic era, especially the Amboy Dukes and Big Brother & the Holding Company. By the early 1970s, however, it was focused almost solely on jazz, as (according to the liner notes of this compilation) Mainstream mainman Bob Shad "had become tired of the amount of money needed to break rock acts." Subtitled "Deep Spiritual Jazz from Mainstream Records 1970-1973," A Loud Minority has 75 minutes of jazz that the label issued during the period. Some of the artists are fairly well known, like Blue Mitchell, Harold Land, and Charles McPherson; others are less so. Although some of the annotation to this reissue intimates that the music was informed by growing African-American activism and spiritual growth, and more acoustic-oriented than the fusion that became a major trend in jazz during this era, in fact, much of this seems fairly straight-ahead. While the liner notes at one point characterize the anthology's music as "almost acoustic," it's not devoid of fusion influences, with electric keyboard work that seems, on Mitchell's "Mi Hermano," for instance, informed by some of Miles Davis' fusion excursions. Hadley Caliman's "Watercress," in the meantime, launches with a mightily funky bassline. These aren't criticisms, as the music is well done, but it's only fair to note that it's not always as cutting edge or daring as one might expect. An exception is Frank Foster's lead-off track "The Loud Minority" which, with its spoken declarations (by the estimable jazz singer Dee Dee Bridgewater), has more than a hint of militancy. Perhaps not coincidentally, it's the most memorable of the dozen selections, with suitably boisterous, dramatic accompaniment (including Jan Hammer on keyboards). While some of the rest is just fair early-'70s inside contemporary jazz, there are some definite high points, like McPherson's "Charisma," which swings hard (with help from the great drummer Billy Higgins); Johnny Coles' engagingly skittering interpretation of the Miles Davis-Gil Evans composition "Petits Machins"; and the fluttering high wailing on Foster's "E.W. Beautiful People." While this CD isn't outstanding enough or possessed of enough stylistic identity to be hailed as a major archive compilation, it has some good early-'70s jazz that was relatively commercially and critically overlooked. ~ Richie Unterberger
