Like Herbie Hancock, Donald Byrd, and George Duke, Ayers wanted to draw masses to the jazz stratosphere. While economic gain was a mainstay for musicians in the crossover jazz era, there’s one vital thing that Ayers sought out to accomplish. Several argued that Ayers, similar to other jazzmen who strived to crossover during this highly controversial period in jazz, was nothing more than a business man who capitalized on dance-friendly and streetwise R&B, and branded it as “jazz music.” Crossover became a major part of Ayers’ musical aspirations and he remained a rather prolific entity, catering his music to the same commercial R&B audiences who cherished major figures like Stevie Wonder and Earth, Wind & Fire. Perhaps his most revered contribution to jazz-fusion came with his masterful 1973 score to the blaxploitation film Coffy, where he configured an unprecedented balance between trippy funk and lush cinematic soul. In signing with Polydor Records and forming his own collective of musicians, Ubiquity, with jazz-rock heavyweights like Billy Cobham and Sonny Fortune in 1970, he punctuated his earthiest and most adventurous excursions in the jazz fusion universe.ĭuring that stretch, he released pioneering records that would go on to define much of the acid jazz movement and neo-soul world two decades later, such as 1971’s Ubiquity, 1972’s He’s Coming, and 1973’s Red, Black and Green and Virgo Red. While he was an established vibist that employed a major hard bop approach to his style, Ayers’ signature blend of hypnotic dance grooves, jaunty backbeats, and infectious vocal interplay became the most distinctive elements of his musical approach. It was obvious that he was an accomplished musician in his own right, but most importantly, he was at the helm of a crucial transition that took place in jazz, where funk and soul gave way to heavily percussive, African-infused polyrhythmic sensibilities. With umpteenth years in the music business and a large output of long players under his belt, the San Francisco native became one of the most visible and scorned figures among jazz circles. In the 1970s, jazz vibraphonist Roy Ayers, was an anomaly. Unique fusions of sound emerged, amalgamating adventurous slices of soul, funk, rock, and several other idioms. In favor of embracing Black consciousness and garnering wider success, established jazz musicians became invested in appealing to the ears and minds of young, bold, and beautiful Black America. A young, diverse and hip audience arrived at the forefront of everything that had become commonplace in the musical landscape.Ĭulturally, a new era dawned, when unbridled pride and Blackness galvanized the Black community. No other subgenre in the jazz realm better exemplifies how deeply devastating jazz criticism had become by the 1970s than jazz-funk fusion.ĭuring the mid-to-late 1960s, traditional idioms that defined the jazz landscape were beginning to lose their commercial distinction in the marketplace, as musicians strived to take their artistry to new dimensions and heights. There is alarming tension between critics who lack the complete understanding of the core principles that run through jazz music and its purveyors who have created their interpretations of the music solely from their own cultural lenses. Instead of studying the cultural, social, and political context that shapes jazz music, purists immediately perceive themselves to be experts of the craft, crying foul on what they feel isn’t permissible to the culture. With every aspect of jazz as an art form, the strong ambivalence towards its evolution, musical creativity and artistic innovation has often reflected more on the individuals who have romanticized jazz from a specific, subjective standpoint. While it’s true that everyone is entitled to their respective preferences and opinions, jazz criticism is one of those tough disciplines to pin down.
Happy 45th Anniversary to Roy Ayers Ubiquity’s Everybody Loves the Sunshine, originally released in 1976 (specific date n/a).
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