Liner Notes in the Age of Pixel Dust

Rediscovered Records and the Stories Behind Them Still Matter

Jul 03, 2025

The stories behind the music—the credits, the context, the second chances—are in danger of vanishing into the digital ether. But passionate fans, tenacious artists, and mission-driven writers are hellbent on stopping that from happening.

This Friday marks a quiet but significant moment for fans of adventurous music: Happy the Man’s seminal albums—Happy the Man (1977) and Crafty Hands (1978)—are being reissued on CD, sourced for the first time from the original master tapes. After a lengthy rights negotiation with their former label, the band has finally taken creative control of their legacy. I had the honor of writing the liner notes—an absolute joy, and a rare chance to help contextualize a band whose work has inspired a rabid fan base and countless musicians working quietly at the margins of jazz, rock, and beyond. It’s a fantastic example of artists reclaiming the tapes and the narrative. It makes perfect sense that the band chose Independence Day as the street date for these excellent reissues.

For the uninitiated: Happy the Man were America’s most compositionally ambitious and instrumentally verbose answer to the British prog vanguard. Imagine the harmonic language of Weather Report, the rhythmic gamesmanship of Return to Forever, the virtuosity of Close to the Edge, and the cinematic sweep of Dark Side-era Floyd—all funneled through the rigorous structure of chamber music. While ELP and Genesis dominated stadiums, arriving in limos and flying first class, Happy the Man rode Greyhounds and carried their own gear. They were musical idealists: too precise for commercial radio, too esoteric for mass consumption. And yet their work (especially Crafty Hands, with its Tony Williams-meets-Camel elasticity) has aged like fine wine. The band had a knack for prog-jazz-fusion micro-epics that say more in six minutes than many similar bands said in their entire careers. It’s no wonder that Peter Gabriel, Clive Davis, and Steven Spielberg all took an interest in them back in 1977.

Wait, what? It's all in the liner notes...Happy the Man is a band worth exploring!

The Happy the Man story also dovetails neatly with another anniversary I’ve been thinking about: this week marks 31 years since the very first digital download of a song. In those early, pre-Web days, niche communities formed around message boards, Usenet, and email listservs—prog rock among them—and Happy the Man became one of the first “rediscovered” cult bands of the internet era. These CD reissues wouldn’t exist without that digital second wind, which eventually led to a reunion, a new album, and a brief tour. Not too shabby for a band that never cracked the Billboard 200.

Compare that to today’s streaming landscape, where albums vanish without warning, metadata is a mess, and liner notes—once a sacred ritual of musical context—have been reduced to pixel dust. I suppose it’s cool that Apple wants to animate your lock screen. But maybe start by restoring musician and composer credits and making sure albums don’t vanish overnight?

If Happy the Man are taking a page from Taylor Swift's playbook—fighting for their masters, rallying fans, reclaiming lost narrative—then these reissues are their Taylor’s Version without the re-record: authoritative, artist-led, and long overdue.

Celebrating the Genius of Pianist/Composer Andrew Hill

Andrew Hill photographed by Francis Wolff © Blue Note Records

I’ve been spinning many Andrew Hill records this week to commemorate his birthday. One of the most original and underappreciated pianists of the 20th century, Andrew Hill had an epic Blue Note run from 1963 to 1970. He recorded ~13 albums, ranging from stellar to iconic, and he recorded and toured even more prolifically after that. Though some of Andrew Hill’s music can be challenging, none of it is beyond the reach of any jazz listener with an open mind. Here are a few records that have been wowing me for the last few days.

Ready for adventure? Jump in. The water’s fine once you get used to it.

Black Fire

Spellbinding. Black Fire is Andrew Hill’s 1963 debut for Blue Note, beginning an arc of ascent spanning thirteen albums worth of magic over seven years. The appeal of Hill’s music trends towards those with an advanced sense of adventure, and Black Fire delivers with a balance of modal, hard bop, and free-ish, avant-leaning music. Surprises lurk in every tune, but not all of them are for your mind. Despite the cerebrally driven nature of Hill’s compositions, you may find your foot tapping in time signatures that would have otherwise ruined your day if they appeared on a fractions quiz in high school math class.

Andrew Hill’s music is like looking at an M.C. Escher painting. Taken from one viewpoint, it seems to make perfect sense. But then, looking again from an alternate perspective ALSO makes sense, which proceeds to BLOW. YOUR. MIND!—how can this possibly be? Hill’s compositions and piano stylings are the anchors, but it’s this band that makes it all possible. Bassist Richard Davis is my personal favorite to focus on when giving Black Fire a critical listen—not only does he CRUSH IT across every groove, you can hear very quickly why he’d become one of Hill’s most frequent collaborators. They GET one another. Drummer Roy Haynes is a study in perpetual motion. He manages to pull off the hat trick—timekeeping, a clever variety of interesting percussive fills, and swing where one least expects it. And tenorist Joe Henderson is the ideal horn for this session. His knack for delivering the right phrase at the right time amidst such tricky music is impressive and made quite an impression on Hill as well, who’d choose Henderson once again for the iconic Point of Departure four months down the road. If you’re new to Hill, start here. Black Fire isn’t too tart, nor too sweet.

Point of Departure

Point of Departure is Hill’s magnum opus. His masterwork. His Sistine Chapel. Inspiring, beautiful, edgy, and intricate, with surprises in every groove, Point of Departure is one of the few jazz records that exceeds its reputation. This desert island disc inspires me with every spin, blurring the line between structure and improv.

Taking flight with pianist/composer/bandleader Andrew Hill is Joe Henderson (tenor sax), Eric Dolphy (alto sax/bass clarinet/flute), Kenny Dorham (trumpet), Richard Davis (bass), and Tony Williams (drums). Collectively, they create enigmatic grooves within Hill’s compositional frameworks with rhythmic and tonal centers that are rarely stationary and often elusive. I wouldn’t tango or foxtrot to any of these tracks unless you’re wearing a protective helmet and know a good chiropractor.

Though that may sound intimidating, I don’t want to give you the impression that Point of Departure is too challenging for ANY jazz listener because it is NOT. Like many inside-outside albums, it throws the occasional sharp elbow, but the artistic intention is to provoke and inspire, not drive anyone out of the room. Delightfully unpredictable? Yes. Random, arbitrary, or meandering? Hell no! There’s a reason Point of Departure is considered one of the most groundbreaking and significant jazz records ever. It not only stands the test of time, but it also tests time. And wins!

Grass Roots

It's a total Andrew Hill maneuver to make a record controversial among his fans for being too straightforward. After a series of mid-60s albums layered with labyrinth compositional acrobatics, Hill knocked everyone off-balance with Grass Roots, his most accessible record. However, it wasn’t until the CD era that a richer backstory about this “easiest” of Hill's records began to emerge. On April 19, 1968, he visited Van Gelder Studio with Woody Shaw (trumpet), Frank Mitchell (tenor sax), Jimmy Ponder (guitar), Reggie Workman (bass), and Idris Muhammad (drums). They cut five tracks, which wouldn’t be heard again for over 30 years.

Then, on August 5 of that year, Hill returned with a different band: Lee Morgan (trumpet), Booker Ervin (tenor sax), Ron Carter (bass), and Freddie Waits (drums) to take another swing at three tracks from the April session, plus two additional tracks. Blue Note released this session as Grass Roots on LP, adding the five tracks from the April session to the CD release in the year 2000. Though I prefer the sound of the vinyl edition (the latest Tone Poet pressing is terrific), the CD and digital versions are fascinating to hear. It’s fun to delve into the details, such as listening to how Woody Shaw and Lee Morgan approach the same material. The overall band vibe is quite different as well. The April lineup remains relatively consistent with Hill’s usual brain-music proclivities, taking a focused and deliberate approach to their performance. The August group was having a little more fun, prioritizing toe-tapping over navel-gazing. Those wowed by Hill’s compositional knottiness sometimes overlook his ability to write and perform a catchy tune. Fun fact: Hill composed “The Rumproller” for Morgan, which may not have reached “The Sidewinder” level of popularity, but is still pretty infectious.

Though Grass Roots is probably Hill’s most accessible album, I wouldn’t expect to hear it on The Weather Channel anytime soon. Grass Roots proves that Hill’s music doesn’t have to be a puzzle to be brilliant. If Point of Departure left you feeling lost at sea, Grass Roots is a lighthouse. The rhythmic elasticity, harmonic richness, and sense of freedom that define Hill’s music are all here, but what makes Grass Roots so immediately engaging is its abundance of joy and groove. The music moves, breathes, and swings, making it one of the most inviting records in Hill’s catalog.

Free your mind, and your Andrew Hill fandom will follow!

Keepin’ It Happy: Feel Good Music Story of the Month

“Fifteen years after her cherished vinyl collection disappeared during a move, 89-year-old Nancy Rorex thought the records, and the memories they held, were gone for good. Then she got a call. A friend had spotted a stack of albums at a flea market in Arkansas, each marked with a familiar label: “Mom.” It was the nickname Rorex had carried through decades of backstage work in the music industry. Turns out, the records were patiently waiting for their rightful owner.” —Alexandra Plesa, Headphonesty

Until next time, this story is making me smile, and I hope it does the same for you. Read it here, or watch it here: