A review of Goodbye Svengali:On the strength of this CD, it’s a mystery why Ray Russell has been so severely under-recorded throughout his career. As part of an exploratory group of British musicians in the late 1960’s, Russell released several acclaimed experimental jazz fusion albums, but he has made only a handful of recordings under his name since 1973, although he has always been in huge demand (for obvious reasons) as a session player. Unlike countryman and fellow guitarist John McLaughlin, who connected with Miles Davis, founded the Mahavishnu Orchestra and made a name for himself as a jazz fusion pioneer, Russell has remained in the shadows, doing his session work, bringing a few of his projects to small labels, and playing with a number of high quality, but little-known British jazz-rock, fusion and experimental bands.However, Russell did make one influential contact in the 1980’s, playing with legendary bandleader Gil Evans’ British band when Evans toured the U.K. and Europe, and developing a personal friendship with Evans over the years. This recording was put together as homage to Evans (the word Svengali is a nickname given to Evans by baritone saxophonist Gerry Mulligan, the name of a 1972 Evans recording – and an anagram for the name Gil Evans). Gil Evans’ son Miles Evans (named, of course, after Miles Davis) even plays some blistering trumpet on the title track, sounding almost like he’s channeling Davis. Overall, the eleven pieces on this CD do not attempt to break new group stylistically; they are firmly in the jazz funk/fusion tradition, with obvious nods to the great electric Miles Davis bands. Several gorgeous ballads are perhaps more reminiscent of Pat Metheny’s oeuvre, while a solo drone piece, Wailing Wall, has a strong element of Frippertronics (the ambient loop system and style developed by experimental guitarist Robert Fripp).One very touching, personal piece, Charles Mingus’s Goodbye Pork Pie Hat, has Russell improvising over a solo Fender Rhodes piano track recorded by Evans in 1983, which Russell found recently while digging through his tape archives. Relating Russell to “name” guitarists such as Metheny, Fripp, and the highly influential McLaughlin, in no way serves to reduce Russell’s stature as a musician. Rumor has it that Russell also can (or could) shred with the weirdest and wildest, but this CD was not conceived as a post-Hendrix display of monster chops. Nonetheless, Russell’s technical and creative facility is nothing short of jaw-dropping throughout. He twists notes up, down and sideways, executes flawless, intricate runs, and displays an excruciatingly pure electric guitar tone that pierces the heart.

He is also supported on this recording by very capable, long-time musician friends and associates, including drummers Simon Phillips and Gary Husband and bassist Mo Foster, who serve to make the session much more than a guitar showcase. Truly an excellent recording. But please, somebody get Russell in the studio again (and again) so that he can share more of his singular talents with the world.

Since Ray Russell has spent plenty of the past three decades quietly composing award-winning TV soundtracks and shaping his expressive guitar sound to the whims of stars (Dionne Warwick, Art Garfunkel, Van Morrison and many others), it’s perhaps not surprising he lets his hair down when he is the main attraction. Playing two rare solo gigs in the shoebox-sized basement of the Pizza Express Jazz Club, Russell brought a rhythm section powerful enough to have Olympic stadium audiences asking for earplugs. But eventually the music calmed down enough for this unusual artist’s identity – a fusion of raw R&B, Coltrane-era free jazz and seductive lyricism – to infiltrate the room.
Russell was joined by regulars – bass-guitar star Mo Foster and drummer Gary Husband – plus guest keyboardist Jim Watson and trumpeter Rupert Cobb. The latter’s tightly muted phrasing accompanied the first spacious passages. This followed a turmoil of country-lilting funk, interspersed with wailing guitar improv, driven by Husband’s lashing backbeat. Foster’s elegant bass walk then underpinned an impressionistic organ passage, before a taut guitar hook led steadily to another blaze of high-register aerobatics.
Russell’s remarkable tonal palette came into its own in a more tranquil sequence, with tremulous bottleneck effects blending delicately with the trumpet. Then a more jangly, dulcimer-like guitar sound floated on Husband’s subtle cymbal-playing and judicious fills in a fine ballad. Here, Russell’s mix of haunting long tones and impulsive turns occasionally recalled the work of that enigmatic guitar master Roy Buchanan.