Gunter Hampel Set the Course for German Avant-Garde Jazz
His 1965 debut, "Heartplants," remains a cornerstone of European experimental music.
A new movement came to jazz in the mid 1960s. Gone were the tailored suits and coolheaded tunes of the ‘40s and ‘50s; in was the fire of atonal shrieks and spiritually-charged rhythm. Though the pianists Sun Ra and Cecil Taylor had been performing this style of jazz for several years, the most famous purveyor of “the new thing” was the saxophonist John Coltrane, whose 1966 album Ascension used high-pitched squeals, seemingly to summon God, or to convey the angst of Black existence then. His focus on free jazz brought wider attention to Pharoah Sanders, Albert Ayler and others in the underground scene who also played this kind of music.
The uptick in free jazz hit Europe just as hard. Across the continent, from the German saxophonist Peter Brötzmann to the French pianist François Tusques, certain artists also eschewed traditional arrangements for mystical connections through the music. How they felt meant more than how notes looked on a page.
That especially held true for Gunter Hampel, a German multi-instrumentalist who had been pushing local jazz towards the fringes of avant-garde since 1958, when he became a professional musician at the age of 21. That year, he met the famed tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins, who encouraged the young man to trust his creative instincts no matter what. “You must always try to satisfy your head first,” Hampel recalled Rollins saying. “And then your belly.”
That stoked a fire: He started writing unconventional songs that, when paired with swinging rhythms, gave his music a dissonant sound that felt equally straightforward and unusual. He employed this technique on Heartplants, his 1965 debut album as the leader of his own quintet. Inspired by Ayler and another free jazz pioneer, the saxophonist Eric Dolphy, Hampel’s first record was equally anxious and soothing, upbeat yet calm. In his pursuit of a new musical path, he landed on one that mixed old and new ideas, the feeling of the past finding its way to the future.
The music journalist Randolph Braumann once described Hampel’s work as probing, the din of evolution within the scope of a song. “Each piece the musicians play aims to ‘eat itself up’ in the process of playing,” he wrote in the liner notes for Heartplants. And where other free jazz artists alienated listeners with dramatic shouts and screams, Hampel stopped just short of these theatrics, pulling back when the music started getting too aggressive. “The thread between the listeners and the band is never broken,” Braumann continued. “The music is confusing, but it doesn’t disorient you a bit. Sometimes it is wounding, but then suddenly it is capable of breaking out into the most enchanting melodies.”
Indeed, there’s a pronounced push-and-pull on Heartplants that keeps me intrigued. I’m taken by how fresh the music still sounds, and how daring it remains some 60 years later. There’s something to be said about art like this, that which holds well beyond the release date, long after the press cycle subsides and all that endures is intent. I can’t guess what Hampel wanted to convey through Heartplants, but based on the energy exuded within it, I can only assume he sought deep ties to the spiritual essence of “the new thing,” of the new creativity emanating from the New York underground.
This journey is most prevalent on “Iron Perceptions,” which leaps into a frenetic drum and trumpet breakdown that never quite congeals. Perhaps foreshadowing his sonic direction for the next five years, the drummer Pierre Courbois and trumpeter Manfred Schoof duel one another; the tit-for-that increases the song’s urgency. The gravity continues on “Our Chant,” a Schoof composition in 5/4 time pivoting from carefree swing to something equally wistful and melodic. “Without Me” is an overcast ballad meant to transmit isolation and sadness. Here, in an attempt to comprehend the death of a close friend, Hampel’s vibraphone takes the lead, playing a tune that saunters like the blues. To my ear, the album is about joy and freedom, and was a masterful first launch from the up-and-coming luminary.
Five years later, Hampel all but abandoned the tenets of traditional and free jazz: The far-reaching the 8th of july 1969, which featured Anthony Braxton on clarinet and saxophone and Jeanne Lee as its lead vocalist, drifted deeper into experimental terrain with propulsive scoring that landed sharply on the ear. Following the release of Heartplants, Hampel hit the road and played shows all over the world, expanding his creative palate while building relationships with Braxton; Lee; the saxophonist Willem Breuker; the drummer Steve McCall; and the bassist Arjen Gorter. With the foundation for a broader psychedelic band in place, on July 8, 1969, the group recorded four explosive cuts — including the 18-minute “Morning Song” and the 25-minute “Crepuscule” — dropping the notions of jazz for an amorphous blend of raw, adventurous art that defied categories. Pianos surged and seethed. Drums cascaded as if kicked down a flight of stairs. Saxophones screamed while the vibraphone chimed.
A tough listen, it’s interesting nonetheless, and sits alongside Heartplants as an exploratory trek through European avant-garde. “The music speaks for itself,” Hampel once said about the 8th of july 1969. “Let people listen and get what there is in the music for themselves.” To that end, Heartplants and the 8th of july 1969 were lessons in discovery; for a time, Hampel was one of the world’s foremost composers of avant-garde, and his name and legacy shouldn’t be lost to bigger names at bigger labels with bigger marketing budgets. Though decades have passed since these records were released, they’re still just as astonishing.