Orang-Utan
The record opens with "Blue Road," eleven minutes of modal groove where Suzuki's bass playing is melodic and commanding in a way that most bassists never attempt. He doesn't just anchor the rhythm; he leads the melody, pulling the whole band into his gravitational field. Kenji Mori's alto saxophone arrives with an angular warmth that calls Eric Dolphy to mind immediately, the kind of tone that is both intellectually restless and emotionally generous. Kazumi Watanabe, who would go on to become one of Japan's most celebrated fusion guitarists, plays with a directness here that the later electric records never quite recaptured.
"Where Are You Going?" shifts the temperature entirely. Mari Nakamoto, one of the finest jazz vocalists Japan ever produced, sings a Shirley Horn ballad with a lightness that makes the transition from the heavy modal opener feel completely natural. Sugano's piano comping is exquisite here, spare and attentive, giving Nakamoto exactly the space she needs. Then "My One and Only Love" takes things even further inward: Suzuki plays cello on this one, and the tone is extraordinary, turning a well-worn standard into something deeply personal. You forget you've heard this song a hundred times before.
The title track is where the whole album earns its reputation. Fifteen minutes of concentrated intensity, the full group stretching out with the kind of collective freedom that only happens when every musician in the room trusts every other musician completely. Mori switches between bass clarinet and flute, Watanabe's guitar turns raw and electric, Shinji Mori drives the drums with a controlled ferocity, and Suzuki's bass holds the center of it all. It builds without ever losing its shape, and by the time it reaches full cry you understand why original pressings of this record sell for three figures.
Orang-Utan was recorded in a single session at Aoi Studio in Tokyo, and you can hear that immediacy in every track. There is no studio polish layered on top, no overdubs smoothing out the edges. This is a band playing together in real time, responding to each other with the kind of intuition that studio musicians rarely achieve. It is the complete realization of what the Three Blind Mice label was about: serious, ambitious jazz by Japanese musicians that could stand alongside anything being made anywhere in the world, and that didn't need to apologize for or explain itself to anyone.