Ayers’ genre-bending jazz-funk sound produced one fantastic album after another – and then found a new lease of life in hip-hop sampling

• Roy Ayers, jazz-funk pioneer behind Everybody Loves the Sunshine, dies aged 84

There’s a sense in which Roy Ayers was blessed from the start. Aged five, the son of two musicians – and by all accounts already showing talent as a pianist – he was famously presented with his first set of vibraphone mallets backstage at a gig by Lionel Hampton. If you wanted to take a romantic view, you could look on that as an act of benediction: the man who had more or less singlehandedly popularised an instrument that had previously been viewed as a novelty passing on the mantle along with his mallets. Hampton had broken racial barriers in the process: at a time when jazz bands were almost entirely segregated, Hampton and pianist Teddy Wilson’s work with Benny Goodman’s quartet was subtly acclaimed by one critic as “the most beautiful example of men working together to be seen in public today”.

For a time, it looked as if Ayers was following in Hampton’s footsteps. By the time of his debut album, 1963’s West Coast Vibes, Ayers was clearly carving out a space for himself in the jazz world. Running through versions of Charlie Parker’s Donna Lee or Thelonious Monk’s Well You Needn’t, he was already his own man: a little hotter in his approach to the vibraphone than Milt Jackson, less inclined towards the avant than his friend Bobby Hutcherson.

She’s the finger-picking blueswoman whose life was changed by the punk band Crass – and went viral for busking while homeless. She talks about ghosts, her ‘smelly’ childhood and fighting the far right

Sunny War is calling via video from her home in Chattanooga, Tennessee. The house belonged to her grandma, then her father; he died during the making of her last album. After War and her brother moved in, she became convinced the house was haunted. She would see people and hear noises at night. “It sounded like someone was walking around, to the point that I would jump out with a machete in my hand, thinking someone had broke into the house,” she says. “It was happening all the time. I thought I was going insane in here.” It was confusing, “because I have been crazy before. And I was also drinking a lot and sometimes that makes me hallucinate.”

But the apparitions weren’t ghosts, or the result of a mental health crisis, or indeed a drinking binge: “I didn’t have any money, so I couldn’t get the house inspected or anything,” says War, 35. “I was kind of squatting for a while. So I didn’t find out until after a year that there were really bad gas leaks in the heating system – that’s what was causing it. The people who inspected it were like: ‘How long have you been here? This is really dangerous.’”

(Interscope)
After some noteworthy musical and cinematic misfires, Gaga gets back to her core themes of sex, sleaze and celebrity on an album that sounds not retro, but relevant

Lady Gaga’s single Abracadabra is enjoying its fifth consecutive week in the UK Top 10. You can imagine a collective sigh of relief chez Gaga: she has been experiencing what you might call a case of career sea sickness, in which unadulterated commercial triumphs have been followed by very public flops. In the credit column, there’s Die With a Smile, a power-ballad duet with Bruno Mars that went to No 1 in 28 countries and spent 10 weeks as the world’s biggest-selling single. (Released last August, it also appears on Mayhem.) In the debit, there was her starring role in the disastrous Joker: Folie à Deux, a film that was estimated to have lost Warner Brothers something in the region of $150m (£116m), and which seemed to take both the Gaga-heavy soundtrack and her own, jazz-based “companion album” Harlequin down with it. You might have expected the legions of Little Monsters (as her fans are known) to rally around the latter, but apparently not. Outside of a couple of remix collections, it was the lowest-selling Lady Gaga album to date and her second jazz album to noticeably underperform: a follow-up collection of duets with the late Tony Bennett, 2021’s Love for Sale, failed to replicate the success of its predecessor, Cheek to Cheek.

One theory is that Gaga’s eclecticism might have succeeded in confusing people. The fact that you never quite know what she’s going to throw out next – electronic dance-pop, soft rock, jazz, country, AOR – should be cause for celebration, but perhaps it has proved a bit much in a world dominated by streaming’s overload, where artists are advised to maintain a clear brand lest they get lost amid the sheer torrent of new music. Maybe what was needed was a bold restatement of Gaga’s original core values. That was precisely what Abracadabra, and indeed its predecessor, Disease, provided: big dirty synths; big noisy choruses; high-camp, fashion-forward videos and, in the case of Abracadabra, a hook apparently designed to remind listeners of the word-mangling intro to 2009’s Bad Romance.

(International Anthem)
While some listeners might baulk at the earnest spoken-word incantations, you can’t argue with DePlume’s outstanding melodies, played with tremulous vibrato

Alabaster DePlume’s seventh album comes with a statement of purpose. “What is it FOR?” asks the accompanying blurb, written by the artist, born Angus Fairbairn. “To inspire and facilitate our independent healing … Recently I told everyone to ‘go forward in the courage of your love’ and ‘be brazen like a baby’. Following this incitement to boldness it is only fair that I offer a perspective on healing whatever comes as a result.”

There is more – a lot more, including a poem – but you get the gist. An album arriving with an explicit mission statement is an unusual occurrence, but to anyone familiar with Fairbairn and his work, the obvious response is: well, of course it does. The only variable is whether you say that in a tone of delight or with a roll of the eyes. Since his 2020 breakthrough with the soothing To Cy and Lee: Instrumentals Vol 1, the saxophonist – known for his tremulous, vibrato-heavy style – and spoken-word artist has carved out a unique small space, so specific that it’s almost bound to be divisive.