Now, if you have followed my reviews of previous Lansdowne titles, you will know that these are not ordinary books. They are big, beautifully researched, lovingly produced volumes that do far more than simply sit on a shelf. They invite you in. They send you down roads, into side streets, through the undergrowth, and before you know it you are falling down a musical rabbit hole discovering artists, albums, labels and stories you never knew existed.
I have already reviewed Richard Morton Jack’s Led Zeppelin book, The Only Way To Fly, which focused on the period from the first album through to Led Zeppelin II. That was a stunning book. Then there was Pressing News, another huge volume packed with press cuttings and archive material from the 1960s into the 1970s. But Labyrinth is different again, because this time the focus is British jazz.
And that is what makes this book so exciting.
When many of us think about jazz, our minds naturally drift across the Atlantic. We think of Blue Note, Prestige, Atlantic, smoky New York stairwells, iconic black-and-white photographs, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Herbie Hancock, and all those legendary American albums from the late 1950s and 1960s. But what was happening here in the UK during that same period? What were British musicians doing with those influences? How did jazz evolve here between 1960 and 1975?
That is where Labyrinth becomes such a revelation.
The book takes you year by year through British jazz on record, presenting album sleeves, rear covers, labels, contemporary reviews, press cuttings and contextual writing. You get the visual culture of the time as much as the music itself. Some of the covers are stylish, some are moody, some are incredibly arty, and some are just wonderfully odd. There are trios, quartets, duos, serious-looking musicians, strange design decisions, and those wonderful moments where you think, “Who thought of that title?”
But that is part of the joy.
Artists such as Tubby Hayes, Dick Morrissey, Dudley Moore, John McLaughlin, Jack Bruce, Nucleus, Isotope, Back Door and Don Rendell all appear, alongside names many readers may never have encountered before. That is one of the great strengths of the book. It does not just focus on the obvious landmarks. It shines a light on albums that may have sold in tiny numbers, records that may now be sitting forgotten in boxes, charity shops, private collections or specialist dealers, and places them back into the wider story.
For me, jazz came into my life through rock. Like a lot of rock fans, I found my way in through jazz fusion in the early 1970s. Billy Cobham’s Spectrum, Jeff Beck, Tommy Bolin, Return To Forever, John McLaughlin — those were the bridges. From there you start moving backwards and discovering Miles Davis, Coltrane and the wider American jazz landscape.
But British jazz can feel harder to map. It does not always have the same mythology surrounding it. It does not always have the same universally recognised sleeve designs or label identity. And yet, as this book shows, it was incredibly busy, adventurous, creative and diverse.
What I love about Labyrinth is that it gives British jazz a physical presence. You see the covers. You see the advertisements. You see how these records were presented at the time. You see the musicians moving between jazz, rock, blues, psychedelia, progressive music and fusion. You begin to understand how connected it all was.
There are moments in the book where my own musical world starts to join up with what is being shown. When Jack Bruce appears, when Nucleus appear, when Isotope appear, when John McLaughlin appears, suddenly you can feel the lines crossing between the music many of us grew up with and this deeper British jazz story.
And of course, this is also a book for people who love record sleeves. Some of the artwork is beautiful. Some of it is very much of its time. Some of it feels like it belongs to an art school project, a smoky basement club, or a mysterious independent label that only pressed a handful of copies. I love that. I love looking at album covers from a time before I was fully aware of what was going on, and feeling that pull to go and investigate.
That is what Lansdowne Books and Richard Morton Jack do so well. They make books that are not just reference works. They are discovery engines.
You can sit with Labyrinth, open it at almost any page, and suddenly you are making notes. You are searching for an album online. You are checking whether something has been reissued. You are wondering if there is a Cherry Red box set, a Japanese CD, a vinyl copy somewhere, or even just a streaming version so you can hear what this strange-looking record actually sounds like.
That is the magic.
It is also worth saying that this kind of research matters. In the same way that labels like Madfish dig through archives, tape boxes and forgotten corners of music history, Lansdowne Books are doing something similar in print. They are preserving the evidence. They are pulling together press ads, reviews, album details and cultural context, and they are giving forgotten or overlooked music a place in the story again.
This is not the easy option. A book about British jazz between 1960 and 1975 is not necessarily the most obvious commercial choice. But that is why I admire it so much. It feels like a labour of love, and it feels important.
If you are already into British jazz, this is probably essential. If you are into jazz generally but have mainly focused on the American side of things, this will open another door. And if, like me, you came to jazz through rock, fusion, progressive music or the musicians who crossed those borders, then this book will help you join up a lot of dots.
Labyrinth: British Jazz on Record 1960–1975 is beautifully presented, deeply researched, visually rich and genuinely inspiring. It is a book about records, yes, but it is also about discovery, memory, culture, artwork, musicianship and the strange paths music takes through our lives.
Lansdowne Books have done it again.
ORDER YOUR COPY OF LABYRINTH HERE FROM LANSDOWNE BOOKS HERE
Music is the healer and the doctor.
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