Album Review: Theory Of Forms by Neil Sadler (1969)
Released in 1969 under the Bleeding Arts label, Theory Of Forms by Neil Sadler is a genre-blurring masterpiece that fuses Rock, Jazz, and Pop/Rock with experimental twists. This record doesn’t just sit comfortably in one style—it leaps between Contemporary Jazz sophistication and avant-garde exploration, leaving listeners both puzzled and mesmerized. For an album over 50 years old, it feels oddly ahead of its time, like finding a smartphone in a rotary phone era.
The credits alone are enough to make music nerds giddy. You’ve got Steve Fowler on alto saxophone weaving through tracks like "Jazz Bastards," Bryan Beller laying down basslines so tight they could double as yoga mats, and Walt Fowler switching effortlessly between trumpet and flugelhorn. But let’s not forget the man himself—Neil Sadler pulling triple duty on keyboards, percussion, and composition while wearing the producer hat too. That’s some serious multitasking wizardry right there.
Now, onto the tracks. If I had to pick two standouts, I’d go with “DNA for Beginners” and “Suehiro.” Why? Well, “DNA for Beginners” kicks off with this jazzy groove that sneaks up on you like a cat stalking a laser pointer. The interplay between Bruce Fowler’s trombone and Albert Wing’s tenor saxophone feels almost conversational, like they’re arguing about who gets the last slice of pizza but doing it politely. And then there’s Mike Keneally’s guitar work—sharp yet understated, adding layers without hogging the spotlight. It sticks in your head because it’s intricate but never overwhelming, kinda like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube while humming along.
“Suehiro,” on the other hand, takes things into dreamier territory. Joel Woods’ bassline anchors the track while Kurt McGettrick’s tenor sax adds these smoky, late-night vibes. There’s something hypnotic about how the song builds and recedes, almost like watching waves crash against the shore at dusk. It’s not flashy or loud, but it lingers long after the final note fades. Honestly, if this track were a person, it’d be the quiet friend at parties who ends up giving the best advice when you least expect it.
One thing worth mentioning is the production quality. Engineered by Huey Dee and mixed/mastered by Michael Wallace, the sound is crisp without losing that raw analog charm. Every instrument has room to breathe, which is no small feat given the complexity of Sadler’s arrangements. Even today, the clarity makes modern listeners wonder how they pulled it off back then.
In hindsight, Theory Of Forms isn’t just an album; it’s more like a musical kaleidoscope. Each spin reveals new colors, patterns, and textures you didn’t notice before. Sure, it might throw some people off with its unpredictability, but isn’t that what great art does? Makes you tilt your head and say, “Huh?”
Oddly enough, listening to this album feels like stepping into a time machine built by jazz-loving mad scientists. And here’s the kicker—it still sounds fresh. Maybe even fresher now than it did back in ’69. Who would’ve thought a rock-jazz-pop hybrid from half a century ago could feel so… current? Guess sometimes the best way to look forward is to dig deep into the past.
