If there was ever an album which, for me, defined the earliest successful fusion of funk and jazz, it would have to be Herbie Hancock’s 1973 release Head Hunters. From start to finish this monumental record is an all-encompassing depiction of progressive soul music in that era; the writing and performance pay homage to what came before it and what was being released at the same time, while also carving a new direction within the maelstrom of the American jazz and funk scenes of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s.

Head Hunters was a key release in Herbie Hancock’s career which saw his prowess as a composer and keyboardist catapulted to a new level. During his time with Miles Davis’ quintet Hancock (along with Ron Carter and Tony Williams) had begun to redefine and extrapolate on the common structure of the jazz standard - in many ways Head Hunters did the same for a new genre. Rather than using the classic AABA structure or something similar, all four of the songs on this record experiment with form e.g. Chameleon and Sly both incorporating solo sections with vamping which bears little semblance to the head stylistically. This approach is not just refreshing but, being a listener with a criminally short attention span, I find it a particularly engaging narrative which holds my focus for the duration of the tune.

It was a golden age of musical experimentation in jazz, where synthesizers and acoustic instruments collided to create many opuses such as Sun Ra’s Atlantis (1969), and of course Miles’ pivotal Bitches Brew (1970). Drums and percussion began to contribute musically on a level which required a new vocabulary - while players like Tony Williams and Elvin Jones were redefining the role of the drumset in mainstream jazz idiom, this new style required the expressive freedom of jazz coupled with the regular timekeeping and backbeat of funk, and consequently the function of the drummer became blurred.

The opening track, Chameleon, is itself a pretty complete packaged summary of the whole album in that it’s comprised of a first half, during which drummer Harvey Mason plays a heavy consistent groove, before the second in which he begins to extrapolate dynamically and improvisationally. I would consider the track to be largely driven by Mason, especially the second half - I can still remember the first time I heard it and how enthralled I was at how they’d managed to somehow morph into a seemingly incongruous new direction before deftly returning to the head (albeit a few clicks faster) for the outro. The second half (8:30 onwards) is where Mason ‘takes flight’. Summers joins on congas, and as a result Mason’s sheer joy in having more freedom and dynamic headroom is more than apparent.

Harvey Mason’s approach to each track is that of a highly skilled player with an holistic approach to both melody and song form; in the Sly head section he performs the melody in unison with the band before unleashing into a kind’ve faux-samba. His playing throughout the track grooves hard while being technically gratifying, all the while producing space which Bill Summers aptly fills with great percussion. Sly could be the track on the record which best showcases his unique approach of blending freedom with consistent groove - an approach that can be heard influencing countless rhythm sections in the following years to this day.

Percussion plays a major role throughout the album, and the natural ease of musical rapport between Mason and Summers is undeniable. Summers often switches between pocket playing and contributing textural effects (in this respect his playing closely reflects Mason’s), with his tambourine playing on Watermelon Man being a good example. The drumset part in the same track is yet another example of Mason’s artistry; he and Summers manage to provide a deep pocket groove while adding subtle inflections and variations that aren’t immediately apparent. This approach is an important influential aspect of this record, and can be heard not only in acoustic recordings, but also modern loop-based music e.g. the 1995 Pharcyde track Runnin (prod.by J. Dilla) in which the drumset part (written on an MPC) performs variations on the base groove in almost every bar. Whether Dilla was referencing Headhunters directly is irrelevant; at this point the characteristics in Mason’s approach had filtered through to drummers, producers and listeners alike on a global scale, and the effects of its influence are ubiquitous.

The closing ballad, Vein Meter, is an exercise in timekeeping and restraint from Mason, who peppers a one-bar looped phrase with nuance, drawing in the listener while creating ample space for the melodic lines coming from Hancock and saxophonist Bennie Maupin. In this current age of looping midi drums and uncompromisingly compressing kicks and snares his subtle technical deviations are a refreshing respite, and maintain the ‘human’ element which is so present in the other tracks despite the pattern’s lengthy repetition.

From a drummer’s perspective, the lasting legacy of this record is Mason’s fluid yet deeply pocketed approach to groove. His and Summers’ performances are a shining example of musical symbiosis, and his skill as a support player provides a solid yet highly expressive foundation across each track. The trickle-down effect of Mason’s influence transcends musical boundaries. It can be heard in almost every facet of mainstream music, and will no doubt continue to inspire and instil his own standards of excellence in fledgling drummers for years to come.