A precious, long-elusive gem by master bassist Buster Williams is set to reenter the jazz firmament with the April 18 reissue of Pinnacle, the NEA Jazz Master’s celebrated 1975 debut as a leader. Presented as an exclusive Record Store Day LP release by Time Traveler Recordings, this marks the first time the album has been reissued since its original mid-’70s pressing, restoring a foundational document of post-bop and fusion-era jazz to its rightful place in the canon.
This edition arrives as the latest installment in Time Traveler’s Muse Master Edition Series, a carefully curated excavation of masterworks from the historic Muse Records catalog. Produced in collaboration with Virgin Music Group and Craft Recordings, the series is spearheaded by TTR co-founder, producer, and self-described “Jazz Detective” Zev Feldman, whose meticulous archival work continues to reconnect listeners with essential recordings in definitive editions.
The restoration of Pinnacle has been handled with audiophile-level care. Remastered AAA directly from the original analog tapes by Matthew Lutthans at The Mastering Lab in Salina, Kansas, the album is pressed on 180-gram vinyl by Optimal Media. The presentation matches the sonic upgrade: a hand-numbered, high-gloss tip-on sleeve houses the LP, accompanied by a newly commissioned liner essay by journalist Mike Flynn and a rare period photograph of Williams by Raymond Ross. Also included are the original 1975 liner notes by Elliot Meadow, who produced the session at Blue Rock Studios in New York City.
At the time of the August 1975 recording dates, Williams—born Charles Anthony Williams in Camden, New Jersey—was 33 years old and already a commanding presence on the international jazz scene. Throughout the 1960s, he toured and recorded extensively with vocalist Nancy Wilson, while freelancing with leading ensembles including The Jazz Crusaders and saxophonist Harold Land. In 1967, he substituted for Ron Carter in the Miles Davis Quintet, where he connected with pianist Herbie Hancock. That relationship would prove pivotal: in 1971, Williams joined Hancock’s groundbreaking Mwandishi band, positioning him at the forefront of the emerging jazz fusion movement.
Recorded shortly after Mwandishi’s dissolution, Pinnacle reflects that lineage of adventurous, rhythmically charged, and harmonically expansive music. The ensemble assembled for the session reads like a summit meeting of modern jazz visionaries. Fellow Mwandishi alumnus Billy Hart anchors the drums, while former Miles Davis sideman Sonny Fortune contributes soprano saxophone and flute. The front line is further electrified by legendary trumpeter Woody Shaw, alongside saxophonist Earl Turbinton. Keyboardist Onaje Allan Gumbs and percussionist Guilherme Franco expand the album’s textural palette, with vocalists Suzanne Klewan and Marcus appearing on two tracks.
Williams was among the early pioneers in bringing the electric bass into modern jazz contexts without sacrificing depth or nuance. As Flynn notes in his new essay, he stands as “a pioneer among jazz doublers—musicians equally adept on upright and electric bass.” The album opens with “The Hump,” driven by Williams’ Fender electric bass, its muscular groove emblematic of the era’s experimental funk currents. Yet much of Pinnacle is rooted in the resonance of the acoustic upright bass—Williams’ first love. That instrument anchors the darker, exploratory excursions of the title track and “Batuki,” and provides the supple foundation for the spiritual gravity of “Noble Eagle” and the buoyant lyricism of “Tayamisha.”
“What I love about the acoustic bass is what I have to do to get music out of it,” Williams reflects. “The sound I get depends all on me, not the help of an amp. The instrument relates to my heart; it’s alive, it has emotion, it’s not just a piece of wood.” That philosophy pulses through Pinnacle, where the bass does far more than keep time. As Flynn writes, while bassists are often described as the anchor of a band, in the hands of a master like Williams, the instrument becomes the engine and heartbeat—the mellifluous core driving the music forward.
Williams composed four of the album’s five tracks, making Pinnacle not only a showcase for his virtuosic playing but also a declaration of his compositional voice. In his original liner notes, Meadow observed that Williams’ writing had already garnered attention, and that this debut presented a fresh and varied program: the propulsive urgency of “The Hump” contrasts with the haunting serenity of the title track; “Tayamisha,” named for Williams’ daughter, floats with lightness and grace; and the intensity of “Noble Eagle” reveals a deep spiritual current running beneath the album’s surface.
In hindsight, Pinnacle feels prophetic. It foreshadows the next five decades of Williams’ career—years defined by a delicate balance between forward-looking experimentation and deep reverence for the jazz tradition. The title itself proves apt. As Flynn concludes, Pinnacle was not merely a debut; it was a statement of arrival—an artist stepping confidently from a prolific past into a fearless and unbounded future. Now, under the meticulous curation of Time Traveler’s Muse Master Edition Series, that statement resounds with renewed clarity, reminding listeners that true artistry never fades—it only waits to be rediscovered.
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