Abrams lets you hear what he actually plays when no one else is listening — stride, blues, free invention, all at once.
When you put on Afrisong, you're alone in a room with a piano and a man who knows what to do with it. There's no rhythm section, no horns, no arrangements to hide behind. Just Muhal Richard Abrams and the keys, recorded in Chicago in September 1975, and what comes out is honest in a way that solo piano can be — sometimes swinging hard in the stride tradition, sometimes dissolving into open improvisation, sometimes landing in blues territory before drifting somewhere else entirely.
Abrams was known primarily as a bandleader and composer by this point, but Afrisong gives his keyboard skills room to breathe. AllMusic's review nails it: the album "seamlessly blended elements of stride, bebop, blues, and free music," and more importantly, it showed listeners that Abrams wasn't just someone who conducted other musicians — he had the chops to back up everything he'd been writing and arranging. The Rolling Stone Jazz Record Guide called it a collection containing "the best of his early solo work," which placed it at a specific moment: early enough to feel exploratory, strong enough to matter.
This isn't Abrams at his most experimental, and it's not the place where his big-band concepts shine. It's something simpler and harder to pull off: a pianist alone, moving between different vocabulary — stride patterns, bebop runs, open-ended searching — without announcing what he's doing or why. If you want to understand what Muhal Richard Abrams could actually play, as opposed to what he could make other people play, Afrisong is the record to hear.