Dolphy recorded Far Cry the same day he played on Ornette Coleman's Free Jazz—a snapshot of jazz at a crucial moment.
In 1962, Eric Dolphy was everywhere. He'd just played on Ornette Coleman's Free Jazz session, and that same day he went into the studio to cut Far Cry (1962). The day before, he'd been working on the Jazz Abstractions project. This wasn't scattered energy—it was a musician at the center of everything happening in jazz, moving between the avant-garde experiments and the hard bop world without breaking stride.
Far Cry is a quintet date co-led with trumpeter Booker Little, and it matters because recordings of these two together are rare. The rhythm section—Jaki Byard on piano, Ron Carter on bass, and Roy Haynes on drums—had worked with Dolphy before, so there's an ease in the pocket even when the music gets exploratory. Byard's always got something interesting going on, restless and inventive. Carter's bass is clean and modern. Haynes keeps things moving without overdoing it. The real point is watching Dolphy and Little talk to each other: Little had a sharp, biting tone and wasn't afraid to play angular lines, and Dolphy meets him there with the same willingness to color outside the lines.
This album sits in the middle of Dolphy's catalog—not his most famous work, but important for what it shows about his range. If you're coming to Dolphy fresh, start with something like Out to Lunch or Out There—those are easier entry points. Far Cry is solid, inventive small-group jazz that rewards attention, especially if you care about how hard bop was starting to flex and bend in the early sixties. It's the sound of a moment when the music could go anywhere.