Despite the fact that MPS actually stands for Musik Produktion Schwarzwald (Music Production Black Forest) and not Magic Purple Sunshine, the German based jazz label issued a spate of interesting discs during the tail end of the ‘60s and into the following decade. The label changed hands a few times and recently has seen some of its catalog reissued by the folks at Phillips who now own the original tapes. But regardless of who owns what and when it came out, MPS, during its relatively short tenure was able to unloose some work that might not have been too easily assimilated into other imprints’ catalogs. It’s not that the music that MPS released was completely detached from ‘70s jazz stuffs, it’s just that the music occasionally aped a traditional stance with acoustic instruments, but worked to get off into a frenzy of more modern sounds.

Hannibal was one of those players who worked in that mold.

Born Marvin Peterson in Smithville, Texas during 1948, he would eventually attend college in his home state prior to moving to New York City in 1970. Upon his arrival, the trumpeter was able to find work with a litany of important improvisers like Pharaoh Sanders, on whose albums Live at the East and Black Unity feature Hannibal prominently. Along with that work as a side man, the Texan also found himself performing alongside Roswell Rudd, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Gil Evans and Elvin Jones prior to beginning to record dates as a leader.

The 1973 Children of the Fire, released on Sunrise and featuring David Amarm, was a warm up for what followed just two years latter. Hannibal’s only recording for MPS, a self titled set of five tracks set down with the Sunrise Orchestra, finds the band leader taking his group through a vast array of moods and approaches to the most American art form.

And while it might make sense for a great portion of Hannibal to come off as something experimental, the group’s recording of “Misty” is nothing short of a staid backing track with the trumpeter spitting out knotty solos over a recognizable piano line. It’s one of the lesser moments on the album, but exhibits Hannibal’s ability to work over any sort of music and maintain his voice.

More interesting, though, are the offerings that in some way borrow from Sanders’ playbook. The final cut on Hannibal’s disc, a tribute to Malcolm X called “Soul Brother,” is splashed with percussion and enough of Chris Bells’ focus on the cymbals as to make the track sound like a tough update to the mystical soul jazz stuff that Sander’s was working out a few years prior.

At this point a lot of this set sounds dated even as it remains a rather exciting date. The best comparison would have to be the way that some of McCoy Tyner’s albums have aged over time. No one would dare to denigrate his work, but the bands that the pianist worked with send out a tone inextricably tied to the ‘70s.

Hannibal’s disc isn’t just for aficionados, but an obsession with the genre won’t hurt.