Quantcast
Channel: JazzProfiles
Viewing all 3897 articles
Browse latest View live

Shelly Manne - The Kenton Years - Part 4

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


In 1947 the average factory worker made about fifty to seventy-five cents an hour — maybe $25 a week. Stan Kenton was paying Shelly Manne $200 a week to play "Progressive Jazz."

Local bands could now buy stock arrangements from the Kenton library. Tunes like "Intermission Riff,""Balboa Bash," and "Artistry in Percussion" were being played by hometown bands across the country. Drummers in those towns were talking about and going to see and hear Shelly Manne play with "Stan the Man." The band traveled to Utah, Kansas and Missouri and stayed in the Midwest until they opened a four- week stint at the Century Room of the Hotel Commodore in New York City They played the old hits and tried out some of the new stuff on the hotel crowd. The music they were now playing was not easy for some to understand, but for some reason, the band was the rage. It had "caught on" with the youth of the post-war years. The kids were ready for a change and Kenton was more than ready to give it to them. The bass and bongos were featured on almost every tune, or at least were always present. Many of the songs were abstract, out of tempo for extended periods of time. Only the classical composers had written this way. Rugolo was using different time signatures, had Safranski playing arco (with the bow) — and double-time pizzicato in other places. Guitarist Almeida was giving the band a colorful, rich classical flavor and Shelly was using every kind of percussion sound he could think of— brushes, timpani, triangles, gongs.

To stand in front of the Kenton band was to experience a wall of sound. Screaming brass opened and closed the performances. The thrill of hearing the band as you entered the ballroom or the theater was so unique, words cannot explain the sensation.

The music the band had recorded in Los Angeles was played only occasionally at ballrooms. The crowd wanted to hear the "Artistry" band — they could dance to that. June Christy was more popular than ever and most of her material was light and entertaining. But the music the band had rehearsed and recorded in September was Kenton's mission. He would now preach his message to the throngs of kids that packed the rooms wherever the band played. He intellectualized the music and brought the audience into the fold. He explained the music was not for dancing — "We have some vicious tempo changes and somebody might break a leg." The concert hall was where he felt jazz should be played and appreciated. Everybody thought Stan was a "college man," even some of the people in the band. He had no higher education to speak of, but his approach to people was elegant and charming and he sold his new complex music in such a way that he got them listening until they understood it.

In December, the Down Beat Poll Winners were announced — Shelly Manne was number one! The Metronome Poll listed Buddy Rich, followed by Shelly. Eddie Safranski's Poll Cats cut four recordings for Atlantic playing bebop. One of the tunes, "Turmoil," featured horn voicings that forecasted the "cool" sound jazz would soon employ on the West coast. The Gretsch Drum Company ran full page ads proclaiming that Shelly Manne played their drums. On December 21st, Shelly and Buddy Rich recorded with the Metronome All Stars doing a tune called "Metronome Riff" that included Manne and Rich trading drum fills on the last chorus. On the same day, and the following day, Shelly recorded with the Kenton band.

"Prologue Suite"— the First Movement and the Finale were recorded on December 21st. The Second and Third Movements were recorded back in L.A. in September so it was a rather disjointed recording affair. The music was fascinating; a big jazz band had never attempted anything of this magnitude. Some of the critics were yelling that this wasn't jazz, that it was "neurotic" nonsense. It sure didn't swing, they said. And, in a sense, they were right. But the musicians were jazz players, and the music had jazz elements throughout. Jazz solos were played, interspersed with boleros or beguines or marches or rhumbas. Bob Graettinger had been added to the writing staff and the music he composed left some fans with their mouths wide open. One of the September products had been his "Thermopolae," an impressionistic piece that indeed sounded like the entrance music to some ancient city. In the Third Movement of "Prologue Suite," Shelly played a march rhythm on the snare drum throughout and the effect was hypnotic — the time absolutely perfect.

On the December 21st session, Christy recorded "How High The Moon," and the next day talked her way through a pretentious "This Is My Theme." This heavy ditty was thought up by a woman fan, and though Rugolo wrote the arrangement, the feeling is pure Kentonesque. June sounds sad doing this number, but the whole concept was depressing. The same day they cut a Kenton arrangement that sounded like the old Lunceford-influenced ideas Stan had in the early days. He called it "Harlem Holiday." They also recorded a beautiful Rugolo number entitled "Interlude," which would become a Kenton standard. Costanzo recorded a feature number.

The band opened the Paramount while they were still playing for dancers at the Meadowbrook over in Cedar Grove, New Jersey On Christmas Day, they played five shows at the Paramount, traveled to the ballroom and played their standard dance job. They shared the theater bill with singer Vic Damone, the Martin Brothers and Stump & Stumpy — and played for them. June Christy had top billing with the band, but all the featured artists were on the bill, including Shelly Manne. They played their last show of the day, Christmas Day, at 9:27 p.m. and rushed to the Meadowbrook as fast as they could. Luckily, the double booking ended with their closing at the ballroom the next day.

Stan Kenton's Progressive Jazz Orchestra closed the Paramount on January 6, 1948, and stayed in the East for the next several weeks. Shelly was busy seeing old friends and sitting in with the bop bands on 52nd Street. On January 16th, the entire Kenton crew played a pierside farewell to Dizzy Gillespie as the trumpeter set sail for a European Tour, something Kenton had wanted to do for quite a while. The band did a brief Canadian tour playing Toronto and Montreal and then some New England dates including a three-day stay in Hartford at the Open State Theater. The winter roads were a nightmare and freezing temperatures and narrow lanes didn't help the time schedule.

While the band played the Click in Philadelphia, Shelly conducted a drum clinic at the Ralph Wurlitzer store on Chestnut Street. The event was advertised by Gretsch Drums and they boasted that the number one drummer in the country used GRETSCH BROADKASTER DRUMS, including the GRETSCH-GLADSTONE SNARE DRUM. Shelly's mentor had designed the ultimate snare drum, had struck a deal with the Gretsch Company and the manufacturer gave Shelly one of the first Gladstone snare drums. In the February issue of CHARM magazine, Shelly appeared in an ad featuring the new "drum skirt" by Hyde Park. "Smart girls 'in the know' musically will recognize Shelly Manne, popular drummer with Stan Kenton's orchestra."— and there he was behind those Gretsch Broadkasters! They gave Flip one of the skirts. In Down Beat magazine he was featured along with Max Roach in the Avedis Zildjian Cymbals ad and, of course, the Gretsch ads.

After the Click Club, the band set out on a concert tour that included Carnegie Hall, Symphony Hall in Boston, Cleveland's Music Hall and the Civic Opera House in Chicago. After the blasting opening number, Stan might ask if the toupees in the front row were still on. The program was now including the "heavier" works, but "St. James Infirmary" and "Concerto To End All Concertos" ended the concerts. This format obviously worked, and with Christy singing her hits, there was something for every Kenton fan in the program. Attendance records were being broken nearly everywhere they played, yet the critics were relentless.

Other band leaders said Kenton was killing the business not playing for dancing. Little did they all know that this band would do more to change American music than all of them. For years to come, in movie scores, big band voicings, and concert and marching corps, the influence of Kenton's music would be felt. In the spring of 1948 you could read about Stan Kenton in nearly every major magazine. Newsweek ran articles about him, The Saturday Evening Post, Time, The New Yorker and — of course — Variety and Billboard and all the music publications had something about the man or the band every month. The band made a southern swing in March and Shelly Manne was making some decisions.

On pay days, the musicians picked up their checks where they were laid out for all to see. The highest paid member of the band was Buddy Childers. Nobody knew why (Shelly had gone flying once with the trumpet player, but that was before Buddy had crashed several planes and cars.) Childers had joined the band when he was only sixteen years old back in 1942, and Stan was very fond of him. He was still a rather wild kid. June Christy, who was the featured singer, was the lowest paid of the entourage and this didn't seem to make sense to Shelly. He would end each night exhausted, playing his heart out as always. He was fighting to drive the band over the clumsy rhythm section, the weight of the brass and the arrangements — and the BONGOS — always the bongos. He made a comment to someone that working with the band was like chopping wood.

Shelly had always loved the way trombonist Bill Harris played and had been in contact with him back in New York. Over the months, Bill and Shelly talked about putting together a co-op band with bassist Chubby Jackson. Both Jackson and Harris knew Shelly and had worked with him on the Street and recording dates and occasionally on Woody Herman's band. Shelly and Flip talked about it. Shelly wasn't having any fun playing with Kenton (and playing jazz was what it was all about).

He gave his notice and left the band on April 1st and returned to New York where he, Harris, Jackson, pianist Lou Levy and trumpeter Howard McGhee put together an all-star group. On April 12th, they opened the Blue Note in Chicago for a four-week stay that saw tenor saxophonist Georgie Auld joining the group. During their Chicago date, the Mannes bought their first car ($400 above-list, under-the-table because of the price control business after the war) and Harris gave Shelly a "quickie" course on how to drive their new Chevy.

While in the Windy City, Shelly did a clinic at the Bobby Christian School of Percussion and Chubby Jackson made the rounds of the media, managing to convince everyone that he was the leader of the group at the Blue Note.

Three days after the group closed in Chicago, they opened on May 12th at the Showboat in Milwaukee where Red Rodney replaced McGhee. Flip recalls the sudden demise of the band — "The group was booked to appear somewhere and Chubby walked out at the last minute. We were broke and ended up living in Bill Harris' basement out on Long Island for a few weeks. I think that's when Bill and Shelly formed the three trombone group with Lou Levy, Bob Carter, Eddie Bert, Milt Gold — I remember JJ. Johnson also. They played the Blue Note and I remember someone in the management complaining because he wanted all of the slides on the bones to go in and out together!"

The band worked the Show Boat in Milwaukee for three weeks, had a few weeks off and then played the Royal Roost in New York City for three weeks. In that summer of 1948 Shelly appeared in an ad for Fox Brothers (Chicago tailors for all the hip musicians of the day) alongside his replacement on the Kenton band, Irv Kluger. They were advertising the "Chubby Jackson Bop Bow Tie" that was being worn by every major bop player in the business. For $1.50 everybody could be hip. Kluger was a very good player, but as Bob Cooper recalled — "It was tough to come on the band after Shelly. So much of the stuff had been created by him and wasn't even written on the parts."

Shelly had been in contact with Kenton over some press concerning Shelly's statement about the "chopping wood" thing when he left the band. Shelly wrote a letter to the editor of Down Beat for publication stating that he simply meant that after the heavy concert schedule — "I was so tired when we finished work at night that I felt as though I had been chopping wood." He further softened the situation by stating, "I didn't mean this as any reflection on the music the band was playing. I enjoyed my two years with the band and have always appreciated the things Stan is working for musically." Kenton wrote Shelly on July 7th and eased his concern about the story and further told him, "In closing let me tell you that if at any time you feel the need of exercise (like chopping wood), I am sure we can find a place for you." Irv Kluger had replaced Shelly, and while Kluger was a good drummer, successfully replacing Manne was nearly an impossible task. Shelly had literally invented the drum sound for the band. Stan Kenton thought that Shelly Manne was the greatest drummer alive, and told that to everybody.

The group Harris and Manne were calling "The International All Stars" did another three weeks back at Chicago's Blue Note, closing on September 19th. This was the last appearance of the "three trombone band." Kenton wanted Shelly back, this time for more money, and the popular drummer stuck around the Midwest waiting to join the band. By the first of October, Shelly Manne was back with the Kenton band, spending the entire month in and out of the bus. The band played towns like Peoria and Springfield in Illinois. Then on to other midwestern towns — Indianapolis, South Bend, Davenport, Iowa City, Detroit, Pittsburgh — one right after the other with only three days off in the whole month. Three hundred mile jumps were to change the entire music business. He would travel to key cities and outline his objectives to hotel operators. While Kenton was designing his grandiose scheme, his musicians were scuffling to find gigs. Shelly was in New York to stay for awhile and Flip went back to dance at the Music Hall.

As 1949 began, Shelly Manne cut out articles to save. The articles told of the sad death of Davy Tough, just forty years old. Early in December, he had fallen, suffered a fractured skull, and had died shortly thereafter. He had been found on the streets of Newark and his body lay in the morgue for three days before he was identified. The man who had coached Shelly — who Shelly idolized — and who was recognized by so many as the greatest of the jazz drummers, was gone. The frail little drummer had taught Shelly the meaning of dynamics, time and musical taste. His last steady gig was with Norman Granz's Jazz at the Philharmonic. In a little over a month, Shelly would sign with Granz. In the meantime word was out that Stan Kenton was going to go to college and become a psychiatrist!

On January 3rd, Shelly recorded in New York with the Metronome All Stars. This time he had won first place with Rich sliding to fourth. On the record date was Charlie Parker, Fats Navarro, Diz, Billy Bauer, a very young Miles Davis and pianist Lennie Tristano, among others. Tristano was writing and playing bop in a new and exciting way He was, in fact, inventing "cool" jazz and Shelly Manne was recording it. Tristano usually used Sal Mosca on drums. He was strictly a time player, using brushes almost all the time. Tristano must have been very impressed with Shelly's playing on the Metronome date, for on January llth he used Manne on his own quintet recording date featuring young alto saxophonist Lee Konitz and the guitar of Bauer. This was a very important recording in the history of jazz in that it predated the famous "Birth of the Cool" session just 10 days later. Max Roach played on the latter, which has been designated as the beginning of the "cool school." Yet, in fact, the January llth date had all the earmarks of the sound that was to become the new jazz — and Shelly was heard swinging this new music. Within a few weeks, Shelly was back in the studio for an album called The Jazz Scene backing Charlie Parker. Also on the date was bassist Ray Brown and a very young pianist by the name of Hank Jones. The tune, "The Bird," was to be a part of a limited edition album produced by Norman Granz. Shelly would be traveling with Granz’s JATP.

The twenty-nine-year-old drummer had been working the Symphony Sid Concerts at the Royal Roost with tenor saxist Flip Phillips, pianist Mickey Crane, bassist Curley Russell and the renowned Chano Pozo on bongos. In February, Shelly recorded with Phillips for the Clef label. Norman Granz had been talking to Shelly for months, trying to get him to do the JATP tour. These concerts drew huge, loud crowds, and the musicians catered to this type of audience by playing lots of honking, screaming jazz full of stage antics. Ironically, Granz was supposed to be so intent (he said) on making jazz respectable; the musicians even wore tuxedos and played their jazz in concert halls.

Flip Manne recalls, "Shelly refused to go with them at first and Norman kept upping the salary." Shelly told Granz that he would absolutely not play long Gene Krupa-type solos; that wasn't the way he felt drums should be used. Granz said sure — "Just play the way you play"— but throughout the tour he had the musicians try to maneuver him into doing the Lionel Hampton "play until the audience screams" type of thing. Featured on the bill were Ella Fitzgerald and Coleman Hawkins, Ray Brown and the screeching honk and stomp of Flip Phillips who turned showman for these dates. Shelly stayed with the tour until the end of March, then joined Woody Herman's band a month later.

Shelly would now be on a hard swinging band and he couldn't be happier. Since Don Lamond left, the band had been going through some of the best drummers in the business but they didn't seem to spark the band. But now Shelly was on the band. The great vibraharpist Terry Gibbs remembers — "Every band has its drummer — one just right for the band." (Goodman had Krupa, Shaw had Rich, Basie had Jo Jones, and Woody had Davy Tough for the First Herd, replaced by Don Lamond for the First and Second Herds.) "When Don Lamond left, we went through some really great drummers who just didn't get how to play for Woody's band. They all thought it was a big bebop band and they kept dropping all those bombs. My best friend, Tiny Kahn, came on, but it just didn't make it. Then Shadow Wilson, a drummer from Boston by the name of Gil Brooks, then J.C Heard — all great players, but they just didn't have what the band needed. Then Shelly came on, played the time, didn't get in the way, and the band sounded great! Shorty Rogers and I were rooming together and we took Shelly in with us. We had a lot of laughs. Shelly always brought his humor and he always came to play! He brought energy to the job. Shelly was one of the few drummers who had fun playing every kind of jazz".

Shelly was spending time once again with Bill Harris, who a few years earlier had taught the drummer how to drive. When the band travelled caravan-style, in cars, Shelly was driving on the road with Woody like he had driven for Kenton. Being a non-drinker meant that he could be counted on to get the leaders where they were going. Shelly had replaced Shadow Wilson on the band, and played the first job at the Apollo Theater in New York City for one week beginning on April 29, 1949. The band played one-nighters in the East and on May 26th recorded two tunes written by Shelly's trumpet-playing friend from the Bradley band (and now roommate), Shorty Rogers. Shorty was writing some exciting new charts. Shorty recalls Shelly saying that this kind of thing was what he wanted to do; this was a happening band and they talked a lot about the music they wanted to play. The band recorded "The Crickets," with Shelly doing some mallet work on the toms and then they did "More Moon." This last tune was one of the hardest driving, swinging big band numbers recorded to date and, sad to say, seldom heard by today's drummers. Here in less than three minutes is a wonderful lesson to any would-be band drummer on how to kick a band. Davy would have been proud.

The band played seven days at the Howard Theatre in D.C. and then set out on a Midwestern tour, stopping in Detroit for seven days at the Eastwood Gardens. In July, the band played the Rendezvous at Balboa. On July 30th they did a radio broadcast that was recorded (later issued on a Joyce LP) which also featured the Charlie Barnet band. On this particular date, the MC was Stan Kenton. Kenton and his wife had hopped a cargo ship to South America and by the time he returned to the States, he had all but given up the shrink idea. Perhaps he should return to his concert ideas — for a while he would just relax. Shelly Manne was in seventh heaven playing with Woody's band. He had old buddies Harris and Rogers and Pettiford and a swinging band to play with, and Flip along for the ride. They did a Universal International "short" called "JAZZ COCKTAIL" with the Woody Herman Herd. Oscar Pettiford broke his arm playing soft-ball (many of the bands played each other) and was replaced by Joe Mondragon and the band finished a second day of recording for Capitol Records on July 20th that included a bop "scat" tune featuring the comic voices used by Shorty, Woody and vibraharpist Terry Gibbs. It was called "Lollypop" and was very much like Woody's recording of "Lemon Drop" that had been very successful — even Krupa's band did a cover on that one! On the same date they recorded a fantastic piece written for a cartoon background of the same name — "Rhapsody In Wood."

In the fall of '49, Shelly recorded with Flip Phillips and an Ellington-influenced group for Clef records and also did two tunes for a Bill Harris record for Capitol. September through December found the band on the road playing the Midwest with very few nights off, then Woody took a small all-star band to Cuba to play the Tropicana. The band featured Conte Candoli, Bill Harris, Dave Barbour, Ralph Burns, Milt Jackson, Oscar Pettiford, and Shelly It was a time when Battista was Dictator and the American mobs controlled all the joints. Flip remembers it as being very corrupt and frightening and full of cockroaches. "We were stopped sometimes by uniformed armed men while we were driving home from the club. But the people were great. The first night we were there, we heard a wonderful sound like a rhythm band coming down the street towards us. It was the streetcar! People were hanging all over it and everyone was playing something — doing complicated rhythms with cans or sticks, and singing. Shelly was enchanted."

While playing at the Tropicana, Woody Herman had decided to call it quits, taking a band out maybe just on occasion. The big band days were over, he thought. Stan Kenton had other plans and sent a cable to Shelly and said it was URGENT! The message said to call Kenton collect immediately Shelly did and by the middle of January he was in Los Angeles rehearsing with a forty-piece orchestra.

To be continued in Part 5.

[Research for this feature includes Gene lees, Woody Herman, Leader of the Band, Michael Sparke’s Stan Kenton: This is An Orchestra!, Dr. William Lee, Stan Kenton: Artistry in Rhythm, Burt Korall’s Drummin’ Men, Jack Brand and Bill Korst, Shelly Manne: Sounds of A Different Drummer, Georges Paczynski, Une Histoire De La Batterie De Jazz, a host of Down Beat, Metronome, Esquire and Modern Drummer magazines, websites such as Drummerworld and a bunch of liner notes to Shelly’s manny LPs and CDs.]

All of the referenced recordings that Shelly made with Woody can be found on the CD Woody Herman: Keeper of the Flame - The Complete Capitol Recordings of the Four Brothers Band [Capitol CDP-7 98453 2]






Shelly Manne - The Kenton Years - Part 5

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


As the United States entered the year 1950 it had no idea that by June it would once again be at war — this time in Korea. The "post-war" years had brought about quite a few changes. Harry Truman, the no-nonsense President, had helped the country make the transition from the years of Roosevelt, World War II, and guided the financial recovery. The Federal tax on colored oleo was repealed and in towns all across America, it was still common to pick out a live chicken to kill for Sunday dinner. Television, for the average family, was three or four years down the line and Vaudeville had all but disappeared in the local theaters — except in Rockford, Illinois, where Dick Farrell (Shelly's replacement on the Byrne band) played drums for four or five shows a day. Ezzard Charles denied Joe Louis a comeback and Connie Mack retired.

The big bands were going, too. Name band recordings were still being made, but often by studio musicians. It was costing too much to move a band around and there were fewer and fewer ballrooms to play. The singers had really taken over the recording industry and the tastes of the common family had switched from the songs of Cole Porter and Harold Arlen, from the sounds of Glenn Miller and Harry James to — "Cry Of The Wild Goose," by Frankie Laine. Other hits were — "The Thing," by Phil Harris, "C'est Si Bon," by Eartha Kitt, "Goodnight Irene," by the Weavers, "Music!, Music!, Music!", sung by Teresa Brewer (who would later become Mrs. Thiele), "3rd Man Theme," by Anton Karas, and Patti Page's sugar laden rendition of "Tennessee Waltz." The movies were providing better fare — All About Eve, with Bette Davis, Born Yesterday, starring Judy Holliday and Jose Ferrer's Cyrano de Bergerac.

Shelly Manne arrived in Los Angeles just in time for rehearsals for what Stan Kenton was calling "Innovations of Modern Music of 1950." It was to be a two-year struggle for the innovative band leader who wanted to bridge the gap between jazz and classical music. His dream was to have the orchestra tour for a three-month "season", much like the symphony orchestras — and he was planning a network of music schools, first Los Angeles, then Chicago, then New York. He would have some of his musicians teach in these schools to provide them with income when the orchestra wasn't touring. The Innovations orchestra would consist of ten violins, three violas, three cellos, Safranski on bass, Almeida on guitar, two French horns, tuba, five trumpets, five trombones and five reeds — many of them required to "double" clarinet, flute and some double-reed instruments. Milt Bernhart would handle much of the trombone solo work, Art Pepper would be featured on alto sax and, fresh from the Charlie Barnet band, "screech artist" trumpeter Maynard Ferguson. Shelly Manne would handle the demanding percussion chair. The writers would include Kenton, Rugolo, Bob Graettinger and, thanks to Shelly and Childers who had just been with Woody's band, Shorty Rogers. Stan wasn't sure Shorty's charts wouldn't make the band sound like Herman's, but Kenton finally agreed to have him join the new orchestra, both as a player and a writer.

Every major player in the country was after a position with this new and exciting orchestra. Bud Shank was hired; he could play jazz flute. As the rehearsals started and the music was heard for the first time, it was wonderful to be a part of such an undertaking. At the last minute Safranski had decided to stay in New York and Don Bagley took over the bass chair. There would be a staff of at least ten writers — people like Neal Hefti and Chico O'Farrell and Manny Album. In describing some of the works, Kenton used words like "atonal", terms like "tone poem,""sonata-like," and he would promise new audiences they would hear "wonderful things."

The Progressive Jazz Orchestra of 1948 had played Graettinger's "City of Glass" at the Opera House in Chicago and left the packed house asking itself what it had heard — now Kenton was pushing for more of the same. Franklin Marx wrote a piece called "Trajectories," and it was described as — "a fantasy describing the composer's impressions as he watches a galaxy of falling stars and imagines the whole heavens breaking loose in astronomical chaos." Such was the mood of Kenton as he set about to revolutionize the world of music. Chicagoan Bill Russo could now finally write the music he had dreamt about, play trombone for the orchestra and actually get paid for it. Kenton was going to take this huge music machine on the road, and the audiences would just have to like it; understand the music or not!

There would be two buses. One for the "orchestra" players and one for the jazzers. The former was the "Quiet Bus," the latter, the "Balling Bus." The musicians chose their seats and which bus they wanted to spend their days and nights. They would do most of their sleeping during the day, between towns, on a bouncing bus. The orchestra was set to tour more than seventy cities across the continent. Kenton arranged for a debut "break-in" concert at the Los Angeles Philharmonic Auditorium and sent out invitations. Kenton called it "a workshop preview." They played some of the past successes like the "Artistry" features and Christy sang some lighter fare, but for the most part Kenton was introducing his new concepts. They had the audience vote on which songs he should include in a new album.

The critics and the nearly 3,000 in the audience were mixed in their opinions. Some said the violins got in the way. Others wondered what happened to the old Kenton sound they had followed and loved for so long. "It was intellectual stuff, wasn't it?""It was kind of abstract, wasn't it?" One thing for sure, the Shorty Rogers arrangements were, with Shelly's help, causing the band to swing whether Kenton wanted it to or not.

The orchestra performed another date in L.A., this time at the Shrine Auditorium on the first day of February. The next three days they spent in the Capitol Studios recording such grandiose arrangements as Franklin Marx's "Trajectories," Neal Hefti's "In Varadero," Shorty's "Jolly Rogers," and several selections by Rugolo and Graettinger. By February 9th, they were in Seattle playing their official opening concert of the season and they began a swing south and east that would lead them to the Civic Opera House in Chicago where Down Beat magazine was sponsoring the two-day stand. It was during these concerts that Shelly and Pete Rugolo were presented with First Place awards in the 1949 Down Beat poll for favorite drummer and arranger of the year, respectively Down Beat, when reviewing the orchestra, had commented that they were seeing a new Shelly Manne — "Shelly on something like this is unbelievably sympathetic to the work's intent, a percussionist bearing no resemblance to the open-mouthed, bass drum-bomber Manne." Here was a new Shelly for all to see; visually dead serious. As the band traveled easterly, the press was not always kind. The Columbus Dispatch noted that most people preferred the "old band," saying — "When pure Kenton was played, the audience understood." The critique ended with the mention that Kenton had told the audience at the beginning of the concert that they would "feel wonderful things," then went on to add — "But when Shelly Manne tinkled a triangle with his drumstick and a violinist laughed out loud, it was difficult to feel anything."

This orchestra wasn't supposed to play "Eager Beaver" or "Intermission Riff." The ever popular "St. James Infirmary" had been tossed. This was a concert orchestra! Didn't anyone understand? They weren't playing the old book, at least not very much of it, because this was an entirely new musical adventure. Kenton was not one to look back — yesterday was yesterday. Why couldn't people understand that musicians get sick of playing the same tunes night after night, year after year?

Not all the reviews were bad, some were even glowing, and the concerts were sell-outs — why was it so difficult for some to understand? This was an excursion by idealists and every time something new and bold is attempted there is always somebody demanding the old way. This experiment was costing Kenton more than $13,000 a week in payroll alone. The two buses, the occasional hotels and the other costs of booking the orchestra had to be added on top of that! June Christy was getting $1,000 a week and Jimmy Lyon had been hired by Kenton to be her accompanist on the tour. (Lyon would later spend decades accompanying singer Mabel Mercer.)

In Madison, Wisconsin, there was a young man by the name of Johnny Faraher who was, in addition to working for Capitol Records as an area representative, a self-proclaimed promoter of the Kenton band. Back in the spring of 1948, he had booked the band for the University of Wisconsin's Military Ball and now had sandwiched the band for a Madison one-nighter between the Opera House concerts in Chicago and a Milwaukee booking on the 5th of March. The Madison concert was sponsored by the Zor Temple of the Shrine and the West High School Auditorium was picked for the location. The evening's gross was $2,835.60, with Kenton netting $1,591.00, as was typical of the middle-sized town concert proceeds. The band needed $2,200 just to break even. Big town concerts were netting about $5,000. Kenton was being quoted as saying that it wouldn't be until the 1953 Innovations season that any profit would be realized. Even the management in the Kenton camp were talking about how long it would take Kenton to get back the $25,000 original investment he had personally spent on getting the orchestra started. George Morte, the band's dedicated road manager, was already saying that the band would draw just as well with 20 musicians as with 40. Some of those around Stan didn't always share his vision, his dreams. George and most of the musicians did.

The orchestra played auditoriums and theaters and music halls all through the Midwest, creating and gathering the devotees as they prepared to march eastward towards their two-day concert schedule at Carnegie Hall. By this time, nearly everyone in the country knew about Stan Kenton's new orchestra. The newspapers and the radio had told of the band's whereabouts and the critics were finally starting to understand. Good reviews had come out of the Des Moines paper and the Cleveland Plain Dealer had a headline stating that "Stan Kenton's Band Is Applauded." The Carnegie Hall concerts were absolute sell-outs. The management placed three or four hundred people on stage, behind the band to handle the overflow of VIP's.

While Shelly was in the city, Billy Gladstone presented Shelly with a 6"x 14" black lacquered snare drum with gold plated hardware and snares. On the inscription plate was engraved — “To Shelly Manne with Admiration, Billy Gladstone, April 9, 1950, Drum No. I.” It was the first in a series of hand-crafted snare drums built by the master himself.

After the Carnegie Hall concerts, good press was given by the New Yorker, the Times, the Daily News, and the Herald Tribune. As the band made its way towards the South, some of the old hits were finding their way back on the program in a thing called "Montage," a collection, a medley if you will, of the "Artistry" days, including "Artistry in Percussion" and "Concerto To End All Concertos."

On a visit to Washington D.C., the band heard that Buddy Rich's band was playing at the Washington National Armory and Shelly and some of the guys went to hear the band. Milt Bernhart tells the story — "We were all standing in the back of the room listening to the band and Rich was playing one of his unbelievable flag-waver drum features. When he finished the number he got on the mike and said that the famous drummer Shelly Manne was in the room (Shelly had been winning poll after poll) and proceeded to call him to the band stand to take a bow. Shelly put his head down and under his breath said "Buddy, don't do this." Once Shelly was on the stand, Rich asked the audience if they would like to hear the famous drummer play. Of course, there was much applause, so Shelly sat behind the drums and Buddy called the SAME barn-burner he had just played. Shelly, not knowing the piece, asked where the drum part was — Rich didn't read so there was none. Rich counted off the tune and Shelly found himself in an uncomfortable position, but made the best of it. After this episode, whenever Shelly had to go to the bathroom he would say, 'I've got to drop a line to Buddy Rich.'"

June Christy was a hit everywhere the Kenton band went, some said because of the contrast between the seriousness of the orchestral works and the lightness of June's voicings. Some critics were appeased with the old hits back in the offerings but many picked apart even the way the band was presented. Kenton wanted the curtain to rise on an empty stage, save for the instruments, and when the curtain went up, he would have the musicians walk out, in groups of fives, to their chairs. Each section would take its place on stage at different times. Even this little change bothered the relentless bores. June sang "Conflict" offstage, out of sight. This effect was too much for some of the local writers. After Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Colorado, the Innovations Orchestra went home to Los Angeles. On May 18th, the orchestra recorded a strings only selection entitled "Cello-logy" and Kenton let the string players know that after next week he would no longer need them until next season's tour. The same day the orchestra recorded "Art Pepper," a Shorty Rogers composition and Shelly did a thing with a brass section called "Halls of Brass." On June 3rd, at the Hollywood Bowl, the orchestra played the final concert of the season. The string players were let go, but Kenton kept the nucleus "dance band" intact as they were booked for the summer at the Rendezvous.

With the Kenton band planning to make Los Angeles its permanent home, at the end of May, Shelly had applied for a Local 47 card — the American Federation of Musicians required a six-month waiting period before a new member could take a steady job in the local. With the Kenton band doing three nights at the Balboa ballroom, Shelly could take incidental engagements around L.A. (as long as he didn't officially work a steady job in Local 47 territory). Now was the time, the Mannes thought, to settle in California

In August, the Kenton band backed Nat Cole for a Capitol recording of "Orange Colored Sky" and a week later recorded some fairly commercial tunes that featured vocalists Jay Johnson and June Christy. The band was preparing for a tour with the 19-piece dance band, Shelly was busy in the recording studios. On September llth, he recorded with June Christy, backed by a new group — a new sound — Shorty Rogers had put together. With the birth of the "cool sound" on everyone's mind, Shorty began to write for a "small big band" concept that featured four saxes, trumpet, French Horn, tuba and three rhythm. It was a forecast of what later would be called "the West Coast Sound." The next day Shelly recorded a Rogers arrangement with the Kenton band called "Viva Prado". A day later he recorded three more arrangements by Shorty on a Maynard Ferguson session. On September 14th, Shelly went into the studios again (the fourth day in a row), and recorded with the Kenton band. Two days later the band went on the road.

Carlos Gastel, the fire, the creator, the man who put it together and kept the band going, was no longer in charge of the Kenton machinery. Gastel and Kenton had severed their professional relationship back in the spring, at the Hollywood Bowl. Gastel was trying to get Kenton to understand that the fans wanted more pop stuff, more dance music. Kenton wouldn't bend. He had lost about $125, 000 on the Innovations tour, but he wouldn't subvert his art, the direction he wanted his music to take. Yet, after all the yelling, the band played dance music all summer at Balboa and now they were going out on the road to play mostly ballrooms for the next five months. Without Gastel in charge of management, this road trip was going to be a nightmare.

To be Continued and Concluded in Part 6.

[Research for this feature includes Gene Lees, Woody Herman, Leader of the Band, Michael Sparke’s Stan Kenton: This is An Orchestra!, Dr. William Lee, Stan Kenton: Artistry in Rhythm, Steven Harris, The Kenton Kronicles, Burt Korall’s Drummin’ Men, Jack Brand and Bill Korst, Shelly Manne: Sounds of A Different Drummer, Georges Paczynski, Une Histoire De La Batterie De Jazz, a host of Down Beat, Metronome, Esquire and Modern Drummer magazines, websites such as Drummerworld and a bunch of liner notes to Shelly’s manny LPs and CDs.]

All of the referenced recordings that Shelly made with Woody can be found on the CD Woody Herman: Keeper of the Flame - The Complete Capitol recordings of the Four Brothers Band [Capitol CDP-7 98453 2]

Shelly Manne - The Kenton Years - Part 6

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


Each time I delve into the career of drummer Shelly Manne, I come away amazed by the scope of his involvement in the modern Jazz movement that began towards the end of the Second World War.

He seems to have known and worked with just about everyone on the 52nd Street scene, the birthplace of modern Jazz in NYC, from Coleman Hawkins to Ben Webster to Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker; and later he filled the drum chair of the big bands of Woody Herman and Stan Kenton.

All of this during what was essentially the first decade of his playing career!

His activities on the West Coast Jazz scene of the 1950’s with Shorty Rogers’ Giants, Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse All-Stars and with his own quintets and his years of operating his own club - The Manne Hole - in the 1960’s were all yet to come!!!

The bus carrying the scaled down [sans strings] 19-piece Stan Kenton Orchestra left on September 16th, 1950 and the Kenton band played in Sacramento and the San Francisco area before their Midwestern swing. Shelly was driving in the Kenton car, ahead of the bus. The tour was a booking disaster. "The office really screwed up on several dates and I kept asking for itineraries in my letters so I would know where to write to," recalls Flip. "They were scrambling for booking dates at the last minute, then hit a couple of blizzards and couldn't make the jobs. At one point Stan confessed to Shelly that he was not only broke, but in debt. They were traveling together part of the time in Stan's car, sometimes with Jay Johnson (singer and Shelly's roommate), and Leo, one of the band boys." Kenton met a girl in Denver and pretty soon Shelly was back in the bus. On October 19th, they played the Hill Billy Barn in Bluefield, West Virginia, a far cry from the Innovation concerts at Carnegie Hall and the Civic Opera House. On the way to Bluefield, Kenton was in a car accident and was three hours late. Shelly led the band and put together material for the broadcast.

While in Bluefield, Shelly heard the band's latest recordings on the radio and was very happy with the music, but on this tour the band was playing much of the old stuff; material that was recorded even before the "Artistry" band. Having experienced the excitement of the Innovations Orchestra, and then having to play "Eager Beaver" on one-night stands in ballrooms was not making for a happy Shelly Manne. His letters to Flip tell of the frustration with the music, the canceled gigs, the lousy weather. On the way to Bridgeport, while traveling in Al Porcino's father-in-law's car, they had to urinate in the radiator to keep it going. On Thanksgiving Day they hit a blizzard on the way to Carroltown and it took eight hours to go 150 miles.

The band was late, Kenton even later and Shelly, once again, led the band. They missed their Cleveland and Youngstown dates entirely, the roads being closed. Bob Cooper, Kenton, Leo and Shelly drove to New York and got stuck in the snow for four hours. The band appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show on December 3rd and on the 6th, Shelly wrote his wife about a new "secret" drumhead that Billy Gladstone had developed. "It's not made of the hide of an animal. It's a cloth of some kind that he discovered. The weather cannot affect it. You can pour water on it and it will just roll off, and it's twice as strong as the old style heads. He can make a fortune with it and also put all the drumhead companies out of business. He had the heads on a drum of his and I tried it with sticks and brushes and the sound was great. He may put two on my snare drum as long as I don't tell anyone what they are." The Kenton band rehearsed all day on the 18th for the Cavalcade of Bands scheduled to be telecast on the next day.

On the 19th Shelly wrote to Flip about "my new drums were waiting for me.. They are really beautiful. Very different looking. Gretsch also made Stan some new music stands to match my drums — black and gold. They are only about 7" high, so you can see all of everyone sitting behind them, except their feet. We will have the stands in Phila. and will the band look sharp! That TV show we did today was miserable. They wouldn't let us play anything; and everything had to be played half-volume because they didn't know how to balance the band. The producers are real cornballs. A week before the show, they kept bugging Stan to have a tune called 'Christmas In Killarney' (yuk yuk) made up to close the show with. Of course they had a case! At rehearsal we tried to please them and play something sweet, so we did 'Interlude', and when it was over, they said it was too weird a number. I couldn't believe what I heard. All they wanted was a melody they recognized. At rehearsal, the producer told me they would have to spray the gold hoops on my new drums to keep them from glaring. They use some sort of an auto wax. I told him I didn't want the wax on them because it's so hard to get off and gets in all the threads on my rods. I told him they could use some masking tape like in the movies. That does the trick and is simple to remove. Well tonite, while we had a break to dress for the show, they sprayed the crap all over the drums. When I saw  them I flipped."

Shelly wrote Flip that when they were going into the Rustic Cabin, there had been a hurricane and all the wires were down, no air-shots, no telephones. People couldn't call to see if the band was playing. While in the New York area, Shelly and Shorty recorded "Destination Moon" with Nat Cole, backed by the Neal Hefti Orchestra. On the recording date, in the trombone section, was their old boss, Will Bradley. The Kenton band opened the Click in Philadelphia for a four-day stand, beginning on the 20th of December and Shelly got there an hour early to get the wax off his drums.

Many of the veterans of the band had tried to settle permanently in L.A., but the work was scarce and nobody wanted to pay any money; back on the road they went. Shelly was now playing in a rhythm section that could cook. The bongos had temporarily vanished, Ralph Blaze was on guitar, and Don Bagley was on bass. The band was playing some charts by Neal Hefti and the charts Shorty was writing for the band swung. Shelly's job in the Kenton band was not to swing the band — it wasn't a swing band and Kenton couldn't care less about the band swinging — Shelly's job was to propel the orchestrations forward, keep them from falling. He also literally invented the drum parts on all the variations of the Kenton band on which he performed (he always played what the composer wanted but then added his special musical touch). Now he had a decent rhythm section to work with and they were playing a lot of the tired old "chestnuts." Though they were playing for dancing, something Kenton hated, the tall leader would throw in a few of the more exotic Rugolo numbers and announce — "Don't try dancing to this one, we're uninsured." The "St. James Infirmary" routine had been replaced by "The Death of Dixieland", a thing Ferguson and Shelly dreamed up.

The Stan Kenton Orchestra opened the Hollywood Palladium on February 20, 1951, for a six-week stand. During this spring stay on the coast, the band recorded several Gene Roland tunes once again trying to capture a more conservative audience. Bassist Eddie Gomez sang along with Ray Wetzel on a novelty ditty called "Tortillas And Beans," and by May, Kenton had the band singing — that's right, the BAND singing an ensemble version of "Laura." On gigs, the guys could barely keep from breaking up on the stand. As the band started to sing, somebody would start to giggle and then the whole group would lose it — and Stan would get in front of the band and yell, "Sing, Goddammit!"

It seemed that Stan and management were trying to find some magical way of making up for the economic disaster of the Innovations tour. While the band continued to record a mixed bag of tricks, some Rugolo, some Roland, some Rogers, the office was booking the 19-piece band for a jaunt to the Northwest. It was going to be a haphazard tour that would include Oregon, Washington and into Canada. During one of their Canadian appearances, The Royal Mounties, in full uniform, came onto the bandstand and hauled off Maynard Ferguson. He was a native Canadian, who, as a local bandleader, had forgotten to pay a lot of income tax! He was finally released, but decided it would be better to avoid the place in the future. Shelly wrote to Flip from San Francisco telling her that Ray Wetzel left, replaced by Johnny Coppola. The band went on to Portland and Seattle, and Shelly wrote that he would be home the 13th of May and that — "Shorty is going to try and get me an opening date at Hermosa Beach for the 3 or 4 weeks we are off." (Rogers, having left the band after the first Innovations tour, was working at a club called the Lighthouse.) The Kenton band was in the studio during this time, recording "Laura", "Jump For Joe" and a Kenton arrangement of "Stardust Boogie". Shorty, still writing for the band, wrote and the band recorded "The Hot Canary" featuring the screech trumpet of Maynard Ferguson.

The band went out again, this time working its way east. Shelly writes home complaining that he's losing his voice from singing "The Death Of Dixieland" so many times. Ken ton tells Shelly that Gene Roland has written another novelty vocal called "Count The Days I'm Gone" but they wanted Manne to "think up some words for it." The band played Canada again, this time with Al Porcino subbing for Ferguson. "The band is not playing the good things — I'm not happy — it's so hot, my uniform hasn't dried out for weeks — Ray Wetzel was killed while travelling on Tommy Dorsey's band." Kenton was getting ready for the second Innovations tour; Shelly told him he would be leaving the band after that trip. Kenton told his drummer that he was trying to line up a radio or TV show in Hollywood so maybe he wouldn't have to quit the band.

After working the Steel Pier in Atlantic City, the band bus had travelled to the Midwest and eventually home to California. A new brass section was in place as the band recorded its final session before the last Innovations trip. Conte Condoli, Stu Williamson, and Coppola replaced Rogers, Alvarez and Childers. Milt Bernhart was staying in L.A. — now Bill Russo would be writing and playing trombone and Kenton added bass trombonist George Roberts. They recorded "Coop's Solo", "Samba", some June Christy takes and several takes of "Blues In Burlesque" sung by Shelly. By the last week of September, new gray uniforms had been distributed and new music was rehearsed by new players. It was always hard to find good string players that would travel for light money and it was harder than ever to find them after the stories about the first Innovations tour. By now, Kenton was starting to realize that he might be losing his drummer, the poll-winner, the musician that had created so much of what the band played, the way it played. For Shelly Manne, he knew this would be his last tour as Kenton's percussionist.

In the early fall of 1951, before Shelly went back on the road, Shorty Rogers took a group into the recording studios and it would make music history. The band was Shorty Rogers and His Giants. With Shorty on trumpet, Shelly on drums, Jimmy Guiffre on tenor sax, Art Pepper on alto, Hampton Hawes on piano, Bagley on bass, and the unusual addition of John Graas on french horn and Gene Englund on tuba, the Giants made their initial recording. Discographies and the original record jacket state that this session occurred on the 8th of October, but band itineraries place Shelly on the road with Kenton in the Midwest. This very important recording session must have taken place in September when the Kenton band was in L.A. recording the Blues in Burlesque session. The Giants' tunes had some strange names, "Popo,""Didi," and "Four Mothers" among them. This recording would become one of the most important in jazz, as it was the public's first chance to hear the tight-swinging, cleanly-written and executed jazz arrangements that would, in some critics' minds, set the "West Coast" musicians apart from the funkier East Coast players. Roger's approach to writing was clearly influenced by Basie, a happy swinging kind of jazz. Gene Norman, a local disc jockey, jazz promoter, and record producer, put together

As the Innovations II Orchestra departed for the road, there would be a set of timpani in the freight compartment of one of the two busses. Some of the compositions would require very involved percussion work by Shelly including Greattinger's second movement of the "City Of Glass". One of the features of the band was Maynard Ferguson's unbelievable trumpet excursions into the musical stratosphere. The fans were anxious to hear this amazing talent in person, to see if he really did play all those high notes. Trumpet players were ready to come out of the woodwork to see and hear him. Shelly Manne, the perennial pollwinner, was equally popular. The Gretsch Company back in June had asked him to write out a four bar solo that they would have printed up for his fans. He would give the local drummers the Gretsch promo and happily autograph the copies.

The two busses left for a tour that would give the musicians only about ten days off in as many weeks, and many of them would be spent traveling. Dallas, Texas was the first stop and the next day, after the first concert, Shelly wrote to Flip. "You never heard anything so loused up in your life! There were a few times when nobody knew where we were (in the music). The people didn't seem to know the difference." He went on to write that he was pleased with himself in that he didn't miss one tuning on the timps. Greg Bemko, one of the string players, told Shelly that the first cellist with the Dallas Symphony heard the concert and was quite impressed with Shelly's performance. In Houston, the Houston Symphony timpani player came backstage to tell Shelly that he thought his timpani work was excellent. The band was grinding out 300 and 400 mile jumps in one day. By the first week in October the concerts were going better. A new piece featuring the French Horn of John Graas had a very difficult part for Shelly, but the bigger the challenge, the harder he worked. This time out much of the press gave good reviews.

Shelly told his fans that he was happy to be playing with the Innovations band, that it was a special kind of challenge. Little did he know how invaluable this orchestral experience was going to be when he returned to the West Coast.

There was a young drummer in New Orleans, a music student, who couldn't wait to talk to Shelly Manne. The band played a concert at the New Orleans Municipal Auditorium Concert Hall on October 2nd, and after the concert a young Earl Palmer went around to the stage entrance, and sure enough out came Shelly with some of the musicians. As Palmer approached the group and yelled for Shelly, the guard said, "Get away from here, nigger!" Shelly Manne instantly yelled to the young man, "Oh, there you are, I've been waiting for you." He had never seen Earl before in his life, but immediately understood the situation, put his arm around the young man, and the two became life-long friends.

The band played another engagement at Carnegie Hall in October and Shelly visited family and friends. He commented on the change he was seeing on the Street. The joints were closing or becoming whorehouses. Heroin was ruining the lives of so much music talent in the city. It was depressing, and the wonderful rush he always felt when he returned "home" wasn't there anymore. He was happy with his and Flip's decision to make California their home. They continued to write to each other everyday, discussing things about their new house and that made him all the more anxious to get home to Flip and a new lifestyle. But there were more "niters" to be played. Philly Baltimore, Norfolk, then D.C. and others. One night, Art Pepper visited the "quiet" bus and returned to the "balling" bus to tell the guys that he couldn't believe it. "They were reading!" The balling bus was always full of booze; whenever Flip was traveling with the band, she and Shelly rode the "quiet" bus.

On this tour, Shelly spent most of the time driving Stan's Buick. Coop remembered that one night, while riding in the "balling" bus, "We looked out to see the other Kenton bus going the opposite direction!" Stan's divorce had been settled and now he was doing some serious drinking after work — never during the job. Though he was drinking away his cares on the bus, he never tolerated drugs on the band and would fire anybody who even smoked grass, not wanting any musical problems or bad publicity. With Gene Krupa being labeled a "dope fiend" after serving a brief time for possession of grass, the entire music business was trying to live down the jazz musician's reputation as a bunch of drunks, potheads, and junkies. Kenton had been very successful in elevating the status of jazz to the concert hall and would not stand for any musician to destroy that.

As November of 1951 rolled around, the orchestra had worked its way back to the Midwest for another sell-out crowd during a two day concert series at the Civic Opera House in Chicago. While in town, Shelly put together a group to record some Bill Russo charts. The "Shelly Manne Septet" went into the studio on November 12th and recorded four tunes, one featuring Shelly Manne singing "All Of Me". That night, the Innovations Orchestra played in Minneapolis. Young Johnny Faraher was busy in Madison, Wisconsin, preparing for the November 14th appearance of the 19-piece Kenton band. He had talked Stan into playing at the Eagles Club with the smaller unit as he made his way to the concert on the 15th in Milwaukee. Kenton simply sent the strings on to Milwaukee after the Minneapolis concert. From time to time Kenton would "fill" dates with the smaller "Progressive Jazz" band, if the location wasn't too far off the scheduled itinerary After Milwaukee, the band hit Des Moines, then Kansas City, then a night off— the first in almost two weeks.

Except for a long jaunt back to Washington, D.C., the band was working westward, wrapping up the Innovations concept for the season. The band was worn out. Shelly wrote home to say that "things are getting bad on the bus." They were in Seattle on the 25th and finished at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles on November 30, 1951. It was in this same place that, just 20 months earlier, Stan Kenton introduced his first Innovations Orchestra. The two tours had cost him more than a quarter of a million dollars; he had loved every minute of it.

Like so many other innovators, Kenton was criticized, cursed, and it was said he was way ahead of his time. Probably no other single person has had so much influence on the very music that is heard today in films and in modern jazz bands, both in high schools, colleges and professional groups as did Stanley Newcomb Kenton. Shelly Manne loved him, respected him, and appreciated what Stan had done for him in his drumming career — and what he had done for modern music.

[Research for this feature includes Gene Lees, Woody Herman, Leader of the Band, Michael Sparke’s Stan Kenton: This is An Orchestra!, Dr. William Lee, Stan Kenton: Artistry in Rhythm, Steven Harris, The Kenton Kronicles, Burt Korall’s Drummin’ Men, Jack Brand and Bill Korst, Shelly Manne: Sounds of A Different Drummer, Georges Paczynski, Une Histoire De La Batterie De Jazz, a host of Down Beat, Metronome, Esquire and Modern Drummer magazines, websites such as Drummerworld and a bunch of liner notes to Shelly’s manny LPs and CDs.]

Pepper Adams - An Interview With Gene Lees

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


When Adams is at his peppery best - furious, angry, pouring into the horn a wealth of fiercely felt emotion - it brings to mind his nickname while on the Kenton band. As bandmate drummer Mel Lewis puts it: “We called him ‘The Knife’ because when he’d get up and blow, his playing had almost a slashing effect on the rest of us. He’d slash and chop and before he was through he’d cut everybody down to size."


After a prolonged primary exposure to baritone saxophone in the form of Gerry Mulligan’s light and airy sound, Pepper Adams’ tone on the instrument was something of a revelation the first time I heard it.


Deeper, darker, growly - Pepper’s sound took a bit of getting used to but what I got right away was how facile and dexterous he was in creating improvised lines on the cumbersome instrument.


Pepper’s ideas just flew out at you in an inexhaustible stream of creativity.


And lest you doubt where he was coming from, Phil Woods once described Pepper as “... a Bebopper down to his socks.”


Over the years, Pepper became one of my favorite Jazz musicians and I eagerly sought out opportunities to hear him in person or on record.


Here’s an interview that Pepper gave to Gene Lees in 1963.


“THERE is something professorial about him. He is inclined to tweeds, usually a little rumpled. Brown-rimmed glasses and an extremely high forehead give him a look of perpetual slight surprise, and he seems to be peering at things intently, trying to figure them out.


He is Pepper Adams, and there is nothing professorial about him except his intelligence and his catch-all brain, one of the most retentive in jazz.


He is a holdout. One could call him a rebel, except that it doesn't quite fit. He seems like a conservative— but that doesn't quite fit either, because what he is conserving is rebelliousness—at a time when most jazzmen have lost it.
Most men of his generation have gone into the studios in search of decent livings with which to raise their families. Adams stays on the road and struggles to make ends meet. A married man wouldn't be able to do it, but Adams at 32 seems to be a confirmed bachelor.


"I admit my attitude is unusual," he said recently. "I'm in the business because I like music. If you can't play music, why be in the business?


"That's the one reason I've never settled in New York. I require a forum from which to play. In other words, if something like Donald Byrd's little band came up, I'd go out with it immediately. It was a starvation band, but it was a good one."


The reference was to a group with which Adams played for a couple of years. It was billed as the Donald Byrd-Pepper Adams Quintet. It never made money, and Byrd went into debt trying to keep it going. Those who heard it — and too few people did, which is why it went under —  thought it was one of the most stimulating groups in the business.


It is significant that Adams refers to it as "Donald's group," when it recorded under their two names. Thus far, Adams has been disinclined to assume the responsibility of leadership. In this he is like Paul Desmond — a star soloist who has never really wanted his own group. For years Adams was willing to play Desmond to Byrd's Dave Brubeck. But Byrd doesn't have a group now — he is teaching at the High School of Music and Art in Manhattan — and so Adams is on his own. Inevitably, he's thinking of forming a group. "Thad Jones and I have been discussing the possibility for years," Adams said.


And that, too, is significant. Jones is from Detroit. Whenever Adams mentions a musician with whom he has close rapport, that musician is probably a fellow Detroiter, as Byrd is. The Detroiters in jazz have a curious local loyalty. Hearing one of them talk, one would think that jazz was invented in an abandoned tool shop of the Ford Motor Co. and that no one but Detroiters had really got the hang of playing it yet.


The Detroit group includes the Jones brothers (Hank, Thad, and Elvin), Tommy Flanagan, Paul Chambers, Barry Harris, Billy Mitchell, Lucky Thompson, Kenny Burrell, a reed man named Bill Evans who saved everyone a lot of confusion by changing his name to Yusef Lateef, and one Sylvester Kyner, who quite understandably changed his name too — to Sonny Red.


Why do they stay so closely in touch with each other? Partly it is because they are old personal friends — Adams and Byrd, for example, have been close since their middle adolescence.


"But it isn't only a personal thing," Adams said. "You find a lot of similarity in the Detroit players. They're all good, thorough musicians who know what they're doing. And you'll notice that they're all players with a strong personal conception.
"I think you'll find, too, that all the Detroit players are very proficient in their knowledge of chords. That doesn't necessarily mean that they're chordal players, but they do have this knowledge."


Adams, it will be noted, is the only white member of the Detroit School. (Donald Byrd once said dead-pan to an interviewer: "Pepper and I met in the midst of a Detroit race riot." The interviewer dutifully wrote it down.) In the period when Adams was growing up, he found himself attracted musically to what young Negro musicians in Detroit were doing — and ignored by most of Detroit's white musicians.


"I find even to this day," Adams said, "that saxophone players in the Stan Getz vein are offended by my playing. Not that they necessarily find it good or bad — just offensive.


"Harry Carney and economics influenced me to play baritone. I was working in a music store when I was 15, and I had a chance to buy a good used baritone cheap."
Carney, whom Adams met when he was 12, influenced him in the sound he uses — "specifically, in the breadth of sound."


"It is a sound that fits better the character of the instrument," he said. "But it also fits better what I want to do. You have a pretty wide-open field with the saxophone. Who is the authority for what is the correct sound? You can listen to Prokofiev's Cinderella Suite, played by the Moscow Symphony, with Prokofiev conducting, and hear in the tenor solo a sound that is laughably bad. But it is what Prokofiev wanted — the intention is humorous — which is often the case with saxophone in classical orchestras.


"Coleman Hawkins' sound fit what he wanted to do? and Lester Young's sound— even though it got him laughed out of the Fletcher Henderson Band when he first came to New York — fit what he wanted to do.


"My sound fits what I want to do.


"It's easier to get mobility with a lighter baritone sound, similar to that of tenor. If you play a fast run with a full sound, it's likely to sound like a run on the piano with the sostenuto pedal down.


"To make the run clear, you have to lightly tongue every note — to get the proper separation of notes. If you were doing it on tenor, or playing with a lighter baritone sound, you would not have to tongue it; the keys would articulate for you, generally speaking. The need to lightly tongue the notes makes the timing element more critical.
"You know, if you're used to baritone, and you pick up a tenor, it sounds so damn shrill you scare yourself. It's not all psychological, either — the sound coming back to you lacks some of the overtones, and so it's lighter than the sound someone out in front of you is hearing.


"When Wardell Gray and I worked together in Detroit, we used to trade instruments. It worked very well, because we got used to each other's horns. Also, we used very similar mouthpieces and reed setups."


THE EARLIER likening of Adams to Paul Desmond was not casual. There is something oddly similar about them, in their attitudes to work  (both would prefer
simply to walk onstage and play in a good group, the responsibility for which is in someone else's hands), in their scholarship (both are voracious readers), in their politics (both are saddened Stevensonian Democrats, though Adams these days is revealing his Detroit nationalism in calling himself "a Walter Reuther Democrat"), and even in their persistent bachelorhood. Neither has ever broken his ties with his hometown: although both live in Manhattan when they're off the road, they maintain mailing addresses at their parents' homes — Desmond's in San Francisco, Adams' in Detroit.


But they are most alike in their humor, which is discursive and shot through with improbably obscure references. They have never met, yet the following nonstop passage, elicited by a question about Adams' background, could, in its style, have come from Desmond:


"Leonard Feather's Encyclopedia of Jazz states that I was born in Highland Park, Illinois . I was really born in Highland Park, Michigan, which was discovered when I was inducted into the Army in 1951. I went to the Detroit city hall for my birth certificate and was advised that I didn't qualify. I evidently had not been born in Detroit, as I had always assumed. By simple deduction, I arrived at the conclusion that I must have been born in Highland Park.


"Highland Park is one of two enclave communities which are bounded on all sides by Detroit, except where they are bounded by each other. The other is Hamtramck, fabled in Polish song and story and one record by Gene Krupa, who is also Polish.
"Hamtramck has no place in my chronicle, since I wasn't born there, but I thought you would like to know. I was, as I mentioned, born in Highland Park.


"Highland Park is something of a misnomer, since it is not a park and it is no higher than any of the rest of the flat land around Detroit. According to a Corey Ford book published in the 1920s, the lowest mountain in the world is Mt. Clemens, Mich., which attains a height of six feet above lake level.
"I regret that I was not born in Highland Park, Illinois, as Mr. Feather's estimable encyclopedia asserts, because it is a somewhat higher-class community than Highland Park, Mich. Perhaps it is injudicious of me to make this observation. The city fathers of Highland Park, Mich., are a pretty salty bunch. They made Detroit detour a proposed expressway and go around them."


Adams' life in jazz also has been discursive. Recently, for example, he worked with Lionel Hampton for four months — "the longest I've been on a big band in about seven years." He was having trouble finding work; the slow withering away of jazz clubs had affected him as it has everyone else in jazz.


"Lionel had 12 straight weeks of work," Adams said. "I felt I owed it to my creditors to accept the job."


Since leaving the Hampton band ("it's more correct to say the band left me — Lionel went to Japan with a small group"), Adams has taken an apartment in New York, the first he has had anywhere in about three years. Does this indicate that he will at last follow so many of his colleagues into the studios?


"I wouldn't find any satisfaction in it," he said. "When I lived in Los Angeles, I was making all kinds of records and more money than I've ever had in my life. But as soon as I got my card in Local 47, I left, and I haven't been back since."


For a detailed look at Pepper’s career, you might wish to checkout Gary Carner’s Pepper Adams Joy Road: An Annotated Discography which we covered in this linked book review.

Jazz Humor - The Zoot Finster Series by George Crater

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.



Jazz musicians love to laugh.


As bassist Bill Crow explains in the following excerpts from the Preface to his superb book Jazz Anecdotes:


“Jazz musicians are bound together by a rich and colorful history that lives in the music itself, remembered, recorded, created and re-created. In addition, we have stories about ourselves, stretching back to the beginnings of the music, that are told and retold; legends and laughter that remind us of who we are and where we are from.


Most jazz musicians are good laughers. If you want to play jazz for a living you either learn to laugh or you cry a lot. We don't laugh all the time; we have our low moments just like the rest of the world. But the pleasure of getting together to play the music we love seems to bring out our good humor….


The anecdotes we tell about each other seem to be the ones we like the best. They remind us of our individuality and our human nature. There is a wonderful variety of subjects: bandstand stories, road stories, jam-session stories, bandleader stories, tales about innocence and venality, serendipity and catastrophe.”


Jazz humor was such an important aspect of the music that for many years, Down Beat published George Crater’s humorous Out of My Head essays as a regular feature of the magazine.


Two of the most popular columns that George developed had to do with the legendary  -hep cat Zoot Finster.


I thought I’d share them with you in this feature.


OUT OF MY HEAD
George Crater Reviews Finster Jazz Landmark


Zoot Finster ••••••••••••••••••••••••
AT    SUN    VALLEY—Hipsville    3128:    Slolem
Soul; Ski for Two; Snow Use; Rudy's Sun Valley;
Frostbite   Bossa   Nova;   Frigid   Midget;    Original
No  Slope  Blues;   That   Cold  Gang  of Mine;   I'm
in the Mood for Gloves.


Personnel:    Finster,     tenor    saxophone;     Miles
Cosnat,    trumpet;     Gimp    Lymphly,    gorkaphone;
Humphrey    Nurturewurst,    trombone;    Milt    Orp,
marimba;    Strimp    Grech,    cello;    Rudell    Benge,
guitar;    Sticks   Berklee,   drums.
Rating: *   *   *   * 2/3


At Sun Valley unveils the new Zoot Finster Octet. If this album is any indication, this is a group that will go down in jazz history as the most significant jazz advance since Gunther Schuller gave Ornette Coleman a white plastic tuxedo. It is an unmitigated gas!


The entire group was in solid form, but there were several surprises. Orp, for example, lost his monogramed mallets (presented to him personally by J. Arthur Rank) en route to the set and was forced to borrow a pair of Berklee's brushes. Orp's comping on Midget (Benge's Gospel-ish melody) and Use (an up-tempo blues by Grech) was so frenetic that immediately after the set, he received an offer to pose in three Avedis Zildjian ads.


Nurturewurst, though only 19, plays his instrument cleanly and reminds one forcibly of the late Fletcher Mosby. His performances on tracks 2, 4, and 7 are highlighted by muted solos featuring his specially designed mute made from a Renault hubcap. His best outing, however, is to be found on Gang, on which he demonstrates his feeling for the material by deftly voicing the ensemble parts in 6/8 time, an interesting effect, since the rest of the group is playing in 5/4 at the time. Still, this minor mishap aside, these could have been some of the all-time ensemble passages.


Lymphly is bound to become a household name after the release of this album, which is another in the superlative series produced by Bob Piele, who is one of the few a&r men who understands artists of this rank.


A recent arrival on the jazz scene, Lymphly was discovered by miscellaneous-instrumentalist Cameron Lindsay Jr. while he was working in a razor-blade factory near Duluth. He masters the somewhat difficult gorkaphone (a cross between bassonium and ear flute) as a French chef masters a recipe. His tone on the unwieldy horn has a Far East tang, which is probably why he chooses to sprinkle his lines with bits of Buddhist music. His only fault, in this reviewer's eyes, is a tendency to forget the melody line, a lapse that explains his playing I'll Remember April on every track.


Finster's return to the jazz scene is significant in two respects, of course. First, it puts an end to the rumor that he had forsaken the music to become a freelance male cheerleader; and, second, it makes him the first big jazz name to do an outdoor concert in subzero weather. In fact, by the time the group had started to record the last track, it had become the first jazz act ever to play the blues while assuming that hue.


From the outset of the first track, it is obvious that Finster has something to say. Unlike his last LP, Jazz in a Rumble Seat, he allows himself more blowing space. On this set he blows with more fire and tenacity than at any other time in his professional career (which dates back to the early '40s when he co-led a revolutionary quintet with the immortal pitch-pipe virtuoso Slide Yarbow).


On Ski, Use, and Midget in particular, he is no less than brilliant, building chorus after chorus of incandescent, flaming spirals of notes, giving a slightly pink hue to his work. In the liner notes, surreptitiously written by a Down Beat editor, he is credited as saying that his new heavy tone is not derived from listening to Coleman Hawkins but, rather, from swabbing his horn with cholesterol before the set.


Among other things, this astonishing disc acquaints the listener with one important fact — Maxwell Thornton Finster has at last arrived.


Marking his return to the group after a year of writing jazz backgrounds for newsreels in Hollywood, trumpeter Cosnat puts to rest the belief that a long layoff produces rustiness. His horn is prominent throughout the entire album, and he gives evidence of his wry, pungent wit when he lets go with loud, shrill blasts during everyone else's solos.


His dazzling upper-register interplay with the static from the speakers is sure to make jazz history. Mark Step 1 of the comeback trail for Miles Cosnat a successful one.


Guitarist Benge, formerly with the Jazz Invaders, is making his initial appearance in public with the Finster group. In this setting he is fairly inconsistent. On Valley, for example, he constructs a moving solo for 16 bars and then stops to crack his knuckles for 32 more, while on Gang he cracks his knuckles throughout, providing a dramatic foil to his stomach rumblings. It's not unlike lumpy chocolate syrup flowing over sponge rubber.


Grech, brought out of retirement by Finster at the urging of jazz historian Arnold Horde, displays the amazing skill, technique, and virtuosity that made him a star with the East Bayonne Philharmonic Orchestra in 1917. Because of encroaching senility and the cold weather, he has a bit of trouble keeping time on the up-tempo numbers, but otherwise his solos are fresh, daring (dig the four-minute pause on Frost), and gratifying.


The unusual rhythm section of marimba, guitar, cello, and drums is topped by percussionist Berklee, who has since left the group to become music director for the Smothered Brothers. Berklee's presence in the group is vividly picturesque, since he is the only drummer in jazz whose sock cymbals are argyle. He cooks relentlessly on the first three tracks, after which Finster made him stop and start drumming (tracks 4 through 9 — see liner notes).


The arrangements were done by Irving Nolson and are the best things he's done to date. From the looks of it, he is going to be with the octet for a long time to come. And, though somewhat hampered with frozen hands and impregnable earmuffs, audience reaction, as heard in these grooves, was generally excellent and well recorded.


Unfortunately — for the group as well as the public — this album won't be released until much later this year. However, when it is issued, don't miss it. This is one of the great ones and should be in every true jazz lover's library.
(G.C.)


Source:
April 11, 1963
Down Beat Magazine



OUT OF MY HEAD
George Crater, In Response To Numerous Reader Requests, Provides Biographies Of The Zoot Finster Octet Members


Since my review of Zoot Finster's At Sun Valley appeared recently in Down Beat, I've been getting mail asking for photographs, life histories, blood types, addresses, and so on, of the members of the group.


But because the group is camera-shy and I'm militantly protesting the increase in postal rates, readers will have to settle for digging the bits of information about them I have gathered here. Ordinarily I'd try to cop out of something like this ("you know how it is, man—the cat doesn't want his business in the street") but since you ask. . . .


RUDELL BENGE: Started blowing baritone saxophone when he was 2 and had to stand on cigar boxes to reach saxophone reed; switched to mandolin after a cigar box caved in and upper lip was caught on neck-strap key; switched to zither at 10 to get roots; at 17 switched to switchblade and was heard on recording of Blues Wail from the County Jail; switched to guitar at 24 and joined Jazz Invaders but left group when they decided to gig at Bay of Pigs; freelanced for year and a half as an overworked piston ring before joining Finster. LPs as leader: On a Benge, Hipsville 1102.


HUMPHREY NURTUREWURST: First gained nationwide recognition at age 10 when his music instructor convinced him to pose in a "help send this boy to camp" poster. At 13 he was a protege of Barry Miles. At 18 he joined Woody Herman's legendary Herd that featured Stan Getz, Max Roach, Thornel Schwartz, Ann Landers, Izzy Goldberg, Andre Previn, Conte Candoli, Daddy-O Daylie, Richie Kamuca, Yma Sumac, Art Davis, Bob Brookmeyer, Chuck Walton, Richard Burton, Lament Cranston, Frank Strozier, Cy Touff, Abe Most, Tutti Camaratta, and Sammy Davis Sr. After three months, he left Herman (lack of solo space) and met Finster at a Greenwich Village taffy pull. The two of them hit it off immediately and have stuck together ever since.


MILT ORP: Born in Romania, studied vibraharp until 20, and then changed to marimba. Later moved to Transylvania, where he met famed composer Bela Clot. Helped co-author with Clot such Hungarian jazz standards as Artery in Rhythm, A Bite in Tunisia, and Take the A Vein. Moved to United States in 1960 and studied marimba at the Hobart Crump School for Wayward Staffs and Stiffs. Joined Finster last summer in time for Fire Island Jazz Festival.


STICKS BERKLEE: Graduated magna cum laude from Benedict Arnold University with a B.A. in journalism. Started writing liner notes on cough-drop boxes after graduation. Began on drums after he wrote "how are ya fixed for blades?" on a Smith Bros, box, and company was sued by Gillette. First big-time gig with Morris Grain's society orchestra. Left Grain early last year after an argument over mixing with the patrons between sets. Later married the Duchess of Velstobourg, an avid jazz buff, who, by surrendering half the royalties to her newly invented homogenized, no cholesterol moustache wax, was able to land him a job with Finster.


STRIMP GRECH: Began playing cello in 1914. A smooth technique featuring a fleeting pizzacato helped him land a gig in New York with the Salvation Army. On the advice of Jean Simmons he left the group and joined the East Bayonne Philharmonic Orchestra, for which he became the first cellist to receive the award usually reserved for banjoists and guitarists, the Strummy. Retired in 1923 to live on the royalties of his never-to-be-forgotten hit One-Note Charleston. Brought out of retirement last summer by Finster at the urging of noted jazz historian Arnold Horde.


MILES COSNAT: Direct descendent of the fabled Connecticut vagrant Mooch Cosnat. After learning trumpet in the spring of 1950, he began working days in a Madison Ave. advertising agency and nights in the house band at Birdland. He soon became known around town as "the man with the gray flannel mute." Cosnat first met Finster in 1955 while the latter was picketing a razed pawnshop. After teaming with Finster, he became famous for his upper-register lyricism and his forearm tattoo of Big Maybelle. Put down his horn in 1959 to write jazz backgrounds for Hollywood newsreels and television test patterns before rejoining Finster last year.


GIMP LYMPHLY: Born Garnett Mash Lymphly in Kentucky, the most memorable event of his childhood was that of watching revenue agents smash his father's still. It was then he coined the phrase "flatted fifths." At the age of 24 he bought a secondhand gorkaphone at an Edsel parts rummage sale. Upon mastering the complicated fingering of the unwieldy horn, he was committed to a Stan Kenton Clinic as the result of chronic complaints by unhip friends and neighbors. After numerous treatments there, he decided to go on to bigger and better things and obtained a master's degree in music from a box of Cracker Jack. Unable to land a musical job, he went to work in a razor-blade factory near Duluth, Minn., where he was discovered by miscellaneous instrumentalist Cameron Lindsay Jr. Lindsay ultimately recommended him to Finster, and the rest is history.


ZOOT FINSTER: Leader or co-leader of some of the most dynamic jazz groups of the last 20 years. Because of his on-the-scene-off-the-scene shenanigans, his early life is a mystery. However, this much is known: in 1944 he became the first jazz musician to do a solo performance at the Hollywood Bowl, a bowling alley in Hollywood, Fla.; in 1951 he was the innovator of Gulf Coast Jazz while gigging part time as an itinerant Texas beachcomber; in 1954 he traded his tenor saxophone to Sid Caesar for a wallet-size photo of Imogene Coca; in 1959 he appeared on the back cover of Down Beat; in 1961, accompanied by 100 flaxen-haired tots with yo-yos, he recorded his first album for Hipsville, ZootFinster and Strings.               


Source:
June 20,  1963
Down Beat Magazine

''Is Seeing Believing?'' - Liebman, Ineke, Laginha, Cavalli, Pinheiro

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


In sending me a preview copy of the ''... CD Is Seeing Believing? by the Liebman/Ineke/Laginha/Cavalli/Pinheiro Quintet [Challenge - Daybreak DBCHR - 75224] drummer Eric Ineke explained that “ … the record was recorded in Portugal in 2014 and has an international character. We all know each other through the International Association of Schools of Jazz.”


Just to be clear at the outset, in addition to Dave Liebman on soprano and tenor saxophones and Eric on drums - both of whom have been stablemates for many years - the record features the talents of Ricardo Pinheiro on guitar, Mario Laginha on keyboards and Massimo Cavalli on bass.


The CD arrived recently and upon listening to it the following thoughts came to mind based around two themes - old and mature - which when combined form a reciprocal duality [think of “ying and yang” - opposites that are mutually inclusive].


In his insert notes, Dave Liebman states that:


“I remember when I took lessons with Charles Lloyd in the mid 1960s in his Greenwich Village apartment. One day out of the clear blue he said: "You'll spend the rest of your life editing."


A few years later when I played with Miles Davis, one night he said to me: "Stop before you're done!"


Like a lot of the little Zen-type phrases that the older jazz guys used to make points to the younger guys, it took me years to understand what they meant.


In this case these little words of advice all seemed to relate to one thing: how to say more with less. "Maturing as an artist"...."leaving more space between ideas"......"creating a good melody is worth everything"......"technique, though necessary should never obscure the musical point being developed".... etc.


It seemed that a valid goal for further developing as a player was to get to the heart of the matter and leave the unnecessary frills behind. I am not going to be so presumptuous as to suggest that I have found success in this way and suddenly achieved artistic maturity, but I do see progress in this regard.”


By way of contrast, there is a tendency among young Jazz players to use a lot of notes in their solos.


This inclination seems to be a part of the joys of first expression; the thrill of discovering that you can play an instrument and play it well.


Kind of like: “Look what I’ve found? Look what I can do? Isn’t this neat?”


Another reason why these young, Jazz musicians play so many notes is because they can.


They are young, indiscriminately so, and they want to play everything that rushes through their minds, getting it from their head into their hands almost instantly.


Their Jazz experience is all new and so wonderful; why be discerning when you can have it all?


If such abilities to “get around the instrument” were found in a young classical musician romping his or her way through one of Paganini’s Caprices, they would be celebrated as a phenomena and hailed as a prodigy.


Playing Paganini’s Caprices, Etudes, et al. does take remarkable technical skills, but in fairness, let’s remember that Paganini already wrote these pieces and the classical musician is executing them from memory.


In the case of the Jazz musician, playing complicated and complex improvisations requires that these be made up on the spot with an unstated preference being that anything that has been played before in the solo cannot be repeated.


But often times when a Jazz musician exhibits the facility to create multi-noted, rapidly played improvised solos, this is voted down and labeled as showboating or derided as technical grandstanding at the expense of playing with sincerity of feeling.


Such feats of technical artistry are greeted with precepts such as “It’s not what you play, but what you leave out” as though the young, Jazz performer not only has to resolve the momentary miracle of Jazz invention, but has to do so while solving a Zen koan at the same time [What is the sound of the un-played note or some such nonsense].


Youthful exuberance as contrasted with the artistic maturity that Dave Liebman suggests in his notes are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Both are part of the process of artistic growth and development which the Jazz musician undergoes over time.


In his notes, Dave goes on to say that - “This recording reflects this process as much as anything I have personally recorded in the past few years (and those who know me are aware of how much I record!). From the standards to the contrafacts to the originals the music that Massimo, Ricardo, Eric, Mario and I created is very lyrical, subdued, highly sophisticated and user-friendly.


Without going overboard, the music swings and feels good. What strikes me as well is the way we all kind of just naturally tuned into this vibe I am describing. Of course, the group's cumulative experience, coupled with the highly international status of the band (Mario and Ricardo from Portugal; Massimo from Italy; Eric from Netherlands and myself from New York) does point to a level of artistic maturity.


I am proud of how we constructed this together so quickly and smoothly. I think even your proverbial "grandmother" would enjoy this music. Thanks to the guys and all those who helped us put together this product.”


More artistic maturity is on hand in terms of the nine songs selected for the recording which include three of my favorite “old chestnuts:” [1] Old Folks, [2] Skylark and [3] I Remember You.


Gary Giddins in his definitive biography - Bing Crosby: A Pocketful of Dreams - The Early Years, 1903-1940 shared this background on Old Folks which Bing recorded in 1938:


“Matty Matlock arranged "Old Folks," a new song by Willard Robison, the master of pastoral ballads, whose folklike melodies and nostalgic images influenced Hoagy Carmichael and Johnny Mercer. After a deft four-bar intro by clarinet and brasses, Bing enters brightly, in utter control of the narrative lyric, as if the consonant-heavy words and tempo changes presented no difficulties whatsoever. He floats over the rhythm like a kite on a breeze. Bing's version helped establish the song as an unlikely yet durable jazz standard, with interpretations ranging from Jack Teagarden to Charlie Parker to Miles Davis.”


And in his seminal The Jazz Standards: A Guide to the Repertoire, Ted Gioia offers these observations about Old Folks and Willard Robison’s penchant for “... finding musical accompaniment to end-of-life musings:”


“Robison relied on a variety of lyricists for his songs, which were often marked by a lonesome world-weariness mixed with ample doses of nostalgia and smalltown Americana. …  Nowadays audiences will probably scratch their heads in befuddlement when the singer mentions that no one can remember whether Old Folks fought for the "blue or the gray." But the song retains its appeal and place in the standard repertoire, even as its references grow more and more outdated, largely due to its muted poignancy. …


Miles Davis's recording of Old Folks, from his 1961 project Someday My Prince Will Come, remains the most familiar jazz interpretation of this standard. … —this is one of Davis's most moving ballad performances, and as close as you will come to a definitive version of Old Folks.


And in the same work, Ted offers these insights into what makes the pathos in Skylark so compelling:


“If I had to rank jazz ballads on the emotional impact of their melodies, on their capability of sinking me into a sweet reverie, Hoagy Carmichael’s Skylark would be a contender for the top spot on the list. Carmichael had already proven 15 years earlier with Star Dust that he could construct a pop song from probing jazz phrases and still manage to generate a mega-hit. With Skylark he offered another telling example. The melody grows more daring as it develops. The motif in bar six is very much akin to what a jazz trumpeter might play, and the ensuing turnaround is not just a way of getting back to the beginning, as with so many songs, but a true extension of the melody, which pushes all the way to the end of the form.


The B theme is just as good as the A theme, and even more jazz-oriented. Commentators have suggested that Skylark, much like this composer's Star Dust, represented an attempt to capture the essence of 1920’s-era Bix Beiderbecke's improvising style in a song—and, in fact, Carmichael first developed the piece as part of his unrealized plans for a Broadway musical about Beiderbecke. But, to my ears, the bridge to Skylark reminds me of the manner in which a i94os-era Coleman Hawkins would solo on a ballad. Whatever the genesis, the end result of these various ingredients is an expression of feeling so natural and unforced that casual listeners won't notice the technical aspects, only the potent mood created by the finished song.


Johnny Mercer makes a substantial contribution with his words.”


There is also a Johnny Mercer connection to I Remember You which was penned by Victor Schertzinger for the 1941 movie The Fleet’s In as not only did Johnny write the lyrics for the tune he also directed the movie.


According to the Turner Classic Movie documentary Johnny Mercer: The Dream's On Me, Mercer wrote the song for Judy Garland, to express his strong infatuation with her. He gave it to her the day after she married David Rose.


In the capable hands veteran musicians such as Dave Liebman, Ricardo Pinheiro, Mario Laginha, Massimo Cavalli and Eric Ineke, there are now three more exceptional versions of these beautiful ballads.


Is Seeing Believing? [Challenge - Daybreak DBCHR - 75224] is available from Amazon as both an Mp3 download and as a CD and you can also purchase the disc on www.challengerecords.com. It’s a first rate recording that features the talents of professional musicians and Jazz educators who lead by example.

"Stan Levey, Jazz Heavyweight: The Authorized Biography" [From the Archives]

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


"Stan Levey is without a doubt one of the greatest drummers ever and one of the founding fathers of modern music. Along with Klook, Max, and Art, there was Stan Levey, who learned directly from Dizzy when they were both living in Philadelphia, As a result, Stan contributed to this beautiful art form and played on some pivotal recordings. Jazz Heavyweight is fascinating!"
—Wallace Roney, Grammy Award-winning jazz trumpeter


"I think Jazz Heavyweight is a piece of jazz history that's very important to document. Stan is a link. His life is an amazing story and he was a lovely man. I was totally in awe of meeting him and the legacy that he carries.”
—Charlie Watts,, Rolling Stones drummer


"Stan Levey was the drummer every bebopper wanted in his rhythm section. And with good reason. Jazz Heavyweight illuminates his role as an ultimate insider and important player—musically and otherwise—during one of jazz history's most vital eras.”
—Don Heckman, International Review of Music


"Jazz Heavyweight embraces the life and times of a Renaissance man in a topsy turvy world, rich with personalities and celebrities. Having lived through some of this crazy world with Stan and my Dad, this biography really hit home. A must-read.”
—Frank Marshall, motion picture director and producer


"It has been my privilege to have known and worked with Stan Levey. Stan was one of the greatest drummers of our time. While reading this book I was reminded of the many facets of Stan, and it invoked several memories of our years working together in the early 1960s with Dizzy Gillespie. He truly had a strong sense of musicality and most importantly soul, which was evident in each and every performance.”
—Lalo Schifrin, Grammy Award-winning pianist and composer


"Stan Levey was a superb, yet underrated drummer on both the New York bebop scene and the West Coast milieu. Frank Hayde's engaging biography shines a welcome light on this remarkable percussionist and delivers choice stories, a great many in Levey's own voice, lending a deep credibility to this book.”
—Zan Stewart, ASCAP-Deems Taylor Award recipient


“The Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie era of modern Jazz that Stan is associated with has been referred to as a time ‘when giants walked the earth.’  If so, both physically and creatively, Stan Levey was a Giant among giants.”


It’s not every day that you get to learn more about one of your earliest musical influences and enduring heroes.


Imagine my delight, then, when Jeffrey Goldman sent me a preview copy of Stan Levey, Jazz Heavyweight: The Authorized Biography by Frank R. Hayde and Charlie Watts. The book has an “On-sale-date” of March 15, 2016 and you can locate order information at www.santamonicapress.com. The book is also available through Amazon both in print and digital editions.


As Jeffrey’s media release explains:


“Stan Levey is one of the most influential drummers in the history of modern jazz. During his extraordinary career, the self-taught Levey played alongside a who's who of twentieth century jazz artists: Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Stan Getz, Coleman Hawkins, Art Tatum, Ben Webster, Dexter Gordon, Lester Young, Thelonious Monk, Benny Goodman, Woody Herman, Ella Fitzgerald ... the remarkable list goes on and on, and includes dozens of the most distinguished names in the annals of jazz and popular music.


Jazz Heavyweight follows Levey's prolific and colorful life, from his childhood days in rough-and-tumble North Philadelphia as the son of a boxing promoter and manager with ties to the mob, to his stint as a professional heavyweight boxer, to his first gig as a drummer for Dizzy Gillespie at the tender age of sixteen and his meteoric rise as one of the most sought-after sidemen in the world of bebop, to his membership in the Lighthouse All-Stars and his prominent role in the creation of West Coast Jazz.


Coinciding with his years anchoring the Lighthouse All-Stars, Levey recorded over two thousand tracks while doing session work with such, vocalists as Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, and Barbara Streisand. Levey ended his music career as a prolific player on literally thousands of motion picture and television show soundtracks under the direction of legendary composers Lalo Schifrin, Henry Mancini, Nelson Riddle, and Andre Previn, among many others.


Jazz aficionados will relish Jazz Heavyweight for its new, never-before-published information about such hugely influential musicians as Parker, Gillespie, and Davis, while jazz neophytes will find a fast-paced, colorful encapsulation, of the entire history of modern jazz. This book is essential reading for anyone seeking an up-close-and-personal look at jazz in. the latter half of the twentieth century.”


I thought it might be fun to append an earlier blog feature on Stan as part of the review of the new book about him in order to add some personal dimensions to the story of a drummer, who along with Shelly Manne, Mel Lewis and Larry Bunker, was one of the predominant drummers on the West Coast Jazz Scene during its heyday in the 1950s.


Ironically, Stan’s style of playing drums was shaped by Max Roach who was, along with Kenny Clarke, Art Blakey and Philly Joe Jones, one of the mainstays of the East Coast Jazz scene during the same decade!


The concluding video features Stan with bassist Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse All-Stars for which Stan was a mainstay from 1954-1960 The tune is tenor saxophonist Bob Cooper’s Jazz Invention. Joining Stan, Bob and Howard on this track are Conte Candoli, trumpet, Frank Rosolino, trombone, andVictor Feldman on vibes.


While you are reading all these deserving words of praise about Stan and his storied career I can’t emphasize enough the magnitude of his accomplishment. No one taught him how to create music at a consistently high artistic level in a wide variety of settings whether it be in big bands, or in small groups, or in backing vocalists. He did all of this primarily through his own desire to succeed.


The Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie era of modern Jazz that Stan is associated with has been referred to as a time “when giants walked the earth.” If so, both physically and creatively, then Stan Levey was a Giant among giants.


“En fait, Stan a été influence par le jeu de Kenny Clarke sur la cymbal ride en accompagnement et par Max Roach pour les solos.”
- Georges Paczynski, Une Historie De La Batterie De Jazz, Vol. 2


“The art of jazz drumming has come a long way since the days of the bass drum player in the marching bands of ole New Orleans. Today we have come to expect a drummer to be an excellent technician, a well rounded percussionist, capable of improvising as well as any solo instrumentalist in any musical aggregation. It would take a very thick book to discuss the requirements of being a jazz drummer, and even then, it would be necessary to interpret the printed word through skins, sticks, cymbals, and mechanical contrivances in order to express yourself and your feeling for the music.


No doubt about it, drums and drummers are popular subjects; whether you're an avid jazz enthusiast or a bandleader, it is always interesting to hear and compare notes on the way different drummers play.”
-Howard Rumsey, Bassist and Jazz Club Operator


“You could set your watch to his time. It was one less thing for me to think about when I was playing.”
- Victor Feldman, Jazz pianist, vibraphonist and drummer


I initially learned to play Jazz drums by sitting just below where this picture was taken at The Lighthouse Cafe in Hermosa Beach, California and observing Stan Levey do it for almost two years.


Driving down to the club through the fog on Pacific Coast Highway, I couldn't wait to get there and here the thrill and excitement of Stan's drumming with bassist Howard Rumsey's [also pictured] Lighthouse All-Stars.


Stan Levey was my hero.


“Mechanical, my foot. You try playing his stuff and see how ‘mechanical’ it is.”


The late drummer, Stan Levey, is the fellow using the strong language [“foot” is substituted here for another part of the anatomy which was actually used by Stan in the quoted remark].


The context for Stan’s reply was his response to a statement that another drummer made about the playing of Max Roach to wit: “Oh, I don’t listen to Max much. He’s too mechanical.”


There is a reason why in his two volume Une Historie De La Batterie De Jazz, which won the 2000 Prix Charles Delauney, author Georges Paczynski follows his chapter on Max Roach with one on Stan Levey.


Stan adored Max.


Indeed, Paczynski subtitles his chapter on Stan :”Stan Levey le virtuose: à l'école de Max Roach.”


Stan was a gruff, no nonsense guy who, at one time, was a prize fighter. He left school at fourteen to make his way in the world, taught himself how to play drums, and did this well enough to be playing with Dizzy Gillespie in his hometown of Philadelphia at the age of sixteen.


Four years later, in 1945, he was working with Diz and Charlie Parker on 52nd Street along with Al Haig on piano and Ray Brown on bass.


Not a bad way to begin a career as a Jazz drummer before even reaching the age of twenty-one [21]!


The early 1940s was also about the time that Max Roach was coming up in the world of bebop and he and Stan were to become lifelong friends. As Howard Rumsey, Jazz bassist, who also was in charge of the music at the Lighthouse Café for many years, explains in his insert notes to Max and Stan’s Drummin’ The Blues:


“Ever since they first met on New York's famous 52nd Street in 1942, Max Roach and Stan Levey have felt intuitively that each was the other's personal preference. Their professional careers are closely paralleled, starting with almost four years on the "Street" with "Diz" and "Bird". In fact, Max was with Diz at the Onyx and Stan was across the street at the Spotlight with Bird when the modern period of jazz was officially born. Since then they have exchanged jobs many times with many great bands.”


Max would eventually recommend that Stan take his place with Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse All-Stars at the famous 30 Pier Avenue Club in Hermosa Beach, CA and Stan stayed at the club from about 1955 to 1960.


Stan described his early years in the business this way to Gordon Jack in Fifties Jazz Talk, An Oral Perspective:


“I was completely self-taught because we couldn't afford a teacher, and that's why I play left-handed although I am right-handed; it just felt easier that way. I didn't learn to read really well until I joined Kenton's band in 1952, once again teaching myself. By the time I was doing studio work in the sixties and playing all the mallet instruments, I had become an accomplished reader. My first big influence was Chick Webb, who I saw with Ella when my father took me to the Earle Theater when I was about ten years old.” [p. 129]


And, about his first impressions of Max Roach’s drumming, Stan had this to say:


"The ferocity of the playing was new to me. I had never heard time split up like that. Max's playing had music within it. . . he changed the course of drumming." [p. 130]


I got to know Stan quite well during the last three years of his stint at The Lighthouse and I came to understand that he always had a chip on his shoulder about being self-taught.


Young drummers bugged him; they were always asking him technical questions about the instrument.


And because he couldn’t explain his answers in terminology or “drum speak,” he usually mumbled something and walked toward the back of the club.


What were you going to do, chase after him? The man was huge. He blocked out the sun.


Stan was never menacing or unkind in any way, he was just self-conscious about the fact that he didn’t have a studied background in the instrument.


Even though he was self-taught, Stan took the most difficult path to becoming a Jazz drummer.


By this I mean that he played everything open; he didn’t cheat or fudge. He didn’t press; didn’t finesse; didn’t adopt shortcuts.


Ironically, for someone who had never formally studied drums, he played them in a more “legit” way than most of the other Jazz drummers in the 1940s, 50s and 60s – many of whom were also self-taught.


To comprehend an open or “legit” sound, think of the crackling snare drums that almost sound like gunshots while listening to a Scottish Black Watch fife, bagpipe and drum corps or, most other drum and bugle corps.


Every drum stroke is sounded; nothing is muffled; nothing is pressed into the drums. Everything is struck. Art Blakey’s famous snare drum press roll would be unacceptable in such an environment.


To play in this manner, one’s hands need to be strong and they need to be fast.


Enter Stan Levey.


Enter Max Roach.


Although they came to their respective styles from different directions – Max had taken lessons - both approached drums the same way. Each relied on open strokes.


In Max’s case, because he had a sound grasp of the basic, drum rudiments and learned to cleverly combine them in a syncopated manner that particularly fit the Bebop style of Jazz, his playing could be described as a “mechanical” in the sense of structured or fundamental.


This is especially the case when Max’s solo style is compared to that of other bebop and hard bop drummers such as Roy Haynes, Art Blakey and Philly Joe Jones.


But Stan didn’t hear the looser and freer drumming of Blakey and Philly Joe when he was putting things together, he heard Max [and also Kenny Clarke, Sid Catlett, and Chick Webb].


And even though he didn’t know the technical names for them, he learned to play solos in a manner similar to Max’s “mechanical” or rudimental style.


I knew Stan to be a fiercely loyal person and a very competitive one.


When your hero and your friend is being “put down” or “disrespected,” isn’t it all the more reason to be defensive and perhaps curt with those implying such disapproval?


Stan knew that what Max was playing wasn’t easy to do. But to his everlasting credit, he broke it down and incorporated many elements of Roach’s approach into his own. And, he did it all by ear!


Stan didn’t like to solo. He loved to keep time. He referred to it as: “Doing my job back there.”


And “keep time” he did, with the best of them.


Louie Bellson once said: “Stan’s time is alive. It has a pulse that you can always feel.”


Ray Brown declared him to be – “A rock, and a magnificent one, at that.”


Ella Fitzgerald said: “He never strays and never gets in the way.”


Peggy Lee “loved the intensity [of his time-keeping].”


The other thing that Stan loved to do was keep time FAST!


Few could rival him, and this from a naturally right-handed guy who was playing an open, three stroke cymbal beat with his left hand!!


Some of the best recorded examples of Stan’s time-keeping speed can be found on the Bebop, Wee [Allen’s Alley] and Lover Come Back to Me tracks on Dizzy Gillespie’s For Musicians Only album[Verve 837-435-2].


Remembering Don Friedman - 1935-2016

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


Pianist Don Friedman died on June 30, 2016.

The editorial staff at JazzProfiles has fond memories of the four LP’s he did for Riverside Records in the mid-1960s including A Day in the City, Circle Waltz,  Flashback and Dreams and Explorations which featured the talents of guitarist Attila Zoller, bassist Chuck Israels, and drummer Pete LaRoca, among others.

His Hot Knepper and Pepper which finds him in the company of trombonist Jimmy Knepper and baritone saxophonist Pepper Adams and his solo piano ventures - I Hear A Rhapsody and At Maybeck Recital Hall  - are also among our favorite recordings.

The editorial staff thought that it would be nice to remember Don on these pages with the following article by Don Nelson which featured in Down Beat magazine in 1964 during the early years of Don Friedman’s career in Jazz.

“The talk at Friedman's place turned to recognition of jazz musicians, The host sat on his piano bench and carefully dusted a new but growing paunch with his fingertips.

"Well," he observed with a smile—followed by a laugh, "if I don't win that New Star award soon, I'll be  too old to care.”

The laugh clearly showed it wasn't worrying him.  But if perhaps it had, the Aug. 13 edition of Down Beat carried the news that the International Jazz Critics Poll had named Friedman top man in the wider-recognition piano category. He could stop worrying. And at 29, he isn't too old to carry it,

But why the delay in recognition? Did the critics think other players more deserving? There are many fine pianists around, and it isn't difficult to get lost in the shuffle. A possible explanation.

ln Friedman's case, the delay is a bit harder to understand. Certainly, such critical mal de memory does not operate among his fellow musicians. The San Francisco-born pianist works more steadily than most jazzmen - and at playing jazz, not at the transcription or studio work that provides extensive moonlighting opportunities for many jazz musicians.  He is one of the few white musicians whom Negro players seem to have no hesitancy in hiring.   His very range of  musical   sidemanship — invitations to work with such differing minds as Herbie Mann, Harry Edison, Don Ellis, and Jimmy Giuffre — suggests the high.repute in which lie is held.

A less patent factor in this delayed recognition  may  be  his ' supposed debt to Bill Evans.

"Friedman? Yeah, he plays good. Sounds like Bill Evans.”

Then talk promptly switches to Evans and his influence on Jazz pianists.

This rather damn-with-faint-praise dismissal may have a modicum of justification; but anyone who has glued his ears to Friedman’s recent records or heard him in person must conclude  - with one reservation — that he sounds no more like Evans than does, say. Hank Jones.

The reservation concerns Friedman's approach to a ballad.  He agrees that his approach is lyric and romantic, like Evans'.  He says further that Evans' playing has deeply impressed him.  Beyond this he sees little similarity in their playing. And rightly so, for the evidence is on record -and live, too— that in his choice of harmonics and rhythmic patterns, Friedman's IOU to Evans is for small change only.

Furthermore, Friedman differs philosophically from Evans in regard to attitude toward music.   Evans has deplored an  over-intense involvement with music, fearing too complete a commitment to music, to the exclusion of other interests, would pervert the art and the artist. A whole man, he said, should be able to function in a whole world.

Friedman might not disagree specifically, but his outlook is more optimistic.
"I'm wrapped up in music, but I don't fear being that way," he said. "I feel I can become more and more interested in music every day. I think that my discoveries in music will force me to learn more about other things. A stimulated interest can become interested in various subjects."

A part of this wrapping — a substantial part — is practice.

"I get more enjoyment out of practicing than I ever did before because I've begun to accept it as part of my life. I've been playing since I was 5, and by the time I reached 16 I was sick of both piano and practice, and I stopped playing. Then I got with jazz, and the picture changed. Now I look forward to playing and figuring things out.

"I practice mainly two types of music — jazz and classical. Classical for my hands, not so that I'll have more technique in jazz. Classical music gives me a certain feeling in my hands that I dig. I have no practice schedule. But there is a point in every day when I feel like getting to the piano. I usually have something in mind that I want to look into. I start off and go on from there."

Friedman's practice hall is one of three first-floor rooms he rents in a tenement on Manhattan's upper east side. From the entrance, his apartment door is 30 feet down a dark, grimy hallway whose stale odor is occasionally relieved by the fragrance of freshly baked bread, which osmosed through the walls from a bakery next door. He lives there cozily by himself, preparing for the great things to come.

He weighs, in condition, 145 pounds. He is not now in condition, although he would probably deny this and explain his paunch is the result of a clean and pure life during the last couple of years.

Recently, he shaved off a mustache he considered a stylish decoration. He just got tired of it, but it was great while it lasted.

"Anyway," he observed, "I only grew it as a test to see if I could grow one. When it appeared, I liked it. My father had a mustache when I was a kid, so I guess I was always envious of the fact that he had one and I didn't and couldn't."

Thus the Friedman urge to overcome keeps revealing itself.

His musical problems are overcome — at least the attempt is made — in his living room, which contains a sagging sofa, a television set, a few books, and a scarred upright piano. There, overlooking a barren backyard that is the playground of his landlady's two rawboned cats, he invites his hand and brain to grapple with unanswered questions.

OUTSIDE, by the front door, a mailbox nameplate identifies the source of the sounds he makes as the Friedman-LaFaro apartment. The LaFaro is Scott, the muse-touched young bassist who died in an auto accident three years ago. The two, close friends, shared these quarters for about a year after LaFaro had arrived from Los Angeles. Friedman has never bothered to take the nameplate down.

"I just wanted Scotty's name up somewhere," he said.

With these two fertile imaginations in close communication, the question arises as to whether either exercised any influence on the other. "Influence" is, of course, a term indispensable to the critical lexicon, and hardly an article can be written without it. Friedman took the question with good grace, however. His answer was that he really couldn't be certain.

"I do know that I picked up on his way of voicing chords," Friedman said. "He had a particularly beautiful way of voicing half-diminished chords. Other than that, I don't know. I do feel — although again I don't know — that in the last part of his life he might have been influenced by my thinking too. I know he got very interested in Schoenberg, Bartok, and Berg, things he wasn't into before. But I really don't know how much of a part I played in his thinking in this direction."

The pianist will also, not surprisingly, remark of saxophonists Sonny Rollins, John Coltrane, and Charlie Parker in his work, primarily in the area of harmony.

"I dig the way they break up intervals," Friedman said. "They have ways of playing changes that make new things possible. I once heard Coltrane resolve a 2-5-1 in some original of his. I never heard anybody do this before, and I tried to incorporate it into my playing."

Of course, in working it out, it became less Coltrane and more Friedman. A creator always will use an idea, not be used by it. He does not copy, he transfigures.

Friedman also digs players such as Stan Getz, Miles Davis, Lee Konitz, and Lennie Tristano for their ability to build a song.

"The biggest thing I learned from studying composition," he said, "was that you could take a few notes or an idea, which consists of a rhythmic pattern, a certain series of chords, or certain intervals, and develop a whole section of a piece or a whole piece. That's what makes the great musician—the ability to build steadily to a climax, relax, then do it again and have it all hang together as one piece, as one song."

RIGHT NOW, Friedman is going through a stage that some might call musical schizophrenia. He would deny that the term is appropriate and hold that music is music, or jazz is jazz, and that there is no contradiction between playing free-form music and music with traditional chord changes and enjoying both equally. In fact, he claims that playing free-form music with such as Jimmy Giuffre and Don Ellis has enhanced his command of ideas and techniques in "traditional" jazz.

His own view vis-a-vis the direction his playing is taking is equivocal.

"I don't know yet which way I'm traveling," he said. "I sincerely enjoy playing both types of jazz. I dig playing with Herbie Mann just as much as I do with Jimmy Giuffre. As long as I get that feeling that playing jazz gives you, it doesn't make much difference which way I get it."

Possibly. But an audit of Friedman's four albums for Riverside—the last, Dreams, Explorations, and Episodes, was not released before the company went out of business—reveals an increasing use of nonchordal or free-form techniques. His first LP — A Day in the City— is built entirely on traditional structures, as is his second, Circle Waltz. But Flashback, the third, contains two free-form pieces, while Dreams and Explorations offers four. Friedman discounts these "statistics."

"Maybe," he said, but added, "Anyway, I'm not at the stage yet where I can consider discarding the traditional system. Frankly, I don't know if I ever will."

There is no doubt, however, that free-form music was directly responsible for Friedman's development of The System, a method designed to enable the pianist to develop his musical capacities to the fullest. But it almost defies lucid explanation in precise terms. It is ... well... a way of concentrating all one's energies on the solution of a particular question. More.

It treats of the problem, when playing, of putting certain notes in certain places at certain times so that everything fits just right.

Further, The System's ingredients form a part of an overall attack on a problem more and more jazz musicians may come to face. Friedman said:

"My system is my solution to the problems which develop when a jazz musician, who has been playing jazz based on the traditional chord scheme, suddenly finds himself faced with a non-chordal, free-form music. The system developed as I tried to find a way to play the new music."

At first, Friedman says, he more or less groped his way in free-form music, even though "I could improvise at 5, and I didn't know a damn thing about chords then."

His first non-chordal flight was, perhaps oddly, on a public bandstand while playing a song based on usual chord progressions.

"I was in the middle of a tune and suddenly discarded the frame of the tune altogether and started improvising," he said.

"I evolve my melodic ideas from classical music and try to develop them in a compositional way. But rhythmically I rely entirely on my jazz experience."

Currently, his jazz experience is much concerned with getting a quartet off the ground, the quartet that made the Dreams album. His partners are another new poll winner, guitarist Attila Zoller, bassist Dick Kniss, and drummer Dick Berk. Together they are investigating — mostly at home, Friedman admits ruefully — more and more the uncharted territory of free-form ideas.

A key goal of The System is, along with the solution of problems posed by free-form music, to "conscious-ize" his intuition. Like other superior musicians, Friedman can improvise intuitively, but he wants more than that.

"The finest musicians have been able to take fragments and build compositions from them," he said. "I don't know whether they've done it consciously or unconsciously, but there it is. I know I did it intuitively at first and then consciously.

My greatest feeling comes from doing something intuitively and realizing it consciously at the same time."

What all this system business may amount to, however, is a recasting of a familiar story into a new mold: the story of an artist's creativity discovering itself constantly, perhaps expressed at first unconsciously but then consciously as the artist becomes aware of a new idea or feeling and tries to attain control of expression so that he can say what he wishes in just the way he wishes. Friedman appears able to do this with increasing skill. System schmystem.”



Jack Teagarden, J.J. Johnson & Frank Rosolino - A Trombone Triumvirate

$
0
0
- Steven Cerra [C] Copyright protected; all rights reserved.

If one can be said to have a genetic pre-disposition to Jazz, when my haploid genome got to the trombone part in its development, it probably found that it was already programmed to find the instrument agreeable because of my father’s love of Jack Teagarden.

For a man who had no formal musical training, my Dad could press the thumb and forefinger of his left-hand to his lips as though he was holding a mouthpiece in place, use the thumb and forefinger of the right to pantomime moving the trombone slide through various positions and accurately blurt out every note of Teagarden’s solos on 
St. James Infirmary, Rockin’ Chair and When It’s Sleep Time Down South.



I once met Jack in person at the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival while he was fueling-up at the all-day buffet in the Viking Hotel which is located very near Freebody Park, the venue for the festival.

Much later, I would encounter this description of Jack Teagarden by Whitney Balliett from the Big T chapter in his American Musicians: 56 Portraits in Jazz [New York: Oxford University Press, 1986] and reading it made me feel as though I was once again standing in Teagarden’s presence in 1956:

“Teagarden’s demeanor and appearance always belied his travails [he had been married four times, all relatively unsuccessfully; had no head for money and was a ‘gargantuan’ drunker]. He was tall and handsome, solid through the chest and shoulders. He had a square, open face and widely spaced eyes, which he kept narrowed, not letting too much of the world in at one time. His black hair was combed flat, its part just to the left of center. He was sometimes confused with Jack Dempsey.” [p. 161].

Gunther Schuller, in his essay entitled The Trombone in Jazz, a chapter in Bill Kirchner [ed.], The Oxford Companion to Jazz [New York: Oxford University Press, 2000] offers this assessment of what Jack Teagarden meant to Jazz trombone:


“Jack Teagarden brought a whole new level of musical sophistication and expressivity to trombone playing. By 1927, Teagarden had moved to New York, where he made his first recordings, amazing his fellow musicians with his versatility, original ideas, and profoundly moving ways of playing the blues.
Teagarden had a very easy, secure high register, and as a consequence was one of the first trombonists to develop and abundance of ‘unorthodox’ alternate slide positions, playing mostly on the upper partials of the harmonic series and thus rarely having to resort to the lower (fifth to seventh) positions. Since many of these alternate positions are impure in intonation, it is remarkable how in tune Teagarden’s playing was for that time.” [pp. 631-632; paragraphing modified].

As it turned out, it was the music from another day of the 1956 Newport Jazz Festival that figured directly into my introduction to the first of the two Jazz trombonists I came to prefer when I decided to purchase the Columbia LP [932; issued on disc as SME/SRCS 9522] that featured the Dave Brubeck Quartet and Jay and Kai at Newport.


Listening to the three tracks by the Jay  and Kay Quintet on this LP, I “met” J.J. Johnson for the first time and it was love-at-bass-clef on my part. I had heard Kai Winding earlier on some Stan Kenton 78’s that a friend loaned me, but it was a new experience for me to hear his big, open sound in a small group setting.
Here’s what Günter Schuller has to say about the Kenton trombones and Kai Winding:

“Another remarkable trombone section, totally different than Ellington’s was that of Stan Kenton’s orchestra. Beginning in the mid-1940s, its style initiated and set by Kai Winding, it revolutionized trombone playing stylistically, especially in terms of the sound (brassier, more prominent in the ensemble) and type of vibrato (slower, and mostly lack thereof), as well as by adding the ‘new sound’ of a bass trombone (Bart Vasolona and later George Roberts). The Kenton trombone section’s influence was enormous and continues to this day.


Although the section’s personnel changed often over the decades, it retained its astonishing stylistic consistency, not only because of stalwarts such as Milt Bernhart and Bob Fitzpatrick held long tenures in the orchestra, but because incoming players, such as Bob Burgess and Frank Rosolino and a host of others, were expected to fit into the by-then-famous Kenton brass sound.” [op. cit., p. 637; paragraphing modified].

With the wonderful rhythm section of Dick Katz on piano, Bill Crow on bass and Rudy Collins on drums, both J.J. and Kai produced a brash, brassy, and vibrato-less sound on trombone that seem to leap out of the NJF recordings.

From what Willis Conover said when he introduced the Johnson-Winding band at the 1956 NJF, I gathered that this was one of the group’s last performance together. I was so excited by the two trombone sound that I searched out other recordings that the Jay and Kai Quintet had made during its existence from 1954-56.


A few years later, when my family moved to Southern California, I was introduced to the other half of my preferred Jazz trombone tandem when I visited The Lighthouse Café in Hermosa Beach, CA and I heard the inimitable Frank Rosolino perform as part of Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse All-Stars [LHAS].

Over the next two years, for the better part of 1958 through 1959, I was able to hear Frank five nights a week [with a double set on Sunday] with Bob Cooper [ts], Victor Feldman [piano and vibes], Howard Rumsey [bass] and Stan Levey [d] with Conte Candoli occasionally joining in to make it a sextet.

Frank and I hit it off right away because I knew that his last name was properly pronounced in Italian as “Rose-o-lino” and not the more customary English pronunciation of “Ross-o-lino.”]





It was not until much later that I came to understand J.J. Johnson’s place in the pantheon of be-bop gods as described in the following from Ira Gitler’s Jazz Masters of the 40s[New York: Da Capo, 1982]:


“As the BOP REVOLUTION spread, solo instruments other than the trumpet, alto sax, and piano began to echo the doctrines of Parker and Gillespie. The trombone, largely a rhythm instrument in the dawn of jazz before it was granted true solo privileges, had never been played in the swift, extremely legato, eighth-note style that J.J. Johnson introduced in the mid-forties. Since that time there have been few new trombonists who haven’t shown some manifestation of Johnson's style in their playing.

An innovator in areas of tone and technique, translator of bop ideas on his instrument, Johnson became the most influential and popular trombonist of the modem era. Whereas most of the giants of the forties were volatile personalities in one way or another, Johnson has always been soft-spoken, modest, and usually reserved, completely different in temperament from Gillespie, Parker, or Powell.” [p. 137]
But what I did know was how much I enjoyed listening to the sound that both J.J. and Frank produced on the trombone.

As for Frank, I had vague remembrances of his playing with Kenton on Frank Speaking and I Got It Bad and That Ain’t Good, but once again I was unaware of his ground-breaking significance concerning the instrument per the following quotation from trombonist, arranger and composer – Bill Russo – in Ted Gioia’s The History of Jazz, New York: Oxford University Press, 1997]:

“Crediting Rosolino for broadening the technique of the trombone, Bill Russo recalled: ‘We were all staggered by what he could do, not only at the speed of his technique and that he played so well in the upper register, but that he had such incredible flexibility.” [pp. 268-269].


More background about the development of Frank’s incredible facility on trombone can be found in the following from Ted Gioia, although the source for the citation changes to his West Coast Jazz, Modern Jazz in California: 1945-1960 [New York: Oxford University Press, 1992]:

"Rosolino was the son of immigrant parents from Sicily [my father who was from an area around Rome promised not to hold this against him!] who settled in Detroit, where Frank was born on August 20, 1926. His father, a talented musician who played mandolin, clarinet and guitar, started instructing him on guitar at age nine and encouraged him to study the accordion at thirteen. The old-country instrument did not appeal to the youngster. Instead, he convinced his father that he was big enough to learn the trombone. Beginning on a $25 model purchased at a pawnshop, Rosolino spent much of his practice time mimicking the exercises his brother Reso played on the violin. ‘Maybe that’s why I started thinking of playing with speed,' Rosolino later mused.” [pp. 221]

Over the years, as I heard Frank night after night with the LHAS, and later with the Terry Gibbs Dream Band at The Summit or with his own quartet with Victor Feldman on piano which appeared one night a week at Shelly’s Manne Hole, it became very easy to agree with the following assessment of Frank’s playing by Gene Lees in his Meet Me at Jim and Andy’s: Jazz Musicians and Their World [New York: Oxford University Press, 1988]:

“Frank Rosolino was … [o]ne of the finest trombone players in the history of the instrument, he had a superb tone, astonishing facility, a deep Italianate lyricism, and rich invention. Frank was very simply a sensational player. In addition he had a wonderful spirit that always communicated itself to his associates on the bandstand or the record date.” [p. 111].

Or as Bob Gordon succinctly phrased it in his Jazz West Coast: The Los Angeles Jazz Scene of the 1950s [London: Quartet Books, 1986]:

“… Frank Rosolino remains ‘sui generis,’ a trombonist with a truly unique style.” [p. 146].

And all this time, here I was messing around with these two trombonists having no idea that they were two giants; I just loved listening to them play.

Because of my proximity to Frank’s playing, J.J., who was based in New York at this time, kind of got pushed into the background a bit until one day when a copy of J.J. Inc [Columbia 1606] arrived at the door courtesy of the Columbia Record Club.


What an album! I still have the original LP and it is a miracle that it plays given the number of times a needle has cut through the vinyl.

Of course, it has been subsequently supplanted by a CD [Columbia Legacy CK 65296] which much to my delight contains an extended version of one of the tracks that appeared on the original LP and two bonus tracks that were not included on the vinyl version.

And to say that as a result of this LP, J.J. was back in my life would be an understatement, because he brought along with him Freddie Hubbard on trumpet, Cedar Walton on piano, before both joined Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers, Clifford Jordan on tenor saxophone, Arthur Harper on bass and the ever-pulsating Albert “Tootie” Heath on drums in what is perhaps the best recording Tootie ever made and he has made a lot of ‘em.

This recording offers J.J. Johnson at the peak of his form as a Jazz trombonist and it also shows his gifts as both a composer and a arranger as he wrote seven of its nine tracks and arranged all of them.
This recording is a composite snapshot of everything that was going on in the Jazz world of its time [1960/61] from the modal sounds of Miles’ Kind of Blue to the hard bop infusion of gospel and blues into bebop, to the ¾ time craze and minor harmonies preferred by the “My Favorite Things” John Coltrane quartet to the next generation of up-and-coming, front line soloists as represented by Hubbard, Jordan, Walton and Heath.

And what a perfect context for all of this material and personnel than to have as its leader – J.J. Johnson – to unify all of these elements and have them realize their potential.

Of the six tracks that comprised the original LP, Richard Cook and Brian Morton had this to say about Aquarius in their The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD: 6th Edition [New York: Penguin Books, 2002]:

“”Aquarius’ is the best evidence yet of J.J.’s great skills as a composer-arranger. As fellow-trombonist Steve Turre points out in a thoughtful liner-note to the augmented reissue, it’s a work that is almost orchestral in conception, making full-use of the three-horn front line, and also Walton’s elegant accompaniment. Brasses are pitched against saxophone and piano in a wonderful contrapuntal development, and ‘Tootie’ Heath gets a rich sound out of the kit.” [p. 800].


As Teo Macero points out in the liner notes to the LP, “When J.J. finished composing In Walked Horace, he exclaimed, ‘Look what I’ve done! It’s Horace Silver.’” The medium tempo tune is based on “Rhythm Changes” and contains the total surprise of Clifford Jordan taking over in the middle of a Freddie Hubbard chorus and continuing it as though nothing had happen! J.J.’s “solo” on the tune consists of trading 8’s, then 4’s, then 2’s and then 1’s with Tootie Heath before Cedar ends the soloing with one of his perfectly crafted solos based on evenly spaced eight-note phrases with more than their share of funk.

There are two versions of Fatback, a straight-ahead F blues with a slick head in 6/8 time that is punctuated by Tootie playing eight-note triplets on the cymbal along with a stiff back beat on the snare drum. Besides a cooking introduction by Cedar, the extended version of Fatback “… shows just how funky J.J. could be when he let go.” [Ibid]. In my opinion, this is the best extended solo that J.J. ever put on record; you’ll hear phrases and ideas on this track that he has never repeated on any other solo. He takes the opening solo so well that he inspires great performances from the other members of the band, including one with Freddie playing over stop time, as they all stretch out magnificently on this slow blues [Clifford Jordan’s tenor solo verges on being a ‘bar-walker’ in places!].

Minor Mist [named by a member of the audience at the Jazz Workshop in San Francisco] is according to J.J. – “a dark pulse” [the ‘pulse’ part being reinforced by Tootie’s use of tympani mallets on tom toms.] It is held together by a vamp around which J.J. weaves its beautiful melody.

Shutterbug is an up-tempo minor blues written in a 20-bar form whose series of solos are separated by interludes that have the same rhythm [played in time], but are based on different harmonies. Tootie plays the “line” [melody] using the stick across the snare drum “knocking sound” on the 4th beat of each bar that Philly Joe Jones used to drive the original Milestones [on the Miles Davis Columbia album of the same name]. This cut will swing you into next week.

Written in 3/4 time, Mohawk, is a minor blues that was so named by J.J. after he wrote the tune because of “the Indian flavor in its harmony.”

Added to the augmented version that was released on CD are Dizzy Gillespie’s Blue ‘n Boogie, an up-tempo cooker and J.J.’s Turnpike both of which find all the members of the sextet in fine form. Each of these bonus tracks offer excellent, extended solos by J.J. who is obviously feeling very comfortable being backed by the Walton-Harper-Heath rhythm section. J.J.’s playing on these two tracks is ineffable and must be heard to be believed.


The best summary one could offer for J.J.’s music and playing on J.J. Inc. is contained in Steve Turre’s closing insert notes paragraph:


“There are many wonderful trombone players in America's classical music – jazz - and they have different areas of excellence that they bring to the music. The profundity of J.J. Johnson is that he is totally balanced in all areas - as a trombonist, as a musician and as a beautiful human being. (What you are as a person comes out of the horn in the music') He has no one area of excellence - at the expense of other areas. He has range both high and low, a huge sound, a flawless attack, dynamics. speed, swing and soul, and yet all these great powers are only used to serve the music. They are never used superficially for their own sake. He did for the trombone what Charlie Parker did for the saxophone. He brought the trombone into the modern world with a unique conception that affected all those who came after him and set the standard that is yet to be matched. He still "Chairman of the Board" and I love him and thank him all the beautiful music, inspiration and guidance.”


In the late 1950’s, listening to Frank Rosolino play trombone night after night at the Lighthouse, and later at other venues in and around Hollywood, was an experience I’ll never forget. The man was a phenomenally inventive instrumentalist.

Aside from the Mode-LP # 107 pictured above [which has some splendid tenor sax playing by Richie Kamuca on it], I also possessed copies of his two, not-easy-to-find Bethlehem LP’s, I Play Trombone: Frank Rosolino [BCP -26; released as a Japanese CD by Toshiba-EMI, TOCJ-62051] with the marvelous Sonny Clark on piano,


and the Russ Garcia arranged Four Horns and a Lush Life [BCP-46; released as a Japanese CD by Toshiba-EMI, TOCJ-62052],


Although I did not own any of them at the time, I was even fortunate enough to hear some of the 10” and 12” LP’s that Frank recorded for Capitol under the “Kenton Presents Jazz” banner all of which have been collected and subsequently released as Mosaic Records MD4-185:


With outstanding arrangements by Bill Holman, trumpeter Sam Noto and alto saxophonist Charlie Mariano joining Frank on the front line and a brilliant rhythm section of Pete Jolly [p], Max Bennett [b] and Mel Lewis [d], it is regrettable that these recordings didn’t have a wider distribution thus giving Frank a greater national exposure.

But it was through an association that I had with pianist-vibist [and drummer] Vic Feldman that I kept hearing about the “Wait until you hear Frank on the date we just did with Harold Land and Stan Levey.” Victor was an unassuming and understated fellow who took his own talents for granted and didn’t throw around praise lightly, if at all. So when he got excited you just knew it had to be over something very special.

Unfortunately, it was to be a long wait, for although the music in question had been recorded in December of 1958, it wasn’t released until 1986, eight years after Frank’s death.


When the music was ultimately released as the album Free for All [Specialty SP 2161; OJCCD- 1763-2, Leonard Feather commented in the original liner notes:“The existence of the present volume was unknown except to those who had taken part in it – and, particularly, the man who produced it, David Axelrod. ‘Frank and I were excited about this album,’ Axelrod recalls, ‘because it was going to be the first hard bop album recorded and released on the West Coast. We wanted to get away from that bland, stereotyped West Coast image. We worked for weeks on planning the personnel and the songs; the results were terrific. It was a great disappointment to us both that the record, for reasons which we never understood, wasn’t released.’”

While taking some exception to the claim about the first hard bop album on the West Coast [and deservedly so as he notes the pioneering work in this regard by Clifford Brown, Curtis Counce and Harold Land], Ted Gioia in West Coast Jazz: Modern Jazz in California, 1945-60 [New York: Oxford University Press, 1992] goes on the state:

“With a strong supporting band of composed of Harold Land, Stan Levey, Leroy Vinnegar and Victor Feldman, Rosolino created some of his finest work of the decade. The arrangements are well crafted; familiar standards such as ‘Star Dust’ and … [‘Love for Sale’] take on a new luster through provocative tempo and rhythm changes.” [p. 221].


Love for Sale opens the album with the melody played behind Stan Levey’s 6/8 Latin figure that resolves into a wickedly fast, double-timed 4/4 bridge. The blowing takes place in a slower, medium tempo and Frank’s and Harold Land’s solos "… establish immediately that this is a tough, no-holds-barred blowing session” [Leonard Feather’s liner notes].

A similar, finger-popping medium tempo is employed on Chrisdee an original by drummer Levey whose foot sounds like it’s going to snap through the high-hat pedal as he emphatically shows the soloists where 2 and 4 are and “don’t you dare try to speed this thing up.” It has been said of Levey that when he was playing time you can set your watch to it and this cut is a perfect example of that truism. The tune “… is a bebop line based on a cycle of fifths, with a somewhat Monkish bridge.” [Feather]

The ballad Twilight is an original Victor Feldman composition that also puts on display his skills as an arranger as there is no improvisation until Land begins a solo well into the tune. Frank plays the “beguilingly pensive” melody with Land sounding the chord root in the background over Feldman’s full chording and comping. It is a stunningly beautiful piece. Star Dust is the other ballad featured on the album.

The title track Free for All is a 24-bar blues original by Rosolino on which he employs his considerable arsenal of trombone techniques [including effortless sounding triple-tongued licks] to demonstrate that he really can play the blues. Land and Feldman join in for a few choruses to demonstrated that they too are card-carrying members and the chart comes to a close with a surprise ending!

There is No Greater Love is played in unison by the horns and taken at a crisp tempo that shows how wonderfully well Levey and Vinnegar work together and why the tune has been a jam session stand-by ever since it was written in 1956. The tunes chords “lay” so easily so as to make all of the solos sound effortless and uncontrived.

Sneakyoso is a Rosolino original that Leonard Feather describes as offering the quintet “an ingenious vehicle, its attractive changes providing good opportunities for Frank to work out. Note the fine comping Victor furnishes for Harold Land before taking over for his own solo. The two horns engage with Stan Levey before the head returns.”

As was the case with most of his recorded output, Frank was always interested in tempo and harmony changes to help the music sound fresh and new, and this is no less the case with everything that appears on Free for All.

Paired with J.J. Inc, I can think of no finer recording than Free for All to recommend to anyone wishing to hear the best of J.J. and Frank at work.


Many years later, after all of the East Coast versus West Coast nonsense had died down, I saw J.J. [who had, by then, been in Hollywood for a number of years writing for TV and the movies] sitting with Frank at Donte’s, a Jazz club and musicians hang-out in North Hollywood, CA. It was early in the evening before the set began and the two were having a quiet dinner together.

I must admit to not thinking very much about it at the time, after all, given the number of TV, motion picture and recording studios located there, musicians having a meal or a drink together in Hollywood and its environs is a common enough occurrence.

Also, since that occasion, and especially after 1978, it was always difficult for me to think about Frank and his music, given the tragedy associated with his death. Matters weren’t help much in this regard with the news of J.J.’s suicide in 2001 after a protracted struggle with cancer.

However, some 30 years later, I came across the following quotation from J.J. and it helped me to recall the memory of that quiet dinner meeting and reminded me of how much I loved the playing of both of these trombone giants. That memory and this quotation prompted me to write this piece as a loving tribute to both of them:

“Frank Rosolino was a towering genius and a trombone virtuoso in the jazz genre. His style was unique and instantly recognizable. He was a warm, fun loving, charming human being and I miss his infectious giggle.”


Rifftide: The Life and Opinions of Papa Jo Jones - The JazzProfiles Review

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


Context is everything so, for the record, Paul Devlin, editor, Rifftide: The Life and Opinions of Papa Jo Jones (As Told To Albert Murray) [Minneapolis: The University of Minnesota Press, 2011] is best understood if you read Paul Devlin’s Introduction and then Phil Schaap’s Afterword before delving into Papa Jo Jones’ recollections.


Doing so will help you understand why Rifftide: The Life and Opinions of Papa Jo Jones (As Told To Albert Murray) is not an autobiography in the traditional sense of the word.


For example, this opening paragraph from editor’s Devlin's Introduction basically explains why we have the book:


“JO JONES: HIS LIFE AND MUSIC


Jonathan David Samuel Jones—save your breath, "JO"—has more often than not been called the greatest drummer in the history of jazz. Most great jazz drummers have given testimonials to Jones's virtuosity and innovation. This book is his story, derived from interviews with Albert Murray and transcribed, edited, and arranged by me. Jones stood out as larger than life in a world of large personalities. He was a raconteur and tall-tale spinner. His unusual style of narration, combined with his involvement in important moments in musical and cultural history, and along with his observations about other intriguing figures, have resulted in this autobiography. It is not the autobiography but it is an autobiography of Jo Jones.”


And if you then jump to this opening paragraph on page 111 of Phil Schaap’s Afterword, it explains why we almost didn’t have this book:


“Jo Jones wanted his story told in his own words and handled his way. Papa Jo was arrogant enough to think and assert that his memoirs could always be assembled — even after his death and in the absence of any manuscript. "It's in The Archives!" Jo would often exclaim, a parallel to Casey Stengel's frequent summary that "you could look it up." This book has proven Papa Jo right.


That it was in the archives, or his belief that it was, comforted Jo Jones during his later years.”


The key phrase here is that “... Papa Jo jones was arrogant to think that his memoirs could always be assembled ….”


Good luck with that!


When it comes to Jazz, there are very few “archives,” at least not in the formal sense of that word and fewer still that deal with the early years of the music.


Lots of recollections, but very few archives that are “a collection of historical documents or records providing information about a place, institution, or group of people.”


If it had not been for the fortuitous persistence of Albert Murray, who recorded these interviews with Papa Jo from 1977-1985, and Murray having the presence of mind to give them to the book’s editor Paul Devlin, one of Murray’s trusted and capable “guys,” much about Papa Jo’s career from a primary source perspective might have been lost forever.


Papa Jo’s rise to prominence as a big band drummer occurred from around 1938 to 1948 which coincides with the height and fall of that era.


Along with Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich [and possibly Davy Tough], Papa Jo was widely regarded as one of the best ever at booting a big band along.  


However, by the time of these interview - 1977-1985 - the “best” years of Papa Jo’s career were far behind him. Without intending to be derisive in implying that Papa Jo was a legend in his own mind, the tone and tenor of his interviews with Albert Murray reflect that attitude.


In developing this book from a series of what more properly might be labeled conversations and monologues rather than interviews, Paul Devlin was charged with complying with Murray’s admonition to cleanup the tapes so that they could be read “but not so much that we lose the rawness of Jo’s style.”


But Paul Devlin also had to be mindful of more of Murray’s authoritative counsel and that was “If it is done properly, the ‘as told to’ autobiography represents how the subject wants his story told. To achieve this end, he enlists a competent and empathetic craftsman to make him sound like he thinks his voice should.”


Here, Papa Jo is in luck as Paul Devlin does an excellent job of taking what in many cases are little more than Papa Jo’s ramblings and making them sound coherent and cogent.


It has been said that if you don’t see a contradiction, then it doesn’t exist. Papa Jo was a definite adherent of this precept because the book contains examples of many of his contradictory statements and behaviors.


Papa Jo was a man of many moods and manifestations of impulsive and compulsive behaviors and what this book uncovers and reveals as his greatest contradiction was the man himself.


For many of Papa Jo’s nearest and dearest friends, his consistenatly contradictory, volatile and irrational behavior drove them to distraction.


These ambivalent feeling toward Papa Jo are on display in these excerpts from the concluding portion of Phil Schaap’s Afterword which he labels “The Difficult Sides to Jo:”


“Tenor saxophonist George Holmes “Buddy” Tate [1912-2001], Jo’s colleague in the Count Basie Orchestra, had been amenable to my piggybacking to his gigs since the early 1960s. Often Jo was on these gigs and the three of us — or more — would ride together in Tate's car. Tate was a very congenial, mellow person, but Jo's insistence on being the only teller of their shared stories, the way Jo gave directions, Jo's rules for the gig, and even the general patter of his chatter in the shotgun seat — I admit it was overbearing—came to bother Tate more and more.


One night, at a party for the musicians at my family home, Tate signaled me that he wished to talk privately. I took him to my room. "Do you have your driver's license yet?" asked Buddy. I replied no, but I would be getting it soon. Without waiting for Tate to mention Jo and driving, I added that I would be driving Jo from then on. "Good!" Buddy said, "because I can't stand him anymore."


Later, when Adolphus Anthony "Doc" Cheatham (1905-1997) returned to jazz gigging and soon thereafter took the trumpet chair from Buck Clayton in the Countsmen, Doc would hitch a ride with me and Jo to the gig. Doc Cheatham, who was as mellow as Buddy Tate and, at that time, was in addition quiet and introverted, told me that Jo Jones was the reason he bought a Volkswagen bug, Doc no longer needed my ride, which included Jo's company, and he had no fear that the drummer would ask him for a ride in the small Volkswagen.


I have used the good natures and warm hearts of the highly talented Buddy Tate and Doc Cheatham to bring up the troubling concerns that Jo could be disliked, was definitely feared, and was avoided, sometimes at great cost, by people who actually loved him.


How could this be? Jo Jones was a great man, a musical genius, who did good works for the many he knew and many more for people he never met. As an accompanist, Jo Jones selflessly brought out the best in his fellow musicians. The audience would presume that the soloist and not the drummer was why the music was swinging so wonderfully. The audience would not notice the drummer listening keenly to the soloist that he was driving, nor the percussive responses to the featured player that elevated the soloist's inventions. Jo Jones was thrilled just to have helped the music and didn't mind who got the acclaim. Jo also ran an informal social services program that any musician he came across could partake of. Those activities went beyond musicians and even jazz. Jo Jones was politically and socially involved in the making of many improvements to our society from the Great Depression forward, and he did this all on his own dime. How could he be shunned and even disliked?


I believe Jo Jones's massive righteousness is the root cause to his rubbing so many the wrong way. He was a great believer in the U.S. Constitution, but in his own dispensing of its doctrines, he was quick to take charge of all three of its branches.

Unilaterally, Jones would make the laws, enforce them, and mete out the punishment. One set of codes was for the bandstand — Jo Jones would police the gig to his rules even though he was rarely the leader. Papa Jo was almost always right, but his system was wrong.


There is so much more to this.”


There is indeed and you can learn more about Jo’s self-centered thoughts and actions in each of the following chapters that make up the core content of Rifftide: The Life and Opinions of Papa Jo Jones (As Told To Albert Murray):


I Have Had a Varied Life   27
Can't Nobody Tell Me One Inch about Show Business   31
The Count Basie Institution   47
They Said the Negro Would Never Be Free   65
My Thirst after Knowledge Will Never Cease   71
People I’ve Rubbed Elbows With    81
I Often Wondered Why I Was Such a Strange Fella   99


The discerning reader can readily identify the egocentric quality in each of these headings. To a certain extent, it is one element that gives the book its charm but they are also an indication of how Papa Jo could be overbearing to the point of being shunned by people who loved him.


If you are looking for a technical explanation of what made Papa Jo Jones such a special drummer, then you can’t do better than the chapter on him in Burt Korall’s definitive Drummin’ Men - The Heartbeat of Jazz: The Swing Years.


But if you are trying to gain an understanding of the human being behind those drums, then Rifftide: The Life and Opinions of Papa Jo Jones (As Told To Albert Murray) is the book for you.


With this book, Paul Devlin [and Albert Murray and Phil Schaap] has done a masterful job of ensuring the veracity and validity of Papa Jo’s prophetic statement - “It’s in the archives.”


Order information for both the cloth bound and paperback edition can be found at The University of Minnesota Press.

Julie London and "Cry Me a River" - An Essay by Michael Owen

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


I recently received the following correspondence from Michael Owen concerning the status of his Julie London book project and I thought it might be fun to share it with you as a blog feature of sorts.

“Dear Steve,
Good news! The final manuscript of my book - currently entitled Go Slow: The Life of Julie London - is due to Chicago Review Press next Friday. The title's taken from a song she recorded in 1957 that she said summed up her style. Are you familiar with it?
Thanks for being in touch with me early on the process. I really appreciate how willing people were to provide me with contacts and information. It all went into the mix - successfully, I hope.
Although it's not set in stone, the book's scheduled for spring/summer 2017 release. As a preview, I've attached an essay I was asked to write on Julie's 1955 recording of Cry Me a River, which was added to the Library of Congress’ Recording Registry earlier this year. The essay was recently posted online.
Feel free to pass this along to anyone you think might be interested in the subject. The more the merrier!
I hope you're doing well.
All the best,
Michael”
By way of background, “Michael Owen is an archivist, writer, researcher, and librarian. A Consulting Archivist to the Ira and Leonore Gershwin Trusts, he is also the webmaster at www.gershwin.com, and the Managing Editor of Words Without Music, a publication of the Trusts. He is a member of the Editorial Board of the George and Ira Gershwin Critical Edition. A historian of popular music and culture, he is currently completing a biography of Julie London. He lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his wife and their cat.”

Cry Me a River – Julie London (1955)

Added to the National Registry: 2015 Essay by Michael Owen (guest post)*

Julie London

An unknown song...an unknown singer...an unknown label. Not an ideal combination for a hit record.

Julie London was born Nancy Gayle Peck in Santa Rosa, California, in 1926. As a child, London was surrounded by music. Her parents were singers who often performed on the radio and at nightclubs in San Bernardino, California, and she soaked up songs and a relaxed vocal style that matured into a uniquely throaty purr as she reached adulthood.

At the age of sixteen, London was discovered by an agent who spotted her running an elevator at an upscale men’s clothing store on Hollywood Boulevard. She appeared in 11 movies during the 1940s and 1950s--among them supporting roles opposite Edward G. Robinson and Gary Cooper --but with little success, and retired at the age of 25 to raise a family with her husband, actor Jack Webb (“Dragnet”).

After the couple’s divorce two years later, London intended to resume her acting career, when fate arrived in the person of songwriter Bobby Troup (“Route 66”).
Troup encouraged London to sing professionally from the moment they met. The natural, unaffected qualities in her voice set her apart from other female vocalists of the day, he reasoned, and would help her regain a footing in show business.
While London often sang around the house--she described herself as a “living room singer”--with friends who gathered around her piano at the end of the evening, she had no interest in singing for her supper. Undeterred by her fierce reluctance, Troup’s contacts in the music business soon brought London a booking-- without an audition--at a small Hollywood nightclub in the summer of 1955. Accompanied solely by the influential jazz guitarist Barney Kessel and double-bassist Ray Leatherwood, who succeeded Ralph Peña midway through the engagement, London’s intimate performances of standards from the Great American Songbook were immediately successful among the Hollywood cognoscenti.

Two weeks of shows became ten. One night, Troup sent Si Waronker, the owner of a new Los Angeles-based independent record label, to see London perform. Impressed by the uniquely- individual sound London made with just guitar and bass, and the visceral effect her physical presence had on audiences, Waronker signed her as one of the first artists on Liberty Records.

“Cry Me a River,” the song that cemented London’s reputation, came out of the blue and was a last-minute addition to her first recording sessions. Arthur Hamilton, a high school boyfriend of London’s, had been working as a songwriter for the production company of her ex-husband, Jack Webb. (She had helped Hamilton land the job.) In 1955, Webb was making “Pete Kelly’s Blues,” a movie set in the 1920s with appearances by singers Peggy Lee and Ella Fitzgerald. The lyrics for one of Hamilton’s songs intended for Fitzgerald included the word “plebeian,” which Webb told the songwriter no one would believe her singing. Hamilton was unwilling to change the word. Webb dropped the number from the picture.

A few nights later, Hamilton played the song for London at her house. She immediately fell in love with its haunting melody and coolly defiant lyrics, hearing echoes of her troubled relationship with Webb. Hamilton said “yes” when London asked if she could record it. As with all of the arrangements for London’s early performances, “Cry Me a River” was very quickly sketched out in a head arrangement by the singer and her accompanists. Guitarist Barney Kessel and bass player Ray Leatherwood had never heard or seen the music to “Cry Me a River” when London suggested it in the last few minutes of a recording session at Western Recorders. It would be the one new song added to the collection of standards taken from her nightclub act that had already been laid down. Captured in just a few takes, Kessel’s chords and Leatherwood’s descending bass introduction set the stage for London’s coolly-detached performance that kept the slow pace of Hamilton’s original and allowed his lyrics to come through with the precision they required.

Test pressings of the album were sent to disc jockeys around the country, and they found “Cry Me a River” as intriguing and unique as its singer did. The whispered, murmured sound of “Cry Me a River” was unlike anything they’d heard in recent years. London’s soft-sell approach, and the understated quality of the record, was a sharp contrast to contemporary hits such as “Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing” and “I Hear You Knockin’.”

Liberty Records released the song as a single in Fall of 1955. Aided by television appearances on Perry Como’s popular variety program and Steve Allen’s “Tonight” show, “Cry Me a River” began an unlikely five month run on the pop singles chart. It was Liberty’s first hit and the company had difficulty fulfilling the demand for orders from record distributors. The release of London’s first album, “Julie Is Her Name,” which topped industry charts, soon followed.

London had rejected the idea of recording her first record in front of a live audience, rightly judging that her “thimbleful of voice” would be drowned out by the clattering of dishes and conversation. Audio engineer John Neal recognized that London lacked the ability to project her voice, and asked her to move in as closely as she could to the sensitive Telefunken microphone, which accurately captured the intimate sound of London’s breathing on the recording tape. The addition of a subtle echo gave a near three-dimensional presence to her voice that encouraged listeners to come ever closer to their speakers.

Shocked by her unexpected success, London’s New York nightclub debut in January 1956 was another major milestone, and her appearance in the hit movie musical “The Girl Can’t Help It,” in which she sang “Cry Me a River” as an ethereal presence haunting actor Tom Ewell, helped cement her relationship to the song. London remade the song, complete with strings and a tinkling cocktail piano, for a 1959 single. For the remainder of a career that took her around the world, from nightclubs in Rio de Janeiro to Tokyo, to a long series of engagements at the Tropicana Hotel in Las Vegas, London sang to audiences that could never get enough of her first hit. “Cry Me a River” is now a standard and has been covered by many artists in a wealth of diverse styles. Barbra Streisand included the song on her 1963 debut album, while Ray Charles and Joe Cocker delivered soulful renditions in 1964 and 1970, respectively. In 1993, it was released as the first single by the lounge revival act Combustible Edison, and was returned to its roots by Canadian jazz/pop vocalist Diana Krall eight years later.

But there can only be one first recording, one chance to make something of nothing. Although Julie London released more than 350 recordings during her career as a singer (1955-1981), “Cry Me a River”–-with its subtle, and uniquely-suitable, guitar and bass accompaniment--remains her most popular, a signature tune that set a standard few have ever equaled.”

*The views expressed in this essay are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of the Library of Congress.

Julian "Cannonball" Adderley - The Barbara Gardner Interview [From the Archives]

$
0
0
© -  Steven A. Cerra - copyright protected; all rights reserved.


In the following interview, Cannonball brings out some interesting expectations on the part of Jazz club owners and patrons about the “working conditions” of the times.


When I first started playing Jazz clubs, the first set began at 9:00 PM and the last set ended at 2:00 PM because the venues had as their prime focus - not the music - but the selling of booze.


Musician owned clubs like Shelly’s Manne Hole and Ronnie Scott’s in London, may have been exceptions to this rule, at least initially, but for the most part, the emphasis was not on the music or on the welfare of the musicians.


Under the circumstances, as Cannonball points out, there was simply no way that any musician could maintain a high level of creativity.


At the time of this its publication in the October 15, 1959 edition of Down Beat magazine Barbara Gardner was described as follows in the About the Writer insert:


“Barbara Gardner is a young Chicago writer who was born in Black Mountain, N. C. She was educated at Talladega College in Alabama, where she took a double major — English literature with a journalism minor, and education with a sociology minor.


In 1954 she moved to Chicago. She has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of jazz musicians. "I don't know how it happened. I just seemed to meet them all the time," she says. "And of course I was intensely interested in the music ever since I can remember."


Julian and Nat Adderley are her good personal friends, which adds an extra element of insight to her article on the gifted alto saxophonist. This is her first appearance in DOWN BEAT.”


“Jazz is currently enjoying — or suffering through — the most controversial era in its comparatively short history.


Great armed camps stand against each other. They are for or against traditionalism, modernism, progressivism, and even criticism. When critic meets writer, or Loyal Swing Fan meets Progressive True Believer, the blue tonalities and augmented chords are sure to fly until one camp has slashed the other sharply on its B-flat, and heaven help the bystanding neutral music lover who is audacious enough to intervene.


Underneath this furor, the musicians, of course, quietly go on about the business they feel is urgently important — the creation of music. But the critics and fans, not satisfied with dissecting the various "schools" and classes of jazz, have by now turned to taking apart individual performances. Here, the crisis shows itself — often in the form of open hostility as the jazzman loses patience at being scrutinized to determine whether he is a creator or an imitator, a miracle or a mirage.


Since 1955, one musician has been the object of this kind of examination and cross-examination perhaps more than any other. Wherever musicians or fans gather to discuss modern American music, his name crops up again and again. Dismissed hotly by some as unprogressive or acclaimed fervently for rugged individualism, "Cannonball" is fired into the debate. Here, say his admirers, is the man to be reckoned with as the leading altoist today.


The advent of Gannonball Adderley on the jazz scene was as instantaneous and forceful as his name might seem to suggest. If no one can remember his struggles for recognition in the cold and unexcitable city of New York, it is because he never struggled. His musical acceptance, achieved without effort, goes counter to all the accepted legends about heartbroken, unrecognized genius. He has, of course, worked consistently and hard. He has worked always in jazz, and with the greatest musicians. But his efforts did not go unrewarded; when he arrived in New York, he sat in one night with a group of name musicians in Greenwich Village — and was instantly recognized as a remarkable talent.


Yet the nickname "Cannonball" was not acquired as a symbol of the way he struck New York, bowling everyone over. Actually, it dates back to his high school days. His schoolmates, searching for a term that most aptly described his mammoth appetite, came up with "Cannibal." Time and the American propensity for word corruption gradually twisted this into "Cannonball."


Born simply Julian Edwin Adderley in Tampa, Fla., Cannon represented a talent always inherent in the Adderley clan. His father, Julian F, Adderley, was a noted jazz cornetist who presumed from the start that one of his two sons would play the same horn he did. But Cannon was not to be the one. After dabbling briefly with trumpet in high school, he turned to alto saxophone when he was 14, and it was left to his younger brother, Nat, to become the second famous cornetist in the Adderley family.


Cannon and Nat were something of a musical phenomenon in Tampa. Prior to their studies of instruments, the brothers were a temporary sensation as boy sopranos.
Nor was music the only area in which Julian's precociousness revealed itself. Academically, he skimmed along at a rapid pace, graduating from grammar school at 10, from high school at 15, and from Florida A&M. College at 18. At 19, an age when many adolescents are still going through preliminary bouts with the electric shaver, he was music instructor and band director of Dillard High School in Fort Lauderdale.


He grew up fast in every way. This was wartime and, he recalls, "we didn't have any adolescence. I was a fast young musician with plenty of money in my pockets, the men were away at war, and the boys were left around to fill in until they came back."


By this time, Cannonball had been working for three years in local nightclubs and on weekend gigs. Even when he began teaching, lie took advantage of every possible opportunity to blow his horn in the free musical atmosphere of jazz bands and combos.


But his dual existence continued. He went on teaching at Dillard High, and his students were fortunate in having an instructor who was proficient on trumpet, flute, clarinet, tenor saxophone, and, of course, alto. But the bright lights and dreams of fame and fortune continued to pull at him.


His indecision was temporarily settled for him in 1952: he was drafted. Yet, even in the service, his singlemindedness toward music never faltered. He led both a small combo and a big band. And meantime, he was creating a strong impression on jazz musicians who heretofore had never heard of the youthful terror of Tampa. One of them was Clark Terry. Later, Terry was to bring Cannon to the attention of one of the leading recording firms.


When he was at last separated from the army, Cannon went for a time to the U.S. Naval School in Washington, D. C., to study reed instruments. Then, in 1954, he went back to Florida, determined to wipe the bright lights out of his eyes and resume teaching.


But by now the pull toward jazz was too strong. And in the summer of 1955, the Southland lost another of its sons to the glamour of that self-appointed jazz mecca of the world, New York. Cannon arrived in Manhattan at the same time as his brother Nat, who had just left the Lionel Hampton band. He lost no time making his presence known. A stroke of luck helped.



The night after his arrival, tenor saxophonist Jerome Richardson, then with Oscar Pettiford, was late for work at Greenwich Village's Cafe Bohemia. At the urging of musicians who had heard "of" Cannonball, Pettiford — with some reservations - allowed the young man from Tampa to sit in. The musicians' trick of "wasting" the newcomer by playing a difficult arrangement was tried on Adderley.


The musicians were astounded at the outcome of the trick, which is as old as jazz. Cannon romped through the rapid ensemble segment of I’ll Remember April, then established his authority with a long, well-executed solo. By the end of the night, there was no doubt about it. the Tampa Cannonball was in — a welcome soulbrother.


This dramatic impact on the musicians of New York was remarkably parallel to that of Cannon's major source of inspiration, the late Charlie Parker, who came to the big city in the late 1930s, after considerable woodshedding, and astounded musicians and critics alike with his fantastic mastery of his instrument. This parallel, however, taken with the fact that Cannon plays alto with the finely developed sense of timing, the well-defined beat and the flowing melodic sense that had been the stamp of Bird for more than a decade, helped form the only cloud over his career: critics and writers pitted him time after time against Parker in their comparisons.


The musicians' grapevine, second only to the housewife's back fence as a high-speed conveyor of information, spread the word about the new arrival from Florida. Within days, on the strength of this reputation, Cannon was on his way. Arranger Quincy Jones and Cannon's army buddy, Clark Terry, had brought the altoist's prowess to the attention of EmArcy Records. He was signed to a contract.


For a time, he continued to work with Oscar Pettiford. Later, he formed his own group, featuring brother Nat. But it was in 1958 that he began one of the associations for which he is best known: he joined the Miles Davis quintet for the Jazz for Moderns tour. He remained with Miles until last month, and became in the interim friend, business manager, and mediator to the gifted and individualistic trumpeter.


Miles' temperament is, of course, legend in the music business. A complex, seemingly contradictory man whom many persons find difficult to deal with, he is the subject of much talk and speculation. Cannon bristles if the subject is raised.
"I don't understand what all this is concerning Miles," he said. "Miles is just what he has always been. He doesn't try to be the way he is because he is a famous musician. He would be the same type of person if he were a truck driver. He is just
himself, and he doesn't feel that he has to conform for the sake of conformity."


The question of Miles" personality cannot, however, be dismissed that easily. For one thing, there is the observation that Billy Taylor recently made during a Blindfold Test (Down Beat, Sept. 3). "I have been interested," Taylor told Leonard Feather, "in Miles' effect on his side men; how, for instance, he changed Cannonball's way of playing and his approach to music . . . "


There are indications that Miles also had an effect on Cannon's personality, though the changes are subtle. Miles has the rare ability to impose not only some of his approach to music but also some of his personality on his men. Thus, while Cannon is by nature a warm, gregarious individual, he seems to have acquired, in a superficial way, some of the forthright sharpness that is an innate and natural trait in Miles.


Thus it will be seen that the decision to leaves Miles' group is a decisive one for the alto man. He retains a tremendous respect for the trumpeter as a creative force in music and, consciously or unconsciously, uses Miles as his norm in discussing other groups or individual performers.


The effects of Miles obviously were not in the main bad. For Cannonball is currently enjoying a steadily rising appreciation among critics, musicians, and the lay public.


After having been named in almost every leading poll in this country, and mentioned repeatedly in European voting, he capped it this year by winning the poll that many authorities think is the significant one: the International Jazz Critics' Poll conducted by Down Beat. He walked off with the New Star plaque for alto.


Cannon shares with many musicians the paradoxical position of denouncing all polls for their serious omissions and inconsistencies while at the same time admitting that he has long hoped to win one.


"Yes, I'm very proud to be a winner in this poll," he confessed self consciously.
"Everybody wants to feel that people are accepting their work." Then, as if he needed a more practical justification for his pleasure, he added: "Then, too, the polls represent your popularity, really, and your drawing power. When the public is aware of you, you can command better conditions for your efforts."


The "better conditions" would surely include an improvement in the working conditions in nightclubs where, he feels, there is little room  for creative playing. And that, after all, is what Cannonball is after.


"The nights are just too long in most places," he said. "And the conditions generally are bad — small crowded stages and poor sound systems.


"After the first couple of sets, there isn't too much happening in the way of real creativity. You can't just turn talent on and off all night for six or seven hours. They expect you to get up there and create something new seven times a night. "It just isn't possible.”


Now 31 years old, Julian Adderley is a tall man whose heavy build makes him an imposing figure. He has been on a diet of late, and has cut his weight from 300 pounds to a less cumbersome if not exactly svelte 230.


An articulate and extremely well-informed conversationalist, he has a disconcerting habit of spicing his speech with short, earthy expletives traditionally thought appropriate to the conversation of sailors. Of this profanity, he says: "Once in awhile, when you're among friends, you like to let your hair down and just tell it as it is."


Still a bachelor, Cannon thinks that maybe he'll settle down "in about five years." Meantime, he says, "I don't have time for permanent entanglements. When I do, all this travelling and nonsense is going to stop.


"I don't have any definite philosophy of living. I am just beginning to get things straightened out in my own mind. But I do believe that a person has a responsibility to do whatever makes him happy. Nowadays, you can't always take time to reason — or regret what is past.


"You just have to live each day for what it's worth."


He reflected a moment, then went on. "I've seen so many people in this business who just couldn't get their minds together because of worrying whether they should or should not do something. Sometimes they worry about what people are going to think of their actions.


"If you are going to worry, then you shouldn't do a thing in the first place."


For the present, Cannonball has his work and his challenge cut out for him. The departure from Miles gave him the chance to do what he had never really stopped thinking about: setting up another group featuring brother Nat. After touring as stars of the Newport Jazz Festival concert tour, Cannon and Nat hit the circuit Sept. 21 in Philadelphia.


As he and Nat prepared to go out with the group, he was noticeably excited about the chances, about the possibility of finding that new sound that musicians are always seeking.


He was aware, of course, that uncertainty is a stark reality of the jazz world. The artist is never allowed to relax on his laurels and be carried along on the wings of deeds remembered. There is no time allotted or assistance given to those who have been so indiscreet as to fall from favor. They have to step quickly and quietly out of the path as the procession moves resolutely on.


Vivid examples of such tragedies are plentiful in the history of jazz. But there is a possibility that the new generation of jazzmen, of which Cannon is a part, has learned a lesson from its less fortunate predecessors.


"This is a funny business" said Cannonball, summarizing his attitude to music and to his new group. "One day you're right up there on top, and the next day you can't find a job.


"I want to be protected against that kind of future." 



                

Claude Williamson: 1926-2016 - A Tribute

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


Claude Williamson, qui ne cache pas son admiration pour Bud Powell, lui dediant SALUTE TO BUD dans son premier album en trio. L'ombre de Bud est presente derriere nombre de pianistes californiens : ils ont, plus que d'autres instrumentistes, succombe a la voix du bop.

L’association Bud Shank / Claude Williamson allait faire merveille pour presenter une musique sobre, habitee d'une urgence d'expression assez inhabituelle. De plus, le pianiste savait composer d'excellents morceaux, tels TERTIA et THEME4. A l’instar du trio Rogers / Giuffre / Manne, Bob Cooper, Bud Shank et Claude Williamson ont ete redevables a Howard Rumsey d'un lieu ideal pour exercer leur art en toute quietude. Bien d'autres sont passes au Lighthouse : Herb Geller, Bob Gordon, Frank Rosolino, Stan Levey, Stu Williamson, Conte Candoli, Richie Kamuca, Lennie Niehaus, Sonny Clark.
- Alain Tercinet, West Coast Jazz

Pianist Claude Williamson who died on July 15, 2016, really disliked the term “West Coast Jazz,” and as is indicated in the above passage in French excerpted from Alain Tercinet’s West Coast Jazz, well he should have because his music was much more broadly based than that restrictive phrase implies.

As Alain goes on to say: “Claude Williamson, does not hide his admiration for Bud Powell, dedicating a SALUTE TO BUD in his first trio album. Bud Powell’s shadow is present in the style of many Californian-based pianists: they, more than other instrumentalists, succumbed to the voice of bop.”

According to Ted Gioia in his definitive West Coast Jazz: Modern Jazz in California, 1945-1960 [As you read these passages, please keep in mind that Ted, as well as being a fine writer and music educator is also an excellent Jazz pianist.]:

“Claude was born in Brattleboro, Vermont, on November 18, 1926, and was exposed early to jazz through his father, a drummer who led a territory band in the New England states. Despite his father's background in jazz and dance bands, Claude's studies focused on classical music from the start. He began piano lessons at age seven. These continued for ten years, then Claude began full-time musical studies at the New England Conservatory of Music. In contrast to these highbrow surroundings, Williamson knew from the start that he wanted to make his career as a jazz musician: "I wanted to study theory and composition and further my work on the piano. Fortunately I had a teacher who included both jazz and classical music in my studies/'17 Sam Saxe, Williamson's teacher, was a somewhat unorthodox conservatory teacher for the 1940’s. In addition to emphasizing the mastery of keyboard fundamentals, Saxe gave Claude transcriptions of Art Tatum piano figures to be practiced in all twelve keys. In late 1946, Saxe moved to Southern California, and in February 1947, Williamson followed, not only to continue his studies but also to take advantage of the growing musical opportunities Saxe promised on the West Coast. …

Williamson continued studying with Saxe while waiting the then obligatory six months to get a Los Angeles union card. Immediately after joining the union, Williamson became pianist for the Charlie Barnet band. Barnet's ensemble was evolving into a more bop-oriented band, much like the Woody Herman Herd of the same era. Like other young musicians then joining the band—such as Bud Shank and Doc Severinsen—Williamson was increasingly drawn to the modern jazz idiom. During the two years he remained with Barnet, his piano style evolved from its swing era roots in Teddy Wilson and Jess Stacy to a more contemporary approach rooted in the innovations of Bud Powell. His best-known work with Bar-net was his piano feature on "Claude Reigns" (a punning reference to both Williamson's keyboard prowess and Hollywood actor Claude Raines).

After leaving Barnet in December 1949, Williamson served as musical director for June Christy before being drafted in September 1951. …


Within two weeks of his release in late summer 1953, Williamson got a phone call from Russ Freeman, who was leaving the Lighthouse All-Stars and looking for a replacement. This was musical deja vu for Williamson — here he was reunited with Barnet bandmates Shank and with Christy's husband, Bob Cooper. The Lighthouse move also provided Williamson with an opportunity to work with many of the finest jazz musicians of the day; including Max Roach, Conte Candoli, Frank Rosolino, and Stan Levey, as well as the various artists who would sit in at the Pier Avenue nightspot.

“ … by the mid-1950's [Claude] was a full-fledged bebopper in the spirit of Bud Powell ….

Williamson's 1955 recording tor Stan Kenton s jazz label is called, true enough, Keys West, but the trio music shows clearly the new East Coast inspiration in Williamson's playing. On "Get Happy" the pianist sounds on the brink of going out of control, like a drag racer running curves at a dangerous speed.

Few keyboardists have truly perfected this style. Bud Powell was its most noteworthy exponent (indeed, he practically invented it), but though Powell had many followers, few of them captured this aspect of his playing. They tried to play Bud's licks as precisely as possible, whereas the manic intensity of Powell's work made the apparent sloppiness in his playing part of the effect. This was feverish music that was supposed to sound ragged. Williamson more and more captured this neglected aspect of the bebop master in his later work. He, too, thrived when working in overdrive.”


Solo Jazz Piano at Maybeck Recital Hall: A Treasure Hunt Remembered [From the Archives]

$
0
0


"In 1989, JoAnne Brackeen was about to do a solo performance at Maybeck Hall, a small and exquisite location in Berkeley, California, with an excellent piano. She called Carl Jefferson to ask that he record it. Fortunately for the world, he did, and the resulting album became the first of a remarkable series of Maybeck Hall recordings.



The series has become a singular documentation of the state of jazz piano in our time. Carl has not-so-slowly been documenting in sound the astonishingly rich state of jazz piano as our century nears its end. He has let this brilliant body of pianists go into a sympathetic hall and show just what it is they can do when they play solo.



It is helpful to picture the room. It is not large; indeed it seats only about 50 persons. Those in the front row are very close to the player; there is no sense of distance between the performer and the audience. The room is beautifully wood-paneled and its acoustic properties are outstanding."

- Gene Lees

Since it's publication in three-parts in August, 2008, the editorial staff at JazzProfiles had planned to re-post it as one feature with addition of a video tribute.  We have no idea why it took us so long to do it, 


With the music from over 40 solo piano albums to choose from, it was very difficult to narrow our choice down to one track for the video.


But after listening to Allen Farnham’s lovely rendition of Dave Brubeck’s In Your Own Sweet Way, the choice almost made itself.



Steven Cerra [C] Copyright protected; all rights reserved. 


For some Jazz fans, solo piano is the ultimate conceit. Unbridled and unrestrained, to their ears it represents a kind of Jazz-gone-wild. Unchecked by the structure of having to play within a group, they view it as simply a vehicle for pianists to show off their techniques, or to just show-off. And unless the solo pianist is particularly adept at dynamics, tempo changes and repertoire selection, solo piano can develop a sameness about it that makes it deadly boring, to boot.


For others, solo piano represents the ultimate challenge: the entire theory of music in front of a pianist in black-and-white with no safety net to fall into. For these solo piano advocates, those pianists who play horn-like figures with the right-hand and simple thumb and forefinger intervals with the left [instead of actual chords] are viewed as being tantamount to one-handed frauds.

Can the pianist actually play the instrument or is the pianist actually playing at the instrument?

Ironically, at one time in the music’s history, solo piano was a preferred form of Jazz performance. As explained by Henry Martin in his essay Pianists of the 1920’s and 1930’s in Bill Kirchner [ed.], The Oxford Companion to Jazz [New York: Oxford University Press, 2000, pp. 163-176]:

In New York, the jazz pianist of the early 1920s was called a “tickler”‑as in “tickle the ivories.” Since Jazz was part of popular culture, the audience expected to hear the hit songs of the day, stylized and personalized by their favorite players. Often hired to provide merriment as a one‑man band, the tickler was a much‑honored figure of the era. He was wary of de­parting too often or too radically from the melody, since this could alienate listeners. As recordings were relatively rare and not especially lifelike, the piano was the principal source of inexpensive fun - a self‑contained party package for living rooms, restaurants, bars, and brothels. The ticklers exploited the orchestral potential of the piano with call‑and‑response patterns between registers and a left‑hand “rhythm section” consisting of bass notes alternating with midrange chords. This “striding” left hand lent its name to “stride piano,” the principal style of the 1920s."
 [p.163]


In particular, beginning in the 1920s and continuing well into the 1930’s, solo piano recitals by James P. Johnson, Earl ‘Fatha’ Hines, Thomas ‘Fats’ Waller and Teddy Wilson were a source of much delight and admiration for listeners when Jazz was still the popular music. Later in this period, the boogie-woogie piano stylings of Jimmy Yancey, Albert Ammons, Pete Johnson, Meade Lux Lewis and Joe Turner were all the rage.

Indeed, the first 78 rpm’s issued by Blue Note Records, which was to become the recording beacon for modern Jazz on the East Coast in the 1950s and 60s, would be by Albert Ammons and Meade Lux Lewis. The 18 performances that were recorded on January 6, 1939 singly and in duet by Ammons and Lewis have been reissued as a CD entitled The First Day [CDP 7 98450 2] and are examples of solo blues and boogie-woogie piano at its best.

Perhaps the epitome of Jazz solo piano was reached in the playing of Art Tatum, or as Henry Martin phrases it – “the apotheosis of classic jazz piano” – whose dazzling command of the instrument was a constant source of wonder and amazement to the point that some thought that they were listening to more than one pianist at the same time!

And while Erroll Garner, Nat Cole, Lennie Tristano, George Shearing and Oscar Peterson continued the tradition of solo piano into the modern era, pianist Bud Powell’s use of the right hand to create horn-like phrasing as an adaptation of the bebop style of Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie transformed many pianists into essentially one-handed players in an attempt to mimic Powell’s artistry.

What’s more, over the second half of the 20th century, solo Jazz piano became something of a lost art with fewer and fewer pianists performing in this style and still fewer listeners seeking it out.

So, in the face of what had become a mostly languishing form of the art, the Concord Jazz, Maybeck Recital Hall series stands out as somewhat of an anomaly.

For not only does it revive the solo Jazz piano form, it does so in grand fashion by offering the listener forty-two [42] opportunities to make up their own mind about their interest in this genre. And, in the forum that is the Maybeck Recital Hall, it does so under conditions that are acoustically and musically ideal.

Maybeck Recital Hall, also known as Maybeck Studio for Performing Arts, is located inside the Kennedy-Nixon House in Berkeley, California. It was built in 1914 by the distinguished architect Bernard Maybeck.

"The 50-seat hall, ideal for such ventures, was designed as a music performance space by Bernard Maybeck, one of the most influential and highly revered of Northern California architects. Maybeck, who died in 1957 at the age of 95, was a man renowned for his handcrafted wooden homes in what became known as "The Bay Area Style." An architect whose principles included building with natural materials, Maybeck constructed the hall of redwood, which allows for an authentic, live sound that neither flies aimlessly nor gets swallowed up, thus making for an optimum recording environment." - Zan Stewart, Vol. 35, George Cables

The hall seats only 60 or so people, and before assuming that it’s name reflects some form of political reconciliation between the major opposing parties, the hall was designed by Maybeck upon commission by the Nixon family, local arts patrons who wanted a live-in studio for their daughter Milda’s piano teacher, Mrs. Alma Kennedy. Hence the name – Kennedy-Nixon House.

The room is paneled, clear-heart redwood, which contributes to an unusually rich and warm, yet bright and clear acoustic quality. There are two grand pianos: a Yamaha S-400 and a Yamaha C-7.

In 1923, the hall was destroyed by fire, but was quickly rebuilt by Maybeck.

The house was purchased in 1987 by Jazz pianist Dick Whittington, who opened the hall for public recitals.

In 1996, the house was purchased by Gregory Moore. The recital hall is no longer open for public concerts, although it is used for private concerts that are attended by invitation only.

Between 1989 – 1995, Whittington and Concord records produced and recorded the previously mentioned 42 solo piano, Maybeck Recital Hall performances. Each featured a different Jazz pianist and Whittington made a concerted effort to include in these recital pianists whom he felt deserved wider public recognition. In addition, Concord also released CDs of 10 jazz duets that were performed at Maybeck during this same period.

At this point, 13 years later, some of the Maybeck Recital Hall, solo piano discs issued in the Concord series may require a bit of a treasure hunt to locate, but the editors of Jazzprofiles thought it might be in the interests of the more adventurous of its readers to at least make information about the complete series available through a listing, cover photo and brief annotation of each of the discs in the series.

These performances represent a all-inclusive overview of solo Jazz piano at the end of the 20th century, as well as, an excellent opportunity for the listener to make up their own mind about this form of the music as played in a more modern style.

One wonders if such an all-inclusive opportunity will exist in the 21st century or if the historical record is now closed for future solo piano recitals to be offered and recorded on this scale?

Volume 1 – JoAnne Brackeen
 [CCD-4409]





“A performance by JoAnne Brackeen, whether alone or leading a group, is an automatic assurance of authority, of energy, of adventurous originality. This has been clear ever since her career as a recording artist began. She has been making albums under her own name since 1975 in addition to notable contributions during her early stints with Art Blakey and Stan Getz. With the release of Live at Maybeck Recital Hall her ability to establish and sustain a high level of interest, unaccompanied, throughout a recording, is demonstrated with unprecedented eloquence.” ‑ Leonard Feather

Volume 2 – Dave McKenna [CCD-4410]


"Sometimes God smiles on piano players. The piano not only isn't out of tune, it's an elegant instrument. The venue isn't a noisy bar, and the acoustics are perfect. My guess is that rare as they are, such occasions make Dave McKenna nervous. "I'm a saloon‑cocktail player ‑ whatever you call it," he said in a recent interview.

Dream Dancing, the first tune he played, set the tone for the afternoon. McKenna appeared, looking distracted. He seated himself, with the usual air of surprise that we'd come to hear him, and the usual "don't mind me" smile. Then the saloon cocktail player‑whatever got down to work, spinning out a melodic line, supporting it with his signature rumbling bass. In his combination of power and delicacy, he makes you imagine a linebacker who's also a micro-surgeon.


Midway through, he leaned into the keyboard and began to swing. The audience boogied in their chairs. When you’re in McKenna’s capable hands, the world goes away and you can dream, forget your troubles and just get happy.” – Cyra McFadden


Volume 3 – Dick Hyman [CCD-4415]



“To a greater degree than is the case with any other instrumentalist, most music enthusiasts consider themselves better able to appreciate. and judge, the performance of pianists ‑ regardless of what musical category is involved.
After all, for nearly 500 years European instrumental music has included some sort of keyboard instrument and for three of those centuries an instrument called a ..piano‑ has been accepted as the most complete of all instruments ‑ its keyboard the cry basis of musical composition. its players. more often than not, also composers.


When considering great pianists ‑ and Dick Hyman is a great pianist ‑ one should not qualify the praise by making it great jazz pianist. Hyman. like all our best instrumentalists. is a master of the piano ‑ skilled in playing, able to utilize both his astonishing physical abilities and remarkable musical mind to produce some of the grandest sounds and most distinctive interpretations to be heard in contemporary music.


Because he is a skilled composer, orchestrator and arranger in a number of musical categories. including jazz, Hyman's solo piano performances emerge as monuments to his astonishing virtuosity as a complete musician.
For more than 40 years Hyman has been an active participant on the American musical scene. as deeply involved in scores for television and film, as in recordings, jazz festivals, concert production, solo and collaborative recitals (on piano and organ) and the dozens of other areas which attract his musical curiosity.


Hyman's talents have long been known in the profession and by the jazz underground, but until the 1980s he seldom ventured out of the greater New York area as a solo performer. By the time he was hired into the Berkeley, California hills where the Maybeck Recital Hall is located, he had become immensely popular as a result of his appearances in San Francisco's "Jazz in the City"' series as well as at the Sacramento Dixieland Jubilee.” – Philip Elwood

Volume 4 – Walter Norris [CCD-4425]




“It is ironic that a pianist as vividly innovative as Walter Norris can remain obscure in the United States, and that many who know his name remember it only because he was Ornette Coleman's first (and almost only) pianist, on a 1958 record date.


Perhaps he was in the wrong places at the wrong times: in Little Rock, Ark. (home of Pharoah Sanders), where he gigged as a teenaged sideman; in Las Vegas, where he had a trio in the '50s, or even Los Angeles, where his gigs with Frank Rosolino, Stan Getz and Herb Geller did not lead to national renown.


His New York years were a little more productive. After a long stint as music director of the Playboy Club he worked with the Thad Jones Mel Lewis band, with which he toured Europe and Japan. But since 1976 Walter Norris has been an expatriate, working in a Berlin radio band from 1977 and teaching improvisation at the Hochschule since 1984. These are not stepping stones to world acclaim.


Luckily, while he was in the Bay Area a few months ago visiting his daughter, plans were set up to record him in the unique setting of Maybeck Hall, which Norris admires both for its architecture and its very special Yamahas.


"This was a very moving experience for me, "he said in a recent call from Berlin. "I had some memorable times working in the San Francisco Bay Area in the 1950s. And Maybeck Hall is like a work of art."


That Norris can claim gifts far outreaching his fame becomes immediately clear in this stunning collection, surely one of the most compelling
 piano recordings of the new decade.” – Leonard Feather


Volume 5 – Stanley Cowell [CCD-4431]




Once, recognizing Tatum in his audience at a night club, Fats Waller introduced him, saying, "I play the piano, but God is in the house tonight." Working with funding he calls a "theology grant," in 1988 Cowell developed a program of 23 pieces from Tatum's repertoire, studying the Tatum style and incorporating its essential devices into his own versions.


Cowell's improvisation is now rich with the spirit and inspiration of Tatum, perhaps the only jazz artist universally worshiped by pianists of all persuasions. In this Maybeck recital, Cowell is full of that spirit. The devices are not displayed as ornaments, but are absorbed into Cowell's approach and attitude toward jazz improvisation, which have undergone a philosophical change.


When Cowell arrived on the highly charged New York jazz scene in the sixties, he was a competitive player in those tough, fast times with their heavy freight of racial and social frustration. The urban and social revolution and the unrest and riots that accompanied it had much to do with the outlooks of many musicians in the free jazz movement. Cowell was in the middle of a branch of that movement that included players like Archie Shepp, Marion Brown, Sunny Murray, Rashied Ali and others consumed with the quest for justice. For them, the politics of the day superseded concerns with traditional, conventional values of music.


"A note was a bullet or a bomb, as far as I was concerned. I was angry," Cowell says. "But the ironic thing was that no black people ever came to our concerts; only white people. And they liked the music. So, I said, 'wait a minute, this is stupid; what are we trying to do?' I just felt that I was misdirecting my energies. I, and eventually all of these players, went back to dealing with the tradition, the heritage of jazz and other music. We looked for more universal qualities ... beauty and contrast, nonpolitical aspects. Ultimately, music is your politics anyway, but you don't have to be one‑dimensional about it."


Beauty and contrast abound in the music at hand. And, to clearly stake out the pianistic territory from the start, Cowell gives us technique in the service of beauty and contrast.” – Doug Ramsey

Volume 6 – Hal Galper [CCD-4438]




“This concert at Maybeck Recital Hall took place at a pivotal moment in Hal Galper's life. It was the last week of July, 1990. After ten years, he had just left The Phil Woods Quintet. His first performance after that departure was this solo concert and recording.


"I was approaching it with a perfectionist attitude, like I had to have everything worked out. And I was getting more and more uptight about it. So I threw all my plans out the window! I went in with 20 or 25 songs that I had sort of done things on, and I winged it!. 


For somebody who's been in the rhythm section of one of the world's best bebop groups, this is a lot of adventurous piano. "I realized that nobody's really heard me play!" says Hal. "I've been accompanying guys for 30 to 35 years, but basically I've been watering myself down as a professional accompanist. So I decided to throw the professionalism out the window and to say what I want to say musically."– Becca Pulliam


Volume 7 – John Hicks [CCD-4442]




John Hicks had heard of Maybeck Recital Hall long before he made his debut in the intimate room in August, 1990, to record this, his first solo piano album. JoAnne Brackeen, whose Maybeck album launched this quickly expanding and unprecedented series of solo piano recordings, had raved about the place to Hicks. When he sat down to play, he felt right of home.


Maybeck isn't on the map of usual jazz hot spots, but on a narrow, winding residential street in the Berkeley hills, near the University of California campus. Inside, it doesn't resemble a jazz club either Designed, as it's name implies, as a recital hall for pianists (the classical variety) 80 years ago, it was used mostly for private affairs. Since Berkeley school teacher Dick Whittington and his wife Marilyn Ross bought it a few years ago, they have staged weekly concerts, mostly solo, occasionally classical, but more often with some of the finest improvisers in jazz. 


Because Maybeck holds only 60 listeners, musicians come not to make money so much as to have that rare opportunity to play what they want to, for an audience open to new sounds.

The high‑ceiling performance space is made almost entirely of natural wood, much of it hand­crafted by architect Bernard Maybeck's builders. That sense of human touch and care gives the room its ambience, one that leads musicians to play music that is at times spirited, at others spiritual. The recordings that have come out of Maybeck on Concord Jazz are proof that the muse of the improvising pianist has had direct contact with the artists who have performed there.


Unlike most of the recordings he has made under his own name (ones that
 feature his compositions), for the Maybeck date, Hicks said, "I wanted to do some more standard compositions. Playing solo gives me a chance to extend my repertoire and play some songs I don't normally play in a group setting. By myself, I can take them in directions you just can't got to when there are other musicians involved.


"For Maybeck," Hicks said, "there were certain things I wanted to record, but really the recording aspect was incidental to the performance. I arrived with a list of songs I wanted to do. But once I started, I picked songs based on the feeling I got from the audience.” – Larry Kelp


Volume 8 – Gerald Wiggins [CCD-4450]




“Wig ... I love this album.


Wig and I have been friends since the early 40s. I've respected his talent and listened to him grow ever since. Of course, in the business, you aren't in close contact unless you live in New York (where you meet on the street more often). Out here in LA it is very spread out and sometimes hard to go see other musicians.


I've always loved Wig's playing for several reasons. First of all, he doesn't take himself too seriously. To do that is a big mistake ... I've learned from experience. He also enjoys playing good songs. He has fun when he's playing. Music is really about having fun. If not, why do it? You study hard, then have fun using what you've learned. And ideally, you make money doing what you love to do.


Wig has another great quality, natural relaxation. Art Tatum had it, and it shows in Gerald. (They were good friends.) That is one of the most important things in playing. It has its effect on people and they enjoy it without realizing why. That goes for both the audience and musicians alike and is one of the reasons everyone enjoys playing with Wig.


Wig is respected because he has all these qualities plus a beautiful touch and he never overplays.” – Jimmy Rowles


Volume 9 – Marian McPartland [CCD-4460]




“The night before she was scheduled to play the ninth jazz piano concert recorded for the "Live At Maybeck Hall" series, Marian McPartland sat down at the Baldwin in her hotel room, not far from the concert hall on a hill, and toyed with a few tunes. She had a long list ranging from standards written in the 1920s and 1930s to an offbeat, rollicking blues by Ornette Coleman and also a whirling improvisation of her own ‑ "the kind of modernistic things I like," she says of the latter songs. She headed toward the concert hall in high spirits, because she knew she would have a good audience in a wonderful, small hall with a nice piano. But she still hadn't decided what to play. "Well, play this thing," she told herself. "It's all going to work out."


Miss McPartland brought her characteristic strength and classiness to each tune. To her fastidious technique, forceful sound and emotional depth, add her ‘au courant’ imagination and far‑ranging intellectual curiosity about all musical material, and you will arrive at some conclusions about why her concert, which she programmed intuitively on the spot for her audience, turned out to be a standard – a vision – for great jazz piano.” – Leslie Gourse



Volume 10 – Kenny Barron [CCD-4466]



“Kenny Barron has been playing piano out there for two ­thirds of his life. This son of Philadelphia began work barely out of high school, partly through his late brother Bill’s solicitude. Kenny played with homeboy Jimmy Heath and Dizzy Gillespie in his teens, Yusef Lateef and Ron Carter in his thirties, sax‑man Bill often. In recent years he’s co-­founded the Monk‑band Sphere and duetted prettily with romantic soul‑mate Stan Getz.

Nevertheless, opportunities to attack the keyboard all alone are (blessedly?) rare‑ even gigs at Bradley’s have room for a bass player! Flying solo challenges a pianist. "It’s difficult for me," admits Barron: ‑ "this is only my third solo album." Barron approached this recital as a chance to expatiate on personal history; he plays jazz etudes, pieces which focus on specific aspects of the music. Some glance back to acknowledged influences (Art Tatum, T. Monk, and Bud Powell), some explore his present trends. The excursion exposes Barron’s deep roots in bebop and flourishing Hispanic traces, and establishes a tenuous balance between relaxation and tension.” – Fred Bouchard



Volume 11 – Roger Kellaway [CCD-4470]



“Roger Kellaway and I have been writing songs together ‑ his music, my lyrics ‑ since 1974. I've known him since 1962, when he played piano on the first recording of one of my songs.

When you write with someone, you get to know how he thinks. Roger and I influenced each other profoundly, attaining a rapport that at times seems telepathic.

Contrary to mythology, most jazz musicians have always been interested in 'classical" music, adapting from it whatever they could use. This is especially so of the pianists, almost all of whom had solid schooling in the European repertoire. But Kellaway has gone beyond his predecessors.

He is interested in everything from Renaissance music to the most uncompromising contemporary ‘serious’ composition, and all these influences have been absorbed into his work. While a few other jazz pianists have experimented with bi-tonality, and even non-tonality, none has done it with the flair Roger has. Roger respects the tonal system as a valid language that should not be abandoned, and recognizes that the audience is conditioned to it, comfortable in it. When he ventures into bitonality (and he began doing so when he was a student at the New England Conservatory, thirty‑odd years ago), he does so with an awareness that he is making the listener "stretch." And he seems to know almost uncannily how long to keep it up before taking the music, and the listener, back to more secure terrain. Roger, furthermore, has a remarkable rhythmic sense. He can play the most complicated and seemingly even contradictory figures between the left and right hands of anyone I know.


The independence of his hands is marvelous. He is himself rather puzzled by it. All this makes for an adventurous quality. It is like watching a great and daring skier.

There are two other important qualities I should mention: a whimsical sense of humor and a marvelously rhapsodic lyrical instinct, both of which inform his playing, as well as his writing. His ballads are exquisitely beautiful.” - Gene Lees

Volume 12 – Barry Harris [CCD-4476]



“When Barry Harris' name is mentioned, other pianists usually react with awe. This is esteem which has been earned over a lifetime of making exquisite music; since he was the house pianist at Detroit's Blue Bird Club nearly 40 years, Harris has commanded the stature and respect due the consummate artist.


He has granted a NEA Jazz Masters Award in 1989, and his eclectic talents and versatility are probably best illustrated by the fact that he has also composed music for strings ….


Often viewed as the quintessential bebop pianist, his playing does maintain the tradition of Bud Powell and Thelonious Monk. However, his consistency, grace, energy, and style transcend the bop idiom. Barry Harris' approach is polished and insightful, and there is a humanity and warmth in his music that truly touches the heart, even when he's playing at a breakneck tempo.

He is also a highly respected educator, who travels around the world performing and giving intensive workshops (he was in Spain, on his way to Holland at the time these notes were written). Students flock to Harris wherever he is because of his talent and reputation and his singular ability to communicate. He enjoys the teaching process, and conveys that spirit and his love of music directly to his students.
That same spirit is clearly evident in his playing, and never more so than at this concert at the Maybeck Recital Hall. His first recording on the Concord Jazz label, it shows the full spectrum of his talents, highlighting the softer, introspective side of his art with numerous ballad interpretations as well as displaying the electrifying speed with which he can construct a magnificent solo (no one can carry the furious pace of a bebop chase with more aplomb).” – Andrew Sussman


Volume 13 – Steve Kuhn [CCD-4484]



Kuhn's last solo piano album was the 1976 studio recording, "Ecstasy." Live at Maybeck Recital Hall is his real coming out as a solo pianist, a perfect showcase in a warm and intimate room, with a packed house and the complete freedom to play whatever he felt.


"At Maybeck, I had a list of 25 or so songs, but I didn't know what I'd play until I sat down and started." Even then, while the tune itself may be fixed as to basic melodic and harmonic structure, Kuhn reinterprets the piece depending on the spirit of the setting and moment. "Each time I've performed these tunes, I've played them differently. And when I play alone, they can change drastically."


The one constant in the Maybeck series recordings is owner Dick Whittington's introduction of the pianist. From there the artist takes over, often revealing facets and depths of inspiration unheard of in previous group recordings. That's the beauty of this series, taking both well‑known and less familiar pianists and giving them free rein to create.


Solar is composed by Miles Davis. "I heard it in 1954 on Miles'recording with Kenny Clarke and Horace Silver. It was structurally unusual at the time. A 12‑bar form, but it's not a blues. Rather than a harmonic resolution on the final bar, it goes right into the next chorus... a sort of circular form. And, it's got a dark, somber mood to it, I do it with the trio; it's a good vehicle for improvisation." 

It's also a good example of how Kuhn reworks a tune to fit his own style. He begins with a one‑hand, single‑line introduction, and slowly works into the actual tune, the spareness adding an austere, lonely feel. Then he picks up to almost swing tempo for the midsection, eventually taking off with a fast‑walking left‑handed bass line, while the right hand romps all over the harmonic structure, then shifts down for a more thoughtful conclusion. 
Although it's easier to discuss how he leaps over preconceived notions of song forms, his uniqueness stems from his ability to draw the listener into a specific feeling or mood, gradually running the emotional gamut. It's the overall experience, not just the beauty of the playing, that makes Kuhn's performance memorable.” – Larry Kelp


Volume 14 – Alan Broadbent [CCD-4488]



Alan is a superbly lyrical talent, whether in his incarnations as arranger, composer or player. I am very drawn to such artists. They speak to me in voices I crave to hear. They are about gentleness and love and compassion. We need them in a world groaning under the burden of ugly.


"I feel," Alan said, "that jazz is first of all the art of rhythm. I might have a particular musical personality that comes through, but for me it has to emanate from a sense of an inner pulse. Everything I play is improvised, so as long as my melodic line is generated by this pulse, my left hand plays an accompanying role that relies on intuition and experience as the music demands. The apex of this feeling for me is in the improvisations of Charlie Parker. Regardless of influences, he is my abiding inspiration, and it is to him I owe everything."

The piano occupies a peculiar position in jazz and for that matter music in general. It is inherently a solo instrument. It can do it all; it doesn't need companions. In early jazz, when it came time for the piano solo, everybody else just stopped playing. Later Earl Hines realized that part of what the instrument can do has to be omitted if it is to be assimilated into the ensemble. You let the bass player carry the bass lines and let the drummer propel the music. Hines had great technique, but deliberately minimized it when playing with a rhythm section. So did Count Basie, Teddy Wilson, Mel Powell, and all the other good ones. 

When bebop arose, the common criticism was that the new pianists had "no left hand." So to prove this wrong, Bud Powell one night in Birdland played a whole set with only his left hand.

Alan is, at a technical level, an extraordinary pianist. He is a marvelous trio pianist, but like all pianists, he necessarily omits in a group setting part of what he can do. This solo album permits him to explore his own pianism in a way that his trio albums have not. And to do so in perfect conditions.” – Gene Lees




Steven Cerra [C] Copyright protected; all rights reserved

Paul Berliner in his Thinking in Jazz: The Infinite Art of Improvisation [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994] underscores the point that:

“As the larger jazz tradition constantly changes, certain junctures in its evolution generate turbulence in which artists reappraise their personal values, musical practices, and styles in light of innovations then current.” [p.276].

No where in Jazz is this more true than in piano styles which evolved from the orchestral Jelly Roll Morton and Fats Waller to the stride of James P. Johnson and Luckey Roberts to the octaves and tremolos of Earl Fatha Hines to the boogie woogie rumblings of Jimmy Yancey and Meade Lux Lewis to the single note melodic runs of Count Basie and Teddy Wilson to the horn-like bebop phrasing of Al Haig and Bud Powell to the block chords of Milt Buckner to the octaves apart single note lines of Phineas Newborn, Jr. and to the post bop chordal and modal innovations of Bill Evans, McCoy Tyner and Herbie Hancock, respectively.

Along these way, these stylistic transitions or “new ways of improvising raise the passions of advocates and adversaries alike, causing a realignment of loyalties within the jazz community.” [Berliner, p. 277].

Some follow into the new styles while others “… remain largely faithful to their former style, continuing to deepen their knowledge and skill within the artistic parameters they had defined for themselves.” [Ibid.]

As Tommy Flanagan shares in Berliner:

“What Herbie and Chick did was just beyond me. … It was something that just passed me by. I never bothered to learn it, but I love listening to it.” [Ibid.]

The Maybeck Recital Hall/Concord series provides the listener with the chance to explore all of these stylistic options in the context of solo piano: are new movements being incorporated into older styles; does the artist seem to value change or does tradition seem to prevail; is the artist experimenting and exploring or does the artist display a singularity of vision in his/her improvisational approach?

To continue the Treasure Hunt metaphor that is part of the initial theme of this piece, but place it in another context, the listener also gets to search out in the music on these recordings how solo Jazz piano has stylistic evolved in the second half of the 20th century.

All of us are far richer because Dick Whittington of the Maybeck Recital Hall and Carl Jefferson of Concord had the wisdom and the courage to make these solo piano recordings.

And besides a great grouping of Jazz pianists playing solo in a fantastic setting, the series also makes available the insightful and instructive insert notes written by the likes of Gene Less, Doug Ramsey, Leonard Feather, Jimmy Rowles, Burt Korall, Willis Conover, Grover Sales and Don Heckman to enrich the listener’s appreciation of the music.

Volume 15– Buddy Montgomery [CCD-4494]


For the past several years, Montgomery has spent significant amounts of time playing a regular hotel gig in New York City; the fruits of that work are evident here, not only in the intriguing historical range of material, from Fletcher Henderson's Soft Winds to Gwen Guthrie's This Time I'll Be Sweeter, and from melodies that are thoroughly ingrained in the popular consciousness (Since I Fell For You, The Night Has A Thousand Eyes, What'll I Do) to challenging originals (Who Cares, Money Blues), but especially in the sure and sensitive way that he creates moods and sculpts sound.


Montgomery's romanticism can be heard in his almost rhapsodic approach to such ballads as Something Wonderful and You've Changed, and an abiding traditionalism emerges in his deliberate use of his left hand, with occasional faint echoes of Harlem stride. But just as prevalent are the modernism of his harmonic choices, the judicious use of space and silence, and a wonderful unpredictability in his intermingling of two handed styles (the variations on A Cottage For Sale, for instance), his shifts from dramatic block chords into rippling arpeggios, wry infusions of blue notes, and spare, effective use of lean single note runs. (The compact disc is graced with a little more of everything through the eclectic treatment of The Man I Love, the warm meditations on How To Handle A Woman, and the many moods of By Myself.) - Derk Richardson


Volume 16– Hank Jones [CCD-4502]



"Maybeck Hall is unique," said Hank Jones. "I was amazed at the sound, the presence. It's a small room, and yet you get that cathedral sound - the acoustical properties are truly fantastic. And the piano, of course, was in excellent condition." So, I might add, was Hank Jones.


Hank Jones has been a central piano figure on the world scene for close to a half century; I had the pleasure of introducing him on records, as a sideman in a 1944 Hot Lips Page date. He was the eldest of three brothers: Thad Jones followed him on the path to fame, as a Count Basie sideman, from 1954. Two years later Elvin Jones moved from Pontiac, Michigan, the brothers' home, to New York, where he became a member of the Bud Powell Trio.
Hank, like most other pianists of the day, was strongly impressed by Bud Powell, but like Tommy Flanagan and others from the Detroit area, he transcended the bop idiom to become an eclectic interpreter of everything from time-proof ballads to swing and bop standards.

"I don't want to sound dogmatic," Hank said recently, "but in my opinion the greatest songs were written in a period between about 1935 and 1945. A lot of the finest writers are no longer around."

Over the decades Hank Jones has recorded in a multitude of settings, from small combo dates to big bands to accompanying Ella Fitzgerald and other singers. However, all that is needed for a complete demonstration of his singular artistry is a well conceived repertoire, fine acoustic conditions, and a piano worthy of him. On this occasion Hank blended these three elements into what is undoubtedly a highlight in the fast-growing and invaluable Maybeck Hall series. – Leonard Feather


Volume 17– Jaki Byard [CCD-4511]




I first heard Jaki Byard in the summer of 1940 at a storefront saloon called Dominic's Cafe in Worcester, Mass. I was a high school freshman studying classical piano, but getting distracted by that other, earthier sound. The word was out among professional and aspiring swing musicians around town: Drop by Dominic's; there's an 18-year old kid on piano who does it all.

The club door was open to the humid night and what poured out was a jubilant, cocky, articulated sound that leaped and shouted and drew me in. The pianist, big and heavy-shouldered, was sitting a ways back from the keyboard, looking down at it fondly as his fingers dug in. I sat in a corner of the funky little club and listened for two hours with a goofy grin on my face.



A week later I had deserted Bach and Chopin and was studying with Jaki. He became the sole bright flame by which local pianists could warm and nourish themselves, and we all suspected he wasn't long for Worcester. We were right. By his mid-twenties there seemed nothing he couldn't do on piano, and he soon gravitated, via Boston, to New York, where he knocked out session players with his prodigious two-handed command and began his association with the more adventuresome of the modernists: Eric Dolphy, Charles Mingus and Rahsaan Roland Kirk.


It's all here, the lyrical and the rollicking, the finely-tuned comic flair and roving, impish imagination filtered through a bedrock sense of swing and surpassing technical command. For those who haven't heard Jaki Byard before - I can't imagine there are many - this album will serve as an introduction to perhaps the most resilient and resourceful pair of hands in the business. – Don Asher

Volume 18– Mike Wofford [CCD-4514]




Here is yet another presentation in what are already being referred to as "historic" Maybeck Recital Hall recordings. This array by Mike Wofford is at once riveting and delicate, powerful and sensitive, humorous and serious. "I wanted this recital to be a personal statement, an honest expression, and to be as spontaneous as possible," Mike commented.


Wofford interweaves many elements of piano history throughout his program. Listen for snippets of stride, for example, in Too Marvelous for Words, or his approach to the semi classical Impresiones Intimas No. I by Spanish composer F. Mompou.

His high regard for other pianists is evident in his selections of Ray Bryant's funky Tonk and Bill Mays' For Woff (composed with Mike in mind) and One to One. 
Unintentionally, Wofford chose six of his twelve selections from the decade of the 30s, offering a diverse spectrum of styles: Impresiones Intimas No. 1, Little Girl Blue from the movie Jumbo, Too Marvelous for Words from the movie Ready, Willing and Able, Rose of the Rio Grande, Topsy, and Lullaby in Rhythm. Duke Ellington's slightly later Duke's Place (42) is also known as "C Jam Blues" and Mainstem ('44) has gone by other titles, such as "Altitude,""Swing Shifters,""Swing," and "On Becoming A Square."


In a 1980 Piano Jazz radio interview with host Marian McPartland (another Maybeck Recital Hall pianist, Volume 9), Oscar Peterson said, "I think that most pianists are ambidextrous, in their thoughts anyway. If you're accompanying yourself ... there are two separate lines going. Regardless of the simplicity, there is split thinking there. You just increase that split thinking to your own particular needs." This is particularly true of Mike's playing throughout this entire recording, and especially arresting in Stablemates and in Rose of the Rio Grande. – Jude Hibler


Volume 19– Richie Beirach [CCD-4518]



More than just a concert recording, Beirach's performance at Maybeck is a snapshot of the artist in a moment of creation. Not yet an elder statesman, but no longer a newcomer to the world of jazz, Beirach stands now at a plateau, from which he can look back on the traditions that defined his early development - the textural genius of Miles Davis, the technical rigors of European classical repertoire, the probing harmonic imagination of Bill Evans - while also mapping the horizons of his own distinctive style.


From the opening notes of All The Things You Are, his method is clear: Whether playing standards, original tunes, or free improvisations, Beirach considers the essential structure of each piece much as a chess player ponders the positions of his pieces. Where can this phrase lead? How can this chord be expanded in a way to suggest different perspectives on a well-known theme? On the next cut, On Green Dolphin Street, the same approach applies, though here the question involves expansions of the melodic concept over an intentionally spare harmonic base: With the left hand restricted to playing two notes, an open fifth, how far can the right hand stretch without disrupting the implied chord changes? Answer: In Beirach's hands, far.


Each cut on this album offers, in its own way, another lesson on how a profound musical intellect can transform well-known material into fresh and highly personal artistic statements. All Blues swings with a vengeance, Some Other Time eulogizes the classic Bill Evans interpretation, Spring Is Here brilliantly amplifies the harmonic suggestion of the motif, and Elm is a feather in the air, breathlessly suspended.

Yet all of it bears Richie Beirach's imprimatur - passion tempered by discipline, exhaustive analysis in order to give the seeds of his inspiration their most fertile settings. More than most pianists, Beirach has mastered these paradoxical aspects of creativity. That they survive on this album is his credit, and our good fortune .- Robert L. Doerschuk


Volume 20– Jim McNeely [CCD-4522]



McNeely singles out Getz as a primary influence: "He showed all the people who worked with him, by example, how to develop and shape a solo, how to give it a sense of content." The pianist credits Mel Lewis as his "time" guru. "I learned a lot about time and the pulse from Mel," McNeely says. "Just being around him helped; he was very giving."


It is curious to note, considering his ample technique, McNeely has had no formal "classical" training as a pianist. However, he has always thought a great deal about "tone," what colors you can extract from the piano. Unlike most pianists, he sometimes uses drum exercises during practice sessions. For as long as he can remember, he has been fascinated with the rhythmic aspects of his instrument - this is everywhere apparent in this recital. Rhythms basic to other cultures - i.e. Africa, Indonesia - are a continuing interest. His training as a composer also has been a factor in the directions he has taken as a pianist. The act of composing, a major aspect of jazz improvisation, activates his ever-developing sense of color and progressively increases the diversity, range and subtlety of his piano work.


"The first pianist who had an effect on me was Wynton Kelly," he says. "I loved the fluid swing of his lines. His great strength was as an accompanist, both for players and singers."


You can hear love and respect for piano genius Art Tatum in McNeely's playing. "Art Tatum looms over you," he explains. "Like Parker and Coltrane, he remains a formidable force, setting an example for pianists and all musicians, for that matter. Arnold Schonberg had that kind of hold on composers earlier in this century." He paused then continued: "You either follow in the path of the great inventor or consciously try to avoid his influence."

In McNeely's case, it's been a matter of weighing and evaluating what he learns from others, assimilating what is best and most functional for him and using it his own way. This applies to Tatum and all those who have helped shape him - from George Wiskirchen, his band director at Notre Dame High School in Niles, Il.; to the ubiquitous Thelonious Monk; to such other pianists as Herbie Hancock and McCoy Tyner - the latter two defined by McNeely as "the post-boppers who helped create a new harmonic language."– Burt Korall

Volume 21– Jessica Williams [CCD-4525]




It's all there in the first track. Within a few choruses, Jessica Williams shows her hand, or hands: the harmonies in seconds (hit way off to the side of the piano), the punchy attack, the dust-devils in the upper octaves, the nutty quotes. it's familiar Jessica, but she's got plenty up her sleeve for the rest of this remarkable entry in the Maybeck menagerie.

She came to my awareness as a word-of-mouth legend, a Baltimore-bred genius whose history and personality were said to be as mysterious and unpredictable as her keyboard inventions. As soon as I got to hear her, I was into the reality of her spontaneous magic and not much concerned with the legend.


Williams impressed a bunch of visiting virtuosi as house pianist at the long-lamented original Keystone Korner in San Francisco's North Beach. Her recordings from the late '70s and early '80s confirmed her technical and compositional skills for her followers and a few new converts (including kindred spirits and album contributors Eddie Henderson and Eddie Harris).
But she remained a best-kept secret of the Bay Area and Sacramento, her long-time home, commanding awe and quiet in the clubs she visited alone and with her most consistent trio-mates, bassist John Wiitala and drummer Bud Spangler (who helped engineer this current project).

Aside from the first offering, you'll find several other standards that have been earlier treated by Monk. Although Williams echoes the past master's kinky intervals, "wrong" notes, and swaggering stride, she plays around more than he did with time and with all parts of the piano, extending her long arms to strum the strings from time to time.

She's also more concerned than Monk and many jazz pianists with keyboard technique, from barrelhouse trills to cascading Chopinesque runs. As the critics have noted, Williams is a very physical player.- Jeff Kaliss


Volume 22– Ellis Larkin [CCD-4533]




Ellis Larkins has long been a venerable member of that exalted breed that Basie dubbed "the Poets of the Piano," a special class that includes Roger Kellaway, Alan Broadbent, Jessica Williams, Walter Norris ,Adam Makowicz, Jaki Byard, Jim McNeely, and others recorded by Concord’s Maybeck Series These pianist-composers are distinguished by their ability to sustain a solo program without the support of bass and drums, by a keyboard prowess as thorough as that of any classical pianists, and by an eclecticism that embraces the standard ballads, bebop, and the legacy of Earl Hines, James P. Johnson, Fats Waller, Duke Ellington and Thelonious Monk.

They are sometimes known as "pianist's pianists," that polite way of describing a towering but inadequately recognized talent. Until Concord, few had recorded for a major label, and few if any were known outside the clan of musicians, critics and jazz lovers. None have been more unjustly overlooked than Ellis Larkins, and few have been as long honing their art.



One of John Hammond's innumerable discovery-proteges, Baltimorian Ellis Larkins, fresh from Juilliard, made his professional debut in 1940 at Cafe Society Uptown at age 17 to make an instant impression on Teddy Wilson, Hazel Scott and other fixtures at Barney Josephson's mid-town Manhattan showcase. For the next half century his delicate-yet-firm classical touch and springboard beat put him in demand in the recording studios with Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, Sonny Stitt, Edmund Hall, Ruby Braff, and most of all, the singers: Mildred Bailey, Sarah Vaughan, Maxine Sullivan, Anita Ellis, Chris Connor, Helen Humes, Joe Williams, and Larkins'"particular favorite to work with," Ella Fitzgerald.


Leonard Feather's Encyclopedia of Jazz hailed Larkins as "a favorite of virtually every singer he has accompanied. His articulation is exceptionally delicate, and his harmonic taste perhaps unmatched in jazz." Bill Evans' manager-producer Helen Keane told Gene Lees: "When I was booking talent for the Garry Moore Show, I would cringe with apprehension whenever a new, unknown singer would come in to audition with Ellis Larkins, because I'd have no way of knowing whether that singer was any good or not."…

Carl Jefferson of Concord Records deserves our thanks for rescuing the likes of Ellis Larkins from the relative obscurity of the minor labels, to bring these Poets of the Piano to the larger audience that is rightfully theirs.” - Grover
 Sales 

Volume 23– Gene Harris [CCD-4536]




When Count Basie died in 1984 he took with him the rarest of piano skills - that is, the ability to play and sustain a blues groove, regardless of tempo, using as many or as few notes as the moment inspired. Basie understood implicitly the minimalist underpinnings of great art, that addition by subtraction is key to the process of crafting powerful statements.

Of the many pianists who have followed Basie's stylistic guidelines, Gene Harris may be closest in spirit to the great bandleader. He possesses a refined touch and timeless sense of drama, borne from the desire to let his music unfold and reveal itself naturally, organically, like a flower opening to light.



On this, volume twenty-three of Concord's Maybeck Recital Hall series, Harris gets a chance to be his own band, to wax full and orchestral. Note, for instance, how thoroughly he deploys his left hand on Blues For Rhonda, eagerly matching his bass bottom walks with sprightly offerings from on high. He recognizes the fundamental infectiousness of stride, especially here, where he colorizes his blues with modern trimmings.


But to offset the notion that his métier implies only the blues ‘n’ boogie, Harris provides some melody-rich readings of songbook standards.

That he chooses for scrutiny the evergreens old Folks, or My Funny Valentine, or Angel Eyes, underscores the breadth of his talent. His treatment of Valentine, in particular, with its surprising quote from "The Greatest Love of All" (a minefield of unchecked sentimentality in less skilled hands) aligns perfectly with Maybeck’s innate loftiness and generosity of spirit.


That should be no surprise, for Harris has the ability to tap his surroundings, to concede music's great power and permit it to flow through him.- Jeff Levenson

Volume 24– Adam Makowicz [CCD-4541]




“Adam has chosen well. May he do it again. Soon.”


I wrote those words about Adam Makowicz and the music he chose to play for his previous record. Thank God and Carl Jefferson (not a redundancy) for this new performance of music Adam has chosen to play.

A few more words about Adam are repeated here: His name is pronounced "ma-KO-vitch," not "MAK-o-wits." And: Adam told me he had been studying classical music at the Chopin Secondary School of Music in Krakow, Poland, when at the age of sixteen he heard my Voice of America broadcast of Art Tatum playing piano. Immediately, he said, he decided to become a jazz pianist.

Among the musicians who visited nightclubs to see and hear Art Tatum were George Gershwin, Vladimir Horowitz, David Oistrakh, and Sergei Rachmaninov. Tatum said, "Rachmaninov once told me, 'Mr. Tatum, I can play the same notes you play, but I cannot maintain the same tempo."'

Today, Adam Makowicz does what few pianists dare: he makes Tatum his standard. Not his model. While he acknowledges his teachers, school's out.

All alone at a piano, Art Tatum was an orchestra. So is Adam Makowicz. Willis Conover

Volume 25– Cedar Walton [CCD-4546]




In the course of a distinguished career, Cedar Walton has been heard mainly in a variety of instrumental settings - most notably with Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers in the 1960s, with the Eastern Rebellion group in the '70s, and with the Timeless All Stars in the '80s. He has toured the USA, Europe and Japan leading his own trio. All these activities may have obscured the fact that Cedar's piano talent is totally self-sufficient, as this Maybeck Hall session makes vividly clear.


"This is a wonderful place to record," Cedar says. "The hall is unique, with two Yamahas that are kept in top shape, and an intimate ambiance. I thought I'd relax and warm up in front of the audience by just playing the blues." On this opening cut, The Maybeck Blues, Cedar starts out on a slightly old-timey note but soon moves into a more contemporary groove with boppish left hand punctuations. This totally improvised performance at once establishes Cedar's mastery of the art of swinging and creating without accompaniment.


All the compositions in this live - very live - performance have some special meaning for Cedar. Sweet Lorraine, for example, is a tune he has always admired but never got around to recording previously. He remembers it mainly from the Nat King Cole version, though he probably also heard Art Tatum help convert it into a jazz standard. …


Much as I have admired Cedar Walton's work over the years in many different contexts, the experience of hearing him on his own - and particularly on a fine piano in this elegant setting affords a very special pleasure, adding a lustrous plus to the long and consistently successful series that Maybeck Hall and Concord Jazz have made possible. - Leonard Feather


Volume 26– Bill Mays [CCD-4567]




Elastic imagining distinguishes one musician from another. Stretching musical ideas to fit his own interpretive loom is accomplished so frequently by Bill Mays that he could become another definition of 'amazing' and have it spelled 'a-MAYS-ing!'

In the inveterate historic Concord Jazz Maybeck Recital Hall recordings, Bill Mays' Volume 26 sets forth a blistering standard of excellence. Included are two original songs: Boardwalk Blues and Thanksgiving Prayer, plus an array of ten other tunes that bounce with vitality. Mays dents and fattens notes until they enter an altered, but recognizable state, leaving no doubt as to either the song title or to the man who created that particular rendition.

Bringing diversity to his playing with contrasts ranging from stride to bebop, from spirituals to swing, Bill Mays is never at a loss for interesting pianistic statements. He evokes emotions which can move the listener to tears, to laughter, or to any other mood he creates. His sense of time and his inquisitive mind take him into depths of sounds so inventive that one wonders how he will find his way back to the point of origin. Not to worry. His musical journeys are at once fascinating and fulfilling.

"The audience at Maybeck is wonderful. They are up for it. They are very quiet and appreciative; the piano is excellent. The acoustics are just about perfect. All that wood. Boy," he concluded.

And all that Bill Mays. Boy! - Jude Hibler

Volume 27– Denny Zeitlin [CCD-4572]




Andre Gide once wrote that all great art has great density - whether it occurs in the loony antics of Fritz the Cat, the deceptive simplicity of a Mozart melody, or the textural complexities of a Shakespeare drama.

Solo performance has always been the vehicle of choice for uncovering a jazz pianist's true creative densities. Unlimited by the need to follow any musical path other than their own, most pianists revel in the opportunity to explore the outer limits of their skills.

There is no better example than Denny Zeitlin. Typically, for a man whose career has been devoted to a pursuit of the elusive fascinations of music and the mind, pianist/psychiatrist Zeitlin was delighted to perform a solo program at a Maybeck Recital Hall concert. It was, for him, a unique occasion in which to display the symbiotic connections between both disciplines.

"The great excitement in solo piano playing, for me, is in being the only person there," said Zeitlin, "-in knowing that my task is to usher myself into a merger state with the music itself and with the audience.

"I think there are fluctuating states of consciousness that people get into when they perform, and the one that feels most successful to me is when I can have a sense of the music sort of coming through, almost as though I'm a conduit for the music. If the audience accepts the invitation to participate in the merger state, then a special rapport occurs. And when that happens, then - as a solo pianist, in particular - I just feel as though I'm in the audience listening to the music."

Zeitlin clearly did a great deal of interactive listening in this performance. Not only are his improvisations inventive and varied, as might be expected, but they also reveal a remarkable integration of his myriad musical experiences - from bebop in the fifties, to avant-garde in the sixties, electronics in the seventies, and eclectic free-grazing in the seventies and eighties. Just past his 55th birthday, and after twenty albums and many decades of international touring, Zeitlin has achieved the status of creative elder, gathering together his nearly 40 years of seasoning into a mature, richly textured, esthetically dense musical expression.

The concert included originals and standards. "The program" said Zeitlin, "sort of coalesced over a few weeks of just thinking about what I'd like to do, and browsing through my record collection with the idea of finding what would be exciting and challenging.

"I wanted to present some aspects of the whole range of my interests. I knew it wouldn't be tilted toward the avant-garde, but I also felt that it would be alright to include a little dissonance as well."

And the dissonances are there, in fact - but never for their own sake, and always either as piquant sprinklings of spice or as dramatic, attention-getting dashes of pepper. – Don Heckman

Volume 28– Andy LaVerne [CCD-4577]




If we were to trace the evolution of jazz piano, the line would begin in the realm of rhythm, where Jelly Roll Morton, Fats Waller, and the early giants laid the foundations of swing syncopation. From there, it would wind into melodic territory; here, such players as Earl Hines, Nat Cole, Bud Powell, and Erroll Garner, brought the art of theme and variation to a level of sophistication that even Bach and his disciples would have appreciated. Finally, our line would lead over the harmonic horizon. In this land of vivid textures and muted shades, contemporary innovators test the capacity of traditional repertoire to absorb complex elaborations on basic chordal ideas.

With all three musical bases covered, where else can the jazz piano line go? There are two choices: It can wander into the wilderness of the avant-garde. Or it can feed back into itself, follow its own path back through the rhythm and melody and harmony, like a thread sewing the fabric of familiar ideas into fresh patterns. There is danger in choosing either option. But those with real talent can still prosper, no matter which direction they choose. Cecil Taylor, for one, continues to startle. And, among other players with a less experimental disposition, Andy LaVerne surprises us again and again.

In his Maybeck Hall recital, LaVerne displays a wide range of rhythmic and melodic expression. But, above all, he reaffirms his command of jazz harmony. Specifically, he follows the lead of Bill Evans in taking tunes we've heard a hundred times, examining each one's structure with respect to its chordal implications and coming up with
 voicings that we've never quite encountered before. – Robert L. Doerschuk




Steven Cerra [C] Copyright protected; all rights reserved


Although Carl Jefferson [the owner of Concord Records] is listed as the producer for all of the Maybeck Recital Hall solo piano recordings, and deservedly so, the series would not have materialized as it did without the loving devotion of Dick Whittington and his partner Marilyn Ross. Aside from Whittington being the originator of the project in the first place, both he and Ms. Ross assumed some producer-related functions throughout the seven years of its duration.

From the start, all three of these principals had to deal with many unusual demands and requirements as these 42 performances were both miniature concerts, as well as, recording sessions.

The combination of performing before only 60 or so invitees and the relatively small and intimate nature of the hall itself combined to create an almost recording-studio quality for each of these recitals. This combination also places some unusual demands on the solo Jazz pianist who on the one hand doesn’t have the ‘luxury’ of watching his miscues and failed experiments go up in vapor, nor conversely, the ability to have a recorded performance played back and re-done before a publicly acceptable version is decided upon by the artist.

So not only do we have 42 pianists performing in a largely unaccustomed or, at least, infrequent solo piano setting, which is challenging under the best of conditions, but each had to do it in front of a very small, discerning audience while being recorded with no chance to correct their mistakes with re-takes afterwards!

When Bill Weilbacher began producing his Master Jazz Recordings in 1967 [see Mosaic Records – The Complete Master Jazz Piano Series – MD4-140] he described the following as the ideal circumstances for the role of the producer.

“What was evident in the studio in every recording session is that playing the piano alone is hard work. When you play solo piano there is really no place to hide. There is a fundamental difference between recording and playing live before an audience. There is no necessity to be a persona in the recording studio, nor to entertain an audience­. What is necessary is to do the job right. Because the job that must be done night will be played back for all to hear moments after the performance Is completed, and then, if released, heard by many others, the recording takes on an intensity and a seriousness that are different in kind from public performances. The recording becomes a permanent record of the performers work and, since these artists earn their living by playing piano, the recordings are extremely important to them.

No matter how we romanticize our jazz performers and their work, watching them in a recording studio gives a new and quite different view of how they earn their living.”


Unfortunately, in terms of the distinctions that Mr. Weilbacher draws between live performances and the recording studio, there’s was no such luck as far as the Maybeck Recital Hall project was concerned, both for the producers and for the performers.

Given the lack of these conditions for Carl Jefferson, Dick Whittington, and Marilyn Ross and the pianists who performed these solo recitals, it is a testimony to the creative and artistic talents and skills of all concerned how well these performances turned out.

The JazzProfiles editorial staff has been pleased to present this overview of this once-in-a-lifetime occurrence and hopes that the reader will seek out some, if not all of the previously reviewed 28 solo piano recordings in the series as well as the following 14 that conclude this review of the Maybeck Recital Hall solo piano series on Concord.

[For some additional insights into the piano in the Jazz tradition in general, and solo piano recitals at Maybeck in particular, see Gene Lees’ opening remarks in the insert notes to Don Friedman’s performance as contained under # 33 below].

Volume 29 – John Campbell [CCD-4581]



“A grand piano and a grand pianist in the most intimate setting: the combination of these elements has placed the Maybeck Recital Hall series among the most respected undertakings in modern jazz. But while the piano and the hall remain impressive constants, the pianist John Campbell may need some introduction.

Yes, he has appeared on albums by Clark Terry and Mel Torme and the Terry Gibbs-Buddy DeFranco band; and yes, he has even released two previous dates under his own name. But in the first 30 years of his life, John Campbell followed a path familiar enough to students of jazz history, perfecting his art in the quiet and undemanding surroundings of the Midwest - as a child and college boy in southern Illinois, and then as a local legend on Chicago's savvy jazz scene - before heading east for greater exposure and acclaim. As a result, even some of the more knowledgeable followers of jazz have yet to discover his galvanic approach to the jazz tradition.

For the best introduction to Campbell, though, turn to the music - in particular, his spectacular romp on the bebop warhorse Just Friends, which opens this album. Without fuss, he quickly introduces a surprising and invigorating touch by transposing keys midway through the first chorus, and then follows that pattern throughout the song, rocking between those two tonal centers. Clever, but not smug. Upon this skeleton he drapes an improvisation filled with delightful riffs and fragments that maintain their own structural integrity - such as the ascending triplet figure that first surfaces at the end of the fourth chorus, only to re-emerge as a full-fledged melodic device leading from the fifth to the sixth.

Many listeners resist that kind of micromanaged analysis of the music they enjoy. And with Campbell, you can easily just settle back while the music carries you on its journey, happy to close your eyes and absorb the picaresque sweep of his soloing. But you do so at the risk of missing so many remarkable details. The surprising twist in a smoothly skimming melodic line, for instance. Those lightning transpositions of key. The brilliantly inserted sequence. The sudden explosion of doubled time, as if the improvised passage had built up enough tension to override the safety valve of musical meter.

Despite his other musical gifts, John Campbell is first and foremost a melodist, his music dominated by the eastern half of the piano keyboard. …” Neil Tesser



Volume 30 – Ralph Sutton [CCD-4586]



“….Fats Waller was an early idol, though Ralph says regretfully "I never saw him in person, but of course I was aware of his career on records." (Waller died when Ralph was 11.) Honeysuckle Rose includes the verse and eventually moves into stride. Although Ralph has a reputation built largely on his proficiency in ragtime and stride, he is in fact an all-around pianist whose expertise extends to the classics.

His range becomes evident as he moves from Fats Waller to Bix Beiderbecke, whose In A Mist he has interpreted for years with flawless fidelity. "I was working with Teagarden when Jack sent me over to Robbins Music to pick up a Bix folio. That was the first I knew of his compositions. I still have that folio."

Ralph returns to Waller with Clothes Line Ballet, a delightful work which Fats recorded in 1934. "I first heard Fats when I was nine. I bought a folio of his tunes too."

In The Dark is one of the piano pieces written but never recorded by Beiderbecke. It has the same haunting quality and harmonic subtlety that marked all of Rix's works, which were decades ahead of their time.

Fats Waller's Ain't Misbehavin' is a melodic Waller marvel that made its debut in the revue "Connie's Hot Chocolates" in 1929. Again Ralph includes the verse, with its unpredictable harmonic line.

Echo of Spring is the most attractive of the many works left us by Willie "The Lion" Smith. Both Ralph and I recall sitting beside the Lion as he played this elegant work and following its beautiful melodic contours. That rolling left hand is an essential part of its charm, which of course Ralph retains.

Dinah, a pop hit of the 1920s, has touches of the Lion in Ralph's performance. Love Lies is probably the most obscure song in this set; Ralph learned about it during his Teagarden days. It was written by one W. Dean Rogers in 1923.

Russian Lullaby is simply a song Ralph heard around. "I never saw the music on this one. Who wrote it? Irving Berlin? No kidding - I didn't know that."

St. Louis Blues was the most famous of the W.C. Handy blues series.. Written in 1914, it starts as a regular 12 bar blues before moving into a 16 bar minor strain. Sutton starts with a series of dramatic tremolos, then takes it at an easy lope.

Viper's Drag finds Ralph again retaining the spirit of Fats Waller in a 1934 tune, the title of which was an early term for a pot smoker. It's one of Fats's relatively few numbers in a minor key.

Finally there is After You've Gone, which goes all the way back to 1918 and was originally played, as I recall, in the slow tempo with which Ralph introduces it, as a 20 bar chorus. Later he shifts gears into the now more generally accepted long-meter, 40 bar treatment.” – Leonard Feather



Volume 31 – Fred Hersch [CCD-4596]



"Describing music -any music -is largely a bureaucratic function. It involves categories and qualifications, not to mention paperwork. This is especially true of jazz, for which tradition lends heft to files marked "swing" and "bebop."

A higher ideal, and a truer litmus test, is improvisation. At best, the musical improviser frees us from our baggage, so we are free to explore new worlds. Pianist Fred Hersch has always recognized this truth, and that recognition combined with virtuosity and technical skills - has been a liberating force fueling the development of his sound.

"When I'm playing music that I connect with," Hersch says, "the form and the changes don't limit me, they inspire me to say something original and personal." These statements have taken shape in a wide variety of settings (from jazz trio to classical orchestra) and across a broad sweep of musical territory (from Cole Porter to Scriabin to Monk, for instance). "When I play in a group, I choose musicians who will surprise me."

When the opportunity to record this live solo album arose, Hersch knew he'd need to surprise himself. Before sitting down at the grand piano beneath the wood and leaded glass of Maybeck Hall, he announced to the audience that "half of the tunes I'll play are songs I know intimately, the other half are songs I don't know that well." With that, Fred Hersch took his place alongside the thirty distinguished pianists already documented in this series. …. This was his first solo recording."– Larry Blumenfield



Volume 32 – Sir Roland Hanna [CCD-4604]



"Volume Thirty-Two of Berkeley's Maybeck Recital Hall series - Concord's exalted project of recording under optimum conditions those "Poets of the Piano" mostly confined to minor labels - is the summing up of Sir Roland Hanna's career that spans nearly four decades.

This album is Sir Roland's life: the sanctified church, rhythm n' blues, classic piano literature, the grand Romantic tradition of the 19th Century, French impressionism, ragtime, Harlem stride, Tatum, bebop, Garner, the Blues, funk, avant-garde, and the explosion of song-writing genius that blessed America in the Twenties and Thirties. More than half the Maybeck recital affirms Sir Roland's love affair with George Gershwin.

What is most immediate in this recital is Sir Roland's uncanny sense of structure, his flair for drama and for breathtaking climax. Each number unfolds as a completely realized composition. A consummate mastery of the keyboard permits his fertile imagination and puckish wit to run riot. – Grover Sales



Volume 33 – Don Friedman [CCD-4608]



"The keyboards are unique in the family of instruments. Keyboard instruments can function alone. So can the guitar, but in a more limited way, and keyboards, including harpsichord and organ and, later, the piano, have dominated Western music since before baroque times. Since Mozart's time, the piano has been the king of these instruments. All other instruments have an essentially ensemble character: they need friends around them to fill out the harmony. Piano doesn't.

If you listen to early jazz records, you will find that when it came to allowing the pianist a solo - Earl Hines, for example - no one knew how to go about it. So everybody stops playing while the pianist does his thing.

Eventually the piano was absorbed into the jazz ensemble by limiting the way the pianist played. But pianists can do much more than they are usually called upon to do in jazz. Secretly, Oscar Peterson has suggested, they dream of going out there and doing it alone instead of comping chords for horn players.

In 1989, JoAnne Brackeen was about to do a solo performance at Maybeck Hall, a small and exquisite location in Berkeley, California, with an excellent piano. She called Carl Jefferson to ask that he record it. Fortunately for the world, he did, and the resulting album became the first of a remarkable series of Maybeck Hall recordings.

The series has become a singular documentation of the state of jazz piano in our time. Carl has not-so-slowly been documenting in sound the astonishingly rich state of jazz piano as our century nears its end. He has let this brilliant body of pianists go into a sympathetic hall and show just what it is they can do when they play solo.

It is helpful to picture the room. It is not large; indeed it seats only about 50 persons. Those in the front row are very close to the player; there is no sense of distance between the performer and the audience. The room is beautifully wood-paneled and its acoustic properties are outstanding.

Don Friedman's is the 33rd in this series of Maybeck Hall recordings, and he reacted like everyone else before him.

"I loved the room and I loved the piano," he said. "And the audience was wonderful. I couldn't have been more comfortable."

Then, too, for Don it was a bit of a homecoming. Though he lives in New York City, he is a Bay Area boy, having been born in San Francisco in 1935.

The term "under-appreciated" gets worn with time, but there are few musicians it fits more accurately than Don. He has worked with an amazingly disparate group of jazz players, from Dexter Gordon to Buddy DeFranco, from Shorty Rogers to Ornette Coleman. He worked with Pepper Adams, Booker Little, Jimmy Giuffre, Attila Zoller, Chuck Wayne, and Clark Terry. That is flexibility, not to mention versatility. Yet this is not widely appreciated. …

If Don is indeed, as many musicians think, under-recognized, this latest album in the distinguished Maybeck Hall series should help correct this." - Gene Lees


Volume 34 – Kenny Werner [CCD-4622]




"I try to be prepared for whatever comes through me," Werner explained. "The purpose of the concert is to get to what I call an ecstatic space. Hindus call it shakti, and Bill Evans called it the universal mind."

And it's just that search for what Werner calls the ecstatic, in every concert, that draws listeners to jazz. It's that state that sets apart most of the musicians idolized today - Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk among them - not because of great virtuosity or even technique, but because they played themselves or were able to tap into that state beyond the notes. Somewhere between the discipline of technique, the structure of arrangements, and the freedom of improvisation, magic happens, and when it's over both musician and listener have taken a journey into the realm of possibilities, one that makes the everyday world seem different when they return.

That is what much of Werner's Maybeck concert was about. Trying to create a situation where the inspiration or spirit can come and work through the music.

Regardless, the choice of tunes, and Werner's approach that afternoon, led to purely beautiful music.

Sitting in casual street clothes at the Yamaha grand piano, Werner cut a figure like that of a young J.S. Bach, his large frame upright at the stool, head tilted slightly upward, ponytail hanging down his back, eyes closed as his face filled with changing expressions, as if he were unaware of other listeners, and just playing for his own pleasure."– Larry Kelp



Volume 35 – George Cables [CCD-4630]



"So often in jazz, pianists - like bassists and drummers -are workhorses, tirelessly providing the harmonic spine for horn players or a singer, bolstering the front-liners by fleshing out a rhythm section's sound, then occasionally delivering a solo.

Some pianists are fortunate enough to sidestep this quandary, either by focusing on the trio format, or on even smaller configurations that allow for substantial freedom: the duo, or simply solo piano.

In this regard, the continuing series of solo recordings made in the small but impressive Maybeck Recital Hall in Berkeley, California are of great significance. Carl Jefferson, Concord Jazz' founder and president, has, to date, given close to 40 pianists the opportunity to explore the unlimited possibilities presented when performing unaccompanied.

George Cables is a 50-year-old pianist who makes the most of what could rightly be called The Maybeck Experience. A mercurial artist who has been active as a jazzman since he was 18, Cables possesses a distinctive style that has been deeply influenced by the weighty touch and chordal whammy of Thelonious Monk and the fleet line motion associated with Art Tatum, Bud Powell and Herbie Hancock.

Acclaimed for his work with Sonny Rollins, Art Blakey, Dexter Gordon, Freddie Hubbard, Joe Henderson, Art Pepper, Bobby Hutcherson and Bebop and Beyond, Cables thrives in the unadorned setting of Maybeck, and his robust, lively sound has been captured as never before. He fully exploits the potential for harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic freedom that exists when the piano is the sole instrument, stretching bar-lines here to elongate phrases and ideas, cinching sections there up for more compact statements, making the tunes ebb and flow as they become truly personal performances.

This is an album of gems."– Zan Stewart



Volume 36 – Toshiko Akiyoshi [CCD-4635]



"This latest recording stands out for a number of reasons. One is that it was recorded live - as Toshiko recently said to me, "...it's a one-shot deal, you take a chance, but it's exciting."

Another is her choice of material, which is always tasteful and provocative. Here she digs up a few gems that others have often ignored, such as Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne's The Things We Did Last Summer, and It Was a Very Good Year - the Ervin Drake ballad made famous by Frank Sinatra, but who would have imagined it as a vehicle for a brilliant jazz solo? Toshiko's interpretation of it here is positively majestic, with a wonderful funky stop time section in the middle, and a powerfully rhythmic left hand.

Speaking of that left hand, I can't say enough about how beautifully Toshiko uses it in conjunction with her right one throughout the Maybeck concert. The opener, her own spirited composition The Village, features a fiendishly complex rhythmic figure in her left hand that makes the piece sound like a four-handed piano duet; then that impressive left hand pops up again on the driving bass line on Harburg and Lane's Old Devil Moon, on her charming composition Quadrille, Anyone?, and on Dizzy Gillespie's Con Alma, where her left hand becomes the creator of melodic lines, with the right hand joining in for a smashing finale. Most impressive is Bud Powell's challenging Tempus Fugit, with Toshiko tackling it for the first time as a solo piece, and mastering it unequivocally. "I tried to make something a little different from the traditional solo piano concert," she told me.

The ballads - Ellington's Sophisticated Lady and Come Sunday, The Things We Did Last Summer and Polka Dots and Moonbeams, are treated with a deft touch and a sharp ear for color and mood. Toshiko slides in and out of a comfortable stride, weaving melodies with her right hand, and now and then her left hand jumps out of its role as bass and time keeper to create a melody of its own.

Best of all, Toshiko plays the whole piano here, using it as an orchestra. She finds a neat balance between sections which have been thoughtfully worked out and the more open passages. I like to leave some parts really loose. Sometimes the audience helps me to do something I hadn't thought of before," she said."– Amy Duncan


Volume 37 – John Colianni [CCD-4643]



"It's considered improper to give away the ending in movies, but in this recording the key to the whole album is in the relationship between the last two tunes. After the misleading setup of Tea for Two with its carefree swing rendering the listener safe and defenseless, John Colianni then slips into the dark melancholia of Gordon Jenkins' ballad, Goodbye, and concludes with the late grunge-rock star Kurt Cobain's Heart Shaped Box. Totally unexpected. And utterly devastating in its impact.

Colianni has built his reputation as a talented young pianist who has embraced and mastered jazz's pre-bebop era styles and mindset. He was 31 at the time he performed in front of an attentive audience at Berkeley's Maybeck Recital Hall. He had been playing with the greats since, as a teenager, he joined Lionel Hampton's band, later recording two band albums as a leader for Concord Jazz, and spending the post four years accompanying Mel Torme on a hundred or more dates a year. And here he was playing a Nirvana song as if it were meant to be part of the Great American Songbook. Which, in the Colianni context, is exactly where it belongs.

"The Gordon Jenkins song defines the mood of longing," Colianni explains. "It's got a haunting lyric and melodic quality. And Kurt Cobain's piece has those same qualities. It ascends in two lines together that then split and go in different directions, into a moody harmonic thing that speaks of bittersweetness and longing. Those two pieces belong together. They're a perfect complement bringing out the same essence in different ways."

Colianni was watching MTV one night and saw Nirvana performing Heart Shaped Box, "and I thought 'This is great!' I bought the cassette and took it to listen to while I was on tour. Then I played my version on WNYC (the New York University radio station) and it got a big reaction, so I knew I was doing something right."

Colianni is a lover of music that ranges from Nirvana to Art Tatum. "I sometimes get bored with the limitations of bebop. I realize saying this might make some enemies, but as much as I love it, I prefer swing jazz, music that incorporates pop tunes, musical theater, and classical music that offers a greater means of expression. Actually, I like music for its own sake, which to me usually means swing.

'I look for songs that have a couple of elements, a memorable melody that haunts, that has some emotion that engages a response beyond the intellectual. And rhythmically I enjoy things that swing. The ideal is Irving Berlin and George Gershwin, who is a major influence on everything I do." But Colianni includes neither composer's tunes on this album. …

Colianni's solo recording debut is one he has long dreamed of making, and highlights his superb talent for bringing out the essence of a tune, not by stretching out and expanding on themes, but by honing and condensing ideas in often startling ways, without a single wasted note. - Larry Kelp



Volume 38 – Ted Rosenthal [CCD-4648]



"As Pindar wrote: "Unsung, the noblest deeds will die."

Part of the joy of being a jazz critic is to be able to sing the praises of worthy artists, and perhaps help them get some of the recognition they deserve.

When I first saw Ted Rosenthal playing at a little Greenwich Village restaurant - this was back before anyone had signed him to make records I was so impressed by his chops, his sensitivity, and his versatility that I dashed off a review for The New York Post that opened with the words: "Quick! Give this guy a contract ......

Subtle we're not at The New York Post. We figure our readers are in a hurry and can't afford to wait to the last line to figure out whether or not we think someone has talent. And Rosenthal quite obviously did. There was such impressive clarity to his work. He deserved to be playing someplace where people have come to really listen, rather than a restaurant where they were maybe mostly interested in the food. That he was able to reach his audience anyway, even in those less than ideal circumstances, spoke well for him.

I'm glad there's now this CD, which shows his strengths so well. This is not his first recording. …. But this CD, his first strictly solo outing, provides the best showcase to date for his own abilities as a player.

It's easier here to savor that impressive clarity in his work that first struck me (a quality that has to do with both the wisdom of his choices of notes, and the precision and cleanliness with which he executes those choices). You can listen to any track and you can see what I meant by the clarity of his work". – Chip Deffaa



Volume 39 – Kenny Drew, Jr. [CCD-4653]



… this album marks … [Drew’s] recording debut for Concord jazz, his performing debut at Maybeck Recital Hall (one of his very few appearances on the West Coast), and it is his first solo piano album to be released. As distinctive as his prior recordings have been, this disc is the ultimate resume, the one that most clearly demonstrates just who Drew is as a musician.

One can hear references to the giants on whose shoulders he stands, which is as Drew wants it. "My style came from various things, from listening to all the great recordings my dad made, from being heavily influenced by Herbie Hancock, Bill Evans, Chick Corea, Thelonious Monk, Oscar Peterson; from the rock and funk things I've done. I've also always studied and listened to classical music. I like a lot of modern things, so every once in a while a little Schoenberg or Messiaen might sneak into my playing. It all sinks in and becomes a part of you."

Drew observes: "This was a much different album for me. Not only was it recorded live, but also it is solo. Without other musicians you have the freedom to change at will the tempo, the harmonies and keys, things you couldn't do so easily in a group context. But the risky part is that you're alone, and you have to work harder."

Maybe so, but Drew's performance at Maybeck is the most definitive statement on record that he has yet made. With no other musicians to turn to or collaborate with, Drew has clearly defined his style, maybe in the context of more standards than he usually tackles at one sitting, but also with a finely focused sense of what he wants to say. "Jazz isn't like classical music where you play what's written," Drew says. "Not even all classical music is like that. The point is to honor and pay respect to the people who have gone before, not to copy but to assimilate all those influences and make them a part of who you are." - Larry Kelp

Volume 40 – Monty Alexander [CCD-4658]




"Since making his Concord Jazz debut in 1979, indeed virtually throughout a prolific career that dates back to the late 1950's, Monty Alexander has been heard as an ensemble player. But whether accompanying vocalists, jamming with such giants as Milt Jackson and Ray Brown, or leading his own trios, quartets, and steel drums-augmented bands, the fifty-year-old pianist has long exerted a potent individual presence in the jazz world - and on Concord jazz in particular.

It's ironic then, that this solo concert should arrive so late in the label's Maybeck Recital Hall series. The pianist explains that Carl Jefferson, the late president of Concord Jazz, had intended Alexander to be Number Four or Five in the series. "(But) I chose not to do it at that time," Alexander says. "When I came back to the label, he asked me again. It was a warm gathering of people but more importantly it was the final time I saw this man. My most treasured memory of that afternoon is that I got to spend a little time with Carl and his lovely wife Nancy."

The striking qualities of Alexander's playing - his intimate knowledge of the jazz tradition, his reverence for the pre-bebop piano legacy, his prodigious technical facility, and his resilient connection to the cultural heritage of his native Jamaica - reveal themselves as never before in this rare solo performance. He admits that the vulnerability of such an intimate setting can be daunting. 'It's not the first thing I run to do," he says. 'You don't have your bass player or drummer there. You are the bass player, you are the drummer, you become the whole band, and you just have to let it happen. Long ago I did a solo session for a French label, and it came out quite well. Over the years I've come to enjoy playing solo. But I hear the whole group, even when I'm playing by myself, so I tried to bring that feeling to this gig."

… Speak Low, Alexander explains, 'is a nice standard I've had fun with over the years," and Smile holds a special place in his heart as another Nat Cole favorite and as a Charlie Chaplin composition. 'I get this extra kick out of playing songs because of what they mean. A song like Smile really gets me, not just because of the chord changes or the melody, but through what it says - the feeling I get from it."

The personal connection Alexander makes with a song imparts a unique emotional character to even his most technically stunning exhibitions. 'I know I have my own voice as a pianist,' he grants, 'but when you talk about solo piano it's hard not to reflect on Art Tatum, Nat Cole or Oscar Peterson, the two-handed piano players who approached the instrument as an endless source of possibilities. You don't just sit down and play the piano. You're trying to take your listeners on a musical journey. The piano is the vehicle."

And here at Maybeck, Monty Alexander never leaves any doubt about who's driving." - Derk Richardson



Volume 41 – Allen Farnham [CCD-4686]



"What you have here is the forty-first volume of one of the most distinctive documentations of solo piano work-the Maybeck Recital Hall series a no-nonsense, fun, enlightening, spirited collection of modern day jazz piano expression. When Joanne Brackeen made a call to Concord Records' (late) Carl Jefferson in June '89 to propose a solo piano recording at Maybeck, I don't think even he would have suspected that that phone conversation would set into motion the ongoing construction of a musical dialogue with so many dialects.

The venue for this, the Maybeck Recital Hall in Berkeley, California is perfect. Built in warm redwoods, Bernard Maybeck's dedication to natural design carries over to many homes in the Bay area.

The family of artists recorded here is truly a Who's Who of jazz piano. What is ultimately exciting is that we can't discuss the entire body of work cause they ain't done yet!"

The latest member of the Maybeck family to lend his two hands to the mix is Allen Farnham, a 34-year-old pianist whose considerable skills (initiated at the age of 12) have previously been heard with Susannah McCorkle, Tom Harrell, Joe Lovano, Mel Torme and Arthur Blythe, as well as on three group recordings as a leader for Concord. Additional background from studies at Oberlin College in the diverse styles of classical and Indian classical music have brought Farnham a maturity essential to the solo piano setting.

The recorded piano recital can be like giving a speech in your underwear , no shirt, no shoes, no admittance, unless one is properly attired with the skills to pull it off. For his effort, Allen Farnham shows up "after six," with formal and improvisational abilities clothing the compositions of Brubeck, Evans, Porter, McPartland and Rodgers and Hart, as well as three originals tailored for this Maybeck moment. …

Allen Farnham has studied long and hard. This sixty minute solo concert adds countless hours of enjoyment to the Maybeck story. Whether a fan or a student of jazz piano, one can think of Allen Farnham's Maybeck Recital Hall concert as a gift exchange - with the listener making off with all the presents." - Gary Walker



Volume 42 – James Williams [CCD-4694]



"Usually, James Williams spends his time organizing projects that involve a multitude of people. An unselfish sort, James Williams continues - almost to a fault - to put others' needs and careers in front of, or at least along side, his own. What's more, there's a driving force to the Memphian, a kind of entrepreneurial spirit, that further extends his field of jazz vision.

That's why this solo album - Volume 42 of Concord's Maybeck Recital Hall series - is such a treat. Never mind the fact that the offering represents the first of its kind in James Williams's quite distinguished and ongoing career. …

For James, this outing offers him the opportunity to solo in a live setting, and he's proud that all the selections here were done in one take. "The challenge with something like this," says James, "is clearly to be able to keep one's playing fresh and inventive. I enjoyed the instrument and the size of the hall - and the audience. People came out and were extremely responsive. I hadn't played in the Bay Area for some time." The fact that the ambiance more than met James's expectations only strengthened his performance. "To a great extent, I was inspired by the setting. I went out to play a concert, not to make a recording." Adds James, emphasizing his point: "This was a concert that happened to be a recording."

The other aspect of this session that's so rewarding is that James successfully manages to capture most, if not all, of his musical sides. "I pretty much decided to do a jazz standard program, things that I like to play." Still, notes James, there's "a wide scope and range of material." He consciously chose music that examines basic standards, takes a look at show tunes and tin pan alley, and also delves into bebop and more contemporary jazz. …

In the end, James says he feels as if he accomplished what he set out to do: "I enjoy performing and playing. I was glad it was live. (That makes it) less predictable, less contrived, more spontaneous, more fun. I didn't have to try to create an atmosphere. Maybeck offered me all the elements that are central to a good jazz setting." - Jon W. Poses





Jade Visions: The Life and Music of Scott LaFaro - The JazzProfiles Synopsis

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


I HOPE THIS BOOK WILL BRING a glimpse into the development and the life of Scott LaFaro, and an understanding of the man and his music. In my approach to writing this book, I've tried to be a modern-day Jack Webb—perhaps my own snopes.com—looking to separate the facts from the legend. It is not the story of an artist's angst, a life of hardship, emotional deprivation or shattered family relationships. It is a story of Scotty's obsession with music. Scotty was an intensely private person. He was well aware at an early age that he was set down on this planet to do something special with music. His head was full of it. He was dedicated and driven. Many thought him aloof, even haughty. He was intense, centered, and serious. He rather enjoyed being regarded as an enigma. It is also a book with chapters unwritten and ending in an abrupt and tragic plot twist. Scotty, himself, felt he didn't have a lot of time. He did what he set out to do, and we are all the richer for it.


It also has long been my desire that, when all is said and done, to have "all things Scotty" referenced in one place, thus my inclusion of the reprints of some of the more difficult to find articles, and the detailed bibliography and discography.

Are we all the sum of how we are perceived by others? I was the person who was constantly closest to Scotty during his too few years, and while I can relate many aspects of his life—and many have come to ask me about his life over the years—this book also relies heavily on my research and interviewing many musicians who knew Scotty or his work, or both, and are far more qualified to speak to his abilities, career, the technical aspects of his output, and his contributions to music than I.


I thank them immensely.
- Author Helene LaFaro Fernandez, Preface to Jade Visions


In June of this year [2016], I ran a four-part series by Gene Lees on bassist Scott LaFaro.


Essentially, Gene took the Introduction that he had written for the biography that Helene LaFaro-Hernandez wrote about her brother and expanded it into a larger essay which he published in his Jazzletter as Young Mr. LaFaro.


At the time of my posting of Gene’s piece I had not read Helene’s biography of her brother.


The nice folks at the University of North Texas Press were kind enough to send me a preview copy of Jade Visions: The Life and Music of Scott LaFaro and I thought I would provide you with a synopsize of it on these pages.


It’s an important book about an important Jazz musician and one that I should have read when it was first published in 2009. Frankly, I thought I basically knew all there was to know about Scotty who died at the ridiculously young age of twenty-five.


Boy, was I wrong about that assumption.


The key elements to Scotty’s importance in terms of the development of the bass as a Jazz instrument are highlighted in fellow bassist Don Thompson’s Foreword to the book:


"In the movie It's a Wonderful Life, Jimmy Stewart gets to see the world as it might have been if he had never been born. This is something everyone thinks about now and then. We all like to think we will have made a difference in the world but nobody ever knows for sure.


In music there are people who are so important that it is impossible to imagine the world without them. Think about music without Bach, Mozart or Beethoven. Think about jazz without Duke Ellington, Charlie Parker or John Coltrane. In the history of jazz there have been only a handful of real innovators on each instrument. These people have shaped the way their instruments have come to be played. On the piano the list would include Art Tatum, Bud Powell, McCoy Tyner, Keith Jarrett and Bill Evans. On saxophone there would be Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, Charlie Parker and John Coltrane. On bass there would be Jimmy Blanton, Oscar Pettiford, Ray Brown, Red Mitchell and Scott LaFaro. Of that group of bass players, Ray Brown and Scott LaFaro stand out from the rest. Ray Brown personifies the bassist's role in a rhythm section. With his beautiful sound, amazing groove and Bach-like lines, Ray was the man everyone wanted to sound like. That is until Scott LaFaro came along.


The first time I heard Scotty play was on Portrait in Jazz with Bill Evans. I had been playing the bass for three or four years but was not really that interested in it. I was playing a lot of piano and vibes at the time, so playing the bass didn't really matter to me that much. But when I heard that track of Autumn Leaves, all that changed, There was a spirit of adventure and freedom I had never heard before and all of a sudden it became very important to me to really learn how to play the bass. Hearing Scotty play with Bill Evans had opened up a whole new world of music to me, and I wanted to be a part of it.


Everything about Scotty's playing killed me. His sound, his solos (which actually reminded me a bit of Red Mitchell) and his time feel, which was amazing. But what really got to me was the interplay between him and Bill Evans. The idea of a musical conversation was not really that new but the combination of Bill Evans and Scott LaFaro proved to be a magical one and together they took that concept to a whole new place. Bill had provided the setting that gave Scotty the freedom to play the music however he happened to feel it.


Being free is one thing but along with that freedom comes a great responsibility and it takes a great musician to work in that setting and really succeed on all levels. Scotty had everything he needed to make it work. He had great time, extraordinary ears, a fantastic sense of form, and so much chops he could play pretty well anything that came into his head. He was also blessed with the gift of melody and countermelody but most important of all he had a beautiful musicality and sensitivity that enabled him to respond and interact with the other players without playing all over them. He knew exactly what the music needed and no matter what he played, or how much he seemed to be playing, the music was always his first concern and he never let the music down.


What Scotty played was amazing then and is amazing still today. His solos were technically overwhelming but melodically breathtaking. The solo on My Romance is one of my favorites and the last eight bars, in particular, is pure melodic perfection.

Scott LaFaro is one of a small group of musicians who really changed the course of jazz. It's hard to imagine where he might have gone with music had he not been taken so early in his life. For me, and probably most of today's bass players, it's even harder to imagine the world of the bass without Scotty in it. He brought a brand new concept to the bass and in doing so he changed the way people would play it forever. Forty-five years later he is still probably the most powerful influence there is on the bass.


I regret never having known him but he will always be a part of my world and I will always be thankful for everything he contributed to it.”


The author explains how the book came about in the following excerpts drawn from her Acknowledgements.


“I'LL START WITH SHOULD, COULD,WOULD.


At least a decade ago, Chuck Ralston began a website dedicated to Scotty. Chuck is from Geneva [New York where both Scotty and Helene were raised], but I did not know him then. His dad at one time was the president of Geneva's local musicians' union and knew both Scotty and our dad. Ralston senior acquainted Chuck with jazz and with Scotty. His work took him and his family to France and it was there that they received the news of Scotty's death. Not too many years later, Chucks interest in and appreciation of Scotty's jazz legacy led him to begin his self-assigned task of archiving, via the internet, whatever he could uncover.


Eventually, Chuck, now headquartered in the Atlanta, Georgia, area, got in touch with me and over the years I have worked with him on the accuracy and dates of things posted on the website. Through all this time, Chuck has constantly been a voice in my ear saying I should do a book about Scotty. There is much to be told that only I could tell. "These are things people want to know," he'd tell me when I'd relate incidents to him. But Chuck's contribution goes far beyond urging. He helped set the outline for this book and did the total work on the detailed discography and bibliography, drawing on his past labor of love and his vast knowledge and ability as an administrative librarian.


In the mid 1990s I came to know Madeleine Crouch, general manager of the International Society of Bassists, and, echoing Chuck, in July of 1998 she wrote me: "PS: I hope you will seriously consider writing a biography of your brother. I'll buy the first copy!" This to someone who to that date had published only a couple of short stories and human interest articles in local newspapers and a couple of short pieces about Scott prefacing partial discographies of his work. Madeleine has been my constant cheerleader—telling me I could indeed do this. Every time I wavered she was there telling me I could do it and, more importantly, ready and willing to help. I needed a lot of help and help she did. She put me in contact with many folks who would make vital contributions to this book. She has been there every step of the way, helping in any and every way she could: the midwife, as it were, on this project.


Gene Lees. Madeleine had given me a phone introduction to Gene. And it is Gene who would give me the confidence to give it a shot. Gene Lees needs no introduction to anyone reading these pages. With his talent, background, and skill as a foremost author and chronicler of musicians, lyricist, composer, and journalist—highly esteemed in all his endeavors—he is a quintessential erudite, and to me, simply awesome. That he would treat me with such dignity and respect and encourage me at every turn is what would, in the end, make me urge myself to go forward. For all of this—to share his great knowledge about the craft of writing, to offer and be willing to do line editing, and checking, and to contribute to the book his Introduction—how could anyone not feel blessed. As important, however, is that over these past two years Gene and his wife, Janet, have become true friends to my husband, Manny, and me.


I am indeed fortunate to have Don Thompson write the wonderful piece that became the Foreword for this book. A great many thanks as well to Jeff Campbell and Phil Palombi, who gave of their time and talent to write the two indispensable chapters that discuss aspects of Scotty's music in detail. Over the past few years another contributor and I have also become friends: Barrie Kolstein. Barrie’s dad, Sam, had a special relationship with Scotty and it is Barrie who lovingly restored the Prescott bass. I am so grateful that Barrie has for this book, shared his personal story about Sam and Scotty, and his chronicling of his restoration efforts.


Appreciation and thanks go as well to an old friend from Geneva, Bob Wooley, who has kindly allowed the reprint of his article recalling his school-days memories of Scotty.


Helping me all along the way also has been Dave Berzinsky. Dave is a font of knowledge about almost everything to do with the history of jazz in Los Angeles during Scotty s time there. Stan Levey at one time described him as "a walking encyclopedia of jazz." He has given me much of his time—always willing to go through archives with me, help in identifying any album or player, or find a way to find the answer. Ken Poston [Executive Director of the Los Angeles Jazz Institute] was immensely helpful in opening his archives to me and personally looking through old magazines, cover to cover. Thanks to Joe Urso for his generous help. At the Geneva Historical Society, Karen Osburn and John Marks have given me great assistance. Special thanks to my editor, Karen DeVinney. who has graciously guided me through this entire process.


Of course this book became a reality not only because of all of those mentioned above, but because to a person, everyone I contacted, or who contacted me, everyone I met and spoke to over these past three years with regard to the book, has been most willing and open in discussing Scotty and most gracious in sharing their experiences and feelings which I have tried to accurately set forth in these pages. …”


In addition to her wonderfully, loving narrative about Scotty which brings to life who he was as a person and how other musicians viewed his work, the detailed and annotated discography by Chuck Ralston is truly a treasure trove that offers the reader/listener an opportunity to explore this gifted bassist in action, so to speak. Spanning pages 249-290, Chuck’s discography provides a comprehensive overview of Scotty’s recorded history which goes well-beyond his famous association with pianist Bill Evans. For one who lived such a short time, it is amazing to behold the number of influential Jazz musicians Scotty played with, a list that includes Benny Goodman, Stan Kenton, Stan Getz, Cal Tjader, Victor Feldman, Herb Geller, Chet Baker, Steve Kuhn, Booker Little and Ornette Coleman.


Chuck Ralston is also responsible the annotated bibliography that concludes the book.


During the half-dozen or so years that he was a professional musicians, Jazz underwent many rapid changes and Scotty was at the forefront of many of them. Indeed, one could say that he caused some of them with his singular style of bass playing.


I think that the following review from the AllAboutJazz website pretty well sums up Scotty’s importance as well as the significance of Helene’s biography of him.


"It's astonishing that [LaFaro s] massive reputation is primarily based on a handful of albums that feature him in full flower: the four recorded with the Bill Evans Trio, two by Coleman and Jazz Abstractions, a Gunther Schuller recording. His work on these is so amazing, his facility on his instrument so fluid, his melodic ideas and group interplay concepts so advanced that they still reverberate today.


Finally LaFaro has a worthy volume commensurate with his stature in music."

For order information from the UNTPress go here.


The Gene Harris Trio Plus One [Stanley Turrentine]

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“The reemergence of pianist Gene Harris on the jazz scene is one of the musical delights of the past two years. Gene is best remembered for his work with the popular Three Sounds, which he formed in 1956. The group disbanded in 1973, and after some commercial electronic ventures, Harris settled in Boise, Idaho, where he has been directing the music at the Idanha Hotel. Ray Brown was instrumental in prying Gene out of Boise, collaborating with the pianist on several dates.

On The Gene Harris Trio Plus One [Concord CCD-4303], his debut recording as a leader for Concord, Gene Harris is joined by the dynamic Stanley Turrentine, who had not played with Gene since a 1960 recording with the Three Sounds. This auspicious reunion is enhanced by the impeccable rhythm team of Ray Brown and Mickey Roker. A lively and demonstrative audience at the Blue Note in New York lends a party atmosphere to this live date. "I like recording live, particularly in clubs, where they're right on top of you," Gene notes. "There's constant interaction between the musicians and audience. At the Blue Note, you could feel the electricity in the air." And the super-charged music which resulted cuts across all stylistic and aesthetic boundaries.

Harris's style is a fascinating personal amalgam of varied influences. Having assimilated the two-handed blues and boogie of early idols Albert Ammons, Pete Johnson, and Freddie Slack, he added the fluidity of Oscar Peterson, and seasoned the mixture with a hint of Erroll Garner's timing and sly humor. Above all, Harris is a master of the blues, with the tools and imagination to weave endless variations on that timeless and universal pattern.

Stanley Turrentine is the perfect partner for Harris's blues explorations, as is immediately evident on Ray Brown's composition, Uptown Sop is another Ray Brown blues on which  a 24-bar framework is used. Turrentine wails from bar one of his five solo choruses. After two romping choruses by Harris, Turrentine returns, gradually cooling things down to end the piece.” [drawn from Ed Berger’s insert notes to the CD].

It’s an electrifying track which indicates all the reasons why Ray Brown tracked down Gene Harris and returned him to the national Jazz scene in a trio that he maintained along with Jeff Hamilton on drums that played together for the rest of the decade of the 1980s.

We included Uptown Sop on an earlier video tribute to Stanley Turrentine and return it here for you to enjoy as a remembrance of how much excitement Stanley, Gene, Ray and Mickey Roker on drums could generate performing the blues in an intimate club setting.


The Hi-Lo's And All That Jazz [From the Archives]

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


For the purposes of this feature, I wasn’t sure how best to describe The Hi-Lo’s, one of my all-time favorite vocal quartets, so I thought perhaps I would turn Gene Puerling, one of the group’s founding members, for the most accurate description.

Except that when I turned to his explanation in the insert notes to The Hi-Lo’s And All That Jazz, I got somewhat of a hedge as you will no doubt discern when you read the following:

“Outside of "Howd'ya get together?" the question most often asked of The Hi-Lo's is "Do you consider yourselves a jazz-vocal group?" The answer that rolls from our tongues (quite automatically by now) is, "We would rather not be categorized." Somewhat of an indirect answer, perhaps, but this is our feeling.

Since we endeavor to delve into all phases of vocal group work, such as our usual four-part harmonic constructions of standards, folk songs, and even barbershop gems in their traditional harmonies; and since our future plans call for the vocal adaptation of instrumental themes by the "classical masters," even work with Bach chorales, we can hardly be categorized as a “Jazz" vocal group. (Besides, has anyone really come up with an acceptable" definition of the word "jazz"?)



Looking at the contents of this program, however, we feel that we have directed our attention, for the most part, to the Jazz idiom. In doing so, we secured the great mind of Marty Paich for the instrumental backgrounds. Here is a man whose fine musical sense never cease. The instrumental scores here are tasteful and complete, fulfilling the job that is most difficult when backing a vocal group: that of complementing the group without overshadowing the basic vocal arrangement.

Marty, in turn, surrounded himself with the usual array of fine West Coast musicians. In the special-credits department, we see the name Clare Fischer. Clare is our accompanist (and our biggest critic). He is responsible for two originals here, including both vocal and instrumental writing. We feel that we have a real "find" in this talent from Michigan State University.

Onward, then! You'll find originals by Marty Paich, Russ Freeman, and Clare Fischer; vocal arrangements by Marty, Clare, and yours truly. And if you listen closely, the unmistakable tones of our friend, Frank DeVol, in 'THE HI-LO'S and all that jazz.”


In 1998 a collection of songs all taken from The Hi-Lo’s earliest recordings for Trend and Starlite were issued on a Varese Vintage CD [VSD 5694] entitled The Best of The Hi-Lo’s for which Elliot Kendall prepared the following insert notes. They represent an excellent historical overview of a singular vocal quartet - The Hi-Lo’s.

“Excitement, energy, emotion, humor and dynamics - these are just a few of the many elements found in the breathtaking vocal performances of The Hi-Lo’s. When they emerged as a musical force in the early 1950’s, the Hi-Lo's broke all the rules for vocal quartets. Traditional musical categories can't even begin to describe them; they lent their unique sound to pop, jazz, barbershop, calypso, folk, bossa nova and musical theater. The Hi-Lo's themselves pre­fer not to be categorized as their encompassed almost every contemporary musical style.
These recordings represent the formative years of the Hi-Lo's. During this period, the group took great risks and liberties with familiar standards, and added new twists and ad-libs to then-contemporary selections.
Group leader and bass singer Gene Puerling developed his many different musical ideas while growing up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. "I formed several groups during the late '40’s," he recalls today. "I started the Double Daters, the Honeybees and the Four Shades.


The Four Shades included future Hi-Lo's baritone singer Bob Strasen, who was originally from Strasbourg, France. When I first met him, he already had considerable experience in choir work and other vocal groups in and around Milwaukee. Bob was a terrific barbershopper, and he had a wonderfully smooth vocal quality
In 1951, Puerling moved to Los Angeles and, within a week of his arrival, met tenor singer Clark Burroughs. Burroughs was a Los Angeles native, a graduate of Loyola University and a member of Roger Wagner's chorale before he met Puerling. Puerling and Burroughs were soon roommates and singing partners in a quartet called the Youngsters on the "Alan Young T.V variety show." To make ends meet, Puerling did occasional session work (including one with Les Baxter’s orchestra) until he eventually started working at Wallichs Music City record store in Hollywood. He also worked for a brief period as a shipping clerk at London Records.
Meanwhile Burroughs joined the Encores, the vocal group which performed with the Billy May band. The baritone singer in the encores was Bob Morse, a native of Pacoima, California and a skilled graphic artist who was attending Chouinard Art Institute (this skill was later utilized when he designed the group's early album covers and on-stage wardrobe). Burroughs and Morse sang in the Encores for over a year and, when the group split up, Puerling approached them with the idea of forming a vocal quartet. When they agreed, Puerling summoned his former singing partner Bob Strasen from Milwaukee who flew to Los Angeles and The Hi-Lo’s were born. The first vocal work­outs immediately convinced all four that they had made the right decision. As Puerling put it, "as soon as we sang a few chords together, we knew it was going to be great.”
For ten weeks or more the Hi-Lo's rehearsed at least three hours a day. Every note, syllable and dynamic was tirelessly planned out before they even entered a recording studio. Writing and arranging most of the vocal charts were Gene Puerling responsibility. "For one thing," Gene notes, "Clark had a phenomenal vocal range, and that opened up all sorts of arranging possibilities. I found myself conceiving very complex vocal ideas, most of which these guys sang with great aplomb. The more difficult I wrote, the more they seemed to love the challenge. “Marvelous talent!" Clark Burroughs adds: "When Gene finished creating and polishing an arrangement, it was comparable to all the intricacies and workings of a finely-crafted Swiss watch. It really became a work of beauty and art."

In April of  1953, the Hi-Lo's were signed to Trend records in a deal made possible by arranger-conductor (and future film composer) Jerry Fielding. "As I recall, we literally began knocking on doors to sing for people, and one of those doors just happen to belong to Jerry Fielding,” Puerling remembers with a laugh.

Burroughs recalls that, "Jerry was very excited about our sound; I can still remember how effusive he was. He was really knocked out, Two of the songs we auditioned for him were They Didn't Believe Me and Georgia. He took us immediately to Albert Marx who owned Trend records, and in no time at all we had a signed contract. From that point on, things really started to happen. We secured a management deal with Paul Cerf and Bob Ginter of Beverly Hills, and several radio stations picked up our first record right after it was released. Soon after that Bill Loeb became our personal manager.
On April 10, 1953, The Hi-Lo’s recorded They Didn’t Believe Me, Georgia, Peg ‘O My Heart and My Baby Just Cares For Me for a Trend extended play LP.  All four songs were recorded between 9:30 PM. and 12:30 AM at Radio Recorders Annex on Sycamore Avenue in Hollywood. Among the 15 musicians employed for the session were such jazz greats as William "Buddy" Collette (saxophone), Conrad Gozzo (trumpet), Dick Nash (trombone), Ted Nash (saxophone) and George "Red" Callender (sass). Soon after this session, the group also recorded a single of Love Me or Leave Me with legendary jazz vocalist Herb Jeffries for the Olympic label.

By late 1954, the Hi-Lo’s had left Trend and signed a new deal with Starlite Records where they were fortunate enough to have their orchestrations arranged and conducted by Frank Comstock. Under Comstock, the Starlite sessions were recorded at Goldstar and Capitol studios in Hollywood. "Those were certainly exciting sessions and they were done very quickly, with no overdubs," Frank Comstock recalls today. "Every minute of studio time was utilized, and we would easily finish an album in three days, perhaps recording four songs a day during that time. I think that's what makes those records sound so fresh and exciting today." Clark Burroughs elaborates, "Gene would write the vocal arrangements, and then Frank would write orchestra parts to complement Gene's arrangements. It was actually very simple."
In 1957 the Hi-Lo's signed with Columbia Records, where they continued their vocal harmony legacy with orchestras led by Frank Comstock, Warren Barker, Frank de Vol and Marty Paich. In 1959, Bob Strasen left the Hi-Lo’s and was replaced by tenor Don Shelton.
The Hl-LO's were also extremely popular on variety television, and appeared on, among others, the Steve Allen show (6 episodes), the Rosemary Clooney show (39 episodes!), Swing Into Spring with Peggy Lee, The Nat “King” Cole Show, The Garry Moore Show, a Frank Sinatra Special, The Bell Telephone Hour's Main Street U.S.A. and the Pat Boone show.
The early 1960’s found the Hi-Lo’s signed to Frank Sinatra's Reprise Records, where they continued their unique and innovative sound until they disbanded in 1964.
In 1967, Gene Puerling and Don Shelton former The Singers Unlimited with Bonnie Herman and Len Dresslar and began a new era for vocal harmony work with the use of studio overdubbing.
The Hi-Lo’s reunited and performed at the 21st Annual Monterey Jazz Festival in 1978 and recorded a pair of inspired albums for the MPS label in 1979 and 1981.

The following video features The Hi-Lo’s performing Marty Paich’s arrangement of Of Thee I Sing.

J.C. Higginbotham - Jazz Trombonist

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


I got to hear J.C. Higginbotham in performance during my first visit to a Jazz festival.

The occasion was a July 4, 1957 birthday tribute to Louis Armstrong that was held as part of the American Jazz Festival in Newport, RI. The following year, it changed its named to the Newport Jazz Festival.

On the night in question, J.C. Higginbotham performed as part of a group headed by his long time running mate from New Orleans, trumpeter Henry “Red” Allen. Also on hand were two other trombonists who had a long association with Pops: Kid Ory and Jack Teagarden.

Big T, Kid and J.C. made up one heckuva trombone section.

I really didn’t know much about J.C.’s earlier career until I read the following piece by George Hofer which appeared in the January 30, 1964 edition of down beat magazine. I found it to be especially helpful because it also included a discography of J.C.’s earlier recordings.

This feature is part of a continuing effort by the JazzProfiles editorial staff to chronicle the careers of some of the earliest makers of the music to show our appreciation and to help keep their memory alive. No them; no Jazz.

It is also interesting to explore the earlier environments in which the music took place and some of the zany characters who were associated with it.


The Early Career of J.C. Higginbotham

“THE ORIENTATION of pre-bop trombone took a wide range of development, from the percussive tailgate of Kid Ory to the smooth, melodic playing of Lawrence Brown. Between these two extremes evolved playing styles based on the personal creativity of such men as Georg Brunis, Jimmy Harrison, Miff Mole, Tricky Sam Nanton, Jack Teagarden, and J. C. Higginbotham.

Higginbotham, who has acknowledged the influence of Harrison, once wrote, "If a man has technical ability and understands harmony (whether through formal training or sheer intuition), he should be able to express himself. But the result still depends on what is going on in his mind."

Higginbotham's most exciting and productive period came when he was a leading soloist with the late Luis Russell's Saratoga Club Orchestra between 1928 and '30. He was a blues player established in a New Orleans setting with such natives as trumpeter Red Allen, clarinetist Albert Nicholas, pianist Russell, bassist Pops Foster, and drummer Paul Barbarin; and his performances fit well into the scheme of things. His solos at fast tempos were characterized by his terrific drive, hot brassy tone, and fierce vibrato; and even on slow numbers he still played in a shout style.

To quote Higginbotham again, he has written, "The important things about a jazz musician are how he is thinking, the emotions that compel him to play, his attitude toward music, musicians, and people in general."

In his playing, Higginbotham has illustrated many of his personal characteristics, but his slap-bang, devil-may-care facade serves to hide from view his deep and sincere personal attitudes. While he could arrive in New Orleans in 1947 for an Esquire concert with two case — one holding his trombone, the other containing nine bottles of whiskey — and wind up playing seated on the floor, he could write, at the same time, in a national magazine, an article entitled Some of My Best Friends Are Enemies, illustrating a sensitive and keen judgment of the racial situation as applying to the Negro musicians.

JACK (JAY C.)  HIGGINBOTHAM was born in Atlanta, Ga., on May 11, 1906.   His family owned a restaurant and was fairly well-to-do.  He had an older brother, Garnet, who played trombone and was the coach of the football team at Morris Brown University. He also had a sister who was interested in his musical inclinations and bought him his first trombone. The other musical Higginbothams included, in later years, his niece, songwriter Irene, now married and living in Brooklyn.

Young Higginbotham's first instrument was a bugle he picked up for a dollar and with which he learned to play well-known tunes by ear when 13. On Sundays he played the Poet and Peasant Overture on his bugle in the chapel of his church.

A couple of years later his sister put $11 down on an old, caseless trombone she found in a shop in Decatur, Ga. He was now on his way, and the first tune he learned to play on his new horn was My Old Kentucky Home.

He was enrolled at a boarding school, connected with Morris Brown, and managed to sneak out three nights a week (he was forced to climb a gate to get back in) to play on a hotel roof garden in Atlanta with the Neal Montgomery Orchestra. The band had two girl musicians, pianist Marion Hamilton and drummer Mae Bates, one of whom wanted to marry the 15-year-old trombone player. When the girl tried to make up his mind for him by poking a pistol at his stomach, he decided to forfeit the sum of $9 that he had been making for the three nights of playing.

A short time later, he was sent to Cincinnati to study the tailoring business at the Cincinnati Colored Training School. After finishing the short course, he returned to Atlanta to finish up his education at Morris Brown, but he had taken to the Ohio city, and it wasn't long before he returned to work as a mechanic at the Cincinnati plant of General Motors. Nights he spent gigging with Wesley Helvey's band, a local territory outfit that later featured trumpeter Jonah Jones.

The young trombonist became a regular member of the Helvey band during 1924-25 and recalls the stars of the group were trumpeters Theodore (Wingie) Carpenter and Steve Dunn. The three brass men hung around together and frequently visited with the members of the Zack Whyte Orchestra when the latter was in town.

One-armed Wingie Carpenter was the first to go farther north, and in 1926 he sent for Higginbotham to come on up and join the Gene Primus Band then playing at the Paradise Ballroom in Buffalo, N. Y.

A short time later Higginbotham went with another Buffalo band led by pianist Jimmy Harris. Then he went to New York City in September, 1928, and joined Luis Russell's band at the Club Harlem on Lenox Ave. For the next two years, the peak period of the Russell crew, they played regularly at the Savoy Ballroom, the Roseland Ballroom on Broadway, the Sunday night sessions at the Next Club uptown, and toured the circuit from New York to Washington, D.C., to Baltimore, Md., to Philadelphia, Pa. Finally, they settled down at the Saratoga Club, and though today Higginbotham says, "It was the swingingest band I ever played with," he began to get restless.

One of Higginbotham's favorite bands of all time was the Chick Webb aggregation, and when trombonist Jimmy Harrison's last illness took him out of the band, bassist Elmer James recommended Higginbotham to the drummer-leader as a replacement.

After several months with Webb, the Georgia trombonist switched to the Fletcher Henderson Orchestra and remained until 1933. When Lucky Millinder took over the leadership of the Mills Blue Rhythm Band in 1934, Higginbotham, with his pal from the early Russell days, Red Allen, went with Millinder for several years. Then, in 1937, they both rejoined Russell, whose band at the time was fronted by Louis Armstrong.

Allen and Higginbotham finally left Russell for good in 1940 and organized a small jazz group. During most of the 1940s, some of the '50s (Higginbotham worked with his own group for long periods in both Cleveland and Boston), and occasionally today the brass team of Allen and Higginbotham has been together more often than not."                                    

Early Higginbotham Discography

New York City, Feb. 1, 1929
King Oliver and His Orchestra — Louis Metcalf, cornet; Higginbotham, trombone; Charlie Holmes, soprano saxophone; Greely Walton, clarinet; Luis Russell, piano; Will Johnson, guitar; Bass Moore,  tuba; Paul Barbarin, drums.
CALL OF THE FREAKS (48333)
Victor V38039, Bluebird B6546, B7705
THE TRUMPET'S PRAYER (48334)
Victor V38039, Bluebird B6546, B7705

New York City, July 16, 1929
Henry Allen and His New Yorkers— Allen, trumpet; Higginbotham, trombone;
Albert   Nicholas,   clarinet;   Holmes,   alto saxophone; Russell, piano; Johnson, guitar; Pops Foster, bass; Barbarin, drums.
IT SHOULD BE You (55133)
..... .Victor V38073, Bluebird B10235
BIFFLY BLUES (55134)
......Victor V38073, Bluebird B10235

New York City, Sept. 9, 1929
Luis Russell and His Orchestra—Allen, Bill Coleman, trumpets; Higginbotham, trombone, vocal; Nicholas, clarinet, alto saxophone; Holmes, alto, soprano saxophones; Teddy Hill, tenor saxophone; Russell, piano; Johnson, guitar; Foster, bass; Barbarin, drums.
FEELIN' THE SPIRIT (402939)
...........Okeh 8766, Vocalion 3480

New York City, Feb. 5, 1930
J. C. Higginbotham and His Six Hicks —Allen, trumpet; Higginbotham, trombone; Holmes, alto saxophone; Russell, piano; Johnson, guitar; Foster, bass; Barbarin, drums.
GIVE ME YOUR TELEPHONE NUMBER
(403736)   ...............Okeh  8772,
Hot Record Society 14 HIGGINBOTHAM BLUES (403737)
___Okeh 8772, Hot Record Society 14,
Columbia 36011

Oct. 16, 1933
Benny Carter and His Orchestra—Eddie Mallory, Bill Dillard, Dick Clark, trumpets; Higginbotham, Fred Robinson, Keg Johnson, trombones; Benny Carter, Way-man Carver, Johnny Russell, Glyn Pacque, saxophones; Teddy Wilson, piano; Lawrence Lucie, guitar; Bass Hill, bass; Sid Catlett, drums.
SYMPHONY IN RIFFS (265162)
.................... .Columbia 2898

GARY SMULYAN INTERVIEW WITH GORDON JACK

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


Gordon Jack is a frequent contributor to the Jazz Journal and a very generous friend to these pages in his allowance of JazzProfiles republishings of his excellent writings. He is the author of Fifties Jazz Talk An Oral Retrospective and he developed the Gerry Mulligan discography in Raymond Horrick’s book Gerry Mulligan’s Ark.


The following article was first published in Jazz Journal, October 2010.
For more information and subscriptions please visit www.jazzjournal.co.uk
                                          
“The baritone saxophone was once dismissed by a writer in Downbeat magazine as nothing more than a ‘Bottom-Heavy Monster’ but it was Harry Carney’s huge, indomitable sound and concept on the instrument that became one of the defining qualities of probably the greatest jazz ensemble ever – the Duke Ellington Orchestra. Leo Parker, Cecil Payne, Serge Chaloff and Pepper Adams showed how well it could adapt to the harmonic intricacies of bebop and Gerry Mulligan’s melodic creativity was uninhibited by what many considered to be no more than a section horn. Nick Brignola, Ronnie Cuber, Lars Gullin, Bob Gordon, Ronnie Ross and John Surman are just a few who have added to the lore as has Grammy award winner Gary Smulyan. Unlike a lot of contemporary players Gary’s baritone does not extend to a low A (C concert) which prompted my first question when we met on his visit to the UK in March 2010.


“I much prefer a conventional Bb baritone because a low A weakens the power of the lower register, whereas the Bb horn has a much more open and singing quality down there.” (Alex Stewart’s highly informative book on New York big bands – ‘Making The Scene’ – says there is yet another price to be paid for a low A. Many musicians insist that it does not blend so well with the other saxophones in the section because the extra length on the instrumental bell alters the entire overtone series. Danny Bank** who might just be the most recorded baritone player in history has also highlighted intonation problems at the top of the horn – GJ.) “ Danny is a Master and if he says that I’ll go along with it too but don’t forget Nick Brignola played one as does Ronnie Cuber and they both sound amazing.


“I was born in Bethpage, New York in 1956 and started playing alto when I was eight but by the time I was 13 I was fooling around on the bass-guitar. Rock’n’Roll was the big thing for kids back then and I got together with a couple of friends because we really liked Eric Clapton’s ‘Cream’ – the group he had with Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker. We rehearsed in a garage and did one gig at a high-school prom but we weren’t very successful.


“I wasn’t aware of jazz at all but one night I was twiddling a radio dial and found Ed Beach’s famous ‘Just Jazz’ show on WRVR. He played Fats Waller’s African Ripples and that was a defining moment in my life in terms of changing direction. I started hanging out at Sonny’s Place in Long Island which was one of the clubs everyone from New York used to play. Al Cohn, Zoot Sims, Jimmy Knepper, Lee Konitz and Ray Nance all played there – the list goes on and on. Throughout high-school I was really getting into the music, playing at Sonny’s three or four nights a week and sitting in with
some of those guys. This was before I had a driving licence so my parents used to drop me off at the club at nine and pick me up at 1:30 in the morning.


“One night Bob Mover was there with Chet Baker. I was about 16 and although we didn’t know each other, I started talking to Bob during an intermission. I told him I played alto and asked if I could sit in. He went over to the juke-box and put on Bird’s record of Just Friends telling me to sing along with Charlie Parker’s solo. I passed the test because I sang it from the beginning to the end and that was my audition to sit-in with Chet who was very nice to me incidentally. We played a couple of numbers and Bob and I became good friends from that day forward.


“My influences then were Charlie Parker, Cannonball Adderley, Phil Woods and Gene Quill. I also liked Frank Strozier a lot who was one of the true giants of the alto saxophone with a mature and original sense of harmony that was very advanced.


“The first well known band I played with was Woody Herman’s thanks to a recommendation from my friend Glenn Drewes who was playing trumpet with the band. I was 22 and I got a call from Bill Byrne the road-manager asking if I wanted to replace Bruce Johnstone who was leaving. He is a New Zealender and an unsung giant of the instrument – I wish more people knew about him because Bruce is truly amazing.” (One of his very best solos on record can be found on a 1973 recording of Macarthur Park with Maynard Ferguson’s big band on Vocalion SML 8429 - GJ). “I’d never played a baritone before but I jumped at the chance to play with Herman. I went out and bought a Yamaha and joined them two weeks later in Bridgeport, Connecticut. I was told that Woody’s pet peeve was alto players who doubled on baritone – he really hated that. He wanted guys who specialised on the instrument where the baritone was their ‘voice’. Every day I was convinced that he was going to say, ‘You know kid, nice try – we’ll see you later’ but he never did.


“Woody was one of the best band-leaders I ever worked for because he led the band without seeming to. He never told anybody what to do, it was all very subtle and I was thrilled to share the stage with him. I loved the three tenors and baritone voicing and it was an honour and a privilege to play some of the same parts Serge Chaloff had played. Four Brothers was still in Jimmy Giuffre’s handwriting and the saxes used to perform it out front of the band every night.” (Gene Allen who played with the band in the early sixties told me in a 2000 interview that he liked the concept of a tenor lead. However he preferred a conventional sax section of two altos, two tenors and a baritone because it gave the writers more flexibility and tone colours – GJ.)


“The band played all kinds of dates including Elks clubs and the American Legion. One night we might be in Carnegie Hall the next some dance out in the mid-west. That was what was so valuable because you had to play all kinds of music which wasn’t always satisfying but it was a gig. Woody had been doing that kind of thing all through his career.” (There is a photo in William Clancy’s fascinating book ‘Chronicles Of The Herds’ showing Gary with the band at Disneyland, California in August 1979 – GJ.)


“In 1979 we played the Monterey Jazz Festival with Dizzy Gillespie, Slide Hampton and Stan Getz as guests. I remember Stan played What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life? which luckily was recorded because it was absolutely stunning. One of my favourite records is ‘Focus’ which is one of the pivotal jazz records of all time. The way Stan reacted to Eddie Sauter’s great string writing was brilliant and Roy Haynes sounds just great on that album too.


“I stayed with Woody for two years. During that time I decided to say goodbye to my alto because I discovered I really was a baritone player and just before I left the band I switched from a Yamaha to a Conn.


“I moved to New York in 1980 and started subbing at the Village Vanguard with Mel Lewis which is how everyone gets into the band – you see if the chemistry works and how things fit. Gary Pribek who had been with Buddy Rich was on baritone but he wanted to move over to tenor. Eventually the tenor chair opened up allowing him to make the switch which is when they offered the baritone chair to me and I’m still there – I’m probably due for a gold watch. Bob Brookmeyer was the musical director and I think his writing was going in a different direction to where the band was at that time but we learnt so much under his direction and tutelage. It was an incredibly beneficial experience for all of us to work with him.” (Talking about that period Bob Brookmeyer told me back in 1995, ‘I was becoming very experimental and giving them music that was not suitable for them so by 1982 I had written myself out of Mel’s band – GJ.)


“I played Monday nights at the Vanguard but the early eighties was a slow time for extra gigs. I was doing a lot of commercial work like weddings, bar-mitzvahs and other dance band stuff but it was really unsatisfying music. I’d always enjoyed cooking and as there was so little happening for me musically that was artistically satisfying I decided to get away from music for a while and do something else that was creative. I did an eight-month intensive culinary course at the New York Restaurant School and then worked for a year and a half at a French restaurant in Pearl River, New York doing twelve hour shifts.” (In 1991 Gary told writer Arnold Jay Smith, ‘After that, four-hour weddings and bar-mitzvahs looked pretty good!’ – GJ).


“I realised that I had been trying to run away from music which was my one true calling. I started putting more into playing and taking my career seriously which is when things started happening. I was free-lancing all over town playing with a whole host of people thanks to rediscovering a sense of commitment as a musician after spending so many hours on my feet in a hot kitchen.” (The Lee Konitz nonet, the George Coleman octet, the Toshiko Akiyoshi-Lew Tabackin big band, Tito Puente, Lionel Hampton, the Carnegie Hall Jazz  Band, the Smithsonian Masterworks Orchestra and the Tom Harrell octet are just a few of the many notable New York ensembles Gary performed with from the mid eighties – GJ.)


“I had the good fortune to be part of the Philip Morris Superband led by Gene Harris which did three world-tours with B.B.King and Ray Charles as guests. One of the  concerts was recorded at the Town Hall in NYC in 1989 and I had a stop-time chorus on Ol’ Man River arranged by Torrie Zito which was pretty well received on the night.” (Gary is being really modest here because the sleeve note refers to this solo as ‘One of the evening’s highlights…that rendered even the normally talkative leader Gene Harris almost at a loss for words.’ From the audience reaction on the CD it sounds as though he received a well deserved standing ovation – GJ). “That same year I had the great pleasure of performing in Charles Mingus’ magnum opus Epitaph conducted by Gunther Schuller at Avery Fisher Hall.


“When Gerry Mulligan passed away Ronnie Cuber, Nick Brignola and I did some concerts together as a tribute which was followed by an album of Gerry’s music together with some other material associated with him. He wasn’t a direct influence but anyone who has played the baritone is going to be influenced in some way by Mulligan even if it’s through the back door. I mean, I owned all his records and I loved the CJB. I recognised his genius and brilliance but I was more attracted to a hard-bop style of playing so stylistically I gravitated more to Pepper Adams. Gerry came out of Pres really. You can hear it in his time-feel whereas Pepper was from the post-bop era – a much more aggressive style of playing which is my approach but I still listen to Lester Young and Gerry too.


“Pepper Adams (along with Charlie Parker) is my main influence because his playing has all the characteristics a great improviser requires – an original and personal sound, a well developed harmonic conception, a keen wit and a ferocious sense of swing. For me he was the most important post-bop baritone player and his influence is still felt today. I must mention Harry Carney whose sound and approach paved the way for everyone who played the instrument and who followed in his footsteps. Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn’s beautiful writing showcased the baritone because Harry was featured so prominently.


“John Surman is someone else I really admire. About five years ago he played a solo concert in a small theatre at the Montreal Jazz Festival. During the evening he’d been playing electronics, soprano sax and bass clarinet and for an encore he played‘Round Midnight on the baritone. He used all Monk’s changes and it was one of the most stunning versions of Monk’s classic I’ve ever heard – I can still hear it because John is amazing.


“Getting back to the ‘Three Baritone Band’ we still work occasionally and a whole bunch of people have come through since Nick Brignola died, like Charles Davis, Howard Johnson and the brilliant Scott Robinson.” (An excellent example of multi-instrumentalist Robinson’s stunning work on baritone can be found on Bob Brookmeyer’s 1997 ‘Celebration’ CD – Challenge Records CHR 70066. Bob said at the time, ‘He did an absolutely amazing job sounding to me like Mulligan - if Gerry had been born 30 years later - plus all the personal history Scott brings’ – GJ).


“I’ve made two CDs with Mark Masters that I’m really pleased with beginning with a release featuring Clifford Brown material.” (Jack Montrose, who arranged a famous 1954 album for the trumpeter which included Zoot Sims and Bob Gordon, is present in the sax section. He also arranged three titles for the Masters session – GJ).


“The other one that might be a surprise is dedicated to Frankie Laine because I’m a huge fan. He had a real blues sensibility in his approach and he was incredibly soulful. He was also a skilful composer and lyricist helping to create a wonderful body of tunes that are both beautiful and harmonically interesting from a jazz musician’s point of view. Unlike a lot of pop singers from that era he collaborated with some of the really great songwriters like Hoagy Carmichael, Matt Dennis, Billy Strayhorn and Mel Torme.” (Probably the two finest examples of Frankie Laine’s work as a lyricist are We’ll Be Together Again with Carl Fischer and What Am I Here For with Duke Ellington. In 1996 the Songwriter’s Hall of Fame honoured him with its Lifetime Achievement Award – GJ).


“Unfortunately he’s best remembered for country & western schlock like Rawhide but in my opinion he was a truly great jazz singer as he demonstrated on a 1955 album with Buck Clayton, J.J.Johnson, Kai Winding and Budd Johnson.


“On the subject of recordings ‘Hidden Treasures’ with Christian McBride and Billy Drummond featured the line-up that I really like to work with – baritone, bass and drums only. Although the bass develops the harmonic line, I am free to create within that structure without having a piano or guitar leading me in the direction they want. Without those constraints I can take the music where I want to take it.” (‘More Treasures’ where pianist Mike LeDonne drops out for four titles has a similar line-up – GJ).   


“I feel honoured and privileged to have shared the bandstand over the years with so many of my musical heroes. Through all of those experiences I’ve had some great times both on and off the stand and I feel I have really grown as a musician.”


** Danny Bank died three months after this interview on June 5th. 2010.

You can checkout Gary's brilliant solo on Old Man River as a member of Gene Harris and the Philip Morris Superband on the following video.

           

Reggie Watkins: Avid Admirer - The Jimmy Knepper Project

$
0
0
© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“Trombonist Reggie Watkins had the opportunity to meet trombone master Jimmy Knepper just once, shortly before Knepper's death in June 2003. Watkins was performing in his native Wheeling, WV with Maynard Ferguson's Big Bop Nouveau Band, and Knepper, himself a Ferguson alumnus, was in the audience. The older musician complimented Watkins after the concert and shook his hand.

Little did Watkins realize that a series of remarkable circumstances ten years later would lead him to record an album of Knepper compositions, played on the late musician's Bach Stradivarius 36 trombone. The CD in question, Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project, will be released on Matt Parker's BYNK Records on July 13.

Avid Admirer, Watkins's third album as a leader, was first set in motion by his mother Liz's friendship at church in Wheeling, circa 2013, with a woman who was the widow of Jimmy Knepper. After Maxine Knepper passed the following year, Jimmy's daughter Robin Knepper Mahonen donated her father's collection of musical instruments to Watkins. "Dad made me promise that his horns would go to a musician," Mahonen writes in the CD liner notes. "Reggie Watkins is the man that will take up these horns and give them a voice again."”
- Terri Hinte Public Relations

By way of background, and quite by coincidence, I recently read the following about Terri Hinte in a March 2007 edition of Gene Lees’ Jazzletter:

“Terri Hinte is a quite remarkable woman. She studied French, German, and linguistics at Washington Square College of NYU, Portuguese at the Berlitz School in Oakland prior to extensive travels in Brazil, did private study of Czech before going to Prague, as well as basic Italian, had considerable writing and editing experience at magazines in New York, and was appointed Arts and Culture Commissioner of the city of Richmond by Mayor Irma Anderson. Over the years she has worked with and done publicity for just about every major jazz artist you can think of.

Publicists are a mixed breed. There have been a number of them in record companies over the years who have done their work decently and well, including Sol Handwerger at MGM and Herb Helman and Elliot Home at RCA Victor. There are others who are hustlers, aggressive and unpleasant. Terri is among the best, and high in the hierarchy of that group. No one ever contacted her for information on Fantasy's catalog or about individual artists or, for that matter, anything else, without getting a prompt and efficient response, usually providing you all that you needed. She also commissioned and edited the liner notes for the company. There is no one alive who knows that Fantasy catalog better than she does. It's what you can't buy: knowledge in the head.”

In the same issue of the Jazzletter, the noted Jazz author and critic Doug Ramsey made these comments about Terri:

"Terri Hinte …. Her name will not mean a thing to most of you, but her work has indirectly benefited serious jazz listeners for decades. ... Ms. Hinte is the very model of what a record company publicist should be — deeply knowledgeable about the music and its players, intelligent, responsive, resourceful, helpful in countless substantive ways ....

"Far from simply sending out review copies and news releases, as many companies do, Terri Hinte made it her business to know the extensive and varied catalog inside and out and to understand the importance of the hundreds of artists who recorded for its labels over more than five decades. Her newsletter and advisories were light years beyond the puffery that passes for publicity in too many precincts of the music business. They contained news that writers about the music, and those who broadcast it, could and did use, resulting in better informed listeners. Her phone calls often brought writers valuable story ideas. The catalogs she produced are reference works packed with information.

"I'm sure that Terri Hinte will do well as an independent publicist and writer, ….”

Imagine my delight, then, when a preview copy of Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project [BYNK 003]by trombonist Reggie Watkins arrived at the editorial offices of JazzProfiles which was sent to it directly by none other than Terri Hinte!

With the endorsements of Terri’s qualifications by Messrs Lees and Ramsey still ringing in my ears, I figured that if Terri was handling the public relations for Reggie Watkins’ new CD, then it had to be good.

And it is good - and then some.

As one would expect after reading Gene Lees and Doug Ramsey’s glowing appraisal of her skills, Terri sent along the following detailed press release, biographical information about Reggie and an annotation about the music and the musicians associated with Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project.


© -Terri Hinte, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“Reggie Watkins is one of the most accomplished and soulful jazz trombonists of his generation. Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project, his third album as a bandleader, provides swinging, straight-ahead, musically challenging evidence of that assertion.

Watkins had long admired fellow trombonist Jimmy Knepper, particularly his many recordings with Charles Mingus. The two men didn't know each other, but Knepper saw Watkins perform with Maynard Ferguson's Big Bop Nouveau Band and the Wheeling, West Virginia Symphony at the final concert he attended prior to succumbing to complications of Parkinson's disease in June 2003. The older musician, who had been a member of Ferguson's band a half century earlier, complimented Watkins after the concert and shook his hand.

"I thought it was cool to just stand there together for a while," Watkins recalls.
Knepper's widow Maxine and Watkins's mother Liz met at a Wheeling church a decade later and soon realized that each had a trombonist in her family. Following Maxine's death in 2014, her and Jimmy's daughter Robin Knepper Mahonen donated her dad's large collection of musical instruments, including his prized Bach Stradivarius 36 trombone, to Watkins as a way to, she writes in the notes for Avid Admirer, "give them a voice again."

Avid Admirer is a magnificent result of Mahonen's generous gift. Set for release on July 15, 2016 0n Matt Parker's BYNK label, it features the trombone virtuoso giving voice to eight of Knepper's original compositions, as well as to "Goodbye," a Gordon Jenkins ballad that Knepper had been especially fond of playing. Parker, the brilliant saxophonist who co-produced the disc with Watkins, alternates between soprano and tenor. Orrin Evans and Tuomo Uusitalo take turns at the piano. Bassist Steve Whipple and drummer Reggie Quinerly round out the quintet. They are New Yorkers all, save for the leader, who was born and raised in Wheeling and has long been based in Pittsburgh.

"I've always been a serious Charles Mingus fan and became aware of Jimmy Knepper's work through Mingus's music," Watkins says. "Having contact with Robin was the beginning of me exploring Jimmy Knepper the composer."


Watkins found "Avid Admirer," a swinging blues in B-flat from a 1957 Bethlehem album by Knepper with Bill Evans on piano, to be an ideal choice as a title for the present CD.

"Here's me investigating and becoming so immersed in this man's music, but at the end of the day, I have my own voice and I'm not trying to play like Jimmy," he explains. "It's more like I'm a fan and a student of the music, in awe of his incredible accomplishments and talent. I don't know if I've ever enjoyed a session more."

The CD kicks off swinging at mid-tempo with "Figment Fragment," a contrafact on the 32-bar Swing Era anthem "Stomping at the Savoy" played in D-flat major.

"Idol of the Flies," the title track of the same Knepper album that contained "Avid Admirer," is based on a series of six-bar phrases with Arabic nuances in the harmony.

Next comes the even more complex "Cunningbird," the title song of a 1976 Knepper album on Steeplechase. The minimalistic beginning and end melodies are in 5/4 time, while interlocking grooves behind the solos have bassist Whipple playing in 3/4, drummer Quinerly in 6/8, and pianist Evans in 9/8.

"Orrin's understanding of that is deep, more so than the piano solo on Jimmy's record," Watkins says. "He really expresses the depth of his role in that subdivision."

The bossa nova ballad "Noche Triste" is followed by "In the Interim," a 32-bar number from Knepper's 1986 Dream Dancing album for Criss Cross Jazz that begins, quite unusually, at the bridge. "It's a thing you don't normally hear people do," Watkins explains. "We did the same thing. I didn't want to reinvent the arrangements because they are so artistic and purposeful."

The 32-bar "Ogling Ogre" is treated to a shuffle groove, much as its composer and company had on the Idol of the Flies album.

"Primrose Path," originally recorded by Knepper and Pepper Adams on a 1958 album for Metro Jazz, playfully alternates between blues and non-blues forms. There are no blues chord changes on the head, yet the solos are played over 12-bar minor-blues changes followed by a 16-bar non-blues bridge.

"Goodbye," which Benny Goodman had used as his set-closing theme, was recorded by Knepper on Dream Dancing."His version is quite touching," Watkins says. "When I performed that tune last year at a concert of Jimmy's music at the Stifel Fine Arts Center in Wheeling, Robin was in the audience. I could see it really had a profound effect on her."


The Pittsburgh trombonist was pleased to join the high-caliber musicians Matt Parker helped him round up for the two-day sessions at Brooklyn Recording during the first week of December 2015. Watkins and Parker had known each other since they toured together in Ferguson's band from 2004 to 2006. Parker also contributed two tunes and his two saxophones to his friend's previous CD, the critically acclaimed One for Miles, One for Maynard, released in 2014 by Corona Music.

"Matt is very open-minded and very creative," Watkins says. "There's a lot of tradition in his playing, but he's adventurous at the same time. He had his head in this record as much as I did. We've lived this music together."

Reggie Watkins was born on August 24, 1971, in Wheeling. He played piano, trumpet, and tuba before taking up valve trombone during his sophomore year in high school. He switched to slide trombone before attending West Virginia University.

"The idea of improvisation and playing trombone kind of hit me at the same time," he recalls. "I had to make the transition from being a valve player to a slide player. The instrument spoke to me. My main influence on trombone from the beginning was JJ. Johnson."

Watkins's early professional experience included playing and singing pop standards with a quartet on cruise ships between 1994 and'97.

"It turned out to be invaluable to learn words to all those songs," he now says. "If you have a song like There Will Never Be Another You' that have really great words and great storylines, it really helps you to more naturally phrase the song and be a more melodic player."

Since settling in Pittsburgh, Watkins has played in big bands and small groups led by onetime Horace Silver drummer Roger Humphries and the legendary Maynard Ferguson. During his tenure with Ferguson, Watkins became musical director, contributing arrangements for the big band. He played on three of the band's albums— MF Live at Ronnie Scott's, Swingin' for Schuur with vocalist Diane Schuur, and Big City Rhythms with Michael Feinstein—and recorded the first album under his own name, 2004's A-List in the Maynard Ferguson Presents series.

When not performing with his own jazz group — at such venues as the James Street Gastropub and Speakeasy and Manchester Craftsmen's Guild, both in Pittsburgh; Sweetwater Center for the Arts in Sewickley, Pennsylvania; the Oglebay Institute's Stifel Fine Arts Center in Wheeling; Twins Jazz in Washington, DC; and NUBLU Jazz Festival in New York City — Watkins has worked frequently outside the jazz realm.

He spent five years, living for a period in both Pittsburgh and Austin, Texas, as a member of and writer/arranger for the Austin-based Grooveline Horns, which toured extensively with folk-pop singer-songwriter Jason Mraz and also backed many other artists, including Willie Nelson, the Dave Matthews Band, and Gary Clark Jr. He's been living full-time back in Pittsburgh since 2013 with his wife and their two young children. Watkins is the founder of another trumpet-trombone-saxophone trio called the Steeltown Horns that often tours with the New Orleans quintet Dumpstaphunk, and of the Move Makers, a Pittsburgh wedding and corporate party band. Jazz, however, remains Watkins's primary passion.

A writer for the Wheeling News-Register described him as "[a] remarkably pure trombonist with strong, beautiful tones and an extensive range. Watkins plays with the cool ease of a veteran, moving audiences with confidence and emotion." And Jazz Weekly critic George W. Harris called Watkins's previous release, One for Miles, One for Maynard, "Hard bop heaven!"

"Reggie Watkins brings a sophisticated fire to his music that is infectious," says Matt Parker. "Working with him on the Jimmy Knepper Project showed me what it means to learn from the masters that came before us."

"I feel as if I have been set upon a wave of musical destiny that began a long time ago and could continue long after I'm gone," says Watkins. "What I hope for this record is that people listen, enjoy the music, and be compelled to further explore the music of Jimmy Knepper. I will forever be influenced and inspired by his artistry."

Reggie Watkins: Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project
(BYNK Records)
Street Date: July 15,2016




Media Contact:
Terri Hinte
510-234-8781
hudba@sbcglobal.net

CD Release Shows for Avid Admirer: The Jimmy Knepper Project:
8/31 South, Philadelphia, 7pm & 9pm
(w/ Matt Parker, ts; Orrin Evans, p; Matt Parish, b; E.L Strickland, d)

9/1 Cornelia Street Cafe, NYC, 9pm
(w/ Matt Parker, ts; Tuomo Uusitalo, p; Steve Whipple, b; Reggie Quinerly, d)

You can checkout Reggie and the group’s excellent interpretation of Jimmy Knepper’s Idol of the Files on the following video.




Viewing all 3897 articles
Browse latest View live