Long-established jazz stalwarts were heard from as well in 1966. Ella Fitzgerald added a plum to her songbook series, wrapping her angelic voice around the songs of Duke Ellington.
 
In turn, the Duke issued his Concert of Sacred Music, recorded live at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. The maestro’s return to long-form composition was applauded by many in the jazz arts community.

Critic Leonard Feather in the same issue of DownBeat attempted to cool the fire with “A Plea for Less Critical Infighting, More Attention to the Music Itself.” 

Shepp changed, some said charged, the debate by insisting the criticism was not a matter of taste or even a misplaced nostalgia for earlier styles of jazz, but a racially motivated diatribe based on an inability to comprehend the artistic expressions (and living conditions) of its African American practitioners, calling out critics and others as racists and bigots.

Yet, 1966 was also the year that the “new thing” (and its promulgators) began to take hold, receiving a modicum of recognition and respectability. The father of the new thing movement received five-star DownBeat ratings for Ornette Coleman: At the Golden Circle, volumes 1 and 2, with volume 1 awarded Record of the Year by both DownBeat critics and readers, the latter designating him Jazzman of the Year. 

He ranked high in the individual categories as well: alto sax (critics second/readers third), composer (second/third), and combo (third/seventh). It was Ornette’s year all right and to a lesser extent John Coltrane’s, who by then had acquired high-priest status in the movement. He received five stars for his Ascension album, which finished third in the Record of the Year category in both the critics and readers polls. 

Other new wave jazzers cracked the critics poll as well: tenor saxophonist Archie Shepp (fourth), and trombonists Grachan Moncur III (third) and Roswell Rudd (fourth). In the Talent Deserving of Wider Recognition category, fellow tenor men Charles Lloyd and Albert Ayler notched first and second. Drummers Sonny Murray and Milford Graves polled first and second, respectively, and David Isenson (bassist on Ornette’s albums), took second place. 

Lagging a bit behind, DownBeat readers nonetheless acknowledged trombonists Moncur (third) and Rudd (fourth), and placed tenor player Charles Lloyd a distant sixth behind top vote getter Coltrane. Lloyd polled third on flute on the strength of his four-star Dreamweaver album. And that was that.

New wave jazz made an appearance at the two major jazz festivals in 1966 with mixed results, as discussed below.
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Organizer George Wein at the piano kicked off Newport ’66 with its expanded 18,000 fan seats and enormous stage on Friday night with an all-star group: Buddy Rich (dms), Bud Freeman (ts), Ruby Braff (tp), and Gerry Mulligan (bs). The latter shocked everyone when he used an alto sax on his signature “Bernie’s Tune.” The shock was mild compared to what came next. Newport chronicler Burt Goldblatt reported:
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Noted jazz critics Dan Morgenstern and Whitney Balliett were on hand to cover the four-day festival for their respective magazines, DownBeat (3) and the New Yorker (4). Both Dan and Whitney praised the all-star set, but differed on the Shepp performance. Dan was totally dismissive, referring to Shepp’s antics, while Whitney was impressed, deeming the “irritating march and blaring segment” a great rarity, a genuinely funny piece of music.

Saturday afternoon mixed things up again, showcasing what Dan would call “seasoned professionals”—the Jazz Crusaders and the Horace Silver Quintet—alongside “amateurs” (purveyors of the “new thing”)—trumpeter Bill Dixon and saxist Ken McIntyre, the Charles Lloyd Quartet, and the John Coltrane Quintet.

Dan dismissed the entire afternoon as heavy going, and Whitney agreed in part: he didn’t favor the dull five-part dirge presented by Dixon or the Coltrane set that featured Pharoah Sanders “roaring elephant shrieks.” The New Yorker critic, however, appreciated the Charles Lloyd Quartet, especially pianist Keith Jarrett, whose quasi-gospel solo he declared a masterpiece.

Nina Simone, all agreed, was the standout on Saturday night, singing blues, work songs, and ballads and earning a huge ovation from the audience. The newly organized Thad Jones/Mel Lewis orchestra drew rave reviews from Newport chronicler Goldblatt: “In a big band milieu dominated by the sounds and arrangements of Basie, Ellington and Herman, the new band was a breath of fresh, gusty air.” Dan wholly concurred, while Whitney described their performance as perfunctory.

The next day brought forth Woody Herman and his young aggregation playing an up-to-date book, laced with a couple of old warhorses “Woodchoppers Ball,” and “Apple Honey.” Mid-show, a surprise: a reenactment of Woody’s Second Herd, a four-brother reunion with tenorists Al Cohn, Zoot Sims, Stan Getz, and Gerry Mulligan taking the late Serge Chaloff’s place on baritone sax. And, yes, Stan Getz stepped forward to play his defining hit “Early Autumn.”

Two surprises followed: (1) a raucous Buddy Rich/Herman duo with plenty of horseplay and wild drums and (2) the band backing vocalist Tony Bennett auditioning for an invitation to Newport ’67. He didn’t pass.

Sunday evening opened with Teddy Wilson at the piano, bassist Gene Taylor, and ubiquitous drummer Buddy Rich. Wilson sounded as fresh and direct as always and Rich—the hero of this year’s festival according to Goldblatt—fashioned another drum kit exhibition, which had the crowd roaring and Dan and Whitney lavishing.

Next up, Duke Ellington and his famous orchestra. To no one’s surprise, Duke paid homage to selections from his own songbook—the dreaded medley as some would have it—including some new additions: “West Indian Pancake,” neatly essayed by the serpentine tenor of Paul Gonsalves, and “La Plus Belle Africaine,” a former piano piece outfitted for the full orchestra with trumpeter Cat Anderson piercing the night air with frightful screams.

Dan, a bit more ecstatic than Whitney, thought the band had its best Newport night since the famed breakout at Newport ’56. Both applauded the first lady of jazz, Ella Fitzgerald, when she hooked up with Duke’s band supplemented with her own working piano trio. She sang a dozen crowd-pleasing numbers, including a fast “Cottontail,” topped with some exhilarating four-bar breaks between the singer and tenor man Gonsalves.

There were so-called guitar and trumpet workshops Monday afternoon; a chance for musicians to strut their stuff, together and solo. George Benson starred in the guitar segment, while a cornucopia of trumpeters—Red Allen, Ruby Braff, Kenny Dorham, Dizzy Gillespie, Bobby Hackett, Thad Jones, Howard McGhee, Jimmy Owens, and Clark Terry, their ages ranging from 20 to 70—entertained all who came. When Bobby Hackett and Dizzy Gillespie joined horns, impresario Wein announced, “A historic moment in jazz.” 

Well, okay, but some of the other pairings were historic as well. Whitney praised Hackett—as did Dan—for the marvelous duet with Dizzy on “’S Wonderful,” and his “Struttin’ with Some Barbecue” tribute to Louis Armstrong on his birthday.

Miles Davis and his quintet performed a brief set of four surprisingly intense numbers. Whitney noted that saxophonist Wayne Shorter must have been listening to Ornette Coleman, while drummer Tony Williams kept up a steady swamping rush of cymbals. Dan was upbeat as well, saying, “There can no question that this is one of the most unified groups of today, able to do things with time as if through telepathy. And when the time changes, the swing doesn’t.”

Flautist Herbie Mann and his group brought the crowd to a high pitch of excitement, but the schedule was full and Mann departed. Chronicler Goldblatt declared Mann “one of the festival’s favorites this year.” Dan seconded Goldblatt on Mann’s popularity. “He knows how to get to the people.”

Dizzy Gillespie along with his quintet took the stage and, according to Dan, 

As Dan Morgenstern saw it, ​Newport ’66

Whitney Balliett saw it differently. After witnessing the Archie Shepp quintet on the very first day, he wondered if anything else he would hear during the entire festival would match Shepp’s group. At the finish, Whitney had his answer: “Archie Shepp is the winner and champion.” 

So there, Dan, how’s that for lingering doubts about the much touted innovators? In any case, kudos to George Wein for booking the “new thing.” In jazz, the meritorious aspects of any new thing are always assimilated. 
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The attending critics of record were “down” on Monterey ’66, Whitney Balliett (5) more so than DownBeat columnist Pete Welding. (6) Whitney tore into the opening-night concert and its desultory performances by the Gil Evans Band: “solos were weak, the brass and reed sections faltered, and the rhythm section communed with itself,” and the Dave Brubeck Quartet “visibly coming apart, the leader hasn’t seen fit to experiment with adding new instruments and new blood.”

Singer and alto saxophonist Vi Redd freshened things up a bit, he allowed, but the Count Basie Band, then marching through a dozen numbers, “should have perhaps stripped down to a smaller band as it did in the 1950s” (Ouch!). 

The next day’s afternoon concert featured singer Jon Hendricks (reciting poetry), blues singers Muddy Waters, Memphis Slim and Big Mama Thorton—whom Whitney praised—followed by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band and Jefferson Airplane (rock and rollers both, no doubt booked to show off their blues chops).

Whitney had nothing but good things to say about guitarist Bola Sete and his drummer, but then eviscerated everything else on the evening concert: saxophonist Booker Ervin was wooden; Gil Evans on hand once more sounded brighter but in a “mother-of-pearl sort of way”; followed by “rundowns” by singer Carol Sloan, Cannonball Adderley’s group, and tenor sax player Joe Henderson. By midnight, the out-of-place New Yorker wondered if Newportitus had begun to afflict Monterey, a festival heretofore celebrated for its tidiness and economy.

Whitney remained mostly in a foul mood on the final day. He bemoaned the Don Ellis Big Band’s overemphasis on odd time signatures that sacrificed melodic content for rhythmic complexity, but admitted they played with fire and precision, although the trumpet leader sounded like an avant-garde Al Hirt. 

Pianist Randy Weston—a blurred Thelonious Monk, Whitney said of him—played for an hour and twenty-five minutes and pianist Danny Zeitlin was fast and empty. The New Yorker critic couldn’t contain his admiration for Carmen McRae, saying she was probably the most skilled—albeit mannered and brittle—popular singer alive.

The festival closer, Ellington Orchestra, received its share of lukewarm praise from Whitney, who claimed it was in satisfactory form, while noting the acrobatic dancing of Bunny Briggs during a number from Duke’s Sacred Concert.

DownBeat critic Pete Welding voiced a sour note on Friday’s opening night as well. Marred by a faulty amplification system, the Gil Evans band sounded a mite shaky. Sitting in as a guest, baritone master Gerry Mulligan proved to be the only bright spot, delighting the crowd as he did at Newport with his solo on alto saxophone.

The rest of the evening, as Whitney had also concluded, was relatively routine. The Brubeck Quartet was rather moribund, as was Count Basie’s band. Friday’s surprise, the critics agreed, was vocalist/saxophonist Vi Redd, more for her Sonny Stitt–like alto work than her singing. 

Both critics were down on Saturday’s “Blues All the Way” presentation, Pete reporting that it was only intermittently effective, the only memorable moment provided by Big Mama Thorton. 

As for Saturday night, both critics praised Bola Sete—one of the festivals highest artistic achievements, wrote Pete. On the rest of the evening, he differed from Whiney in spots, singling out Gil Evans band’s second set, and the stints of tenor player Booker Ervin, the Cannonball Adderley Quintet “the latter its lusty, glistening self,” and singer Carol Sloan. 

Pete parted ways with Whitney on the Sunday afternoon session. Though the newer music, he wrote, was not of the most avant-garde stripe [à la Newport], it was . . . a signal success, the result of thoughtful, though cautious, planning and vigorous, enterprising playing by the groups, each of which was obviously “up” for the concert.

Don Ellis’ 21-piece orchestra got things off to a powerful, explosive start. The group had a covey of fine, idiomatic soloists; witty, provocative arrangements; and a surging rhythm section of three basses and three drummers that allowed it to swing madly even in the unusual time signatures.

The well-programmed set included “New Nine,” a composition based jointly on an Indian raga and the blues, which featured a long, explosive Ellis solo modeled on the raga scale that used the semitones made possible on the leader’s specially constructed four-tone trumpet, it thundered to a crashing conclusion.

DownBeat reporter Pete waxed poetically over the impressionistic music of the Charles Lloyd Quartet: pianist Keith Jarrett’s stroking strings and blocks of chords and the leader’s dulcet flute on “Autumn Leaves.” A bossa nova followed with Lloyd on tenor, playing with “shuddering, quicksilver grace,” before a concluding “East of the Sun” with Lloyd in a Coltraneish vein. 

Next up, the John Handy Quintet, Monterey’s breakout star performers of the previous year—same intriguing lineup, altoist Handy with violin, guitar, bass and drums. Pete again: “The group’s distinctive music seems to have more perfectly assimilated the tonal and rhythmic freedom of Eastern and related music into the fabric and methodology of jazz discipline than any other blending so far.”

The afternoon concert ended rather inconclusively. The Evans festival orchestra performed two brief selections before the curtains were summarily drawn, leaving Evans, Pete and the audience baffled. All eventually departed feeling slightly cheated.

Pete even declared the Sunday night concert the most successful of the three evening events; all four of the acts were in consistently good form. Randy Weston’s fine group, for example, hewed to a middle ground between small group freedom and orchestral mass and discipline, pleased many with its fire and sensitivity, its excellent book of originals, and its well-paced program. 

Festival favorite Danny Zeitlin followed with a trio set that could not be faulted, the pianist effortlessly working his way through a demanding program of driving funkiness, charming lyricism, and uncompromising experimentation. The evening belonged to Carmen McRae—here, the two critics agreed 100 percent. Her all-too-short set was a study in the vocalists art at its highest. “Miss McRae is perhaps the most nakedly adventurous singer around these days, essaying things her sister-vocalists would never dare attempt.”

Not skipping a beat, Pete lauded the imperturbable Duke Ellington, who concluded the evening with an invigorating set of staples and selections not ordinarily played. Even though soloist Paul Gonsalves had a rough evening on his solos, the critic concluded that Ellington never disappoints, even on a bad night. 

Overall, although Pete found more to like than Whitney, he left the festival grounds late Sunday night feeling, as he put it, “gulled, lured by a promise that failed to materialize.” Such feelings arise when expectations are set too high. ​

​Charlie was not the first electric guitarist. Other bluesmen and Western Swing players beat him to the punch. Likewise, he was not the first to record jazz on the electric guitar either. That honor goes to Eddie Durham and (separately) George Barnes, who both cut records in March of 1938.
    
Sometime in 1934, Charlie started soloing at gigs with a microphone held between his knees in order to be heard. By 1936 he had attached a primitive microphone to his guitar with rubber bands. Finally in 1937, he acquired his first store-bought guitar, a Gibson ES 150, and amplifier, and joined bands that toured the Midwest, his reputation spreading wherever he traveled. (2)
    
The story of Charlie’s discovery was told most prominently 50 years ago in the pages of DownBeat magazine by legendary talent scout John Hammond. On a tip from pianist Mary Lou Williams (then based in New York City) about a wunderkind musician in the American heartland, Hammond flew to the guitarist’s home base in Oklahoma City, where he was immediately escorted to the Ritz Café where Charlie was working with his combo three nights a week. 

Hammond settled in and soon noted that Charlie used his amplifier sparingly when playing rhythm but turned it up for his solos, which were as exciting improvisations as the talent scout had ever heard on any instrument. Before an hour had passed, he was determined to place Charlie with the “King of Swing” Benny Goodman, primarily as a spark for the depleted Goodman Quartet—stars pianist Teddy Wilson and drummer Gene Krupa had recently departed.

Christian’s initial audition for Goodman in a Los Angeles studio turned out to be a bust—the bandleader just didn’t want to be bothered. Not to be denied, during a band break at a ritzy nightclub the band was playing that night, Hammond snuck Charlie in through the kitchen and onto the bandstand along with his guitar and amplifier. 

When Benny returned to the stage, he was stunned to see Charlie all ready to play, but didn’t say anything. The first number he called was “Rose Room,” and Hammond was petrified that Charlie wouldn’t know the changes. After the opening choruses, Benny pointed to Charlie to take a solo, and the number ordinarily lasting three minutes stretched out to 45! Done deal! (3)

Christian quickly became part of the Goodman Sextet that included Fletcher Henderson on piano and Lionel Hampton on vibes. Nationwide tours and radio broadcasts and recordings followed. While difficult to prove, the Oklahoma guitarist had to be the most-heard electric guitarist in the land over the next two years (surpassing the likes of Les Paul for example). 

While Charlie was occasionally used in Goodman’s Big Band, most of his work was with the clarinetist’s sextet and after mid-1940 a new septet that included trumpeter Cootie Williams and Tenorist Georgie Auld. Christian’s ability to come up with one riff-filled idea after another made him a favorite with Goodman and at jam sessions, including the birthplace of bebop, Minton’s Playhouse, in 1941, when he sat in for hours with the house band. 

Manager Teddy Hill bought an amplifier and guitar to keep at the club for Charlie whenever he was in town, which was quite often. (4) His contribution to the development of the new music was on a par with that of bebop legends Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk, and Kenny Clarke. 

The guitarist became ill in mid-1941 and passed away from tubercular complications in 1942 at age 25. The impact of his 22-month, shooting-star career can, as critic Scott Yanow has suggested, be easily divided: Before and After Charlie Christian. (5) 

Jazz poet laureate Whitney Balliett characterized his playing thus:
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