As we learned in Serendipity Doo-Dah, Book Two, record industry officials are more often wrong than right when it comes to picking a hit single off an album.

Here’s another instance: a Doobie Brothers single, somewhat early on, from their fourth album, What Were Once Vices Are Now Habits. The songs include “Another Park, Another Sunday” and “Black Water.”[1]

Highly qualified and very experienced producer Ted Templeman put “Another Park” on the A-side of the single figuring it would do well—gangbusters, actually—and placed “Black Water” on the B-side just to get Doobie brother Pat Simmons some songwriting royalties off the A-side action, which Templeman believed would be immense.

Brother Tom Johnson, author of “Another Park,” had, after all, been the brothers’ more prolific and successful songwriter.

But not this time. The hoped-for “Another Park” action did not happen.

Sales tanked.

But then—surprise, surprise—something started to happen with flip-side “Black Water.” There was a little radio station in Roanoke, Virginia, and not too far away was an actual river called Black Water River.

The station started playing the B-side over and over, and the local folks loved it. Soon, other stations followed suit and slowly build, build, build. Eventually stations all over the country joined in, and “Black Water” caught fire, as they say.

Did it matter? You bet.

​“Black Water” was the first number one hit the Doobie Brothers ever had!

With all due respect to Mr. Templeman and his company, Warner Brothers, when you have a song title that is a person’s name, a place name, a monument name, or something similar, you’ve got a winner.

One example: Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer changed their “Blue River” to “Moon River,” and we all know how that turned out.

1. ​Tom Johnston and Pat Simmons with Chris Epting, Long Train Runnin’: Our Story of the Doobie Brothers (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2022), 163–66.

​

​Is it possible that singer Ella Fitzgerald’s career was the result of a happy musical accident? You bet. Read on.
           
It was 1934, and 16-year-old Fitzgerald found herself backstage at the Harlem Opera House, nervously shifting from one foot to the other as she waited to take part in an amateur contest as a dancer.

She hoped to dance professionally one day, and this was her first opportunity to strut her stuff. Behind the curtain, Ella peeked at the audience. She noticed with alarm that another dance act  was onstage.

Uh-oh.
           
By then it was too late for Ella to bow out. The emcee was calling her name, telling the seated crowd that she was going to tap dance for them. 

As the band started playing, her limbs felt like rubber, and she was too petrified to move. The emcee whispered, “Do something.”

Ella’s mind raced. What could she do other than dance? She thought about the music she heard on the radio and the records her mother had around the house. The Boswell Sisters just might work. She began to sing one of their tunes: “Judy.” The band knew the song and began to accompany her.

Her voice grew stronger and more confidant.

When the song ended, the theater erupted into cheers.

​Ella offered another Boswell song, and after she finished singing, the audience applauded wildly. The emcee announced she had won a $25 prize.
           
Soon after, Ella decided to become a professional singer. Her six-decade career traversed the big band swing era, the subsequent bebop era, and beyond.[1]
           
But ask yourself, had the act ahead of Fitzgerald been anything other than dance—a comic, a ventriloquist, a gymnast, a singer even—would Ella have become, as Peggy Lee said at the Kennedy Center Honors, “the greatest jazz singer of our time," or as Bing Crosby said, “Man, woman, or child, Ella is the greatest singer of them all.”[2]

​Serendipity Doo-Dah!

1. ​Bud Kliment, Ella Fitzgerald: Singer (New York: Chelsea House Publishers, 1969), 16–19.
2. Kliment, Ella Fitzgerald, 12, 14.

In the fall of 2019, I profiled my jazz LP collection (see October / November blogs) and in the summer of 2022, my jazz CD collection (see May / June / July blogs).

​Hence, it is only logical and reasonable that I do the same for my music book collection: 709 books strong, with 441 jazz books and 268 non-jazz books (pop, rock, Broadway, other).

Here I present the jazz books, the first of which I purchased in 1965, and the bulk of them I acquired during the 1970–2000 time frame. My acquisition strategy, I hasten to add, was not based on any predetermined notion that focused on, for example, a specific jazz artist or style. Nope, if it was a jazz book, I bought it, pure and simple.

To convey a sense of my overall jazz collection, I list books below in several categories. For the most part, these books center on the life and music of the titular artist, as opposed to a period in jazz (like the ’30s) or a specific sub genre (like hard bop) or a region in jazz (like Kansas City).

What three artists topped the most-books list?

Duke Ellington     15
Miles Davis           13
Louis Armstrong  11

​Not much of a surprise there. But how about those artists who played the instrument most symbolic of jazz—the saxophone?

​​In 1964 a novice, kinkily-named British rock and roll band called the Kinks, formed by brothers Ray and David Davies, struggled mightily for recognition, a task made all the more difficult when teenage attention was hyper-focused on already established bands like the Dave Clark Five, the Turtles, the Yardbirds, the Rolling Stones, and the Beatles. Tough competition indeed.

The four-man Kinks made some headway when they scored a three-record deal with Pye Records.

Their first record managed to reach number 42 on the charts, enough to get the band a place on a rock-and-roll package tour of England and mention in the music trades.

The second single also flopped.

​Pressure mounted. The third single on the Pye contract just had to be a winner.[1] A rock-and-roll band without a number one hit record was like a skiffle band without a tea chest bass. A miracle of some sort was needed, an intervention by the gods, but what?

As the group’s rhythm guitarist Ray Davies told Geoff Edgers of the Washington Post,

​As expected, a number one record was what the group needed to propel them to the top of the rock-and-roll celebrity mountain. 

Released in August 1964, the band's third single, “You Really Got Me,” went to number one on the UK singles chart and later in the year to number seven in the US charts. 

All it took was a fit of rage, a slashed speaker cone, and a distorted sound from Davies’s little green amp.

Whether the guitarist or his girlfriend should receive the most credit for this happy musical accident is moot. Guitar distortion of this sort was old hat, invented (or discovered, if you will) more than a decade before in 1951.

That time, the speaker cone, rather than being slashed, was busted when someone accidentally dropped the amplifier on the ground.
​
​On their way from Mississippi to Sun Studios in Memphis, Tennessee, to record their first record, Ike Turner’s band crammed themselves and two saxes, a guitar, and a drum set into a car when the inevitable flat tire happened. In their hurry to dig out the spare, they dropped the guitar amp on the pavement. Uh-oh.

Once they were at Sun Studios and meeting owner Sam Phillips—yes, that Sam Phillips, the one who nursed Elvis to worldwide acclaim—the guitarist plugged in his amp, and it sounded terrible, the speaker cone blown.

Sam pricked up his ears. It would sound different, he told the band, like another saxophone, and he went to the restaurant next door to score brown paper and wadded it inside the speaker.

​Problem solved.

The rubbing sound between the saxophone and the distorted guitar in recording “Rocket 88” was instantaneous, the fuzztone taking the bass part, the horns riffing in unison, and Ike’s storming piano cutting through the churning mix.

No wonder “Rocket 88” became one of the most influential early R&B hits ever, as much for its exuberant drive as for its accidental fuzztone guitar that was copied by Chicago bluesmen who tampered with their speaker cones.

Later on, California guitarist Billy Strange used a fuzztone on his guitar. He did so on “I Just Don’t Understand” for Ann Margaret (1961) and on “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah” for Phil Spector (1962). And he did it the old-fashioned way by pulling one of the four 6L6GC vacuum tubes out of the back of his Fender Twin Reverb Amp.

Were the Davies brothers and the other Kinks totally unaware of this? The Beatles and the Rolling Stones were certainly aware. Paul McCartney used a fuzzbox—an early manufactured device called the tone bender—on his bass guitar on “Think for Yourself” on Rubber Soul (November 1965). Keith Richards used the early marketed Gibson Maestro Fuzztone on “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” (May 12, 1965). 
​
What to make of all of this?

While the Kinks lagged behind introducing guitar distortion into their rock-and-roll mix, when they did, courtesy of an accident, it led to that coveted number one song followed by five top 10 singles in the US Billboard chart with nine of their albums charting in the top 40.

​Today the Kinks are regarded as one of the most influential rock acts of the ’60s and early ’70s, and are ranked 65th on Rolling Stone's list of the 100 Greatest Artists of All Time.
​
For fans of that breakthrough song, Ray Davies later wrote a poignant origin story that he turned into a song “Little Green Amp” (2013).
 
CODA 
Another lucky break, albeit a small one, came about with a change to the lyrics that helped the initial hit song’s appeal:
​

1. ​Carey Fleiner, The Kinks: A Thoroughly English Phenomenon (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2017), 53–55.
2. Geoff Edgers, “Q&A with Dave Davies,” The Washington Post, January 31, 2021.
3. Fleiner, The Kinks, 54.

​James S. Hirsch opened his Washington Post review of Glenn Frankel’s book Shooting Midnight Cowboy[1] with the following:
​

​After reading the above, you could easily conclude that Midnight Cowboy was a happy movie accident. Indeed, it was. But what about “Everybody’s Talkin’,” the memorable Grammy-winning theme song not mentioned in Hirsch’s review? Did it come about in an improbable fashion like everything else in the movie? Was “Talkin’” a happy musical accident? Read on.

Director Schlesinger liked to edit his film dailies to music. From a pile of new albums, he selected Aerial Ballet by obscure LA singer-songwriter Harry Nilsson. One song, “Everybody’s Talkin’,” caught Schlesinger’s ear. An ideal track, he thought, to guide and pace his edits.
​

“Talkin’” was the only cut on the album that hadn’t been written by Nilsson. The song had been authored by yet another obscure singer-songwriter and recorded for his self-named album Fred Neil, interestingly, the last song recorded for the album.[3] This fact foretold a glorious future for the song, albeit unknown to everyone at the time and quite frankly to many even today.

​Turns out, more often than not, the last-recorded track is usually the album’s biggest hit. Think not? Check out these chart-topping caboose hits:

Coleman Hawkins “Body and Soul”
Frank Sinatra “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”
Deep Purple “Smoke on the Water”
Jerome Kern “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes”
Booker T. and the M. G. “Green Onions”
Rupert Homes “The Pina Colada Song”
John Lee Hooker “Boogie Chillun”
Bill Haley and the Comets “Rock Around the Clock”
Emerson, Lake, and Palmer “Lucky Man”

In the fall of 1969, “Talkin’” came to Nilsson’s attention from his recording producer at RCA, Rick Jarrard, who had heard it on his car radio while driving to the studio. Rick quickly purchased the Fred Neil album and played it for Harry, who gave it a thumbs-down; he wasn’t about to add someone else’s work to his Aerial Ballet album. Jarrard doubled down and argued vigorously for its inclusion. Harry finally capitulated, as a favor to his record producer.[4]

As a matter of interest, “Talkin’” was not the first song heard on the radio by a producer that eventually worked its way into a film and subsequent widespread fame. Say hello to “What a Wonderful World” and “Unchained Melody.”[5]

Moreover, talk about serendipity or synchronicity—this very same record producer, Rick Jarrard, working with Jefferson Airplane on their Surrealistic Pillow album, convinced reluctant guitarist Jorma Kaukonen to include his finger-picking acoustic solo “Embryonic Journey” on Airplane’s psychedelic-rock Surrealistic Pillow album. Jorma’s folky “Journey” would be as much a fan favorite as the group’s well-known surreal hits “Someone to Love” and “White Rabbit.” 

​“Talkin’” was not a shoe-in to be the picture’s theme song, despite Schlesinger’s intentions. Top-flight artists—Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, Donavan, Bob Dylan—had submitted songs for consideration. Schlesinger stuck by his daily editing song. United Artist objected. They wanted an original song, one they could own and copyright, release as a single, and on the film soundtrack album. Harry Nilsson wanted UA to use a song of his, not one by Fred Neil! Still, the director tenaciously clung to his choice as the main theme and introduction to the film.

As for United Artists, the matter was finally resolved when producer Hellman and Director Schlesinger showed the nearly finished film to UA executives. Hearing the music as an integral part of the movie did the trick. Ownership rights be damned, what’s perfect is perfect.[6]

As for the question asked at the outset, “Talkin’” is indeed a happy musical accident, despite director Schlesinger’s unwavering devotion to the rightness of his choice, fighting off all attempts to replace it with something else.

The song came to him in an accidental fashion. An aide brought him a stack of new albums for him to use in his film-editing process. He selected Aerial Ballet at random and became enamored with its last track. He loved the sweetness of the melody and the wistful rebellious spirit of the lyrics that perfectly aligned with the Joe Buck character played by Jon Voight.

Imagine if he had selected any other 1967 release, like Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band or the Monkees' Headquarters or the Grateful Dead or the Moody Blues or Procol Harum or the Who?

Hard to imagine anything better than Aerial Ballet’s last track. When contemplating this, keep in mind that in 2004, “Everybody’s Talkin’” was listed number 20 in AFI’s top 100 movie songs of all time!

1. ​​Glenn Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy: Art, Sex, Loneliness, Liberation, and the Making of a Dark Classic (New York: Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, 2021).
2. James S. Hirsch, “‘Midnight Cowboy’ Was a Masterpiece Made of Desperation,” Washington Post, Sunday, April 4, 2021.
3. Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy, 246–48.
4. Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy, 249.
5. Edward Allan Faine, Serendipity Doo-Dah: True Stories of Happy Musical Accidents, Book One (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2017), 107; Ray Padgett, Cover Me: The Stories Behind the Greatest Songs of All Time (New York: Sterling, 2007), 42–43.
6. Frankel, Shooting Midnight Cowboy, 250–51.

The Faine jazz CD collection. 

Continuing from part 3, here are five more personal favorites from my collection of jazz CDs.

​

Charles Lloyd | Passin’ Thru | Blue Note

Saxophone/flute player Charles Lloyd burst onto the California jazz scene in the mid-1960s on the strength of (1) albums Dreamweaver (1966) and Forest Flower (1967) featuring his first great quartet Keith Jarrett (piano), Cecil McBee (bass), and Jack DeJohnette (drums), and (2) the group’s appearances at Bill Graham's youth-filled Fillmore clubs.

After several years of pop adulation Lloyd entered into a period of (what should we call it) semi-retirement.


​Lloyd’s real resurgence began in the 1990s when he signed onto the ECM label, recording sixteen albums with them followed by a stint with Blue Note into 2020, recording five albums.

The bulk of these albums feature Lloyd’s second great quartet (also known as the new quartet) Jason Moran (piano), Reuben Rogers (bass), and Eric Harland (drums). The best of which, in my opinion, is the highly entertaining Passin’ Thru (2017).

The album opens with Lloyd’s composition “Dreamweaver,” also recorded by his first quartet. The second quartet’s take is longer (by six minutes) and more complex, as Tom Jurek wrote:

​The following tracks reflect the various genres and styles mentioned above, singularly and collectively.

“Nu Blues” is a be-boppin’ swinger by the Jason Moran Bop Trio. Moran is rollin’ the keys like Bud Powell, Rogers is Ray Brown or Oscar Pettiford walkin’ the bass, and Harland is bebop originator Kenny Clarke keepin’ time on his ride cymbal, kickin’ the bass drum, and adding his own polyrhythmic textures. Tenorman Lloyd joins the Trio and its throwback time to a 1950s Norman Granz Jazz at the Philharmonic concert battlin’ it out with Flip Phillips and Illinois Jacquet.

Well, that’s the way I heard it.

“How Can I Tell You” is about as close the new quartet could get to a late-night slow dance dreamy ballad. Moran’s (almost) cocktail piano and the drummer’s use of brushes sets the mood for the leader’s lyrical saxophone offering to the song’s inspiration, singer Billie Holiday.

On “Tagor” Lloyd stirs the bluesy stew prepared by his rhythm mates with his Eastern sounding flute. At the start Moran strums the piano strings like a guitar, Rogers adds a Motown melodic bass line, and the drummer drives “Tagor” forward with a snare and hi-hat attack.

At the mid-point, with no loss of drive, Moran moves to the keyboard to pound out a funky chording interval over a rock-and-roll backbeat. Start to finish this is a hand-clapper.

The title track opens with unaccompanied bass and then, boom!, the band takes off with a high energy up-tempo dance-like excursion into bop. Moran’s piano and Lloyd’s tenor solo engage Roger’s and Harland’s rhythms with startling athletic lyricism.

Bordering on playful and/or novelty, “Passin’ Thru” is a crowd pleasin’ groove.

The album closes on a respectful note with “Shiva’s Prayer.” A beautiful unaccompanied piano piece by Moran, with lovely arco bass playing by Rogers, and soft drums by Harland.

Then quiet.

Sonny Sharrock | Ask the Ages | Axiom

Scott Yanow in his ultimate guide to the great jazz guitarists opined, "Sonny Sharrock was the first truly avant-garde guitarist in jazz. . . When Sharrock burst on the scene in the mid-1960s, he was not only free in his choice of notes but in . . . his use of feedback and distorted sounds. He preceded Derek Bailey and Jimi Hendrix. During an era when few jazz guitarists even acknowledged rock, Sharrock was playing explosive solos that made him the Pharoah Sanders of the guitar.”

Interesting, then, that he would pair up with saxophonist Sanders, along with bass player Charrette Moffet and drummer Elvin Jones in 1991 to record Ask the Ages, the consensus definitive and most essential album of Sharrock’s career.

This is unquestionably a free jazz album, how could it not be with Sonny Sharrock, Pharoah Sanders, and Elvin Jones ripping it up as if it was 1965.

Yet it is something else again, appealing and accessible to a wide range of music fans. Proof of this can be found on google: type in “rateyourmusic.com Ask the Ages,” select the top entry, and read the 45 reviews, and you’ll see what I mean.

Ask the Ages has six original Sharrock compositions: two scorchers “Promises Kept” and “Many Mansions,” two mellow and melodic “Who Does She Hope to Be” and “Once Upon a Time,” and two in-betweeners, “Little Rock” and “As We Used to Sing.” It is the mellow tunes (and secondarily the in-betweeners) that make this album so appealing with “Who Does She Hope to Be” generally favored over “Once Upon a Time.”

But for my money, the latter is the exceptional track. 
           
While each instrument is heard in “Once Upon a Time,” it is the collective daresay “symphonic” — like sound that matters.

Sonny’s guitar, chording Hendrix-like and soloing at the same time (dubbing may have been involved); Pharoah’s tenor sax, offering a repetitive hummable figure; and Elvin’s non-stop striking of his drums with mallets, yes, with mallets not sticks or hands, creating a rhythmically throbbing pattern. Occasionally, Sonny spices the group’s malleting stew with a memorable Santana-like guitar line.

​Overall, a never-to-be forgotten, compelling track.

Frank Sinatra | Live in Australia 1959 | Blue Note

While Sinatra’s time capsule albums are Wee Small Hours in the Morning, Songs for Swinging Lovers, Only the Lonely, and a few others, the “Jazziest” is Frank Sinatra with the Red Norvo Quintet Live In Australia 1959.

A rare album where Frank sings his well-known fan favorites, not as originally recorded with a large studio orchestra, mind you, but backed by a small jazz combo live.


​From Will Friedwall’s liner notes:

Some might argue that Sinatra’s performance with Count Basie’s band captured live in Las Vegas tops that in Australia 1959.

​For me, Ol’ Blue Eyes' best live album is Australia 1959.

Frank Sinatra | The Concert Sinatra | Reprise

In the entire recording oeuvre of Frank Sinatra there is nothing like The Concert Sinatra, an album of extended performances by Frank and a 73-piece symphony orchestra arranged and conducted by Nelson Riddle.

The recording features eight tunes (lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein on all but one.) These are not the vocal offerings of familiar Sinatra poses, the finger-snappin’ swingin’ bachelor or the down-and-out sad sack propped against the lamppost.

No, this is the full-voiced light classicist in the manner of contemporaries Todd Duncan, Howard Keel, Gordan McRae, or (almost) Paul Robeson.
​
In other words, Frank gets as close as an American pop singer can to the bel canto style.

On no other album does Sinatra reveal such strength in his lower register and overall dynamic range. This album is in a class by itself. Discussions of what category it belongs to: jazz, pop jazz, pop, or Broadway — are irrelevant.

​It’s simply incandescent.

No male interpretive singer of the 20th century other than Frank Sinatra could have pulled this off.

Wilson and Adderley | Nancy Wilson/Cannonball Adderley | Capitol

I bought this CD for two reasons: one, my fondness for the classic Adderley Quintet (Cannonball (Alto), brother Nat (Cornet), Sam Jones (Bass), and Louis Hayes (Drums) with Joe Zawinal (Piano); and two, my piqued curiosity after I read an article in Downbeat magazine in 2004, listing the best jazz vocalist albums chosen by 73 jazz singers (21 male, 52 female).[1] At the top, number one, was the album Nancy Wilson/Cannonball Adderley originally recorded in 1961.

After multiple listenings, I came around to understanding the record’s appeal to the Downbeat singers, helped along by Nancy Wilson’s statement in the album’s liner notes that she considered her vocals on the album “as a sort of easy-going third horn.”[2]

Jazz singers (all singers?) in particular desperately want to be a thoroughly integrated member of the band — not off to the side or out front, but in the mix. And that, in fact, was what Nancy was in this instance and what the DownBeat singers heard and no doubt wished for themselves.

The album is doubly interesting because it is not entirely a vocal album, five of the 12 tracks are instrumentals by the quintet (every one outstanding) especially Cannon’s alto solo on the trumpet warhorse “I Can’t Get Started” and the brothers cookin’ on “Teaneck,” but it is the seven Wilson tracks that caught the ears of the DownBeaters.

Highlights for me are the gentle cornet playing by Nat behind Wilson on “Save Your Love for Me” and Nat’s tune “The Old Country;” and Cannon’s bopish swinging sax duet with Nancy (and Nat) on “Never Will I Marry” and “Happy Talk.”

Sam Jones bass is superb, especially on “A Sleeping Bee.”

1. “Singers” All-Time Favorite Vocal Jazz Albums, DownBeat, June 2004, 48.
2. Ron Grevatt, original liner notes, Nancy Wilson/Cannonball Adderley, Capitol Records, 2004, Compact Disc, CDP 077778120421.

Continuing from part 2, here are more personal favorites from my collection of 440 jazz CDs. 

​

Ella Fitzgerald | Ella in Berlin/Mack The Knife | Verve
​
​William F. Lee’s Jazz Singers Biographical Dictionary claims Fitzgerald was considered by many to be the finest female jazz singer of all time.

Taken at face value (ignoring those who considered her a pop singer) evidence for “the finest female jazz singer ever” can be found in her famous “Song Book” albums where she recorded definitive studio orchestra versions of the American Songbook composers Berlin, Gershwin, Arlen, Ellington, Kern, Mercer, Porter, and Rodgers and Hart. But even more important are the many concert/nightclub stage recordings where her highness is backed by a small jazz combo.

In this regard, one only has to look no further than the best of the lot, Grammy-winning Ella in Berlin backed by the Paul Smith Quartet. Ella’s assured sense of rhythm and close rapport with the musicians is evident throughout, on the slow ballads as well as the virtuoso scat numbers. The program is superbly varied.

Thirteen songs equally divided between slow, medium, and up-tempo numbers.

​Gershwin’s “Summertime” is sung straight with minimum vibrato, while his “Lorelie” is a slow tempo swinger.

On “Our Love Is Here to Stay” (Gershwin again) and personal favorite “Gone with the Wind” her instrumental phrasing comes to the fore, leaving little doubt that she is an ambrosial class singer; at times stuttering a word into three or four syllables, speeding up or slowing down a line, creating new interesting melodies while still paying homage to the source.

But it is “Mack the Knife” and “How High the Moon” that elevate this album to precious metal status, and likely entry into the Library of Congress National Recording Registry someday. Ella’s “Mack” surpasses both the Louis Armstrong and Bobby Darin versions. Hard to believe because she forgets the lyrics at the outset but continues by making up her own whimsical lyrics as she goes along, picking them out of the air — wonderin’ what’s the next chorus to this song now, somethin’ ‘bout cash, trash, you won’t recognize it, it’s a surprise it — even mentioning the prior Darin and Armstrong recordings, scatting a delightful imitation of Satch.

This four-minute lighthearted musical improvisation, believe it or not, won best song by a female at the 1960 Grammy Award.

And to think, the next song, the last one in the concert, topped Ella’s rendition of “Mack.” Her take on “High the Moon” is a masterclass in scatting. Few jazz singers, male or female, have come this close to perfection, considering that the racehorse tempo of “Moon” is sustained over seven minutes.

The Paul Smith Quartet deserves high praise for the stellar support throughout, especially pianist Smith and drummer Gus Johnson.

Keith Jarrett Trio | Somewhere | ECM
​
Keith Jarrett is one of the most widely admired jazz pianists on the planet — primarily known for his Koln Concert album, the best-selling solo album in jazz history.

The Koln did the trick for most, but for me, it was his Standards Trio albums with bassist Gary Peacock and drummer Jack DeJohnette.

Beyond reproach are the trio’s renditions of songs from the Great American Songbook (like “Blame It On My Youth,” “Body and Soul,” and “I Thought About You”) and the jazz repertory (“Woody ‘n You,” “Things Ain’t What They Used to Be,” and “Oleo”).

Especially beyond reproach are the occasional compositions of their own, typically mesmerizing trance-inducing vamps that for me were always an album highlight (like “The Cure,” on the The Cure, “Sunprayer” on Tribute One, and “U Dance” on Tribute Two). Perhaps the best of these  appears on the 2013 album Somewhere.

​Jarrett’s reading of the Leonard Bernstein–Stephen Sondheim “Somewhere/Everywhere” theme appropriately begins gentle and sublime, then at the five-minute mark of the 19-minute extravaganza, it gets “reconstructed and reshaped . . . into the driving, hypnotic improvisational ostinato coda Jarrett calls ‘Everywhere,’ with breathtaking chord voicings, forceful middle-register bass flourishes, and awe-inspiring tom-tom and cymbal work by DeJohnette; the track’s conclusion is drenched in royal gospel and regal blues” that fades into the distance, a chance for the audience to catch its breath before erupting into a rush of explosive shouts and applause.

The stage mic captures a round of laughter from the trio, as if to say, “How the hell did we pull this one off!”

Chico Freeman | Spirit Sensitive |
​India Navigation

On Spirit Sensitive saxophonist Chico Freeman lends his pure sound and articulate relatable improvisations to 10 memorable songs composed by the following:

Great American Song Book composers Vernon Duke “Autumn In New York,” and Rodgers and Hart “It Never Entered My Mind,” as well as seven jazz musician composers: Thad Jones “A Child Is Born,” pianists Duke Ellington “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” and Horace Silver “Peace,” bassist Cecil McBee “Closer to You Alone,” guitarist Luis Bonfa “Carnival,” singer Patti Austin “You Don’t Have to Say You’re Sorry,” and tenor saxophonist John Coltrane “Lonnie’s Lament” and “Wise One.”

All the jazz songs (save for those by Coltrane) have lyrics and are a testimony if you will, to their euphoniousness.

Freeman plays tenor on all of the above, except for “You Don’t Have to Say.” Chico is sensitively supported by bassist Cecil McBee, pianist John Hicks, and drummer Billy Hart, although the drums appear to be improperly recorded, the only flaw on the album.

Drum issue aside, this is one of the most beautifully realized albums. It starts with quality material and proceeds with masterful interpretations.

Perhaps I am overly biased in my opinion here, largely because (truth be told) my absolute favorite song is Patti Austin’s “You Don’t Have to Say You're Sorry,” and my favorite instrumental version is by Chico Freeman.

I first took notice of Austin in 1976 upon the release of her first album, End of the Rainbow, with the self-composed “You don’t have to say you’re sorry / but I sure do wish you would.”

​I have played the song numerous times over the years and bought the album for friends. Chico plays it on soprano saxophone with minimal but perfectly placed jazz flourishes.

​Tearfully gorgeous. Ms. Austin, I’m certain, would agree.                 

Darcy James Argue | Infernal Machines |
​New Amsterdam

Spring 2009 saw the release of Infernal Machines by Darcy James Argue, composer/conductor of an 18-person swing-size big band called Secret Society (five winds, five trumpets/fluegelhorns, four trombones and four rhythm — drums along with acoustic and electric piano, guitar and bass.)

​But Glen Miller, Tommy Dorsey it was not, nor was it ’50s Stan Kenton, ’60s Don Ellis, or even ’90s Maria Schneider. But what was it?

No ordinary big band album, that’s for sure. But critics loved it, though some struggled a bit to describe it.

To me, Machines offered a cornucopia of sounds, some familiar, some not, some loud, some soft, floating above shifting rhythms with an overall steady pulse.

Karl Ackerman (All About Jazz) said it more succinctly: “The sound is both complex and nuanced at the same time.” He also said, “Each influence blends seamlessly into the next without disrupting the content of the piece” — in effect, “a blending of new classical, indie rock and jazz.”

Larry Blumenthal (Wall Street Journal) described the band as “elegant in its combination of disparate influences from distorted electric guitar to magisterial wind instrument arrangements to minimalist rhythms.”

I concluded that Argue’s writing reflected the whole of contemporary music, as he sees it, into big band music for today.

Machines is art music created by an exceptionally talented composer/arranger executed by extraordinary competent musicians that remains as fresh and revolutionary today as when it was recorded. Argue’s debut album therefore belongs in every jazz fan's collection.

​It telleth the future.

Sometimes, all it takes is one lucky break to make a hit record or launch an unknown singing group. Other times, it takes more than one. Case in point: the Ronettes — lead singer Ronnie, older sister Estelle, and cousin Nedra.

The trio had been singing together for over a decade at Manhattan churches and bar mitzvahs, but had yet to break out. No radio gigs or club or theater dates, and certainly no recordings, perhaps to be expected due to their rather youngish ages.

In 1961, the girls — Nedra (15), Ronnie (18), and Estelle (20) — decided to check out the Peppermint Lounge, the hottest nightclub in New York City, ground zero for the twist dance craze (based on Chubby Checker’s 1960 hit “The Twist.”)

The trio waited in line to enter, even though Nedra and Ronnie were underage (still in high school). To look older, they stuffed Kleenex in their bras, dressed in the same outfits, and held cigarettes in their hands.

When the club manager came out, he spotted the group and shouted, “Girls, you’re late. Get in here.” He thought they were the dancers he hired to do the twist.

Estelle piped up, “No, wait, we’re not the — ."

Ronnie elbowed her in the ribs before she could finish, and they followed the manager inside, where he told the girls to dance behind the house band and sing. Of course, they could do both, so they sang Ray Charles’s “What’d I Say” and were hired on the spot.

In no time, the girls loved what they were doing and so did the nightclub audiences. They acquired a manager and started making records as Ronnie and the Relatives (cute name). None of the sides charted, but gigs picked up all over New York City. Still no hit records or concerts in theaters.

They would need something else to reach the next level.

The owners of the Peppermint Lounge opened another Peppermint in Miami, and the Ronettes opened there as well. Popular New York disc jockey Murray “the K” Kaufman happened to be on vacation and attended a Ronettes performance.

At the close, “the K” told them, “I wish I had some girls like you who lived in New York.”

Ronnie replied, “What, are you crazy? We live in New York.”

That’s all it took. Gigs on his radio show and stints on his rock ’n’ roll revues at the Brooklyn Fox Theater soon followed. The trio worked with popular Motown standouts the Temptations, Smokey Robinson, the Marvelettes, and Little Eva.

By 1963 the Ronettes were the only act on Murray’s shows that didn’t have a hit record. They would need another something for that.

The girls decided it was time for a new producer and label. They first thought of Phil Spector, having seen his name all over a slew of records as co-writer and producer. Plus, he had his own label, Philles, and was around their age, 21. But how could they reach him?

Ronnie and Estelle decided to cold-call him — considered a no-no in the business — at his office. Estelle had the more polished grown-up voice and convinced the secretary to put her through to Spector. She spoke to Phil for a couple of minutes, and miracle of miracles, he wanted to see them at Mirasound Studio the very next night.

A half a year later, the singing trio hit gold, real gold — Gold Star Recording Studios in Los Angeles, where they recorded “Be My Baby” for Phil Spector on his Philles label, their first hit record!

And what a hit record it was, reaching number 2 on the Billboard Pop Chart, and with the fullness of time, ranked number 22 on Rolling Stone Magazine's 500 Greatest Songs of All Time (2020 edition). How to explain all of this? Talent will out, of course, but not without a happy musical accident or two or three.[1]

CODA
With a big hit under their collective belts, the Ronettes performed at several stateside concerts before they toured the UK in early 1964. Because their records sold so well there, they were now concert headliners and — dig this — the Rolling Stones (Mick, Keith, and the boys) opened their shows.

The trio also met and hung out with the Beatles (Paul, John, George, and Ringo) before their first American tour. Ronnie told the soon-to-be Fab Four that they had to go to the Peppermint Lounge when they visited the States.

When the Beatles arrived in America on February 7, they went directly to the Peppermint hours after their Pan Am Jet touched down. Whether they danced the Twist and sang a song for the manager is not known.[2]

CODA CODA
The “Be My Baby” session was primarily known for the Ronettes singing, but in some circles, it was equally known for the producer’s Wall of Sound. Spector employed 14 musicians to create a lush, echo-laden sound that was the Rosetta Stone for pioneer studio producers George Martin of the Beatles (Sgt. Pepper) and Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys (Pet Sounds).

The session was also known for the irregular, infectious Latin sounding beat instituted by drummer Hal Blaine when he dropped his stick by accident on the 4 beat and just played the 2 throughout. On a usual rock and roll song, the snare drum is hit on the 2 and 4. In this case, no 4. [3]

CODA CODA CODA
Sadly, Ronnie died on January 12, 2022. RIP.

1. Marc Myers, Rock Concert: An Oral History as Told by the Artists, Backstage Insiders, And Fans Who Were There (Grove Press, New York, 2021), 76–79.
2. Ibid., 80.
3. Edward Alan Faine, Serendipity Doo-Dah: True Stories of Happy Musical Accidents, Book One  (Takoma Park, IM Press, 2017), 79–81.

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​​John F. Kennedy was the first president in modern White House history to sponsor jazz events. The first was a concert featuring the Newport Jazz All-Stars, Dave Brubeck Quartet, and the Tony Bennett Trio assembled on the Washington Monument grounds (Sylvan Theater) on August 28, 1962; and the second, a concert by the Paul Winter Sextet in the East Room on November 19, 1962.[1]

The jazz ice was broken. America’s musical poor sister was finally recognized. 

It was up to the successor president, Lyndon B. Johnson, to act on the jazz precedent set by JFK. And did he ever!

As if to make up for the long oversight, the Johnson administration hosted 16 jazz events during its 62-month run. Jazz had finally received its just due by a president and first lady whose musical tastes would not be described as refined but who believed it their duty to showcase the widest possible range of artistic expression at the nation’s showroom.

LBJ invited such notable jazz luminaries as Duke Ellington, Stan Getz, Sarah Vaughan, Charlie Byrd, and Dave Brubeck. See more details below:
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​LBJ made up for the decades of official neglect of America’s premier jazz composer by inviting Ellington and his orchestra to give the final performance at the White House Festival of the Arts on June 14, 1965. 

On an erected stage on the South Lawn, Duke presented sections of what would become his Far East Suite, followed by selections from his tone statement on the African American plight in America — Black, Brown and Beige (1943), featuring the lovely hymn “Come Sunday.” 
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He closed out the concert with an Ellington 12-hit-song medley that included “Solitude,” “Sophisticated Lady,” “I’m Beginning to See the Light,” and “Caravan.”

From the sound recording available at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC, here is a transcript of the event:

Opening Remarks by Dancer Gene Kelly
Historians tell us jazz began in New Orleans, and some historians tell us it began at a certain spot called Congo Square, a dusty lot down there. That may be so, I really don’t know, but I know it’s a long road from Congo Square to Carnegie Hall, and a longer musical way still.

But jazz made it, riding on the well-tailored coattails of Duke Ellington some twenty-two years ago. He and the great artists of his ensemble took Lady Jazz out of her off-the-racks cotton dress and put her in a long velvet gown.

​Ladies and Gentlemen, if there had never been a Duke Ellington, jazz would have had to invent him. So it’s with pride I present the Duke.

The Duke Ellington Orchestra
“Take the ‘A’ Train” 
[Applause follows.]

Duke Ellington Introduction
Thank you very much, Ladies and Gentlemen. That’s a warm welcome. Our first selection we would like to do is a result of our visit to the Far East a year and a half ago; we went to the Far East for the State Department on a cultural exchange program. And, of course, it was a tremendous inspiration to us all on being exposed to the beauty and enchantment of the Orient.

​And so as a result, we wrote a suite of numbers. We would like to play some of them now. We would like to say this is being done also in gratitude for the great people of the State Department Foreign Service office, who guided us so magnificently through the tour. It is called “Impressions of the Far East”:

The Duke Ellington Orchestra
“Amad” feature for Lawrence Brown (tb)
“Agra” ballad feature for Harry Carney (bs)
“Bluebird of Delhi” feature for Jimmy Hamilton (cl)
[Applause follows.]

Duke Ellington Introduction
Thank you. And now we would like to go from “Impressions of the Far East” to “Black, Brown and Beige,” which of course was done originally in 1943, and hasn’t really been done until this year in our concert appearances. This is our tone parallel to the history of the Negro in America. 
Tonight, we should like to do a suggestion of the work song theme and the spiritual theme, and a development of the two into a sort of montage. “Black, Brown and Beige”:

The Duke Ellington Orchestra
Work theme
Spiritual “Come Sunday” theme feature for Ray Nance (v) and Johnny Hodges (as)
Work and spiritual theme montage for trumpet, Harry Carney (bs), and Lawrence Brown (tb)

Lady Bird Johnson Wrap-Up
May I thank all the artists who have made this a rich, full, varied day for us all. It’s been wonderful. And now I’d like to have you all go to the tents for a bit of refreshment. I expect some of you need a hot cup of coffee. Perhaps you’d like to view the art in the garden and the east corridor. Thank you all. 
[Applause follows.] 

Duke Ellington Encore Introduction
I hate to impose on you like this, Ladies and Gentlemen, but we have a request for several of the things we have written and we’d like to play some of them for you that have become popular here. 

The Duke Ellington Orchestra
​“Solitude”
“I’ve Got It Bad” feature for Johnny Hodges (as)
“Don’t Get Around Much Anymore” feature for Duke (p)
“In the Mood”
“I’m Beginning to See the Light” (uptempo)
“Sophisticated Lady” feature for Harry Carney (bs)
“Caravan” (uptempo)
“The Opener” (uptempo feature for Paul Gonsalves [ts], Buster Cooper [tb], and Cat Anderson [tp])
“Things Ain’t What They Used to Be”

Total time: 44:44 minutes.

1. This and subsequent text is excerpted from Edward Allan Faine, Ellington at the White House, 1969 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2013), 24, 25, 32, and 211–214.

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