”Without dispute, [Duke Ellington] is the most widely performed of all jazz composers.” This statement from my book Ellington at the White House, 1969, was based in part on settled knowledge but also on the recent work of Ted Gioia in his five-star The Jazz Standards: A Guide to the Repertoire.

In his book, Mr. Gioia delineates and discusses more than 250 standards. Top honors go to Ellington and associates (son Mercer, Billy Strayhorn, Juan Tizol), as shown below:
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The 20 standards composed by Ellington and associates are:
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All the above songs (save for “C-Jam Blues” and “Cotton Tail”) were played by the all-star band at the Nixon White House 70th birthday tribute concert for Duke Ellington on April 29, 1969. The US Army Strolling Strings played “Solitude” at the banquet. 

It was an Ellington standards night at the White House.

“Jazz is boring. Jazz is overrated. Jazz is washed up.”

So said Justin Moyer, deputy editor of the Morning Mix in the Sunday Outlook section of The Washington Post on August 10, 2014. To some people, maybe even a majority of Americans, jazz is boring and overrated. But puh-leeze, give me a break. Jazz is a niche music now. As is polka, barbershop, string quartets, opera, symphony orchestras—you name it. 

Jazz washed up? No. It’s just not as popular as it once was, but washed up, hardly. It is like saying folk music is washed up. Puh-leeze. Indigenous music by ordinary, often untrained individuals will last as long as there are folks. Jazz in fact is part folk music, part art music (fully recognized as such since the 1980s), and part popular music (just not so much anymore).

Moyer trots out five points to make his feeble case—only two are worthy of further discussion: Jazz is being kept alive by (1) nostalgic Americans (indeed, some younger musicians, those who despair the exclusive worshipping of ’50s and ’60s jazz icons, would tend to agree), and by (2) what Moyer calls the cultural-institution complex, by which he means colleges, universities, foundations and governments (local, state and federal). And thank God for that! 

But be careful, Mr. Moyer. Are opera and classical music boring, overrated, and washed up? Both receive substantially more financial support from the cultural-industrial complex than jazz and by a significant amount, some 10 to 20 times by my estimation. And talk about fetishization of the past—well, no need to dwell on that.

Jazz today is roundly considered an art music (fully recognized since the 1980s), in addition to a folk music, a well spring from which it has constantly drawn. 

And, Mr. Moyer, two final questions: 

Is jazz washed up in Europe, Japan, and elsewhere? Suggest you read Stuart Nicholson’s books on the subject; in fact, you are a journalist. Interview Nicholson. 

And what do other musicians, not associated with jazz, think? Are they less influenced by jazz than in the past? Interview Elvis Costello, Tom Waits, John Legend, Justin Timberlake, Norah Jones, Bruce Springsteen, Prince—anybody—Taylor Swift for God’s sake.  

History, someone once said, is never complete. Whenever it is recorded, there are always particulars one is never able to uncover. In time, these details seem to rise from their hidden places to the light of day.
           
​In assembling Ellington at the White House 1969, I searched unsuccessfully for the names of the military musicians who participated in the after-show jam session with the celebrity front liners: trumpeters Bill Berry, Dizzy Gillespie, and Clark Terry; trombonist Urbie Green; clarinetist Leonard Garment; saxophonist Gerry Mulligan; pianists Dave Brubeck, Duke Ellington, Leonard Feather, Hank Jones, Marian McPartland, Billy Taylor, Willie “the Lion” Smith, and George Wein; and singers Billy Eckstine, Lou Rawls, and Joe Williams.

Courtesy of Kira Wharton, Gunnery Sergeant, US Marine Corps, Assistant Chief Librarian, US Marine Band, we now have the names:
 
Marine tenor saxophonist Phil Dire
Navy tenor saxophonist Larry Kreitner
Marine drummer Jim Nelson
Marine Bassist Dave Wundrow
Navy bongoist Gary Elliot
Navy bongoist Frank Carrusso
 
Members rank not indicated.

An inaugural gala that featured a stunning array of Broadway and Hollywood stars was held for President Kennedy the night of January 19, 1961, in the old Washington Armory. The ticketed event—purposed to raise funds to pay off campaign debts for the Democratic National Committee—was meticulously planned over a two-month period by Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack buddy Peter Lawford. In addition, the singer served as unofficial host and sang two songs he dedicated to the president: “You Make Me Feel So Young” and “That’s America to Me.” [1]

Some 12 years later, after his conversion from Democrat to Republican, Sinatra again performed for a president, this time Richard Milhous Nixon at a state dinner for Prime Minister Andreotti of Italy on April 17, 1973. After the banquet, in the East Room, Ol’ Blue Eyes opened his 10-song set with “You Make Me Feel So Young” and closed with “That’s America to Me,” the two songs he had sung to Kennedy 12 years before.

Coincidence? We’ll never know. At show’s end, and after the applause had faded, a reporter asked Frank why he had chosen the songs he sang, Sinatra snapped back, “How else could I put a program together?” and moved quickly away. [2] 

Guess we’ll never know. And no, he didn’t sing these two songs for President Reagan, even though he performed twice for the septuagenarian president.

I discuss Richard Nixon’s aesthetic tastes in music in my book Ellington at the White House, 1969:

Henry Mancini provided additional evidence in his autobiography, Did They Mention the Music? On June 30, 1969, prior to his East Room performance for the moon-circling Apollo 11 astronauts, Henry and wife, Ginny, accompanied Nixon on a tour of the upstairs family quarters. Mancini asked, “What’s your favorite album, Mr. President?”
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For the most part, Shipp eschews the usual approach to these standards—theme, improv, theme—in favor of his own idiosyncratic approach where theme and improv seem to simultaneously coexist in space and time. 

Shipp has a somewhat difficult-to-categorize playing style all his own, at least for me, so I won’t try, except to say others have hung a free jazz label on it, reminding them of Cecil Taylor, Andrew Hill or Thelonious Monk, or Vejay Iyer at times. Nonetheless, he has recorded a credible album (with some reservations) dedicated to the music of one of the most important musicians of the 20th century. 

Personally, and I hate writing this, I wish Shipp had dropped the originals and given us his take on other ducal masterpieces and, more importantly, recorded them solo (as he in fact did with “Prelude”), asking his rhythm mates to take the day off. The busy, bass/drum chatterbox underneath Shipp’s keyboard explorations interfered with my listening at times.

In general, tempos are taken a mite faster than the originals, and the two “Mood” pieces—“Sentimental” and “Indigo”—are more “red” than “blue.” 

“A-Train” and “Doll” are both up and at times manage to swing. The pianist’s treatment of “Doll” should bring a smile to most faces; the familiar melody is always recognizable, though not always fully stated: imagine the “Doll” lyrics with several syllables left out: “Out  . . . in’ / My Sa . . . Doll.” 

Further imagine this head-wagging toe-tapper being played by a Bavarian marching band, or some such. That’s how it ends. I would venture Duke, from his lofty perch on high, would be chuckling and nodding, especially at Shipp’s somewhat bombastic use of the lower 88. As would McCoy Tyner. As would Cecil Taylor.

Mr. Shipp’s solo rendition of “Prelude” joins the many other outstanding keyboard tributes to Duke’s lovely ballad.

Recommended for its engaging interpretations of the classics, To Duke bears repeated play for best appreciation. Should the avant pianist decide to record a follow-up album of nothing but Ellington tunes (there are numerous others to choose from) without accompaniment, then sign me up.

Over the years, numerous vocalists and instrumentalists have recorded Ellington tunes. Comparatively rare, however, are versions of his longer works by an individual artist or group. 

One thinks of Cannonball Adderley’s cover of the score for Jump for Joy (1), the Smithsonian Jazz Masterworks Orchestra’s many performances of Ellington-Strayhorn suites and thematic materials, including the Far East Suite (2) and recently, the Asian American Orchestra’s version of the Far East Suite, which earned a year 2000 Grammy nomination (3), and the Slovak Soul Party! (4) with its take on the one Ellington suite that would make nearly everyone’s top five (my number one). ​

​The suite opens with an orchestral interpretation of the swirling jumble of previously unheard, unseen, and unfelt stimuli that Duke and his men encountered as they toured the ancient cities of Syria, Lebanon, Iran, Iraq, Ceylon, India, and Pakistan. While this piece may not totally succeed in capturing that sensory overload, it does serve to introduce the band itself, as Neil Tesser wrote:

The inspiration for “Depk” came from a dance by six boys and six girls Ellington witnessed in Amman, Jordan. The spirited and intricate arrangement, Duke later wrote, requires an interchange of musical progressions by the two sections, thinning out to a statement by Hamilton and Carney on clarinet and baritone saxophone, respectively. (7) 

The piece opens with the reed section articulating the eminently whistle-able theme, then a mirroring by the brass, and a back-and-forth between the sections that leads to a short piano interlude by the maestro. The piece retraces it steps back to the reed section opening before the denouement, the thinning out, Hamilton-Carney by themselves, whistling the happy theme to a fade. 

And how often, one wonders, has Ellington or anyone else for that matter, paired a high-register clarinet with a baritone sax so effectively?

Named for the mountain top fifteen miles from Beirut, Lebanon, “Mount Harissa” is notable on several counts: a haunting memorable theme delineated by Ellington’s expressive piano that bookends the piece, a hard-swinging middle section given over to a two-plus-minute solo by tenor man Paul Gonsalves (that one wants to call an interlude based on a reminiscence of his breakout 27-chorus R&B solo at Newport ’56), rising above a complimentary orchestral bottom, and the constant rhythmic drumming of Speedy Jones underneath, his timekeeping tick on the splash cymbal coupled with a nonstop snare/tom pattern—impossible to imagine how he did it with only two arms. 

Gonsalves to me has three voices: a lowing moan one hears on the “Tourist” opening and the R&B driving wail heard at Newport ’56 and another where he splits the difference between the two as heard here on “Mount Harissa.” 

Others have called his sound snaky, smoky, or serpentine, but in all cases, a swinging, “please don’t stop” songful moan. His spotlight partner Duke deserves most of the credit, however, for both the composition (along with Billy Stayhorn) and his magnificent, incomparable piano work. In an album full of jewels, this one shines the brightest. ​

If “Isfahan” brings a tear to your eye, then “Pepper” will bring a smile to your face—a rarity in jazz music—a piece of music that is actually funny. The band starts out rocking with a simple repetitive sing-songy Da Da Dah Dah da Dah Dah Dah melody atop a churning, rock-and-roll drum rhythm by Speedy Jones. 

This Eastern-tinged melody gives way to the flipside of the Hodges coin, the bluesy side, but in this instance, a solo of clipped, start-and-stop notes that suggests rather than delineates. In other words, a near parody of a typical Hodges blues solo. And it works! 

Enter high note trumpet specialist Cat Anderson. He takes his cue from the Rabbit (Hodges’s nickname) and sputters, squeaks and squeals over Speedy’s head-wagging, rock-steady groove. An absolute delight! And did anyone at the time think to release a 45 rpm single with “Pepper” on the A side and “Isfahan” on the B? It would have charted on college jukeboxes and radio stations for sure.   

Written after the orchestra’s 1964 visit to Japan, “Ad Lib” consists of four sections: “Fugi,” “Igoo,” “Nagoya,” and “Tokyo.” “Fugi” and “Nagoya” are largely pieces that showcase the maestro’s piano. “Igoo” was composed originally for an America Airlines short advertising film entitled AstroFreight, while Jimmy Hamilton is featured on his composition “Tokyo.” (9)

Fugi
This is a piano trio number with Ellington sharing the spotlight with bassist John Lamb. To start, Duke picks out a spare, repeating seven-note melody, while Lamb plucks out well-placed bass notes. 

This segment morphs into a lovely Dukish melody accompanied only by Lamb’s bowed bass. Duke next drops irregular dissonant chords as Lamb strums his bass like a koto (perhaps). The pair returns from whence it all began. A showcase for the musician’s talent, “Fugi” offers one delightful sound image after another.

Igoo
The trio kicks off a fast tempo swinger and the ensemble quickly follows. Sections trade the theme back and forth with trumpeter Cat Anderson sounding an exclamation point at end of each brass section statement. 
            
Nagoya
Multi-stylistic pianist Ellington eschews his penchant for dissonance and taps a less-used keyboard style to sketch an uncommonly beautiful melody. Only John Lamb’s softly bowed bass disturbs the quiet. This one ranks up there with the maestro’s “A Single Petal of a Rose.”
            
Tokyo
This is an up-tempo vehicle for co-composer Jimmy Hamilton. Never sounding better on what must be his longest outing on record, he starts off with a short clarinet solo that evolves into a series of trills. The brass and reed sections return buttressing Hamilton’s pure-toned, full register improvisations for a rather lengthy workout. The woodwind master closes the piece, appropriately, without accompaniment.

Over the years, Ellington suites have come under attack by several critics for not being suites at all, the argument being that the themes introduced at the outset are not recapitulated or further developed. 

See Terry Teachout’s book DUKE: A Life of Duke Ellington for a catalog of slights registered against Ellington compositions. (10) Kurt Gottstalk slammed the Far East Suite in particular, saying the nine pieces that make up the suite are scattered and lack an overriding theme—the concept is carried out in the titles more than the music. (11) Ouch!

Alan Bumstead reports that some critics have pointed to the fact that the Far East Suite does not actually work as a “suite” in a musical sense—the compositions are too varied to work as a part of the whole. (12)

Other critics see a coherent togetherness in the suite that others don’t. But it doesn’t matter. It is not a Eurocentric suite, it is an American jazz suite of the sort Ellington wrote all his life, one characterized by the unpredictable unfolding of different sound images one after the other.

The work as a whole is a beautiful piece of music, the tracks—I’ll call them that—seem to work together regardless of intent. The whole can be enjoyed just as it is, as itself, repeatedly. And that’s all that matters.

Still others have questioned the integrity of the suite from another angle—the fact that certain pieces were composed prior to the orchestra’s foreign trip, like “Isfahan” and a section of “Ad Lib on Nippon.” Ellington believed they belonged in the suite, and that’s good enough for me. A work’s creation story, no matter how fascinating, should not interfere with the enjoyment of the final result. The proof is in the pudding, and not in its various ingredients. Duke’s ambitious album won a Best of the Year award from DownBeat magazine and a Grammy for Best Large Jazz Ensemble. Some pudding!

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. ​