Jazz Blog

Duke Ellington: America’s Premier Composer?

3/28/2018

Duke Ellington directing his orchestra at the Hurricane Club, 1943. Photo: Gordon Parks.

In 2006, the Atlantic magazine compiled a list of the 100 most influential Americans of all time. Two musicians made the list: Louis Armstrong and Elvis Presley. At least they got one right! (Kidding, of course.)

The two were selected from a short list prepared by drama and music critic Terry Teachout: Louis Armstrong, George Gershwin, Aaron Copland, Elvis Presley, and Bob Dylan. Teachout had this to say about his second pick:

Of all inspired artists who created what is now called the Great American Songbook, it was Gershwin who did the most to infuse it with quintessentially American sounds of ragtime and jazz . . . At the same time, he produced a series of pop-flavored concert works, starting with Rhapsody In Blue, in which he pioneered the crossover genre, and in Porgy and Bess, he tore down the wall that had separated opera from musical comedy.

So, here we have the author of Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington picking George Gershwin and Aaron Copland over Ellington.

Hmmm.

See my review of Teachout’s book in next month’s post.

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Blue Rose: The Clooney/Ellington Collaboration

2/28/2018

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In preparation for Duke Ellington’s 70th birthday tribute dinner at the White House in 1969, President Nixon asked the maestro to submit a list of people he would like to see invited. Ellington submitted 135 names, and the White House sent out invitations to all save one—Frank Sinatra (but that’s another blog).

Five female singers were invited, but only Mahalia Jackson accepted. The gospel diva had crossed Duke’s career path in 1957 when she lent her talents to his reworking of the Black, Brown and Beige suite for Columbia Records.

The songbirds who sent in their regrets:

Contralto Marion Anderson, who had known Duke for decades, and sat with him on President Nixon’s Advisory Council on the Arts
Diahann Carroll, who starred in the 1961 film Paris Blues that Duke scored
Leslie Uggams, who appeared with Duke on several televised variety shows
Rosemary Clooney, who collaborated with Duke and the orchestra on the 1956 Columbia album Blue Rose

Yes, that Rosemary Clooney, the one who starred with Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, and Vera-Ellen in the movie musical White Christmas (1954) and recorded 1950s mega-sellers “Come On-a My House,” “Botcha Me,” “Hey There,” and “Mambo Italiano.”

Clooney was the first singer not drawn from the ranks of the Ellington orchestra to cut a full album with the Duke. Only two other singers had that honor: Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra.

Moreover, the idea for the project came not from Ellington, but from Rosemary. She wanted to break free of her pop chains, and Duke needed a boost in association with a high-flying AM radio and TV variety show pop star. At the time (early 1956) the maestro wandered in a frozen wilderness of public apathy and needed a breakout. Blue Rose, he must have thought, could be the icebreaker.

As it would turn out, Blue Rose would be the first album ever to be overdubbed. Ellington recorded the orchestra tracks in New York, and Rosemary added her vocals in Los Angeles.

This technical first was necessitated by the fact the singer was severely pregnant and unable to fly to New York—which also meant that the album’s designated arranger, Billy Strayhorn, had to fly back and forth between New York and California to work with Rosemary on song selection, setting of keys and tempo, and other musical matters.

The material the two chose consisted of six Ellington standards—“Sophisticated Lady,” “I Let a Song Go out of My Heart,” “It Don’t Mean a Thing,” “I Got It Bad,” “Mood Indigo,“ and “Just Sittin’ and A-Rockin’"—and three lesser known Ellington-Srayhorn collaborations—“Grievin’” and “I’m Checkin’ Out-Goombye” (both from 1939) and “If You Were in My Place” (1938)—as well as three new Ellington tunes, one of which, “Blue Rose,” had no lyrics, but came with instructions: just scat along with it.

Prominent critics Will Friedwald and Gary Giddins had nothing but high praise for the album, the latter declaring “Sophisticated Lady” to be one of the finest recorded versions ever.

To my ears, however, the results are disappointing. Ms. Clooney, known for her sultry voice, is not sultry enough, sounding a mite tense and more like pop icon Dinah Shore than any jazz singer one could name.

Rosemary chose not to stamp her mark on the famed doo-wah doo-wah riff on “It Don’t Mean a Thing,” avoiding it altogether, leaving it to the instrumentalists. Her “ba-bee be-ba be-ba ba-ba” scatting on “Blue Rose” is amateurish, but Friedwald heard it differently, calling it “superlative.”

Nonetheless, one track, “Mood Indigo,” stands out, and could very well be one of the finest on record. Strayhorn rearranged the famous clarinet-trumpet-trombone-unison opening melody for Clooney’s wordless voice plus two trombones, which almost trumps the original.

Rosemary then sings the familiar lyrics in her most relaxed voice on the album. Outstanding solos follow by trumpeter Willie Cook and the two trombones (Britt Woodman and John Sanders) in unison again.

As Ken Crossland and Malcolm MacFarlane opine in their biography Late Life Jazz: The Life and Career of Rosemary Clooney:

[While] mid-1950s sales of Blue Rose were unspectacular . . . its importance in the careers of both its protagonists cannot be overstated. For Ellington, it took him back to Columbia and opened the door for Ellington at Newport ’56, which became the best selling album of his career and launched a resurgence that sustained him until his death in 1974. [Hence, the delayed thank-you from Duke to Rosemary in the form of a White House invitation.]

For Rosemary, it convinced the girl singer from Maysville [Ohio] that she was more than just a chirruping hit-maker. The experience of working with Ellington, she said, “validated me as an American singer. My work would not fade with my generation. I had now moved into a very exclusive group. [As her many late-life Concord albums would attest.]

Perhaps I have been a little harsh in my assessment of the album in question. Take a listen to the recently released Blue Rose CD on the Columbia Legacy label, and you decide.

One thing everyone should be able to agree on is that somebody passed up a golden opportunity to have Rosemary—when her late-life jazz voice had fully developed—to re-record over the original Ellington tracks, assuming the tapes could have been found in the vaults, of course.

Now that would have been something.

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Book Review: Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray, and Friends

1/29/2018

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Left to right: Steve James (Duke's nephew), Lillian Terry, Billy Strayhorn, and Duke Ellington in his hotel suite, Juan-le-Pins, France, July, 1966. Photo by Herbie Jones.

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Every once in a while a book arrives that offers new insights—sheds new light—on the personalities that populate the sub-milieu that is jazz. One such recently published book is Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray, and Friends: On and Off the Record with Jazz Greats by Italian jazz singer, radio and TV journalist, and producer Lilian Terry.

Making an artist feel at ease came naturally to her, and that, along with a superb journalistic sense, allowed her to uncover fresh understandings of the likes of Duke Ellington, Abby Lincoln and Max Roach, Horace Silver, Ray Charles, Bill Evans, and Dizzy Gillespie.

You can sense that her subjects admired her for her talent, as well as for her innate ability to give as well as take without a trace of intimidation felt by either party. We learn anew of the various ticks, quirks, and idiosyncrasies of Master Ellington as if learning about them for the very first time—his playfulness, flirty attitude, attentiveness, literary sense, generosity, and superstitions.

We also learn how “La plus belle Lil” came to record one of the gems in the Ellington/Strayhorn canon, the focus of this review.

“Star-Crossed Lovers”
In July 1966, Lilian arrived at the Antibes Juan-les-Pins Jazz Festival on the French Riviera where she would sing with her trio and conduct interviews with Duke Ellington and other artists for her weekly radio show on the Italian radio network.

Backstage one afternoon, she approached her favorite soloist with the Ellington orchestra, altoist Johnny Hodges:

“I’m a passionate fan of your rendition of ‘Star-Crossed Lovers.’ . . . Is there any chance you could play it tonight?”

“Nope, sorry, we haven’t played it in years . . . Let’s go ask [Duke].” [1]

They did, and received his go-ahead.

That night, our inquisitive interviewer joined the French TV crew in the wings to watch the band’s performance. The maestro steered the orchestra through their lengthy set, wrapping it all up with a long closing number featuring Johnny Hodges:

The audience sent wave after wave of enthusiastic applause [in his direction]. Hodges, standing in front of the orchestra, turned to Ellington and then motioned with his head toward [Lillian in the wings. With an amused smile, Ellington then went to the microphone.] “A lady has come all the way from Rome and she’s asked for a couple of numbers from our Shakespearean Suite “Such Sweet Thunder” . . . let’s do the one which is Romeo and Juliet. And the Bard called them the star-crossed lovers!” [2]

At concert’s close, Lil waited for the orchestra leader to descend the stage steps. Duke graciously acknowledged her thanks and invited her to an after-party at his hotel suite where he introduced her to the song’s composer, Billy Strayhorn. She took the opportunity to confirm her passion for “Star-Crossed Lovers”:

“I’m glad you asked for it; it’s one of my favorites too.”

“I’m only sorry that it has no lyrics. I would love to sing it. And I would try to have that special, sensuous ‘Hodges sound.’ Heavens, when he blows those long, languid notes . . . it’s an actual caress.”

“And you would like to sing it? . . . Tell you what I’ll do . . . I promise I’ll send you some lyrics as soon as I get back to New York.” [3]

And he did.

Six months after the Antibes festival concluded and out of the blue, Duke informed Lil that she would be receiving an air ticket to join him and the band in Milano, Italy, for a Teatro Lirico concert in January 1967. She accepted, and when she arrived, Ellington fussed over her as other members of the band waved by, trumpeter Cat Anderson calling out: “There we go again . . . star-crossed lovers, I bet!”

The evening concert [at the Teatro] was excellent . . . Ellington was enjoying himself, smiling at [Ms. Terry] from time to time as she stood in the wings, waiting for the moment when Hodges would play . . . Suddenly [she] realized they were actually playing their closing signature tune. [She stepped on the stage and] whispered to Ellington as he sat at the piano. “If there is no ‘Star-Crossed Lovers’, then I’ll take my sandals back” [she had gifted them to him the prior evening] . . .

The very moment the signature tune ended [Duke] went to the microphone and informed the public. “We have a request from Miss Lillian Terry, the greatest singer in Italy. She would like to hear the Romeo and Juliet theme from ‘Star-Crossed Lovers,’ the melody played by Johnny Hodges!”

Hodges got up with his alto sax and smiled at [Terry], going to the microphone. [4]

As the Bard would say, all’s well that ends well.

Some 15 years later, Lil found herself sitting at a dinner table across from jazz pianist Tommy Flanagan, Ella Fitzgerald’s accompanist for several years. A lively conversation ensued that led to Tommy asking her what songs she’d like to sing with him at the piano. “Loverman” and Strayhorn’s “Lush Life” came up first, and then Lil said,

“Ellington and Strayhorn bring to mind Johnny Hodges and his sensuous way of playing a particular ballad that has never been sung before. I told Billy of my disappointment that it had no lyrics; he promised to send me a text, and a month later . . . there it was.”
“And what song was that?”

“It’s from the suite Such Sweet Thunder” . . . Lil leaned over the table toward pianist Flanagan and he met her halfway to say in unison: ”Star-Crossed Lovers.”

He exclaimed, “I knew it! Why, do you know that’s my favorite ballad and hardly anybody plays it? And [Strayhorn] gave you the words himself? OK, let’s do it. Now which recording date would you have in mind?” [5]

On April 17, 1982, Lil recorded Lilian Terry Meets Tommy Flanagan—A Dream Come True with the Tommy Flanagan Trio, with Jesper Lindgaard on bass and Ed Thigpen on drums, for the Italian Soul Note label. Six songs were recorded, including those mentioned above plus Peggy Lee’s “Black Coffee,” Benny Golson’s “I Remember Clifford,” Monk’s “Round About Midnight” and a Billie Holiday favorite, “You’ve Changed.” [6]

George Avakian, at the time an independent record producer and top-line jazz artist manager, wrote flattering liner notes for the album. He noted that Europe had produced many fine instrumentalists but very few vocalists. Among them, Lilian Terry sounds the most American.

He cited her appearances at the prestigious Antibes Festival, where Lillian was the only European singer to participate, sharing the stage with Ella Fitzgerald, Anita O’Day, Nina Simone, and Mahalia Jackson [7].

The recording was an immediate success, especially in Japan but also in the United States. The ballad that surpassed—and therefore was played on the air—was “Star-Crossed Lovers. [8]”

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NOTES

Lilian Terry, Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray and Friends: On and Off the Record with Jazz Greats (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2017), 4.
Ibid., 5–6.
Ibid., 6–7.
Ibid., 14–17.
Ibid., 18.
Ibid., 19.
George Avakian, Liner Notes, Lilian Terry Meets Tommy Flanagan: A Dream Comes True, 1982, Soul Note LP.
Terry, Dizzy, Duke, 19.

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Looking Back 50 Years: 1967 Jazz Overview Part 3

12/31/2017

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MONTEREY JAZZ FESTIVAL
Critic Dan Morgenstern covered Monterey’s 10th annual jazz festival for DownBeat, his first time doing so, and he came away quite pleased [1].

September 15
After a splashy afternoon opening, the showing of a commemorative film, the launching of gaily colored balloons and blinding light effects with an opening blast from the Don Ellis big band, the festival got down to business with the entertaining Dizzy Gillespie Quintet with James Moody (sax/flute), Mike Longo (piano), Russell George (electric bass), and Candy Finch (drums).

Diz and crew would back up other artists throughout the festival. Ubiquitous, irrepressible Diz joined the MJQ, Carmen McRae, and the Ellis organization onstage.

Saxophonist Illinois Jacquet, like Diz, appeared at Newport and, backed by festival mainstays John Lewis (piano), Ray Brown (bass), and Louis Bellson (drums), demonstrated that he was more than an extroverted stomper, playing ballads—even one on a bassoon!—but reverted to form, as at Newport, on his closer “Flyin’ Home.”

Next, the Don Ellis outfit offered a full set, highlighted by the rhythmically intricate New Horizons, the intriguing In a Turkish Bath, and the climactic Open Beauty. The band, Morgenstern admitted, “has a new palette of sound. The reed section (at one time featuring three soprano saxophones; at another, amplified flutes) is the most colorful, the trumpet section is the most brilliant. And the sound of the three basses bowing staccato together is something else.”

Overall, the band was much more impressive than it had been at Newport.

Newport had its vibe summit, and Monterey had its violin conclave with Europeans Svend Asmussen and Jean Luc Ponty and Americans Ray Nance and Stuff Smith—four distinct stylists that reminded everyone of the stringed instruments oft-overlooked but important role in jazz.

September 16
Morgenstern concluded that the blues afternoon was perhaps the greatest crowd pleaser of the entire festival. It began with the rousing gospel of the Clara Ward Singers and didn’t let up with blues singer/guitarists T-Bone Walker and B. B. King.

Interpolated in the midst of the bluesy afternoon, the Gary Burton Quartet with guitarist Larry Coryell received a well-deserved accolade from Morgenstern, who praised the empathy between players and noted that the ensemble was one of the most original and refreshing groups in contemporary jazz.

Then back to the blues with a young blues/folk singer and guitarist Richie Havens, who at the time was several years away from becoming a pop celebrity. Next came what many in the audience had been waiting for: the rock of Big Brother and the Holding Company, featuring vocalist Janis Joplin. The group had scored big at the first Monterey Pop Festival in June at the same location.

Early in the set, people began to dance, and soon they were snaking up and down the aisles while others stood on chairs digging and/or shaking, backed by shouts from others in the audience. That’s what it was all about—getting people to enjoy themselves.

Singer Mel Torme, appearing for only the third time at Monterey and backed by the Woody Herman Orchestra, offered a sparkling display of jazz singing. His set included a perfect Gershwin “Foggy Day,” a Porgy and Bess medley he also played on piano, a brilliant “Who Can I Turn To?,” a pyrotechnic “Bluesette,” during which the singer ate up the changes, and a fun-filled, scat-laced “Route 66,” which swung all the way. Morgenstern claimed he had never heard him better.

The Modern Jazz Quartet (MJQ to fans)—John Lewis (piano), Milt Jackson (vibes), Percy Heath (bass), and Connie Kay (drums)—opened their set with three numbers (including a superb “Pyramid”) before trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie came onstage during Jackson’s “Novano” and grabbed a piece of the action.

He remained for “Round Midnight” (both Diz and Jackson shone), and the “Bag’s Groove,” a triple treat for trumpet, vibes, and pianist Lewis. All in all, Morgenstern concluded, one of the musical highlights of the festival.

Closing things out for the evening were the Ambrosetti Quartet from Switzerland, including a gifted father-and-son team: Franco on trumpet, Flavio on alto. Both horn men proved excellent players with a good grasp of the idiom. And their set swung happily in a modern mainstream mold with avant-garde touches.

September 17
The day opened with the Ellis orchestra playing their second set, the music of Louie Bellson, who also sat in on drums. With Don Ellis conducting, the band tackled “Sketches,” a long, episodic number with moments of beauty, but the most moving Bellson piece was the memorial to Billy Strayhorn (who had died earlier in the year)—“unsentimental but full of feeling” was how Morgenstern described it.

For a climax, drummer Bellson featured himself, a set piece à la Buddy Rich, but with more attention to detail, if less volcanic power.

Guitarist Gabor Szabo’s group also drew a strong response from the crowd with “Spellbinder,” “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,” and a piece with a long, unaccompanied bass solo, interesting ensemble counterpoint, and a rhythmically driving climax with tambourines a jangling.

Morgenstern reckoned that the group, while original, was not that radical. Elements of rock and raga entered into the picture, but they blended with a lot of jazz.

As it was at Newport, only one “New Thing” group was invited to Monterey—none other than a quartet fronted by the grand old man of “Free Jazz,” Ornette Coleman. His sidemen consisted of two bassists Charlie Haden and David Izenson and drummer Edward Blackwell.

Coleman’s most successful offering was his stunning saxophone during “Haight-Ashbury.” A trumpet piece was best on the ballad sections, less so on the up-tempo passages. It was graced by a fine, too-short Izenzon arco solo and expert use of mallets by Blackwell. Ornette’s turn on musette was a bit monotonous, however. “His new group promises much” was Morgenstern’s overall conclusion.

Next, yet another workout for the Ellis orchestra, this time playing the music of Yugoslav composer Miljenko Prohaska, who had had brought a lot of music and also conducted. Unfortunately, a good portion of the audience left during his set, and many missed the better parts of it.

Guest jazz soloists took part in most of the pieces—James Moody on alto and flute, Dizzy Gillespie once again, and drummer Louis Bellson. Morgenstern commented that the piece had to be one of the best ever written for drums and orchestra, and it inspired Bellson to a fantastic display of endurance, craftsmanship, and musicality.

Dizzy’s second set with his festival quintet began the evening with some monkey business, got the expected laughter, then landed a knockout with his horn on “Get That Money Blues,” followed by an old, pretty ballad “Accent on Youth.”

Next up, Diz’s old boss Earl “Fatha” Hines in a trio setting with Bill Pemberton (drums) and Oliver Jackson (bass) offered “Second Balcony Jump” and “Satin Doll.” Hines summoned reedman Budd Johnson to sing “Bernie’s Tune” and then play “It’s Magic” on soprano sax, switching to tenor to uncork a sizzling “Lester Leaps In.”

Backstopped by pianist Norman Simmons, drummer Candy Finch, and bassist Ray Brown, Carmen McRae etched “Midnight Sun,” gave “Lots of Love” new life, sang “Don’t Explain” in her own way, had a ball with “Satin Doll,” commanded attention with “For Once in My Life,” and broke it up with “Alfie.” It was, Morgenstern gushed, a masterly performance by a brilliant artist.

Bill Holman brought the festival to a close by conducting the Woody Herman orchestra in Holman’s Concerto for Herd. The opening section featured rich reed sounds piloted by Herman’s alto. The second movement brandished new textures of sound without resorting to freakishness.

The music was so moving that it lingered on through the opening of the final rousing movement that kept building without losing momentum. Morgenstern rhapsodized: this concert was the best music written for Herman since Summer Sequence (and of a higher caliber).

Time to go home.

Not everyone was pleased with 1967 MJF. Columnist Phillip Elwood argued that the festival had gone soft and conservative by presenting almost exclusively tried-and-true and popular performers—against the MJF charter that pledged to introduce important unknown artists and reacquaint the public with neglected jazz giants rather than playing it safe with a parade of name attractions [2].

Elwood cited several important artists that had never been invited to Monterey: Cecil Taylor, Roland Kirk, Archie Shepp, Don Friedman-Atiller Zoller. He contrasted this lineup with the 1967 MJF roster, which, for the most part, reads like a 78 rpm top pop-record list of 20 years before: Mel Torme, Dizzy Gillespie, Woody Herman, Earl Hines, and Illinois Jacquet.

Point well taken, Mr. Elwood.

NOTES

Dan Morgenstern, “Mellow Monterey,” DownBeat, November 16, 1967, 23–30.
Phillip Elwood, “Playing It Safe?,” San Francisco Examiner-Chronicle, August 17, 1967.

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Looking Back 50 Years: 1967 Jazz Overview Part 2

12/30/2017

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NEWPORT JAZZ FESTIVAL
Mother Nature, in the form of fog, shivery temperatures, and intermittent tropical rain bursts, rendered the 1967 edition unlikely to make anyone’s NJF top 10 list. Still, the show went on with the usual cornucopia of musical acts and thematic groupings, as summarized below from reports by attending critics Whitney Balliett [1], Burt Goldblatt [2], and Dan Morgenstern [3].

June 30
The first day began with a “History of Jazz” lineup, although jazz critic Balliett likened it to a parade of pianists: Willie “the Lion” Smith, Earl Hines, Count Basie, Thelonius Monk, and John Lewis.

The first “History” group, led by percussionist Michael Olatunji, represented Mother Africa, which quickly gave way to Chicago with Earl Hines playing arrhythmic whirlpools and upper register single note jubilations (Balliett), leading to the New York Stride of Willie “the Lion” Smith and his booming irregular chord patterns, and rifle-shot single notes.

Count Basie (and associates) resurrected the sound of Kansas City, the pianist audible only in short solos behind the horn players. The “History” lesson continued with the 1940s bebop kings of New York: trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, sax player James Moody, vibist Milt Jackson, pianist Thelonious Monk, bassist Perch Heath, and drummer Max Roach.

Balliett judged their performance disappointing save for Monk; he also praised John Lewis’s graceful and thoughtful approach to the piano. To complete the stroll down “History” lane, the first day’s concert concluded with saxophonist Albert Ayler’s quartet, the only “New Thing” group to appear at the 1967 festival after a somewhat controversial avant-garde breakout the previous year by saxophonist Archie Shepp.

July 1
The afternoon concert was labeled “The Five Faces of Jazz,” or the five ethnic influences on jazz, or better said, contributions from five jazz musicians from other countries—namely, guitarist Gabor Szabo of Hungary, Albert Manglesdorf of Germany, Michael Olatunji of Nigeria, Luis Enrique of Brazil, and Nobuo Hara, leader of the Japanese Orchestra Sharps and Flats.

Weatherman Balliett reported that the fog had been doing “the mazurka up and down Narragansett Bay all afternoon and [by nightfall] it circled once about the town and fell asleep,” along with much of the night’s concert that began with Herbie Mann on flute, Roy Ayers on vibes, and Charles Ganimian on electric oud.

This outfit presented a different perspective on what is and what isn’t jazz. Pianist Earl Hines slipped in with his usual outstanding set of classics, joined by Budd Johnson on soprano saxophone, but Newport Festival chronicler Goldblatt as well as critic Morgensten found it hard to fathom why the pianist was inserted in a lineup of relatively modern stars.

The John Handy Quintet (vibes, guitar, bass, drums and the leader’s alto sax) plodded through two endless numbers. Nina Simone, who sang at the previous year’s concert, got hung up in a couple of interminable laments about loose men and fast women.

Steady NJF presence Dizzy Gillespie appeared with his quintet and did four by-rote numbers, but the oddest disappointment in Balliett’s view was the Gary Burton Quintet with Larry Coryell on electric guitar that reached for a distillate of jazz and rock and roll but failed to grasp either one.

At midnight Buddy Rich and his band turned the pumpkin into a golden coach, the brightest moment of the evening, all agreed. Goldblatt waxed poetic over the drummer’s crowd-pleasing, gymnastic drum exhibition: Rich was astonishing in his virtuosity. His solo had a clarity and vividness that projected in sharp relief his inexhaustible energy as he built up from small explosions to a whirlpool of frenzy and passion.

Not to be surpassed, Morgenstern rhapsodized: his solo was an eruption, a phenomenon, a staggering display of superhuman endurance, co-ordination and control. It was an event in defiance of nature, and it is safe to say that no other drummer (or human being) could ever match it. Whew!

July 2
The afternoon concert began with the Japanese Sharps and Flats Big Band that Balliett characterized as a formidable cross between the late Jimmy Lunceford and early Stan Kenton bands, and its soloists suggested trombonist J. J. Johnson, trumpeters Art Farmer, and Clifford Brown, plus drummers Gene Krupa and Louis Bellson.

The main event was a vibraphone workshop—Bobby Hutcherson, Gary Burton, Red Norvo, and Milt Jackson, along with Lionel Hampton (believe it or not) making his Newport Jazz Festival debut.

According to Balliett, Burton sent up a ghostly unaccompanied ballad that was all willows and Debussy; Norvo produced a creditable (Cole Porter’s ) “I Love You,” and ended with his heavy mallet shtick—“slapsticks”—clumping around the keyboard like a slow-motion tap dancer.

Hampton unloaded his customary two-by-fours on a feverish “How High the Moon.” The audience kept interrupting him with bursts of applause. Hutcherson jammed a hundred notes into each measure on “Softly as in a Morning Sunrise,” and Jackson maintained his flowing lyric cool on “These Foolish Things.”

All five vibists got together for the closing “Hamp’s Boogie-Woogie,” accompanied by heavy rain. With a flood of perspiration running down their faces, Hamp and his colleagues took a bow to a cheering, smiling audience.

Goldblatt, more smitten than Balliett, called the workshop a Festival peak. Morgenstern said it was Newport at its best, the kind of happening that jazz festivals exist for.

There was an interpolated guest pianist in the midst of the workshop, much like Hines on the prior day’s evening concert, and the critics were none too happy about it. This time it was Billy Taylor, who captured the small, two thousand-member audience with his tremendous drive over an hour-long performance.

Unofficial weatherman Balliett reported that the rain for the evening was still reeling in low and cold at eight when the show began. He concluded all could have stayed home, summarily dismissing the night’s acts—Bill Evans Trio, Max Roach Quartet, Woody Herman’s Big Band, and the Miles Davis Quintet.

Goldblatt stayed the course and found much to like. Even with rain and sound system problems, he declared Max Roach’s unaccompanied drum solo, “It’s in Five,” the high spot of the evening and probably the whole Festival. Apparently, he was struck by the drummer’s individualistic clarity for sounds, giving new dimension and sensitivity without ever pounding (a là Buddy Rich, but he didn’t say).

Morgenstern followed suit: a masterpiece of musical intelligence and instrumental skill—perhaps the greatest musical drumming this listener has witnessed.

In 1966, Newport Festival Organizer George Wein introduced avant “New Thing” music for the first time. In 1967 it was rock music by the Blues Project—some of the group would go on to form the first rock-oriented jazz group, Blood, Sweat, and Tears.

Morgenstern felt the Project was probably not the best rock choice for a jazz festival. No matter, Wein needn’t have bothered because many in the audience headed for the refreshment area or out of the gates entirely.

Pianist Bill Evans, with drummer Jo Jones behind him emphasized the contrapuntal. Miles Davis closed the evening with several good moments, as did his tenor Wayne Shorter.

July 3
The afternoon was given over to big bands. Trumpeter Don Ellis’s 19-piece group featured an eight-man rhythm section: three bassists, four drummers, a pianist, and a mass of electronic equipment.
Odd-signature pieces were the specialty of the day, though the kind of music most of the weather-beaten audience wanted to hear. Ellis took his final bows before a few hundred people.

Still, Morgenstern, for one, was impressed, considering it an exceptionally well-drilled ensemble, an exciting band. The concert ended with a really BIG BAND, a 54-piece youth band from Massachusetts that played Basie, Goodman, Shaw, plus other compositions surprisingly well. Best of all, Balliett noted, were the glorious passages in which the brass section, 18 strong, opened up.

The evening concert was largely an extension of the previous evening’s tribute to Lionel Hampton. The opening acts: vibraphonist Red Norvo in a quartet setting (really needed?!); the Dave Brubeck Quartet showing more candlepower than usual (Balliett), Brubeck sounding better than he had in years (Goldblatt); jazz’s only opera singer Sarah Vaughan (according to Gary Giddins); and guitarist Wes Montgomery playing, at request, one of his breakout hits from the year before.

To close the evening and the Festival, the Lionel Hampton Band, made up of alumni, supported Lionel as he worked his various instruments (vibes, drums, piano). Of course, as everyone expected, the band played Hamp’s anthem “Flying Home,” featuring Illinois Jacquet’s legendary tenor solo.

Goldblatt caught the moment: The audience danced in the aisles and stomped on their seats while Hamp and organist Milt Buckner hammed in a hilarious dance routine onstage as Jacquet kept wailing chorus after chorus. It was Hamp’s first appearance at Newport and the crowd let him know that it was a triumph.

Balliett was likewise impressed: Illinois went through his celebrated calisthenics, and it was like hearing Francis Scott Key sing the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

Time to go home.

Read my next blog for part 3 of my look back at jazz 50 years ago.

NOTES

Whitney Balliett, Collected Works: A Journal of Jazz, 1954–2001 (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2002), 272–24.
Burt Goldblatt, Newport jazz Festival: The Illustrated History (New York: Dial Press, 1977), 130–39.
Dan Morgenstern with Ira Gitler, “Newport ‘67,” DownBeat, August 10, 1967, 20–39.

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Looking Back 50 Years: 1967 Jazz Overview Part 1

12/29/2017

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THE YEAR 1967 saw the big band, two new jazz stars, the release of three classic albums by established artists, continued sniping about the “New Thing,” yet growing signs of its acceptance, withering rock and roll, and yet another round of “Jazz as we know it is dead.”

BIG BAND
While Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Woody Herman, Thad Jones-Mel Lewis, and the Gerald Wilson aggregations continued to hold down the fort, two upstart bands led by Don Ellis and Buddy Rich rose to prominence.

The exciting Ellis band featured unusual instrumentations and time signatures and polled fourth in the DownBeat readers’ Big Band category. Its leader, Don Ellis, came in forth in the Jazzman of the Year class.

Swing-era show drummer Buddy Rich powered his re-formed band to second place among big bands and took third place as Jazzman of the Year.

NEW STARS
Bandleader and sax and flute player Charles Lloyd won Jazzman of the Year honors on the strength of his breakout the prior year, his highly publicized foreign trips, and popular Forest Flower album (Record of the Year, second place).

Don Ellis was the other new star. Besides fronting his well-rehearsed, rhythmically exciting band, he was acknowledged for his outstanding four-valve trumpet playing.

CLASSIC ALBUMS
Three members of the jazz pantheon—Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, and Sonny Rollins—released (close to, if not) their best albums: Miles Smiles, The Far East Suite, and East Broadway Rundown, respectively.

NEW THING
Sniping of the new music by DownBeat readers, critics, and musicians continued throughout the year. Yet there were signs of a growing acceptance. Based on his album reviews, poll positions, and festival invites, Ornette Coleman appeared to be assuming the role of the grand old man of free jazz.

Others, notably trombonist Roswell Rudd, seemed to be catching on, and the same could be said for the music as a whole, at least based on one metric: in 1967, 20 albums of the new music were reviewed in DownBeat, with an average four-star ranking. Not too shabby.

ROCK AND ROLL TREMORS
Rock rhythms were edging their way into jazz in 1967 (they had been for some time) and likewise into the pages of America’s premier jazz magazine, DownBeat. The magazine featured a four-page article on the Beatles that gave a decent history of the group, its influences, and concluded that the Fab Four were popularizers, not creators. Well, okay, creative popularizers.

Nonetheless, dear DB readers, you should have taken them (and their ilk) seriously. If the article didn’t grab their attention, then the seventh-place finish in the Record of the Year category for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band should have—the record lost out to Miles Davis, Charles Lloyd, Buddy Rich, and Duke Ellington.

JAZZ DEAD
Guitarist Gabor Szabo, who had been making some waves for himself with well-reviewed albums and meaningful club and festival dates, stunned the jazz world in a DownBeat article where he was quoted as saying. “Jazz as we’ve known it is dead.”

Putting aside exactly why Szabo made this remark, he later confirmed it, and the response from the jazz arts world was a resounding “no it isn’t.” (Harvey Siders, “Quotet,” DownBeat, November 16, 1967, 18.)

Every jazz person has things to carp about—inadequate pay, uncertainty about the status of their particular brand of jazz, lack of access to all forms of media, pressures from other more popular styles of music, on and on.

But true today, as it was in 1967, somewhere in the world at any given moment, there are people playing jazz in every conceivable style. Jazz as we’ve known it is still alive. See my recent July 2017 blog on the topic.

The year 1967 also saw the death of two prominent jazz deaths, John Coltrane (age 50) and Billy Strayhorn (age 52).

Read my next blog for part 2 of my look back at jazz 50 years ago.

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Looking Back 50 Years: Notable Jazz Albums of 1967

12/27/2017

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A half century ago, bandleader and reed/flute player Charles Lloyd was on the rise. He garnered DownBeat’s “new star” on tenor sax and flute in 1965, then busted out in 1966 on the strength of his Eastern-tinged albums Of Course, Of Course and Dreamweaver, and was finally crowned Jazzman of the Year by the magazine’s readers in 1967. Moreover, his Forest Flower album (recorded live at Monterey in 1966) took second place in the Record of the Year category.

Perhaps the most publicized Jazzman of the Year—he even toured the Soviet Union!—he polled well with DownBeat readers on tenor (third) and flute (second), as did his combo, with pianist Keith Jarrett and drummer Jack DeJohnette (second). Fans were far out in front of critics. The best the critics could do in their poll was award Lloyd’s youth-appealing combo first place in the Talent Deserving Wider Recognition category.

That same year also saw the release of three all-time classic albums by upper-echelon mainstays Miles Davis, Duke Ellington, and Sonny Rollins.

Miles’s second great quintet—alto saxophonist Wayne Shorter, pianist Herbie Hancock, bassist Ron Carter, and drummer Tony Williams—are at their absolute peak on Miles Smiles. Excellent original themes—“Circles,” “Orbits,” “Footprints”—with the players building a huge creative tension between Shorter’s oblique, churning solos and Mile’s private musings on trumpet within a rhythm section bursting to be free while still playing time.

The interaction between Hancock, Carter, and Williams is so tight, so self-contained that collectively it should be considered the third front line player alongside the horns.

It’s my favorite Davis album period. And by the way, the album won top honors in the 1967 DownBeat Reader’s poll. Read about my encounter with the jazz prince.

This is the one Ellington suite that would make everyone’s top five (my number one and second overall after Newport ’56). Duke’s prominent soloists—Hodges, Hamilton, Gonsalves, Carney, and the maestro himself—are front and center, delivering matchless, impossible-to-duplicate solos. Altoist Hodges’s turn on “Isfahan” is arguably the most beautiful in Ellington’s and Strayhorn’s entire output.

If this one brings a tear to your eye, then “Blue Pepper,” the bluesy flip side of the Hodges coin, will bring a smile to your face. Tenorman Gonsalves shines on “Mount Harissa” with a two-plus-minute serpentine, “please don’t stop” songful moan.

Multi-stylistic pianist Ellington eschews his penchant for dissonance and taps less used keyboard styles to sketch uncommonly beautiful melodies throughout. Check out my full review of the album.

Sonny Rollins surprised many with his East Broadway Rundown offering that featured his tenor and extracted mouthpiece, along with John Coltrane’s rhythm section bassist Jimmy Harrison and drummer Elvin Jones with muscular trumpeter Freddie Hubbard (on one track).

At the time, many people thought Sonny was about to join the “New Thing” movement because of the 20-minute title track. The theme and the interplay between Sonny and Freddie, and the use of just a mouthpiece in sections reminded people of “New Wave” pioneers Ornette Coleman and Don Cherry.

But no, it was Rollins simply saying I can play free if I want to, and this is the way it should be done. On the other two tracks, it’s the old Sonny we all know, especially on “We Kiss in the Shadows.”

From Amazon reviewer Douglass Groothuis:

Few saxophonists can thrive and survive in the stripped down . . . format of drums, bass, and horn . . . The strength of [Rollins’s] tone in every register, the thematic improvizations, the sense of humor and intelligence (including the quotes from other songs, even classical pieces!)—all inspire respect and trigger delight in the soul.

Quintessential swing era big band drummer Buddy Rich reformed a 1930s/40s style big band in 1966. And to no one’s surprise, it hit hard. There was nothing subtle about it—all was speed, bravado, and intensity.

It quickly became a festival crowd pleaser, and an international success. In the 1967 DownBeat Reader’s Poll, Buddy jumped from fourth to first place on drums, and his new band came close to winning.

The two albums Big Swing Face and Swingin’ New Band placed third and fourth, respectively, behind Miles Smiles and Forest Flower. As far as Jazzman of the Year, he came very close—only Charles Lloyd (first) and Duke Ellington (second) ranked higher. Not too shabby.

In 1966, trumpeter Don Ellis forged a new jazz orchestra with an unusual rhythm section—three drummers and four bases fronting conventional instrumentation, four trumpets, three trombones, five reeds, and piano/organ.

The resulting music was rhythmically exciting unmatched by any other jazz orchestra (save possibly for that of Sun Ra).

As critic Pete Welding saw it, the consummate execution of difficult (some said crazy or odd) time signatures, and its effortless way with forceful, emotion-charged rhythmic polyphony of an intimacy and subtlety not heard before, was extraordinary. [1] How about a meter in 9 divided by 2 2 2 3, or 19 divided 33 222 1 222!

The band was enthusiastically received at its inaugural festival performance at Monterey in 1966 and again in 1967 and at other performances in between. The jazz public dug the band, as evidenced by Ellis’s fourth-place finish in the Jazzman of the Year DownBeat Poll and the band’s fourth-place finish in the Big Band category. The band’s Live at Monterey album placed ninth in the Record of the Year contest.

Yet another time signature mash-up (released in 1966 but reviewed in 1967) Indo-Jazz Suite: The Joe Harriott Double Quintet under the Direction of John Mayer—the first time in the history of music that Western musicians (all from the UK by the way) and Indian musicians played together from a written score. (Don Ellis fans might object, but his Hindustan group did not record and tour).

Kudos to composer-arranger John Mayer for making it happen. Improvising by both sets of musicians took place, especially by alto player Joe Harriott, who often moved outside the framework, playing his own brand of free jazz.

Not all fans and critics took to the fusion, but many did.

The Mayer-Harriett Double Quintet toured extensively, playing major concerts and clubs around Europe, and made two additional albums: Indo-Jazz Fusions and Indo-Jazz Fusions II. Maybe a little stilted at times, but always exciting and swinging. As Mayer later proclaimed, “World Music began here,” and who is to say otherwise. [2]

Mercy, Mercy, Mercy! Happy music (soul jazz, some called it) by Cannonball Adderley on alto, brother Nat on cornet, Joe Zawinal on electric and acoustic piano, Victor Haskin on bass, and Roy McCurdy on drums.

Six tunes, including Cannon’s classic “Sack of Woe” and Joe’s late night, slow in-the-pocket “Mercy” groove that became (believe it or not) a pop Top 10 single!

Producer Michael Cuscana: “One of the greatest uncompromising crossover successes in the history of jazz.”

NOTES

Pete Welding, “Time for Revolution: An Interview with Don Ellis,” DownBeat, April 2, 1967, 25–28.
Alan Robertson, Joe Harriett: Fire in his Soul (London: Northway Publications, 2003), 157–73.

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That Anniversary Year 2017: Looking Back 100 Years

12/21/2017

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Ella Fitzgerald, Dizzy Gillespie, Ray Brown, and Milt Jackson at Downbeat, NYC, ca. Sept. 1947 (Library of Congress)

This is a banner year for 100th-anniversary birthdays: singer Ella Fitzgerald, trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie, pianist Thelonious Monk, drummer Buddy Rich, and percussionist Mongo Santamaria. To top it off, it is also the centennial birthday of the first recorded jazz by the Original Dixieland Jazz Band.

DownBeat magazine kicked things off in January with a cover headline: “1917: The Year that Changed the Course of Jazz History.” Feature articles followed on each centennial artist. From my vantage point in Washington, DC, I noted year-round activity at the Kennedy Center with two centenary tributes to Ella and one each for Monk and Dizzy. The Smithsonian Institute held two Ella tributes and five more were held at local jazz venues.

The Apollo Theater in Harlem appropriately celebrated Ella for her breakout performance there in 1935. Ella and Dizzy were honored together at the James Moody Jazz Fest in Newark, New Jersey, and at the PDX Jazz Fest in Portland, Oregon, while the music of Ella, Dizzy, Mongo, and Monk was celebrated at the Symphony Center in Chicago and at the Newport Jazz Festival.

Jazz at Lincoln Center launched a “100 Years of Jazz” series, and a Jazz@100 Conference was held at Darmstadt, Germany. It was a very good year for jazz locally, regionally, nationally, and globally.

John McDonough of DownBeat summed it up this way:

One hundred years ago, jazz was captured on commercial recordings for the very first time, suddenly projecting the music’s reach from the back of the bar to the ends of the earth. [1]

The yearlong celebration of this singular moment focused a brighter than usual spotlight on the monumental jazz artists that were born in 2017. And that’s a good thing.

Original DixieLand Jazz Band (ODJB)

Jazz: The Smithsonian Anthology box set is expensive but worth it. Disc 1 has “Livery Stable Blue” by the ODJB and 1920s jazz tracks to compare and contrast.

January 1917 found five New Orleans musicians Nick LaRocca (trumpet, director), Eddie Edwards (trombone), Larry Shields (clarinet), Harry Ragas (piano), Tony Sbarboro (drums) working a two-week engagement at Reisenweber’s Cafe in New York City.

The music was loud and rowdy, variously described as having jagged contours and nervous energy, and unlike anything the city had ever heard. A novelty to be sure, the band drew ordinary folk and musicians from near and far and became the first to record the emergent New Orleans music.

On February 26, 1917, LaRocca and his men gathered in the Victor Talking Machine studio on 24th Street and recorded “Dixieland Jass Band One-Step” and “Livery Stable Blues.” (They changed “Jass” to “Jazz” the following year.)

Within a few days, the 78 rpm disc hit the streets, and driven by the latter tune, sales eventually soared to over a million copies. The ODJB’s popularity soared as well.

With LaRocca leading the way, historian Richard M. Sudhalter tells us:

The ODJB capitalized on its momentum. No one, if he had anything to do with it, would ever be allowed to forget that these five musicians were the first to put genuine hot music on records . . . Would that he had left it at that. In later years . . . he took another tack in a flood of letters, magazine articles, and in personal interviews he accused younger, more prominent musicians of trying to “cash in on his jazz craze started by the Original Jazz Band.” He also expressed contempt for anyone who tried to credit black jazzmen with any part of the creative process. [2]

Larocca’s claims for the ODJB as the originators of jazz was met with a counterclaim that the all-white ODJB could not be credited as being the first to record jazz since—as validated by the historical record—it originated in the New Orleans black communities.

Yet, as Bruce Boyd Raeburn has written:

Comparison of “Livery Stable Blues” with recordings made by Kid Ory in 1922, by the New Orleans Rhythm Kings in 1922-23, and by King Oliver’s Creole Jazz Band in 1923 reveals common idiomatic features: an instrumental playing style couched in small band polyphony and collective “improvisation” (often relying on “head arrangements” worked out in advance) that used stop-time breaks, an insistent 4/4 rhythmic pulse, and a spirit described by one music critic as “Rabelaisian jocosity.” [3]

The ODJB was the first to record jazz—how representative or good it was is matter for historians. Most would agree, however, their music was a credible approximation of fin de siècle New Orleans music.

Moreover, and lest we not forget, as John McDonough wrote in DownBeat:

The band laid the cornerstone of the first important repertoire unique to jazz, a canon of songs developed at Reisenwebers in 1917 and still basic to all traditional jazz: “Tiger Rag.” “At the Jazz Band Ball,” “Clarinet Marmalade,” “Fidgety Feet,” “Jazz Me Blues,” and “Royal Garden Blues.” All originated with the ODJB. [4]

Simply put, the ODJB kick-started the decades long mainstreaming of jazz in America and, ultimately, the world.

Ella Fitzgerald

Ms. Fitzgerald’s visage appears on my imaginary female jazz singer Mount Rushmore. Her three-octave range, flawless diction, high wire scatting, and girlish tone made every Great American songbook rendition definitive.

Frank Sinatra had this to say:

Ella Fitzgerald is the only performer with whom I’ve ever worked who made me nervous. Because I try to work up to what she does. You know, try to pull myself up to that height, because I believe she is the greatest popular singer in the world. Barring none—male or female. [5]

Between 1956 and 1964, Fitzgerald recorded her songbook series on Verve Records, an album each to the songs of Cole Porter, Rodgers and Hart, Duke Ellington, Irving Berlin, George and Ira Gershwin, Harold Arlen, Jerome Kern, and Johnny Mercer, orchestrated by top flight arrangers Buddy Bregman, Paul Weston, Billy May, Nelson Riddle, and Duke Ellington/Billy Strayhorn.

Simply stated, over an eight-year period, Ella illuminated better than anyone the songs of the top seven composers of the Great American Songbook. [6]

These albums have been gathered in a highly recommended box set (16 CDs, 345 tracks) that deserves to be prominently displayed in Tiffany’s window on Fifth Avenue in New York City. If the Tiffany collection is too steep for your pocketbook, then I recommend my personal favorite Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Cole Porter Songbook, which coincidentally, according to two sources, is the 36th and 55th all-time best jazz album ever. [7]

At live performances in clubs and concert halls, a piano trio or quartet usually supported the “first lady of song.” My personal favorite album is Ella in Berlin backed by the Paul Smith Quartet (Smith piano, Jim Hall guitar, Gus Johnson drums, and Wilfred Middlebrooks bass). Ella’s voice is earthier than usual, while her phrasing is as appealing as ever. She’s sublimely tender on Errol Garner’s “Misty,” romantically so on “The Man I Love” and the “Lorelie,” and wonderfully sultry on “Too Darn Hot.”

This recording is famous for her scats, a planned lengthy one on “How High the Moon” and an unplanned one after forgetting the words to “Mack the Knife”—the singer improvised a stealthy camouflage that included an impersonation of Louis Armstrong.

And if you like your Songbook composers live, Ella covers four Gershwin and three Porter songs, as well as one each from Arlen/Mercer, and Rodgers and Hart.

Thelonious Monk

Last year we celebrated the 100th anniversary of guitarist Charlie Christian, the first charter member of bebop’s birthplaces in Harlem, Monroe’s Uptown, and Minton’s Playhouse. This year we pay tribute to two other members, Thelonious Monk and Dizzy Gillespie.

Monk would become the most idiosyncratic and singular of the early beboppers and one of jazz’s great composers. With its dissonances, its herky-jerky syncopations, and its child-like melodies, his music always swung in its own unorthodox way.

While the pianist occasionally performed in a trio setting, and sometimes in larger groups, he is probably best known for his work in quartets and quintets alongside outstanding tenor sax players like Coleman Hawkins, John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins, Johnny Griffin or Charley Rouse. Most aficionados and critics would likely point to his encounters with Coltrane and Rouse as most noteworthy.

My personal favorites are his collaborations with tenor titans Rollins and Griffin and, in the case of the former, from a critically scorned session that occurred on Friday the 13th. And who in their right mind would ever book a studio for that date? Prestige Records A&R man Ira Gitler did, and, no surprise, the jinx held.

Monk wanted two prominent musicians, tenor man Sonny Rollins and trumpeter Ray Copeland on the date, but Copeland came down with the flu, and French Horn player Julius Watkins, who had never played with Monk and had only recorded a few times in a jazz context, was asked to sub.

To top it off, Monk and Rollins arrived at the studio an hour late—their taxi had skidded into a police vehicle, resulting in the loss of precious studio time. The aforementioned musicians joined outstanding bassist Percy Heath and left-handed drummer Willie Jones, a Monk pick who had never made a record before.

In the remaining studio time left, the quintet recorded three new Monk compositions “Think of One,” “Let’s Call This,” and appropriately “Friday the 13th.” And if you think the first two tunes got their titles from Monk’s inability to come up with more appropriate titles, you’d be right.

“Friday the 13th” was written on the spot and based on a simple four-bar repeating phrase—not because Monk had written it as such, but because A&R man Ira Gitler, aware of the limited studio time, kept frantically waving a hastily handwritten sign that read “MORE” to extend the number to 10:35 minutes.

Prestige released the tunes on an LP titled Thelonious Monk Blows for LP in March 1954. The tracks recorded that superstition-laden day did not become jazz standards as so many other Monk compositions have. Album sales were feeble, reviews were even worse, none of the tunes lit up the charts, and Monk languished in obscurity for another three years. [8]

So what’s to like? Simply, the music produced by three jazz greats at the start of their careers. Sonny Rollins is roundly considered to be one of the top five on tenor saxophone in jazz history. Monk is roundly considered to be among the top five jazz composers ever. And Julius Watkins is the founding father of jazz French horn.

Perhaps, on Monk’s centenary, a reexamination of his mid-1950s music on the Prestige label is in order, including that produced on that most inauspicious day back in 1953.

Likewise, the composer-pianist’s centenary would also be a good time for fans of Monk’s famed Five Spot encounter with tenor titan John Coltrane to reexamine his get-together with another tenor giant at the same venue: Johnny Griffin. His mastery of the horn is exceptional, top to bottom, sounding at times like an alto, sounding like no other, and always, always, swinging.

John Birks “Dizzy” Gillespie

Promulgators of bebop, trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie and alto saxist Charlie “Bird” Parker (Diz and Bird), along with key associates (Monk and drummer Kenny Clarke), replaced the tide-worn jazz phrasing with long teeming melodic lines, broke the insouciant flow of the four-four beat into chattering pockets of rhythm, and added fresh harmonies. Whitney Balliett’s take on the music was on the mark:

Bebop was an upheaval in jazz that matched the arrival of Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington,
Coleman Hawkins, and Lester Young, but it was not, as it is frequently taken to be, a total musical revolution . . . To be sure, it introduced radical techniques, but it stuck close to the blues, which it dressed up with flatted chords and various rhythmic furbelows. The chord structure of popular standards, which provided the rest of its diet, were slightly altered, and were given new titles . . . The music made little attempt at fresh ensemble voicings, but relied instead on complex unison figures. [9]

Over the years fans would sportingly argue who made the bigger contribution, Dizzy or Bird. Both added rhythmic elements, Bird mostly melody and blues touches and Diz harmonic advancements. Producer and Verve/Pablo label owner Norman Granz, who worked extensively with both had this to say:

I’m not sure that Dizzy has ever been given his proper niche in jazz . . . I don’t think that people really understand the contributions he’s made . . . He was the first one that introduced the Cuban rhythm section. I’m not sure Dizzy isn’t more important than Bird. That discussion seems to go on. I think Bird was an incredible soloist, but so was Dizzy. Bird had a big impact, but so did Dizzy. [10]

Gillespie not only introduced Cuban rhythms but continued to employ them (along with other Latin ones) while maintaining close and fruitful collaborations with Afro-Cuban and Latin musicians through the end of his days.

Without question, Dizzy was the major spokesperson for bebop and the best-known jazz trumpeter after Miles Davis and Louis Armstrong. Miles was not present at the creation of bebop, but joined the movement shortly thereafter, playing and recording with Bird.

Miles’s career took off in the mid-1950s, and he became the most talked about jazz trumpeter from the late 1950s through the 1980s, overshadowing at times the doings of the bebop master.

While Davis helmed two great quintets, featuring the likes of star players like John Coltrane, Cannonball Adderley, Bill Evans, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter and Tony Williams, he formed orchestral collaborations with Gil Evans to back his soulful trumpet voice, and then shocked the jazz world when he abandoned the acoustic format for electric-powered rock and roll.

But so did Diz, in his own way, and to a lesser extent, but no matter—somehow it didn’t seem to warrant the same coverage.

Gillespie collaborated several times with skilled orchestral composers and arrangers, notably once with J. J. Johnson for Perceptions, a six-movement suite during which Dizzy improvised over a brass choir, and two with Lalo Schifrin, Gillespiana (premiered at Carnegie Hall in 1961) and The New Continent (premiered at the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1962 and later that same year at New York Philharmonic Hall).

The New Continent, a personal favorite, reflected the composer’s use of music from Spain, Africa, and America, to create a challenging multi-metered bedrock to support Gillespie’s fanciful excursions on his instrument.

In the 1970s Gillespie hooked up again with his long-term producer Norma Granz on his newly formed Pablo label. After several pairings with jazz masters from his era (altoist Benny Carter, pianist Oscar Peterson) Diz implored producer Granz to put aside all these “history” recordings, and let him record something “modern.” [11]

The result: Dizzy’s Party: a hip-shaking Latin jazz album for funk fans, with two electric guitars, drums, and percussion to support trumpet and saxophone. Granz himself concluded:

This album is Dizzy’s first dance album–yes, I said dance. But a very hip kind of dancing . . . He, also, uniquely combines once again Brazil and its rhythms (in the person of Paulinho da Costa [on Percussion]) with Jazz Time. [12]

Miles and his orchestrator Gil Evans gave us Porgy and Bess and Sketches of Spain and Dizzy and Lalo Schifrin birthed Gillespiana and The New Continent, all formidable albums, though the Davis ones are better known. Miles launched a rock and roll band surrounding himself with electric guitars, synthesizers, electric pianos and organs, drums and percussion.

The result: In a Silent Way, Bitches Brew, On the Corner, and others, controversial albums in some quarters, well received in others, but still better known than Dizzy’s Party. A record James Brown could have danced to.

The point here: Miles is well known for being a musical shapeshifter—just when you think you know his music, begin to love it, he’s on to something else.

But Dizzy evolved as well. He emerged from the bebop cocoon he created with Charlie Parker, adding rhythmic elements from around the world, fattening his tone, streamlining his lengthy, multi-noted improvisations in a variety of contexts (combos and large orchestras) to fit the times.

Oh, and by the way, Diz and Lalo reunited a year after Dizzy’s Party on Free Ride, a Pablo album composed and arranged by his old partner for a 14-piece orchestra that employed electrical keyboards, electric guitars, and Fender Rhodes piano. Schifrin’s slow-rock arrangement on “Unicorn” created a near hit. [13]

Eat your heart out, Miles Davis.

Mongo Santamaria

Cuban congo player, percussionist, and bandleader Mongo Santamaria arrived in New York City at the beginning of the jazz-Latin fusion era and became, arguably, the most popular Latin musician of the 1960s.

In the jazz world, Santamaria is mostly known for (1) his version of Herbie Hancock’s tune “Watermelon Man,” which became a Top 10 hit in 1963, and (2) his authorship of “Afro-Blue,” a song saxophonist John Coltrane made famous.

One night when Herbie Hancock substituted for Mongo’s regular pianist at a Bronx nightclub, his group worked out a Latin groove underneath Herbie’s new composition “Watermelon Man.” Santamaria quickly recorded it, and the song became the only time that Riverside, a distinguished jazz label, had a song on the Top 10 pop charts. [14] In 1998, Mongo’s “Watermelon Man” was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame.

See my book Serendipity Doo-Dah: True Stories of Happy Musical Accidents for more details on how a hard bop, gospel roller (“Watermelon Man”) by an anonymous young jazz pianist (Herbie Hancock) ended up being covered by a small-market Latin band by an obscure Afro-Cuban percussionist (Mongo Santamaria) to become so popular it was covered by hundreds of other bands and thereby enriching both musicians. [15]

Buddy Rich

Here I must admit to a jazz character flaw, and offer my apologies to Mr. Rich’s many fans. I do not have a single LP or CD by the drummer and not one where he appears as a sideman. Moreover, if I were to list my Top 20 favorite jazz drummers, Mr. Rich’s name would not appear. Apologies to one and all.

John McDonough, “Dizzy, Ella, Buddy & Monk: The Year that Changed the Course of Jazz History,” DownBeat, January 2017, 5.
Richard M. Sudhalter, Lost Chords: White Musicians and Their Contributions to Jazz, 1915–1945 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999), 16.
Liner Notes, Bryce Boyd Raeburn, “Original DixieLand Jazz Band,” Jazz: The Smithsonian Anthology (Smithsonian Folkways Recording, 2010), 27.
John McDonough, “Dizzy, Ella, Buddy & Monk,” DownBeat, January 2017, 29.
James Kaplan, Frank Sinatra: The Chairman (New York: Anchor Books, 2015), 214.
Some 17 years later, in 1981, another, and the last of the series was added: Ella Abra Jobim: Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Antonio Carlos Jobim Songbook, on Pablo Records.
According to Jazzwire and New Yorker magazines, respectively.
Edward Allan Faine, Serendipity Doo-Dah: True Stories of Happy Musical Accidents (Takoma Park, Maryland: IM Press, 2016), 50–53.
Whitney Balliett, Whitney Balliett Collected Works: A Journal of Jazz, 1954–2001 (New York: St. Martin’s Griffin, 2002), 84.
Tad Hershon, Norman Granz: The Man Who Used Jazz for Justice (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2011), 131.
Personal recollection.
Back cover notes, Dizzy’s Party, Dizzy Gillespie Sextet, Pablo Records, 1977, LP.
Dizzy Gillespie with Al Frazer, To Be or not . . . to Bop (New York: Doubleday, 1979), 522.
Ben Ratliff, “Mongo Santamaria, 85, Influential Jazz Percussionist, Dies,” New York Times, February 3, 2003.
Edward Allan Faine, Serendipity Doo-Dah, 72–74.

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Guest Post: Book Review of Serendipity Doo-Dah

11/21/2017

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I’m pleased to present this guest post by Lance Liddle.

You know how it works, or rather how it used to work back in the day when the GASbook ruled the airwaves—or do you?

The songwriter, usually a Jewish or a Russian immigrant, writes a catchy melody, adds a lyric (or else knows a guy who has a way with words to form a team) and starts pestering all the music publishers in Tin Pan Alley. Eventually, he succeeds in getting his masterpiece published and before you know it, he's moved from Skid Row to Park Avenue and married an heiress.

Right?

Wrong!

The first thing our young tunesmith discovers is that 9 times out of 10, the moguls who make these decisions don’t know a crotchet from a hatcheck girl!

So how does his/her song get published and become a smash hit?

Luck, fate, happy accident, maybe someone up there had sympathy with our composer.

Edward Allan Faine thinks so, and he makes a strong case for 43 of some of the world’s most loved songs from 1918–1989 (and don't forget this is just book one!) that fate took a hand in guiding them to their destiny.

I’m not going to post any spoilers save to say that they range from Richard Whiting and Richard Egan’s 1918 song "Till We Meet Again" (the discarded manuscript was rescued from a waste basket by a secretary) to Tom Petty and Full Moon Fever that, in 1989, almost didn't make it owing to a . . . read the book and find out for yourself!

Faine's style is humorous and perceptive. There’s many a chuckle and a “Well I never!” that only those whose heart has never stood still will fail to utter. I’m already on to my second reading and picking up on other gems.

A cross section of artists and composers are in there. Jazzers, popsters, rockers who all had hits, often with unlikely items in even more unlikely circumstances.

There’s also a lot of quotes from songwriters who go along with the theme of divine inspiration—melodies or lyrics that arrive out of the blue and decree that you are the one to introduce them to the world.

Like Faine’s previous books* reviewed on this site, it’s highly recommended and well worth reading—again and again.

Serendipity Doo-Dah by Edward Allan Faine

*Bebop Babies
*The Best Gig in Town: Jazz Artists at the White House, 1969–1974

LANCE LIDDLE is the author of the jazz blog Bebop Spoken Here, currently number 24 in the Top 50 Jazz Blogs and Websites.

You can also follow him here:
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Twitter: @bebopspokenhere

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Kennedy Center Honors Nominee Carmen de Lavallade

10/26/2017

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The five artists nominated to receive the 2017 Kennedy Center Honors are television producer Norman Lear, singer/songwriter Gloria Estefan, singer/mogul Lionel Richie, rapper LL Cool J, and Duke Ellington’s favorite female dancer, Carmen de Lavallade, who starred in his A Drum Is a Woman, an hour-long CBS special nationally broadcast 60 years ago on May 8, 1957 [1].

A breezy, fairy tale–like tour of the history of jazz from the Caribbean jungle to the American urban centers of New Orleans, Chicago, and New York, Drum implicitly portrayed music as a historical and cultural link between African, African American, and Latin people.

Ellington and Billy Strayhorn’s compositions explored calypso, rhumba, bop, Dixieland, and other genres. The show revolved around Madame Zajj (danced by Carmen de Lavallade, and sung by Joya Sherrill and Margaret Tynes), who, in her travels through the jungle, falls in love with the conga drummer Caribee Joe (danced by Talley Beatty, and sung by Ozzie Bailey) [2].

Television critics greeted Drum with mixed reviews, with the more influential New York scribes weighing in negatively. See biographer Terry Teachout for details [3]. But in the black political and cultural communities, the show received extravagant praise, the observers noting the historic aspects of the program. See biographer Harvey Cohen for details [4].

Specifics on Ms. De Lavallade’s performance are hard to come by. Sadly, today’s audience is left in the dark since the only known visual is a fuzzy black-and-white kinescope [5]. Oh, if only someone would discover a “lost’ tape somewhere, restore it, and broadcast it on television so we all could see for ourselves.

Fortunately, we have the music (or at least a good approximation thereof) on a CD [6]. The score is programmatic, being closely tied to the stage action and narration by Duke. Yet half of its 16 two- to five-minute numbers are solid Ellington. The standouts:

“Hey, Buddy Bolden”: Uber-excellent trumpet work by Clark Terry and Ray Nance in support of chanting vocalists. A swinging, Dixie-flavored number Duke could have included in his standard concert repertoire.

“Drum is a Woman (Part 2)”: A solo feature for altoist Johnny Hodges, who is at his best romantic and bluesy self.

“You Better Know It”: Nicely sung by Ozzie Bailey with full orchestral backing, and a weaving obligato line by tenorist Paul Gonsalves.

“Madam Zajj”: An excellent drum track from percussionists Candido Camero (bongos) and Terry Riley (drums).

“Ballad of the Flying Saucers”: Duke’s Lennonesque—think “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds”—narration followed by an up-tempo, rhythmic orchestral interlude melding into a Strayhorn-like, gorgeous Hodges solo with harp backing! Excellent Sam Woodward drums throughout. (“Flying Saucers”? Don’t ask.)

Examining the music and the dancing separately is instructive, but in a musical, it’s the whole that matters, how the dancing and music work with the libretto to push the story forward. As biographer Cohen summed it up, Drum marked such a departure from the usual treatment of music and African Americans on television that critical resistance and befuddlement were not surprising [7].

But Drum also marked a departure from the type of musical critics had grown accustomed to—the Rodgers and Hammerstein type musical—and this, as much as anything, led to their befuddlement.

Before Broadway’s West Side Story, and a half century before Hamilton, Ellington was celebrating the diversity of American identity through music on stage—and on television.

At the 1969 White House tribute, Duke bestowed his famous four kisses on dancer Carmen de Lavallade (center) as husband and fellow dancer Geoffrey Holder (center foreground) looked on. © Ollie Atkins.

And at its dancing center was Carmen de Lavallade, who (along with dancer and husband Geoffrey Holder) would go on to appear in Duke’s Sacred Concerts and at his 70th birthday tribute celebration at the White House on April 29, 1969 (above). The maestro graciously gifted his Madame Zajj with his famed four-kiss reward in the reception line, and then danced with her at the late night jam session in the East Room (below) [8].

Phillip Kennicott, “The Kennedy Center Honors Abandons the Arts for Pop Culture,” Washington Post, August 3, 2017.
Harvey G. Cohen, Duke Ellington’s America (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010), 330–31.
Terry Teachout, Duke: A Life of Duke Ellington (New York: Gotham Books, 2013), 296–97.
Cohen, Ellington’s America, 233.
Teachout, Duke, 246.
A Drum Is a Woman: Duke Ellington and his Orchestra, Jazz Track Records 923, CD.
Cohen, Ellington’s America, 333.
Edward Allan Faine, Ellington at the White House 1969 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2013), 85, A-23.

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Guest Post: Book Review of Serendipity Doo-Dah

Kennedy Center Honors Nominee Carmen de Lavallade

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