Category: Album Review

One from the Heart: An Underappreciated Movie Soundtrack, Part 1

7/30/2019

Tom Waits. 2013. Photo: Andreas Lehner.

Tom Waits is an American trans-genre original, a category unto himself, neither pop folk nor alternative contemporary nor rock (although he has won Grammys in all three). Maybe he’s jazz. The arc of his career suggests as much—always experimenting. DownBeat magazine deposits him in the beyond category—that sounds about right.

The voice alone is beyond category and, despite best efforts by journalists over the years, beyond accurate description. It has been variously characterized as a scabrous rasp, garbage crusher, low growl (like Satchmo without the joy), smashed foghorn, bullfrog croak, hungover whisper, hemorrhage, cross between a mellifluous baritone and a heavy equipment breakdown, and born old smoking.

Waits himself has said, “My voice is still a barking dog at best.”

As his fans know only too well, Waits career comes in two parts: the early years (the “complacent years,” as Tom has called them) through 1982 and everything thereafter (the “adventurous years”). No one would disagree with Tom here. Critics have called this later music disembodied ham-radio, savage-yard symphonies, lunatic cabaret, taxonomically confounding vaudeville, and stone-age blues.

But the early years—the years when we first got to know him—were anything but complacent. Sorry, Tom, but many of your fans respectfully disagree. Except for the first album, Closing Time (Elektra, 1973), the music from this period is a mélange of jazz, heart-throbbing ballads, and neo-beat poetry.

As the New Yorker magazine said in 1976, his soulful serenades reflected a Kerouac/Bukowski–like landscape

that is bleak, lonely, contemporary: all-night diners, cheap hotels; truck stops; pool halls; strip joints; Continental Trailways buses; double-knits; full-table rail shots; jumper cables; Naugahyde luncheonette booths; Foster Grant wraparounds; hash browns over easy; glasspacks and overhead cams; dawn skies “the color of Pepto-Bismol.” His songs—mostly blues—are not everybody’s cup of Instant Nestea, but they range from raunchy to beautiful. [1]

Almost all of his songs relied on pretty melodies, and some were unabashedly romantic. Go back and listen to his early albums, The Heart of Saturday Night (Elektra, 1974) through to Heartattack and Vine (Asylum, 1982). There are one or two love songs on each and every one—songs that wife Kathleen Brennan would call grand weepers (as opposed to grim reapers, the flip side of the Waits coin).

One from the Heart corked the early-period bottle in 1982. This movie and soundtrack album, like no other in the Waits oeuvre, illuminates the romantic facet of the Waits diamond. Tom got a huge assist from two unlikely sources—film director Francis Ford Coppola and the serendipitous, genre-busting addition of country singer Crystal Gayle, who, with her pure country voice, limned Waits melodies better than he could himself and, in duets with Tom, wedded that tear in her throat with the gravel in his.

In the spring of 1980, Waits learned that director Coppola, who had just released Apocalypse Now, wanted him to score his latest film, a romantic trifle about Hank (Frederick Forrest) and Frannie (Terri Garr), a couple whose relationship had soured. They drift apart and wind up in the arms of exotic new partners (played by Nastassja Kinski and Raul Julia), but of course get back together again.

This lover’s tango is set against the glowing backdrop of a Las Vegas Strip that Coppola had constructed on a studio soundstage at a horrendous cost (the same studio where Michael Powell had shot his fantasy The Thief of Baghdad—Coppola’s favorite film—40 years before). Francis did not conceive of Heart as a traditional Hollywood musical; none of the stars would actually sing.

He wanted a kind of running lyrical explanation to move the story forward. Waits would write songs that expressed the inner feelings of the characters; Tom would sing Hank and (initially) Bette Midler would sing Frannie. It was Waits’s duet with Midler on Foreign Affairs (Elektra, 1977) that inspired Coppola’s vision: a lounge operetta with piano, bass, drums, strings, jazz horns, and vocal commentary.

Waits had contributed songs to films before, Stallone’s Paradise Alley and Altman’s A Wedding among them, but Heart was an offer he couldn’t refuse. Coppola had put the entire score in his hands and told him: “Anything you write that deals with the subjects of love, romance, jealousy, breakups can find its way into the film.”

Waits elaborated:

There was never any gospel script. There was a blueprint, a skeleton . . . Before I started writing anything, I met Francis in Las Vegas. In a hotel room, he took down all the paintings from the walls and stretched up butcher paper like a mural. Then he sketched out sequences of events and would spot, in very cryptic notations, where he wanted the music. I was able to get an idea of the film’s peaks and valleys. [2]

Waits first enlisted long-term collaborator Bones Howe, who had produced and managed sound on his first six albums. Together they assembled an all-star cast of Hollywood musicians, mostly jazz guys they had worked with before—notably, trumpeter Jack Sheldon, tenor saxophonist Teddy Edwards, and drummer Shelley Manne.

Today “legendary” often appears before Sheldon’s name; due in part to his prominent long-running gig on the Merv Griffith Show and his own network TV show, Run Buddy Run. But it is his signature trumpet sound—lyrical, mid-range, striving—that has brought him accolades. His playing is sometimes mistaken for the early-career, romantic excursions of trumpeter Miles Davis.

Teddy Edwards, a saxophonist in the mold of Dexter Gordon (but mellower) simply got better as he got older, and was playing at his peak at the time of the Waits recording.

Widely admired for his crisp, precise sound and his ability to create a colorful tonal palette from his drum kit, Shelly Manne was a favorite of Waits, particularly for his drum work behind Peggy Lee on “Fever.” Manne played drums on two previous Waits albums, and their collaboration on “Pasties and a G-String” and “Barber Shop” are word-jazz classics.

Jazz pianist/vibist Victor Feldman and organist Ronnie Barron, who had appeared on Waits most recent album, came along for the ride, as did Waits newcomers—jazzmen all—vibraphonist Emil Richards, drummer Larry Bunker, and pianist Pete Jolly, who would man the piano chair so Tom could concentrate on his singing. Lastly, as he did on two recent Waits albums, Bob Alcivar arranged and conducted the string orchestra.

But Heart’s female voice proved to be elusive. Midler wasn’t available. Then God intervened. Kathleen Brennan (who later became Waits's wife) suggested country singer Crystal Gayle, the younger sister of Nashville legend Loretta Lynn. Crystal had 10 albums to her credit and had broken out nationally with her crossover mega hit in 1978: “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue” (eventually, astonishingly, one of the 10 most performed songs of the 20th century).

Her voice was undeniably sumptuous (but soulless some said) and seemingly at odds with Waits's grizzled growl and the urban squalor of his whiskey-soaked compositions.

This didn’t faze Kathleen. She’d recently heard Crystal’s rendition of the Julie London standard “Cry Me a River” off her 1978 release When I Dream (United Artists Records) and was impressed with the strength and purity of the young singer’s voice.

Check out next month’s blog—part 2—for a list of Waits’s 12 songs in this most underappreciated movie soundtrack, along with the reasons for the film’s disappointing failure at the box office.

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NOTES

James Stevenson, “Blues,” The New Yorker, December 27, 1976, anthologized in Mac Montandon, Innocent When You Dream: The Tom Waits Reader (New York: Thunder’s Mouth Press, 2005), 20.
Jay S. Jacobs, Wild Years: The Music and Myth of Tom Waits (Toronto: ECW Press, 2006), 105.

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Armstrong and Ellington: Two Masters of Modernism

3/30/2019

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Louis Armstrong (left, 1953) and Duke Ellington (right, 1954)

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Thomas Brothers in his biography Louis Armstrong: Master of Modernism draws an interesting parallel between two landmark jazz recordings: Armstrong’s West End Blues (1928) and Duke Ellington’s Black and Tan Fantasy (1927).

Compositionally, the two are near identical, and the Pops biographer suggests Ellington may have had a hand in West End Blues, although there is no direct evidence for such.

Brothers characterizes Armstrong’s West End Blues as resembling “a ‘fantasy’ or a ‘rhapsody,’ a type of piece that makes no pretense of integrating the parts into a coherent whole but, rather, offers delight in the unpredictable unfolding of different sound images, one after the other.”

He would have characterized Duke’s piece in the same way. Brothers further suggests (tongue in cheek, perhaps) that if Armstrong had been interested in crafting an image of himself as a composer (as Ellington certainly did), he would have named his opus West End Fantasy.

The structural similarity in the compositions, however, in my opinion, did not require a direct or indirect influence one way or another. It resulted from a common understanding the two composers had about the music they were creating—one with more variety and discontinuity than the unity and coherence prevalent in the then dominant Eurocentric music and one with an African foundation that came out of an American experience.

CODA
Armstrong would become the central figure in the history of jazz for his solo playing and singing. Ellington would become its finest composer. His musical creations often used “the unpredictable unfolding of different sound images, one after the other” to the consternation of his critics, but to the delight of his many fans.

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Looking Back 50 Years: Notable Jazz Albums of 1968

12/31/2018

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Photo: Adobe Stock / JB

In the Jazzman of the Year category in the December 1968 DownBeat Reader’s Poll, magazine readers singled out, in order, vibraphonist Gary Burton, trumpeter Miles Davis, composer Duke Ellington, drummer Buddy Rich, and trumpeter Don Ellis. With a few exceptions, that sounded about right.

Gary Burton

Gary Burton not only represented a new voice on an instrument few in jazz opt to play, but also put forth a new concept on what he chose to play in a combo setting, as evidenced by his four albums in circulation that year: Duster (1967), Lofty Fake Anagram (1967), A General Tong Funeral (1967), and In Concert (1968).

The vibist’s two-handed, four-mallet approach spun soft, dreamy aural chords that separated him from his forebears on the instrument: Lionel Hampton, Red Norvo, Milt Jackson, and Bobby Hutcherson.

Conceptually, Burton chose to synthesize jazz and rock (even country at times), becoming one of the first jazz players to do so, though not as aggressively as later groups Miles Davis, Mahavishnu Orchestra, Mwandishi, Return to Forever, Lifetime, and Weather Report, giving these Johnny-come-lately outfits permission to use rock beats and distorted guitar in a jazz performance.

The guitarist on Tong Funeral is rising star Larry Coryell. Overall, the album comes across like a soundtrack to a theatrical performance, no doubt influenced by pianist Carla Bley, who would later expand on this construct in her epic Escalator over the Hill (1971).

Miles Davis

The Miles Davis Second Great Quintet—sidemen saxophonist Wayne Shorter, pianist Herbie Hancock, Bassist Ron Carter, and drummer Tony Williams—continued apace with the previous year’s stunning Miles Smiles album by releasing Sorcerer and Miles in the Sky.

Both received top-rated reviews in DownBeat. The leader once again won top honors in the trumpet and combo categories in both the DownBeat critics and readers polls. Moreover, the trumpeter’s frontline star players also issued notable albums of their own.

Wayne Shorter

Wayne Shorter received DownBeat’s top rating for Adam’s Apple, a quartet effort backed by his totally telepathic and adventurous piano partner, Herbie Hancock, along with bass and drums. The album is known for its compositions—“El Gaucho,” for example—but especially for the jazz standard “Footprints.”

With this release, the idea began to build in the jazz community that Shorter was much more than a soloist—indeed, a composer of merit likely to join the ranks of John Lewis, Charles Mingus, and Duke Ellington.

Herbie Hancock

Herbie Hancock’s Speak Like a Child, an experimental, slithery abstract combining of flugelhorn (Thad Jones), bass trombone (Peter Phillips), and alto (Jerry Dodgion), did not move the needle at the time.

Today, however, this album with its interesting, simple melody sound clouds has gained an appreciative audience. Another way to put it: Miles Davis had his Birth of the Cool, and Herbie had his Speak Like a Child.

Duke Ellington

Duke Ellington and his orchestra followed their 1967 outstanding Far East Suite with a homage to Duke’s composing and arranging partner Billy Strayhorn: And His Mother Called Him Bill.

Far East Suite is my number one favorite, And His Mother, featuring all Strayhorn tunes, is my number two. In my opinion, Duke’s mid-1960s band is the equal of the maestro’s famed late ’30s/early ’40s Webster-Blanton band and deserves a name unto itself. Perhaps Ellington’s Second Testament band? Nope, that name’s taken by the Basie aggregation.

The reason why it’s so difficult to come up with a proper moniker is that it had not one or two but numerous outstanding soloists at or near their peak: Paul Gonsalves (tenor), Johnny Hodges (alto), Harry Carney (baritone), Jimmy Hamilton (clarinet), Cootie Williams (trumpet), Rufus Jones (drums), and, of course, Duke Ellington (piano). Band nickname aside, And His Mother is the Ellington ’60s band at its peak—the same could be said for altoist Johnny Hodges.

As Nelson Riddle was to Frank Sinatra and as Lester Young was to Billy Holiday, Billy Strayhorn was to Johnny Hodges. Stray’s compositions brought out that special, sensuous Hodges sound. As singer/author Lillian Terry recently put in her book Dizzy, Duke, Brother Ray, and Friends, “Heavens, when he blows those long, languid notes . . . it’s an actual caress!”

Yes—as on Hodges’s tribute to Strayhorn on “Blood Count,” “After All,” and “Day Dream,” the latter a late-at-night, sob-in-your beer favorite. The flip side of the Hodges coin—the bluesy side—Billy knew all too well, as illustrated on “Snibor,” “The Intimacy of the Blues,” and “Acht O’Clock Rock.”

Buddy Rich

Buddy Rich and his big band remained hot throughout the year with both the jazz public and DownBeat readers, who awarded the drummer a second place finish in the Album of the Year category for his appropriately titled The New One.

Don Ellis

Riding high on his 1967 breakout year, Don Ellis received 1968 Album of the Year honors for Electric Bath from DownBeat readers. Critic Harvey Siders, who awarded the album five stars, described Ellis’s chart for his orchestra as nervous, frenetic, and exciting—unconventional meter, the acoustic incense of Eastern rhythms added by “now” twang of sitars, tape loop delays, and sometimes abrasive clash of quarter tones.

Other critics heard it differently and did not characterize the band as exciting. Magazine subscribers sided with Siders.

Rahsan Roland Kirk

Multi-instrumentalist Rahsan Roland Kirk—tenor saxophone, manzello, stritch, flute, and other assorted instruments, like the oboe played individually or two or three at a time—released The Inflated Tear, another energetic carnival of sound, and one of his best albums of the ’60s.

John Coltrane

John Coltrane, who passed in 1967, took his place in the upper echelons of jazz immortals, alongside Coleman Hawkins, Lester Young, and Charlie Parker.

Two of Coltrane’s albums, the now classic Impressions and Om, were reviewed in DownBeat in 1968; the former received five stars, the latter four. The torchbearers, the tenor men closest to him stylistically and personally, forged ahead with new albums: Albert Ayler (In Greenwich Village), Pharoah Sanders (Tauhid), and Archie Shepp (In Europe).

Aretha Franklin

Lastly, singer Aretha Franklin passed in August of 2018. Fifty years ago, DownBeat published a feature article on Aretha. In its Reader Poll issue, the Queen of Soul finished second to the one and only Ella Fitzgerald in the female singer category. For a magazine primarily focused on jazz, this was high praise indeed.

In my book Serendipity Doo-Dah Book One, I included a short piece on Ms. Franklin, covering her rise to prominence when she switched to Atlantic Records in 1967 and her recovery from her mid-career slump in 1977. Read it here.

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That Anniversary Year 2018: Celebrating Four Jazz Centenarians

12/19/2018

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Photo: Adobe Stock / Dmitriy Shipilov

The 100th anniversary birthday calendar for this year is chock a block with 18 total centenarians, oldest to youngest as follows:

Money Johnson, Marian McPartland, Sir Charles Thompson, Howard McGee, Sam Donahue, Peanuts Hucko, Hank Jones, Rusty Dedrick, Eddie Jefferson, Arnett Cobb, Ike Quebec, Jimmy Rowles, Gerald Wilson, Tommy Potter, Jimmy Blanton, Bobby Troup, Joe Williams, and Jimmy Jones. (1)

I will single out four, each with a Duke Ellington connection, three of whom performed at the White House tribute to Duke Ellington on his 70th birthday on April 29, 1969.

Jimmy Blanton

Jimmy Blanton, who was just 21 when he joined Duke in 1939, was the first modern bassist. He had a big tone and unshakable time and was the first jazz bassist capable of “melodic” improvising. Blanton stayed with the band until late 1941 (he died in 1942).

In that brief time, according to Whitney Balliett,

Ellington starred Blanton and his instrument in concerti like “Jack the Bear” and “Bojangles” . . . as well as the highly unconventional duets that he recorded with Blanton—“Pitter Panther Patter,” “Mr. J.B. Blues” . . . his big tone and easy, generous melodic lines mov[ing] like rivers through every record they did together . . . His phrasing was spare and his silences were as important as his notes. He adopted a hornlike approach to his instrument—that is, he no longer just “walked” four beats to the bar but also played little melodies . . . Blanton’s accompanying was forceful; he pushed the band and its soloists by playing a fraction ahead of the beat . . . which lifted the band and made it swing. (2)

Now known as the Blanton-Webster band, Ellington’s orchestra of 1939–1941 is thought by many to be his best ever.

Marian McPartland

Newly married to trumpeter Jimmy McPartland and freshly settled in the US from Great Britain, the aspiring jazz pianist acquired her first gig at the Embers nightclub in New York City. As scary as that was for the British expat, it was but a prelude to her opening at the 52nd Street Hickory House steakhouse in 1952, affording her the opportunity to mingle and play piano for numerous jazz greats—to both learn from them and gradually gain their acceptance.

One of the first reviews she received as a jazz pianist at the Hickory House was by Leonard Feather in DownBeat magazine: “Marian McPartland has three strikes against her, she’s English, white, and a woman.” (3) Ten years hence, by the time her trio’s weekly stint at the Hickory was over, Marian had gained a measure of respect for her talents.

Her career for the next 10 or so years or so continued apace, performing at concerts and clubs, traveling extensively, and making one or two records every year.

Marian is probably best known for her Piano Jazz radio show that aired on NPR starting in 1978, where she interviewed and performed with hundreds of jazz (and some pop) singers, pianists, and other instrumentalists, continuously for 23 years. It won the coveted Peabody Award in 1984, the ASCAP–Deems Taylor Award in 1991, the New York Festivals Gold World Medal in 1988, and the Gracie Allan Award in 2001, presented by the Foundation of American Women in Radio and Television.

McPartland was named a Jazz Master by the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), received a Lifetime Achievement Award from DownBeat magazine, and a Mary Lou Williams Women in Jazz Award. (4)

Not too shabby for a white English woman, eh, Mr. Leonard Feather?

As a lifelong admirer and friend of Duke Ellington, Marian was a shoo-in to be invited to perform at the maestro’s White House tribute on April 29, 1969. The Nixon administration went out of their way to make sure she did. They provided a limousine to shuttle her between the White House and her gig at nearby Blues Alley in Georgetown, managing to get her to the East Room in time for the late night jam session after the all-star band concert.

Duke greeted his Hickory House friend upon her arrival, and, fearing Willie “the Lion” Smith would monopolize the keyboard all night long, Duke urged Marian to take her turn at the grand piano. Once she was on the riser, the Lion said to her, “I suppose you want to play.”

“Yeah, I’d like to,” Marian responded, moving in a little.

“Okay,” Willie said as he walked off in a sulk. Ellington stood nearby chuckling to himself.

After a decent interval at the keys, McPartland zipped back to Blues Alley, where she greeted her guests with, “Sorry I’m late. I’m also doubling at the White House.” (5)

Hank Jones

A member of the famous jazz family that includes brothers Thad (cornet) and Elvin (drums), Hank Jones grew up listening to virtuoso pianists Earl Hines, Fats Waller, and Art Tatum. But like so many of his generation, Hank embraced the bebop style in the 1940s, though perhaps less so than his contemporaries.

From there, he became a Jazz at the Philharmonic mainstay (1940s), an accompanist for singers like Ella Fitzgerald (1950s), a CBS staff musician in New York City (1960s–70s), and the pianist on a thousand and one record dates. By then, his style had coalesced

Unlike most modern pianists, Jones constantly uses his left hand, issuing a carpet of tenths, little offbeat clusters, and occasional patches of stride. Jones’ solos judge, and they rest far above the florid, Gothic roil that many jazz pianist have fallen into. (6)

But his velvet-touch, cloudlike chords that seem to drift one into the other are what linger in the mind long after he has finished playing. He remains preeminent among the “soft touch” pianists to whom he could be compared: George Shearing, Marian McPartland, and Bill Evans.

From the 1970s on, although Jones freelanced as before, he became widely regarded as the dean of jazz pianists through his recordings in the trio format—for example, Great Jazz Trio with bassist Ron Carter and drummer Tony Williams—and his duos with pianists Tommy Flanagan and John Lewis, bassist Charlie Haden, and guitarist Bill Frisell.

His rise in stature is evidenced, in part, by his NEA Jazz Master Award in 1989, his 19th-place finish in Gene Rizzo’s book The Fifty Greatest Jazz Piano Players of All Time (Hal Leonard, 2005), and his career-topping National Medal of Arts award bestowed by President George H. W. Bush in 2008. (7)

Along with guitarist Jim Hall, bassist Milt Hinton, and drummer Louis Bellson, Hank was a member of the all-star rhythm section that backed the all-star front line at Duke Ellington’s 70th-birthday celebration at the White House: trombonists Urbie Green (“I Got It Bad and That Ain’t Good) and J. J. Johnson (“Satin Doll”), altoist Paul Desmond (“Chelsea Bridge”), baritone saxophonist Gerry Mulligan (“Sophisticated Lady”), trumpeters Bill Berry and Clarke Terry (“Just Squeeze Me”), and the whole band on a raft of Ellington tunes.

No solos for Hank. Nonetheless, the pianist chorded the patented opening vamp Duke had crafted many years before on “Satin Doll,” and the East Room crowd reacted immediately—they knew what was coming—and trombonist Johnson delivered the familiar melody. (8)

Joe Williams

His versatile baritone voice made Joe Williams one of the signature male vocalists in jazz annals, responsible for some of the Count Basie band’s main hits in the 1950s: “Alright, Okay, You Win,” “The Comeback,” and what would become one of his most requested tunes, “Every Day.” The classic Count Basie Swings and Joe Williams Sings (Verve) album from that period was ranked 17th all-time favorite jazz vocal album by jazz singers in a DownBeat magazine June 2004 poll.

Starting in the 1960s, Williams was a vocal soloist fronting various piano trios. He continued to expand his range, becoming a superior crooner and exhibiting a real depth of feeling on ballads. Recognition of this growth came in 1974 when Joe won DownBeat’s Critics Poll as best male vocalist—winning nearly every year thereafter for more than a decade. His stature as a polished and complete singer came in 1993 when he received the NEA Jazz Master Award. (9)

At the Ellington White House tribute, Joe sang three songs backed by the all-star band, starting with “Come Sunday,” which Gary Giddins has rightly crowned the Duke’s supreme contribution to the American hymnal. The spiritual theme was first introduced in 1943 at Carnegie Hall in Black, Brown, and Beige, Ellington’s first voyage into extended composition.

Williams loved singing Ellington songs and included at least one in nearly every performance. In his repertoire for some time, he sang “Sunday” at an earlier Ellington tribute in the summer of 1963 in New York City and again on record in 1966: Presenting Joe Williams: Tad Jones/Mel Lewis (Blue Note).

Mahalia Jackson’s rendering of this lovely hymn is unsurpassed. But on the male side of the ledger, no one has come close to matching the depth and poignancy that Williams has lent to the song. One of the critics in attendance the night of the tribute, Leonard Feather, characterized Joe’s version as “deeply moving.” Critic Morgenstern concluded, “Williams [is] singing as movingly as I’ve ever heard him.”

William’s brought the same amount of conviction and richness to “Heritage,” also known as “My Mother, My Father” as he did to “Come Sunday.” He sang slowly and thoughtfully, with the feel of an elegy. According to Doug Ramsey, there wasn’t a dry eye in the East Room when he finished.

As with “Come Sunday,” Williams would revisit “Heritage” in a studio date for Fantasy Records accompanied by the Cannonball Adderley Quintet (Joe Williams Live) and again, memorably so, at Duke’s funeral on Memorial Day 1974.

A swinger from the satirical musical of 1941 of the same name, “Jump for Joy” closed out the All-Star band concert in truly joyous fashion. Joe’s caramel baritone perfectly enveloped the song’s gospel ardor and secular esprit. He had previously recorded “Jump” in 1963, and must have sung the song a hundred times after that 1963 studio date.

Whether it was this past familiarity with the tune, or Joe’s and the band’s sensing the concert finish line, Joe was out front but still solidly “in the pocket” for an all-out swinging climax to the concert. (10)

NOTES

Jazz Birthday Calendar, 1918.
Whitney Balliett, Collected Works: A Journal of Jazz 1954–2001 (New York, St. Martin’s Griffin, 2002), 478–79.
Marian McPartland, Marian McPartland’s Jazz World: All in Good Time (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2003), 1.
Ibid., 166.
Edward Allan Faine, Ellington at the White House, 1969 (Takoma Park, MD: IM Press, 2013), 138.
Balliett, Collected Works, 837.
Faine, Ellington, 60.
Ibid., 93–133.
Ibid., 66–67.
Ibid., 126–30.

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Native Dancer: A Tribute to 2018 Kennedy Center Honoree Wayne Shorter

11/30/2018

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Wayne Shorter. 2006. Photo credit: Tom Beetz.

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When most jazz fans think of Wayne Shorter, they are likely to conjure up one or more of his Blue Note albums (e.g., Juju), and/or one or more of his Miles Davis albums (e.g., Miles Smiles), and/or one or more of his Weather Report albums (e.g., Heavy Weather). My first thoughts, however, run to Native Dancer, that hybridized, outlier collaboration with musicians from Brazil. When the LP came out in 1975, I bought six copies and gave five to friends—I loved it that much.

Wayne had featured several Brazilian rhythm tracks on previous albums. Still, as Shorter biographer Michelle Mercer wrote,

No one was prepared for the deeply affecting sound of Wayne’s Native Dancer recording. It was unlike any Brazilian music most Americans had ever heard. The record’s first few notes introduced a voice, one that had to be the most potent falsetto on the planet [belonging] to Brazilian pop star and composer Milton Nascimento [to which] Wayne married jazz to Milton’s melodies in a kind of holy union that made other Brazilian jazz efforts of the time [Jazz Samba, Getz /Gilberto] seem like one-night stands. (1)

Having first learned of Nascimento from jazz pianist Herbie Hancock, Wayne covered one of the singer/songwriter’s tunes on a Blue Note album in 1970. Inevitability, one often realizes, dictated a shared recording date. With his Portugese wife Ana Maria’s encouragement, Wayne arranged to have Milton and two musical associates stay at his house in Malibu where they lived, and worked for two weeks, going to the studio to record Native Dancer on September 12, 1974.

Shorter recognized that if you have a one-of-a-kind singer, one who had assimilated the bossa nova of his fellow countrymen, along with the Gregorian chants of his remote Catholic church in the hinterlands, into a self-styled alto yodel (some called it) or his female voice (Milton called it), then a hybrid album—not a jazz album, not a Brazilian album—but a hybrid should be made. And that’s what Wayne did.

Along with him and Herbie Hancock, there were three Brazilians:

Milton, Wagner [Tiso], and Robertinho [Silva]. There were also two players from the pop scene, Dave McDaniel, a bassist with Joe Cocker, and Jay Graydon, a guitarist, producer, and songwriter. There was Dave Amaro, [Brazilian singer] Flora Purim’s guitarist, on a couple of tunes, and [husband, percussionist] Airto [Moreira] on most of them. The engineer was Rob Fabroni, who had worked with The Band and other rock groups. And finally, Jim Price, a multi-instrumentalist who had worked with the Rolling Stones, produced the record. (2)

The album opens with “Ponta De Areia,” a singsong, nursery school melody over an unusual 9/8-meter sung by Milton in his liquid, instrumental-like wordless falsetto voice. Heard underneath is a shadow piano melody by Herbie. The other singer on the date, Wayne, enters smoothly on his soprano saxophone, repeating the childlike melody before he joins Milton in a duet. “Ponta” ends as it begins except for Waynish obligatos underneath.

Perhaps fearing the first-track exotica might be a bit much for first-time listeners, Wayne follows “Ponta” with his own composition, “Beauty and the Beast.” A solid toe-tapper that begins with hesitant, funky block chords by Herbie that segues into a strong, melodic statement by Wayne, then alternates back and forth between the two as the tune continues; ostensibly one is “Beauty,” the other, Beast.” At song’s end they are one in the same.

Nascimento sings “Tarde” clearly, softly, yet another display of his tremendous vocal range. For this luxurious mood piece, Wayne pulls out his first instrument—tenor sax—and plays a romantic solo over a Hammond organ cushion. Milton reenters with a sweeping, wordless falsetto behind Wayne’s tenor excursions, pauses for a spell, then returns with an even higher-pitched falsetto.

Hancock later remarked, “After Wayne soloed, when Milton would come back in, you couldn’t even tell it was a voice. Because when Wayne played, it sang, and Milton’s singing has an instrumental quality to it.” (3)

Milton begins “Miracle of the Fishes” wordlessly, wailing away, then slips in some lyrics along with the wail as Wayne, on tenor again, joins in with gusto. The free-spirited pair soar off together, not so much as an energetic vocal/sax duo, but more like a saxophone cutting contest that might take place on the fringes of avant jazz. The backup musicians (organ, guitar, drums, percussion) are exceptional in this unrestrained, up-tempo romp.

Shorter is back on soprano for the lovely ballad “Diana,” named for the newborn daughter of Flora Purim and Airto, ably supported by pianist Hancock.

Nascimento wrongly titled “From the Lonely Afternoons”—should have been “Lovely” or “Happy.” The singer-songwriter sails a wordless vocal over the band’s jumping, finger-snapping groove that compels Wayne on tenor to spread a Coltraneish flurry of notes over the head-bobbing musical stew. At the close, other voices (members of the band?) join Milton before Wayne declares “Good Afternoon.”

Critic Howard Mandel, who awarded Native Dancer five stars in DownBeat magazine, was especially enamored by the saxist’s homage to his wife “Ana Maria,” writing, "A lovely line is offered again and again with the slightest embellishment, gradually blossoming into a large, encompassing circle that Hancock laces with sweeping and graceful runs.” (4)

As revealed by Shorter biographer Mercer:

Milton sang “Lilia” with wordless vocals [as he did on several others], which was for him a style born of necessity and perfected under pressure. Under Brazil’s military dictatorship in the sixties and seventies, the ruling regime monitored pop music, censoring anything seemingly rebellious . . . When Milton recorded [an album] in 1973, the censors denied clearance on several of its songs. His record company asked him to write new lyrics. But Milton didn’t want to play the military’s editing game . . . So Milton protested by singing without words, using his voice in an instrumental role. (5)

And did he ever on “Lilia.” A trebly “LaLaLaAyeAyeAyeYa-eeea” wail over a bouncy organ-piano-guitar broken 5/4 meter rhythm–his “alto yodel almost indistinguishable from Shorter’s airily ethereal soprano sound, which draws the song to a climax by ringing out one tone against a shifting rhythm bed.” (6) Whew!

Wayne’s soprano settles into a gentler approach on Hancock’s introspective “Joanna’s Theme,” which closes the album. The four non-Nascimento tunes on the recording—this one, plus “Diana,” “Ana Maria,” and “Beauty and the Beast”—are collectively gorgeous and belong on this intriguing album, largely because of the uncanny similarity between the principal soloists’ voices.

This album has little precedent (that I can think of). Jazz musicians have worked with vocalists from the very beginning, but mostly in a backup role, and either way, too. Instrumentalists backing up the vocalist, or the opposite, singers backing up the front line instruments. For example, choral groups have backed up trumpeter Donald Byrd, pianist Andrew Hill, and guitarist Kenny Burrell.

As for the other way around, we can turn to, of course, Duke Ellington and “Creole Love Call,” the Ellington composition best known for its vocal by singer Adelaide Hall. It was the first 100 percent nonverbal scat vocal in jazz. (7) Duke followed up on the use of the human voice as an instrument, especially on “Mood Indigo,” with its famed tri-part opening. In recent times, soprano saxophonist Steve Lacy would often use the voice of wife, Irene Aebi, along with the other frontline instruments.

Simply put, Native Dancer is one of the greatest albums of the late 20th century; and for this alone, Wayne Shorter deserves to be a Kennedy Center honoree.

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NOTES

Michelle Mercer, Footprints: The Life and Work of Wayne Shorter (New York: Jeremy Tarcher/Penquin, 2007), 164.
Mercer, Footprints, 169.
Mercer, Footprints, 173.
Howard Mandel, Wayne Shorter, Native Dancer review, DownBeat magazine, 1965.
Mercer, Footprints, 171.
Mandel, Native Dancer Review, DownBeat.
Ann Powers, Good Booty: Love and Sex, Black & White, Body and Soul In American Music (New York: Dey Street Books, 2017), 27.

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Faine Favorites: Top 10 Alto Sax Albums

8/31/2018

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For your consideration, here are my Top 10 alto saxophonist albums and a few runner-ups. Ranking tends to vary, depending on the day of the week, weather, and mood.

1A. Carlos Ward | Don Pullen & the African Brazilian Connection Live Again

The perfect showcase for a much neglected saxophonist with a slightly rough edge, capable of playing inside and outside but always melodically and rhythmically centered, as on the five lengthy numbers here (average length 14 minutes). Includes a ballad and an infectious, impossible-to-ignore “Get up and Dance.” Great band!

1B. Carlos Ward | Abdullah Ibrahim and Carlos Ward, Live at Sweet Basil, Volume 1

Pianist Ibrahim’s album, nonetheless Ward shines on three tracks, two of which are classic—the gorgeously mellifluous “For Coltrane” that someone should put words to and the hand-clapping “Soweto,” where the altoist pulls out the stops, sweeping from the depths of his instrument to the top and back again in a perfectly constructed improvisation.

2A. Art Pepper | The Art of Pepper

“Begin the Beguine” opens with a staccato Latin vamp, which quickly segues into a soaring, up-tempo reading of the familiar theme. Pepper’s alto flight is elevated, above the clouds, magisterial, turning the Cole Porter pop song into an anthem. The tune closes with a return to the opening vamp with Pepper over-blowing some notes for effect.

2B. Art Pepper | Winter Moon

Pepper’s urging, pleading, aching alto sound over a lush orchestral cushion on “Our Song” is gut-wrenching. In a Pepper documentary, there is a hotel room scene where he and his wife Laurie are shown rapturously listening to the cut on a portable record player. At the conclusion, Pepper looks up at the camera and mutters, “If you don’t like this, you don’t like music. It doesn’t get any better than this.” I agree.

Cannonball Adderly Quintet San Francisco

3A. Cannonball Adderly | The Cannonball Adderley Quintet in San Francisco featuring Nat Adderley

Cannonball’s swooping, high-flying birdlike (as in Charlie Parker) alto paired with brother Nat’s trumpet put soul jazz on the map with this intense but rocking album. Surprisingly for jazz, it received significant radio and jukebox play.

Pianist Bobby Timmon’s 12-minute jazz waltz “This Here” (pronounced “Dish Heah” by Cannon) set the pace, the pianists full-fingered driving solo is classic, and the leader’s uncompromisingly rowdy excursions on alto are equally memorable. Two other lengthy tracks bear mention: “Randy Weston’s “Hi-Fly” and “Spontaneous Combustion,” the latter offering a crowd-pleasing sax/trumpet chase.

3B. Cannonball Adderley |Them Dirty Blues: The Cannonball Adderley Quintet featuring Nat Adderley

A spirited outing by the Adderley soul brothers featuring two more soul standards: “Work Song,” written by Nat, and “Dat Dere” by Bobby Timmons. The latter showcases another Timmons-patented two-handed, block-chorded, gospelish solo, reminiscent of his “This Here” masterpiece on In San Francisco.

On “Work Song,” pianist Barry Harris does the keyboard honors, matching Timmons and then some. Interestingly, lyrics were set to both tunes that have contributed to their continued popularity. Oscar Brown Jr. had a minor hit with “Dat Dere.” The surprise on this album is the straight-ahead and swinging “Jeannine,” a wonderfully surging flowing number buoyed by Kansas City style “bop bop boop boop” riffing behind the soloists. On this album, like the former, Cannon pursues his aggressive, take-no-prisoners approach without sacrificing accessibility.

4. Arthur Blythe | Spirits in the Field: Arthur Blythe Trio with Bob Stewart Cecil Brooks III

After a splashy breakout (In Concert, 1977) LP and several smash Columbia albums, Arthur’s career seemingly nosedived (especially with critics) when Columbia canceled his contract in the early 1980s. Yet his sound remains one of the most recognizable in jazz and one that appeals to both mainstream and avant-garde tastes, as can be heard on the 2000 offering Spirits in the Field.

Blythe’s themes are melodious and memorable, his twining inside and outside solos always songful. As Francis Davis recounts in the liner notes, “No matter how complex his improvisations may be harmonically, they are based on the simplest of devices—rhythmic figures, riffs, fragments of melody—and there is an inevitably to them.”

His sound at times approximates a hip R&B player (as on “One Mint Julep” and “Break Tune #2”), a tender balladeer (“Ah George, We Hardly Knew You,” “Spirits in the Field”), an Eastern muezzin (“Odessa”), or the leader of a ceremonial New Orleans band (“Lenox Avenue Breakdown”). The interaction between Blythe’s alto and Bob Stewart’s tuba is unparalleled—nothing comparable to it in all of jazz.

5. John Handy | John Handy Recorded Live at Monterey Jazz Festival

A standout live performance by altoist John Handy and his unusual group: violin (Mike White), guitar (Jerry Hahn), bass (Don Thompson) and drums (Terry Clark). It’s hard to say why this music is still so fresh and mesmerizing. It was novel, for sure—violin and alto, and guitar—but, hey, this was the mid-’60s—novelty had been in vogue since the late ’50s.

Sounded wonderfully alien to me, peculiar jazz harmonies, some said, yet grounded in familiar jazz rhythms. Hard driving with group cohesiveness at its core, this was a memorable one-of-a-kind performance.

6. Charlie Parker | Charlie Parker: The Very Best of the Dial Years

Whether it’s the “complete” or “best of” Dial Years doesn’t matter—in either case, this is where it all began for alto players of the past 70 years. The Big Bang, if you will.

It’s all here, the bop anthems (“Yardbird Suite,” “Ornithology,” “Bird of Paradise,” “Scrapple from the Apple,” and “Chasin’ the Bird”), the up-tempo rompers (“Bebop,” “Crazeology,” and “Donna Lee”), and the ballads (“Lover Man,” “Embraceable You,” “My Old Flame,” “Out of Nowhere,” and “Don’t Blame Me”). The latter to me are the most revealing of Parker’s talent, his innate melodic and harmonic sense, and his improvisatory grace.

Back in the day when Charlie Parker and Bebop first hit the scene and well-loved ballads were played, people asked, “Where’s the melody?” The answer then as now is, “In Parker’s head.” The familiar song’s melody and harmonic structure served as the “basis” for his newly created improvisations, for better or worse. You decide. Sit back, relax, and listen to the ease at which Charlie Parker spins his golden threads.

7. Frank Morgan | You Must Believe in Spring

Morgan found his most expressive alto voice late in life: a refined, reflective, thoughtful voice, a mite thin at times, though always emotional. No better way to acquaint yourself with this tuneful improviser than on “Spring,” where he pairs with world-class pianists (Kenny Baron, Tommy Flanagan, Roland Hanna, Barry Harris, and Hank Jones). His duo with Hanna on the pianist’s tune “Enigma” is simply gorgeous.

8A. Paul Desmond | Paul Desmond and the Modern Jazz Quartet in 1979 at Carnegie Hall

Desmond paired up with the venerable MJQ for a Christmas Eve concert. While the album overall is uneven, Desmond’s solo on the traditional “Greensleeves” is simply glorious, reminding me, at least, as to why the classic Brubeck Quartet was so successful.

8B. Paul Desmond | Concierto

Desmond appears in this all-star lineup to pay homage to one of the most beautiful melodies in all of music: the adagio from “Concierto de Aranjuez” by Joaquin Rodrigo.

The sextet renders the melody with respect before sequential solos by trumpeter Chet Baker, pianist Roland Hanna, and guitarist Hall.

Unexpectedly, Desmond enters with a piercing restatement of the theme. By piercing, I mean a take-your-breath away, cold-wind-off-Lake-Michigan piercing. Desmond’s alto voice—often depicted as the sound of a dry martini—is a chilled margarita in this instance.

9A. Johnny Hodges | Duke Ellington . . . And His Mother Called Him Bill

As Nelson Riddle was to Frank Sinatra, as Lester Young was to Billy Holiday, Billy Strayhorn was to Johnny Hodges. Stray’s compositions brought out that special, sensuous Hodges sound. Singer Lillian Terry recently put it this way: “Heavens, when he blows those long, languid notes . . . it’s an actual caress.”

As here, on Ellington’s tribute to Strayhorn “Blood Count,” “After All,” and “Day Dream,” the latter a late-at-night, sob-in-your beer favorite. The flip side of the Hodges coin—the bluesy side—Billy knew all too well, as illustrated on “Snibor,” “The Intimacy of the Blues,” and “Acht O’Clock Rock.”

9B. Johnny Hodges | Duke Ellington’s Far East Suite

The two sides of Hodges are again on display. “Isfahan,” according to Cook and Morton “is arguably the most beautiful single item in Ellington’s and Strayhorn’s entire output.” And I agree. Hodge’s stiletto-sharp, crystalline pure sound slows the breath, wells the eyes, and stills the body while Ellington’s orchestra puffs occasional sound pontoons to keep the alto’s melodic line afloat. If perfection needed a definition, it can be found here.

If “Isfahan” brings a tear to your eye, then “Blue Pepper” will bring a smile to your face. The band starts out rocking with a simple repetitive sing-songy melody atop a churning, rock-and-roll drum rhythm by Speedy Jones. This eastern-tinged melody gives way to the flip side of the Hodges coin, 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!

10. Gary Bartz | Gary Bartz NTU Troop I’ve Known Rivers and Other Bodies

Overall, three of the 11 tracks—the funky, toe-tapping ”Don’t Fight the Feeling,” “Dr. Follow’s Dance,” and the melodically pleasing “Peace and Love”—are outstanding, while the Langston Hughes poem “I’ve Known Rivers,” set to music and sung by Bartz, is a classic. This anthemic song features not only the saxophonist’s best singing on the album, but his best alto solo as well. Elementary school teachers could find Bartz’s reading useful in teaching the Hughes poem to students.

Apologies to Ornette Coleman, Jackie McClean, Henry Threadgill, Marian Brown and Phil Woods. You’re in my second Top 10.

What are your top alto sax albums? Please leave a comment below.

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Bennett & Brubeck: Still Great After All These Years

6/28/2018

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Tony Bennett and his trio performed with Dave Brubeck and his quartet at the Sylvan Theater on August 28, 1962. Sponsored by the JFK White House.

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As I noted in Ellington at the White House, 1969, President and Mrs. Kennedy were the first to invite a jazz group to perform inside the White House. On November 15, 1962, the Paul Winter Sextet (just back from a State Department cultural exchange tour of Latin America) mounted the East Room riser and treated a mostly young audience—teenage children of diplomats and government officials—to the sounds of jazz.

And now, finally, 53 years later, these sounds can be heard on a two-CD set titled The Paul Winter Sextet Count Me in 1962 & 1963 (Living Music). The sextet featured a three-horn front line (alto and baritone sax and trumpet) and rhythm (piano, bass and drums). They played seven numbers, mostly in the hard bop style of the era, although several tunes had a Latin tinge influenced by their recently concluded Central and South American tour.

The sound quality on the CDs is surprisingly good; after all, the East Room was designed as an “audience room” for weddings, treaty signings, funerals, commemorations, and, yes, entertainment, but a state-of-the-art recording studio it was not. We have the organizing force Paul Winter to thank for this belated two-CD gift, which can be obtained here. At the site, view The Story of a Sextet video, which includes a silent clip of the JFK East Room event.

But there was another notable jazz concert that took place several months earlier under the aegis of the Kennedy White House on August 28, 1962. Initially planned for the South Lawn, the concert was relocated to the Sylvan Theater on the Washington Monument grounds to accommodate a sizable crowd of college students who had come to work in Washington, DC, for the summer. Mea culpa: I failed to mention this event in my Ellington book. No excuses. I just made a mistake.

But what a concert! The classic Brubeck Quartet, with the leader on piano, Paul Desmond on alto saxophone, Gene Wright on bass, and Joe Morello on drums, followed by singer Tony Bennett and his backup trio: Ralph Sharon (piano), Hal Gaylor (bass), and Billy Exiner (drums). The quartet played a five-tune set that included their recent instrumental hit “Take Five” before Bennett took over and sang seven numbers that included his chart-topping “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.” After separate sets, Bennett joined Brubeck, Morello, and Wright for four impromptu numbers.

This concert was also recorded, but Columbia Records lost the tapes—that is, until 2012, when they found them stored among classical music recordings. And we have Tony Bennett to thank for the discovery. It was the singer who put his thumb on the folks at Columbia to search their vaults, who, tail between their legs, released Bennett/Brubeck: The White House Sessions, Live 1962, on CD in 2013.

The music on this disc is important not only because of its association with the Kennedy White House, but also because it captures both Tony Bennett and the classic Brubeck Quartet at their creative peaks. In the former case, singer Bennett probably never sounded better in a trio setting over his seven-decade career, thanks to the sympathetic accompaniment by pianist Ralph Sharon.

In the latter case, the music played by Brubeck and company that August night testifies to the importance of drummer Joe Morello. Without his singular and distinctive percussive sounds, it is doubtful the quartet would have attained the classic status that it did (at least in the minds of its many devotees).

With the Winter and Brubeck/Bennett discs, the music from the two JFK White House jazz events is now available to the public. Since 2002, also publicly available is the music from President Nixon’s outstanding jazz event--1969 All-Star White House Tribute to Duke Ellington, Blue Note.

How about the other jazz events held at the People’s House? A lot of it was recorded—isn’t it about time that it, too, be made available to the people?

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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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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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