“Art Van Damme, in his prime years, played so many gigs in clubs, hotels and concert stages across the USA and Europe that it is said that he never needed to do any practice. He was constantly in action, developing and honing his skills and repertoire, pioneering the use of the accordion as a jazz lead instrument.
So influential was Art’s playing style that he has influenced most of the western world’s jazz accordionists. One musicologist made the following neat comment: ‘The hippest cat ever to swing an accordion, Art Van Damme dared go where no man had gone before: jazz accordion.’”
In an earlier JazzProfiles two-part profile of guitarist Peter Bernstein which you can locate by going here and here, we shared how the guitar and the accordion seemed to be everywhere present during our growing up years in an Italian-American household in Providence, RI.
The world-class accordionist Angelo DiPippo was a graduate of LaSalleAcademy in the near-by Elmhurst section of that city and often gave performances in various local venues.
Also available courtesy of my Dad’s record collection were the Capitol recordings that accordionist Ernie Felice made with Benny Goodman’s small groups.
Every so often, Art Van Damme would make an “appearance” at our house in the form of NBC radio programs, television shows hosted by Dave Garroway and DinahShore and long-playing records on the Columbia label.
The Columbia LP’s featured Art’s quintet which, because of his use of vibes and guitar and the way many of the groups arrangements were “voiced,” reminded me of pianist George Shearing’s combo. A few of these albums also featured guest artists such as vocalist Jo Stafford or legendary Jazz guitarist, Johnny Smith.
Whatever the setting, Art’s music was always very melodic and featured arrangements that were very hip and swung like mad. Lasting little more than three minutes in most cases, each tune was a musical gem: the epitome of taste and perfection.
As was the case with Shearing’s quintet, nobody took long solos, but when Chuck Calzaretta played one on vibes, or Fred Rundquist took one on guitar or Art improvised on accordion, one knew immediately that they were good players who knew what they were doing on their respective instruments.
Because I was so accustomed to hearing accordion and, more importantly, to hearing it played well, I could never understand why the instrument became the object of so many jokes that unmercifully ridiculed it.
That is until I started gigging on a regular basis and ran into so many terrible accordionists which only served to make me appreciate the like of an Art Van Damme even more.
However, even among those who held most accordionists in contempt, the mere mention of Art’s name brought a grudging approval that he was “… a class act although I can’t stand the sound of the thing.”
Although you would be hard-pressed to find anything about him in any of the manuals about Jazz, in a conversation that I once had about him with pianist and composer Mel Powell at the California Institute of the Arts in Valencia, CA, Mel referred to Art as “one of the most-talented musicians I’ve ever heard – regardless of the instrument.”
Not surprisingly, there’s plenty of information about Art in publications, blogs and websites that cater to accordion. In such circles, he has rightfully assumed legendary status as one of the instrument’s greatest performers.
It was to one such publication that we went in search of the following overview of Art’s career. It also contains particular reference to many of Art’s recordings. A number of these are available should you wish to seek them out.
At the conclusion of Steven Solomon’s article on Art, you’ll find a video tribute to him as developed by the ace graphics teams at CerraJazz LTD. The audio track is Art’s quintet with guitarist Jimmy Smith performing “Gone With the Wind.”
Written by: Steven H. Solomon
Publication: Accord Magazine, USA. Reprinted courtesy of owner/editorFaithe Deffner. Back copies available.
Date written: Spring 1983
"At first glance, Art Van Damme seems like countless other successful West Coast residents. He is married, has three children and six grandchildren, and heads for the golf course every chance he gets. What makes his career unusual, however, is that he earns his living by playing the accordion.
Hold on a minute, you say. Since the accordion was invented about 150 years ago, thousands of musicians have put bread on the table by playing professionally. What is it that makes Van Damme so special?
It's simple. Van Damme is among an elite group of only about a half-dozen virtuosos who have been able to find just the right blend of technical and creative ability needed to be successful on the international level. This is what places Art Van Damme in a league all by himself.
Instead of playing just local clubs and whatever casual work is available, Van Damme routinely jets overseas for concert tours that draw thousands of fans. For those not lucky enough to get a seat at one of his sold out performances, he can be heard on European television and radio.
"Most of my work now is in doing concerts and clinics," Van Damme said recently when asked about his gigs. "This I enjoy more than doing club work, because the audience is more attentive and listens more intensely."
Van Damme prefers to be in front of the crowds, especially large ones, rather than while away his time in small clubs or in front of cameras and microphones. He believes that it all boils down to creativity.
"For recordings to be played on the radio, time is a very big factor. It is preferred that recordings be in the two or three minute category," Van Damme explained. "So when I do a concert I get a chance to stretch out, as they say. I get a chance to play quite at length."
To see a list of the countries Van Damme has visited with his accordion, you would think he was some kind of career diplomat making the rounds. He has toured in Germany, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Norway, Canada, England, New Zealand, Australia, France, Belgium and Switzerland, in addition to his considerable work in the United States.
Asked about his appearances in 1982, Van Damme replied, "I did the Grand Prix in France, a concert seminar and a radio show in Geneva, two concerts in Colorado and a month long tour back in Sweden. This included concerts, television and another album called "And Live at Tivoli with Quintet". By the way, that was my 20th tour and trip to Europe!"
Not bad for someone who was nine years old before he heard an accordion for the first time, on his parent's Victrola. He asked for and received lessons on an instrument not nearly as flashy as the ones played by his idols Ray Brown, Buddy Rich and Benny Goodman.
At an age when most boys like to play nothing but ball, Van Damme liked to play nothing but the accordion, up to four or five hours a day. He landed his first paying job, a not-too-prestigious booking at his home town theatre (but nothing to be ashamed of either), when he was a seasoned 10 year old pro!
"When going to high school I started a trio with accordion, guitar and bass, and worked with this group in night clubs for a couple of years and then added a fourth man," Van Damme said. "We did many things with two accordions but I preferred the sound of accordion, vibes, bass and guitar, so I discontinued using the two accordions and added drums a short time later. I felt this was the sound to go with."
His group covered the Midwest for several years when they were booked into the Sherman Hotel in Chicago for what turned into a six month job. NBC must have recognized a sure thing when they heard it, because the quintet landed a contract for radio and TV that was to be the start of a long term relationship.
"Besides doing our own shows, we worked with many top name entertainers of the time on programs like the Dave Garroway Show, Ransom Sherman Show, Bob and Day Show to name but a few," Van Damme said.
"And besides doing solo spots, we did a lot of background playing for top singers and instrumentalists such as Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee, Dizzy Gillespie and Buddy DeFranco."
It was during this time that Van Damme had a record contract with Capitol Records, releasing "Cocktail Capers" and "More Cocktail Capers". Columbia Records signed Van Damme from 1952 to 1965, releasing no less than a dozen albums, among which were "The Van Damme Sound", "Martini Time" and "The Art of Van Damme".
"I left NBC in Chicago in 1960 after working for them for 15 years," Van Damme said. "Live TV and radio had been on the downgrade or downward trend. Sure, I've done TV and radio shows since then, but only on a guest artist appearance basis."
Van Damme opened a music studio and store in suburban Chicago after he left NBC, and appeared with the quintet as guests on the Today Show, Tonight Show, Mike Douglas Show and Lawrence Welk Show. It was at this point that Van Damme realised he no longer wanted the headaches of leading a band.
"I personally don't care to have the responsibility of having a regular group anymore. Original men from the quintet are all still situated in Chicago and I do work with them on occasions when in that territory," Van Damme said. "But as of now, I am not carrying a regular quintet. My work takes me all over and I use local men who I am familiar with."
In 1965 Van Damme signed with MPS Records of Germany and has recorded 16 albums during that time. He has been voted top jazz accordionist for ten consecutive years in the annual Downbeat poll and for four consecutive years in the annual Contemporary Keyboard poll. His radio and TV appearances, seminars, tours and clinics in the United States and Europe since then number in the hundreds.
What this rich background means is that Van Damme is today considered a top jazz accordionist. Some of his feelings on the subject provides much food for thought. For example, he thinks the accordion is not the ideal jazz instrument.
"The fact that we have two separate keyboards, as such, controlled by one force, is a problem. I refer to the bellows, which is the source for both sides, and should be used in the same vein as a trumpet player or sax man as a breathing device," Van Damme explained. "A pianist is free to use either hand as he pleases, but not the accordionist. This naturally only scratches the surface, but I feel this is a basic problem in playing jazz."
Van Damme is equally outspoken when it comes to assessing his field. He is not afraid to name names. "(Leon) Sash, Mat Mathews, Pete Jolly, (Ernie) Felice, (Tommy) Gumina, they are all good friends of mine I'm happy to say and each in his own style is great. They all have something to say on their instruments, helping to take the polka sound out of the accordion," Van Damme said. "Unfortunately, there are not too many really good jazz accordionists, but I do feel we are progressing."
For the future, Van Damme seems likely to be just as busy as ever. He recently completed a pilot for a one hour live radio show with quintet and Roberta Sherwood on vocals that he expects to be syndicated. Plans call for a guest vocalist each week.
"After 38 years I'm going back to radio, which shows that if you live long enough, anything can happen," Van Damme said."
Jerry Goldsmith’s The Russia House could very well be the best score ever to feature an unwanted theme and an unwanted album. Not only did Jerry Goldsmith disapprove of the MCA Records album for The Russia House, but the title theme of the film itself was a reject from a previous Jerry Goldsmith score. The saga of the score for The Russia House begins two years before the film's release, when Goldsmith conjured up a bold and yet longing love theme for the film Alien Nation.
In a seemingly nonsensical move by that film's producers, Goldsmith's score was rejected and expunged. Knowing that he had a perfectly viable, not to mention powerful, theme on his hands, he waited a few years before working it into the film treatment of John LeCarre's novel The Russia House.
“[Goldsmith’s score contains ] saxophone performances by Branford Marsalis (both scripted and improvised) that are nothing short of spectacular. Never once does he quiver unintentionally or even slightly miss a note. Perfection is bliss.”
- Filmtracks.com review
“The function of a [film] score is to enlarge the scope of the film. I try for emotional penetration – not for complementing the action. For me, the important thing about music is statement. I can’t describe how I arrive at the decision to make a statement, I simply feel it and react to it.”
- Jerry Goldsmith
Spoken like a true Jazz musician - and this from one of the premier composers of music for the movies in the history of film!
As has been intended since we posted an audio track from the film The Russia House on the columnar or left-side of the blog some months ago:
“We plan to do more with the music from Jerry Goldsmith’s wonderful film score to The Russia House in a future feature highlighting the beauty of the city of St. Petersburg; another of the JazzProfiles editorial staff’s attempts to meld Jazz and photographic images. In the meantime, please enjoy this audio track and marvel at Jerry’s gorgeous scoring for strings [especially beginning at 4:15] and Branford Marsalis’ mastery of the soprano saxophone. With Mike Lang on piano and John Patitucci on bass, this is one of the most beautiful movie themes ever written.”
With the help of the ace graphics team at CerraJazz LTD we have now reset the closing music to Jerry Goldsmith’s film score for The Russia House to the following visual tribute to St. Petersburg, a magnificently beautiful city that the German poet Goethe once referred to as – “The Venice of the North.” Here is some background on how our interest in the film came about.
A few years ago I came across a DVD of The Russia House. The movie is an adaptation of John Le Carre’s novel by producer- director Fred Schepisi, who also altered the ending of the novel into a happy one. The movie stars Sean Connery and Michel Pfeiffer who are well- served in their leading roles by an excellent cast that includes Roy Scheider, James Fox, John Mahoney and Klaus Maria Brandauer.
A number of things struck me about the movie including the engaging love affair between Sean Connery and Michel Pfeiffer [the romantic in me?] and the stunning scenes of Moscow and St. Petersburg, both of which came together to create a “feel good” movie.
But what impressed me the most about the film was how the wonderfully crafted music took this movie to a total visual and aural experience for me.
Not surprisingly, the music for this film score in all its unique splendor, was composed by Jerry Goldsmith, one of the great practitioners of this genre.
The film score does all the things it should do to support a suspenseful Cold War thriller, but it does so in many unique ways including the use of beautifully written string segments [few composers know how to score for strings anymore], the interspersing a Jazz trio made up of soprano sax, piano and bass, the use of electronic instruments and effects [including recording-in of a metronome] and the careful inclusion of the duduk and balalaika, traditional Slavic and Russian instruments.
I am not often a fan of the soprano sax; it’s been disparagingly dubbed the “fish horn” for a reason.
But I came to especially enjoy the sound of the instrument as played by Branford Marsalis after listening to him soar over the film score throughout the movie, but most particularly, during the seven minute [7.39] closing scene when the film credits are launched over exquisite camera shots from around Russia’s traditional and modern capitals: St. Petersburg and Moscow, respectively.
Marsalis solos over beautifully orchestrated strings which are interjected with piano and bass rhythmic phrases, the latter played by Michael Lang and John Patitucci, respectively.
The film was released on December 11, 1990 and a CD of the sound track music was subsequently issued on MCA Records [MCAD-10136].
While doing further research on the evolution of Jerry Goldsmith skillfully crafted score, the editorial staff at JazzProfilesfound two detailed accounts to share with you.
To give you a sense of the architectural beauty of St. Petersburg or in Russian - Санкт-Петербург – we have interspersed photographs of some of its most famous venues throughout the profile. These are also included in the video tribute should you wish to view them collectively while listening to Jerry, Branford, Michael and John at work.
“The Russia House: (Jerry Goldsmith) If a single film and score could define the word "bittersweet" better than any other, The Russia House would be the champion example. The potentially explosive adaptation of John LeCarre's novel needs no introduction to the concepts of depression and oppression, and despite the story's famously distraught conclusion, audiences were seemingly unprepared for either the gloom of the film or the distorted and confusing ending of the adaptation.
The film fell short of all expectations at the time, though the lead performances by Sean Connery and Michelle Pfeiffer were well enough praised. The espionage story was the first major American production ever to be shot on location in the former Soviet Union, with a sharp, somewhat technological edge driving its fear factor.
Perhaps the most critical element of The Russia House is its extremely memorable score by Jerry Goldsmith, a score with about as much frustration and depression built into the circumstances of its creation as the story of The Russia House itself. Goldsmith first conjured the beautiful theme for this film in 1987 for Wall Street, but when he left that film due to creative differences with the filmmakers, he adapted the theme into his electronic score for Alien Nation the following year.
Being that the 1988 alien/cop drama was so wretchedly awful, however, Goldsmith wasn't particularly disappointed when his score was completely rejected from the finished product. His bold and longing love theme for Alien Nation was realized in that film's cue "The Wedding," but never did it truly take flight until it was altered slightly (improving its romantic flow in three places) and handed to an accomplished jazz trio for The Russia House in 1990.
Goldsmith's approach to the genuine locale was countered by an interestingly American approach to scoring the visuals, infusing a slight edge of old-style noir into the picture. He took a chance by composing an almost exclusively jazzy score, building off of the Barley (Connery) character's performance of the saxophone in the film.
To address the concept of espionage, and not to mention Connery himself, Goldsmith inserts a slight touch James Bond's mechanical instrumentation, making restrained, but smart use of his library of synthetic rhythm-setters. To address the danger of the romance, he offers us a glimpse of the ominously nervous strings that we would eventually hear in full for Basic Instinct.
The most surprising aspect of the score for The Russia House is its simplicity in instrumentation and repetition. It's hard to imagine how a score of this minuscule size and scope could be so overwhelming in its appeal. That might say something about Goldsmith's raw talent, and perhaps it speaks to three years of development on the concepts.
His base elements are simple; a jazz trio handles the majority of the themes and underscore, with saxophone performances by Branford Marsalis (both scripted and improvised) that are nothing short of spectacular. Never once does he quiver unintentionally or even slightly miss a note. Perfection is bliss.
Michael Lang is equally renown for his fabulous piano performances, and he delicately establishes an elevated level of classy bar room atmosphere for Marsalis' sax. The bass, performed by John Patitucci, has a larger role in the score, not only providing a rhythm for the other two jazz performers, but also handling a large portion of the underscore.
It is during these sequences with the bass that Goldsmith utilizes his electronics to his fullest. With his knowledge of synthesized integration having matured since the experimental days of Legend and Hoosiers, Goldsmith's electronics are almost identically appealing in both the concurrent 1990 releases of Total Recall and The Russia House.
The James Bond aspect of the spy tale called for the presence of mechanized subterfuge, and thus, the use of Goldsmith's wide array of synthesized sounds keeps a consistent rhythm set throughout the score. Most of these sounds are common, light, upper-range, chime-like keyboarding from Goldsmith's library, though the incorporation of a "release of air" effect is unique to this score.
Not always are the solo bass and electronics geared towards suspense, though. The third element of Goldsmith's score is the reasonably sized string section, which is added to provide a whimsical effect for the grand, romantic performances of the title theme (this could also just be a smaller string ensemble simply mixed over itself... it doesn't matter either way). During these moments, the electronics cease their systematic beats and blossom into chimes and twinkles.
No better of an example exists than the finale of the film, when the dream-like "The Family Arrives" sequence provides a false sense of hope at an otherwise doomed finish to the story. During these elegant performances of Goldsmith's cherished theme, the sax, strings, and piano rotate in their pronouncement of the theme, with all three together occasionally blowing the listener away with stunning aural beauty (such as "Bon Voyage"). Over half of the score, though, consists of the suspenseful underscore previously mentioned, with the bass and electronics leading the way. Goldsmith throws in two more elements during these sequences.
First, some very light percussion, crisply recorded, keeps the film moving at a pre-set tempo. To do this, Goldsmith integrates the clicking of a metronome (the device by which instrument performers set their tempo in practice) right into the scheme of the recording. Only a snippet of traditional jazz band percussion is used, such as the light cymbal tapping during the faster rhythmic opening to "Training."
Assessing the need for a slight Soviet influence on the score, Goldsmith also composes for the duduk and balalaika, the former being an Armenian instrument that will sound, to the common American ear, like a low, fluttering woodwind instrument. These elements are combined well with Goldsmith's American jazz, leading to a very smooth and listenable hour of music.
The duduk is employed in a creative way so that it almost sounds as though it's a naturally lower progression of the sax, increasing both instruments' emotional range at moments like the end of "The Meeting." Cues that merge these woodwind sounds, as well as the metronome and synthetics, with some slight improvisation from the lead trio (such as in "Crossing Over") are a delight.
In sum, Goldsmith's music for The Russia House is the type that you wish you could hear every time you go into an upscale bar. It is friendly, yet mysterious. It is smoky, yet crystal clear. It is vibrant, yet lulls you to a different place. Its recording quality is so crisp that Marsalis' sax bounces off the walls with remarkable clarity.
The monotony of its underwhelming construct is compensated for by the sheer talent of its performers and the constant sense of movement that Goldsmith's rhythms use to maintain your interest. In these regards, The Russia House is the ultimate "homework score," a description used by career students who have spent countless hours researching and writing to this music. The vocal version of Goldsmith's theme, performed in the song "Alone in the World" by Patti Austin, melts wonderfully into the center of the album. The song's arrangement and instrumentation by Goldsmith is consistent with the surrounding underscore.
Aside from the recognizable Goldsmithian electronics and some minor key bass string movements teasing later development in Basic Instinct, this score is like nothing composed by any other major film composer in the last twenty years. Other composers have tried to score films with the same emphasis on jazz, but none has succeeded with the same class and sense of style as Goldsmith accomplished. To that end, traditional Goldsmith fans might not warm up to The Russia House at first.
But it has become a legend within the film score industry, a favorite score for several leading composers still working today, with similar praise extended from fans all over the world. Goldsmith's love affair with the final track of The Russia House (the ultimate highlight of the album, for which he allowed the trio of jazz musicians to improvise over seven minutes of material, leading to an enjoyably snazzy conclusion for the album) that he would reprise the sound almost identically in his underrated 1993 score for The Vanishing (though curiously out of place and not as crisp in sound). He would also touch upon the basics of the style at the end of 1997's The Edge.
Even on its addictively attractive album, however, The Russia House still caused frustration for Goldsmith himself. Not only was his theme unwanted for no less than two films, but the MCA album, as presented, was unwanted by the composer as well.
It's a classic example of how many composers wish to maintain control over the presentation of their works outside of their intended film use. Perhaps the ultimate irony of Goldsmith's quest to narrow down the length of the album for The Russia House is that neither of the other two scores featuring versions of its themes (Alien Nation and The Vanishing) would receive commercial albums, both relying instead on bootlegs and eventual Varèse Sarabande club treatment.
Goldsmith disapproved of the MCA Records album because it presented the mass of the music from the film intact. Many people will argue alongside Goldsmith that The Russia House would make a fantastic 30-minute album. But MCA, in this case, got it right. There are nuances in this score that make every moment one of intrigue.
If you cut out all of the duduk ethnicity and bass string suspense, you'd be left with the dozen renditions of the love theme, and one of the great aspects of the score in its entirety is its ability to bring one of those lush thematic statements at just the right moment of lonely despair.
Many reviewers will be deterred by the length of the album, overlooking the profound impact that an understated score like this can have on its film, and many fans will comment that the score is simply too depressing to enjoy on a bright sunny afternoon.
But elegance comes in many forms, and the music from The Russia House, while perfect for the shadows of midnight despair, is a score that anyone (and especially a Goldsmith enthusiast) should be able to appreciate at any hour. The score came during a fantastic year for film music, but while John Barry's Dances With Wolves, Danny Elfman's Edward Scissorhands, and Basil Poledouris' The Hunt for Red October, among others, drew more public attention, the quality of The Russia House exceeds all of them. The difference is style. *****”
CD: Released by
MCA RECORDS
Serial number
MCAD-10136
Principal Soloists:
Branford Marsalis, soprano saxophone
Michael Lang, piano
John Patitucci, bass
Orchestrated by Arthur Morton
Vocal tracks : Patti Austin
"Leviathan scored a year earlier proved to be the turning point in Goldsmith's career and the reason why composer and agent went after a more rewarding assignment in 1990. Leviathan remains a popular score, but as a movie, Jerry Goldsmith deserved something a lot more worthy of his talents.
By saying "no" to a lot of assignments they held out for Fred Schepisi's adaptation of John Le Carre's book The Russia House. The movie had quality written all over it and although it failed to make massive box office, the movie garnered enough respect to make it critic friendly and musically Goldsmith wrote one of his most respected works. At the time he placed this ahead of Islands in The Stream as his own personal favorite.
Fred Schepisi's polished adaptation was tailor made for scoring, with emphasis placed on the Russian locations, and at times looking like a travel log, it had to play over some of the best photography lensed for film. Goldsmith's classy jazz score is introduced over the cold grey skies of Moscow and introduces Michelle Pfieffer's character (Katya). Goldsmith's transparent string writing shows his intentions for this theme and introduces Branford Marsalis' haunting Saxophone as the lead instrument.
Regardless of the love story this is still a cold war spy drama set against a post glasnost Russia and we are introduced to the intrigue through some restrained but nonetheless suspenseful string work as British Intelligence search the flat of Barley Blair (Introductions). Here Goldsmith creating light but ominous overtones for strings and Piano for the espionage. These aspects come to the fore later in a sequence where Blair is taught how to spot anyone following him (Training). Here synth work and strings create momentum by way of some unusual sounds, especially noteworthy is a 'swishing' effect as Blair shows his lack of seriousness to British Intelligence.
The developing relationship between Blair and Katya is Goldsmith's main focus though as his main theme transforms during their early scenes together and the awakening of their love for each other (Katya and Barley - Bon Voyage). Here Goldsmith introduces Dante by way of atmospheric chimes and ethnic instrumentation (First Name, Yakov). For this character Goldsmith uses the traditional Russian woodwind instruments the Duduk and also the Balalaika. Their tone perfectly conjuring up the mystery of this character and the potential threat of being caught by the Russian authorities.
As Blair and Katya become wiser to the coercion of the CIA and MI6, and realizing they are in danger of being caught, they plan an escape. Barley's Love and My Only Country signal their undying love for each other as Goldsmith breaks from spy games to focus his elegant theme once more on their relationship. Crossing Over sees the US and British intelligence waiting anxiously to see if Blair has got what they want from Dante. As the clocks tick away so does Goldsmith's metronome, now tense bass creates a sense of uncertainty as plucked strings and piano provide the signal that Blair has done his own deal to save Katya and her family.
Goldsmith clearly adored this project, closing his score with a lengthy romantic end credit (The Family Arrives) in celebration of the family being reunited, with warm strings, minor electronics and improvised Jazz. The Russia House is evidence of Goldsmith at the top of his game and is also interesting at revealing the original theme he developed for his unused score to the movie Alien Nation. Thankfully though The Russia House became its well deserved home.
MCA issued a lengthy CD, with a crisp recording and proved a wonderful show case for the talents of both Marsalis and Mike Lang (it was no coincidence that Marsalis turned up in James Horner's Sneakers). One of the longest CDs approved by Goldsmith, he was ironically criticized by some for its length. But his agent, Richard Kraft, took the blame for that."
Released by
MCA RECORDS Serial number
MCAD-10136
Cues & Timings
1. Katya (3:57)
2. Introductions (3:12)
3. The Conversation (4:13)
4. Training (2:01)
5. Katya and Barley (2:32)
6. First Name, Yakov (2:53)
7. Bon Voyage (2:11)
8. The Meeting (3:59)
9. I'm With You/
What Is This Thing Called Love (Cole Porter) (2:39)
10. Alone in the World (4:09) (Patti Austin - song)
11. The Gift (2:34)
12. Full Marks (2:27)
13. Barley's Love (3:24)
14. My Only Country (4:34)
15. Crossing Over (4:13)
16. The Deal (4:09)
17. The Family Arrives (7:38)
“… Dorham’s solos are models of grace and tact, always giving an impression of careful construction and development, and an unfailing sense of texture.”
Richard Cook and Brian Morton, The Penguin Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed.
-Randy Sandke, in Bill Kirchner, Ed., The Oxford Companion to Jazz
“Kenny Dorham is firmly and flowingly himself. He has evolved into one of the most lyrical improvisers in Jazz, but that lyricism is also unusually incisive. There is a consistent clarity and definiteness in Kenny’s playing that makes his work tensile as well as sensitive.”
- Nat Hentoff, insert notes, Una Mas [verb tense changed]
“Dorham’s velvety tone and inventive, incisive solos make him among the most unique trumpeters and gifted melodic improvisers to emerge in the 1950s.”
- Len Lyons, Jazz Portraits” The Live & Music of the Jazz Masters
“It seems that every time you read about Kenny Dorham, someone is referring to him as ‘a greatly underrated trumpeter.’ I’ve probably been guilty of this myself. I say guilty because if all the energy expended by Jazz writers and commentators in lamenting Kenny’s lack of proper recognition , was turned toward a more positive extolling of his many virtues, perhaps he would be much further ahead in his career. Certainly, he is one of the very best trumpeters in Jazz.”
- Ira Gitler, insert notes, Whistle Stop
“His peers and knowledgeable listeners never ignored Dorham’s accomplishments. Indeed trumpet players as diverse as Randy Brecker and Byron Stripling have acknowledged their debt to him. But until some of the young musicians of the [nineteen] nineties spread the work, his work had received little general attention for a couple of decades. If the emerging generation of players will use Kenny Dorham as a model not for imitation, but to inspire the hard work of making their own artistry blossom, his spirit will brighten the future of Jazz as it illuminated the past.”
- Doug Ramsey, insert notes, Savoy Jazz Original, Kenny Dorham, Blues in Bebop
While doing a bit of research recently on tenor saxophonist Joe Henderson, the thought came to mind that his frequent front-line partner, trumpeter Kenny Dorham, was an often overlooked figure in Jazz circles, then and now.
Dorham was somehow considered a “second-tiered” trumpeter when compared to the life of Dizzy, Miles, Clifford Brown and other modern Jazz trumpet luminaries.
Kenny’s name is still rarely mentioned today which is surprising given the number of high profile groups that he performed with, the huge discography he was involved with both under his own name and with other significant Jazz musicians, and the fact that he created a style or sound on the trumpet that is as instantly recognizable as Diz’s, Miles’ or Brownie’s.
Rummaging around our collection of Jazz recordings and books only served to further heighten the question of why Kenny is so often ignored because when one looks for it, there is quite a bit of information available about Dorham’s career and his music.
The editorial staff at JazzProfiles thought it might be fun to gather some of these writings about Kenny into a feature as a way of remembering him or, if you will, memorializing him.
To further this effort, the crackerjack graphics team at CerraJazz LTD. has even put together a video tribute to Kenny which is located at the end of this piece.
“Kenny Dorham has been scandalously undervalued in the jazz trumpet lineage. His breathy tone was not the immediate warmth of Clifford Brown, and his airy attack was less piercing than Lee Morgan, but careful listeners will hear him to be one of the more gifted trumpeters of the bebop and hard bop eras.
Dorham possessed a rare, soft and vulnerable sound that is soothing and instantly identifiable. Eschewing the typical trumpeter's showmanship and flashiness, Dorham instead relied on his economical melodic logic in constructing poetic, lyrical improvisations with meaningful beginnings, middles, and ends.
His technique is also unique: Dorham chose to attack notes with his tongue, where most of his bebop contemporaries would slur for a more continuous flow. His clearly articulated lines had a singular running quality to them that fleetly pushed ahead of the time.
At mid-tempos, Dorham distinctly articulated an exaggerated staccato swing feel, greatly contrasting his double-timed legato phrases. On ballads, Dorham would not stray far from the melody, his minimalist approach exposing the innate beauty of each melody he touched. His idiosyncratic use of grace notes, varied attacks on single notes, such as scooping underneath or bending above the pitch, and stuttering repetitions of notes were some of the personal nuances that decorated his deceptively complex improvisations.
Paradoxically, the fact that Dorham was nearly always the first-call replacement in all-star groups, which should be a testament to his talents, has led to a perception that he was a second-tier trumpeter, when nothing is farther from the truth. Dorham replaced Fats Navarro in Billy Eckstine’s band in 1946, Miles Davis in Charlie Parker’s quintet in 1949, and Clifford Brown in Art Blakey and Horace Silver’s Jazz Messengers in 1954 and again in the Max Roach group in 1956.”
“Dorham started the piano at age seven and took up the trumpet in high school. From 1945-8 he played with Dizzy Gillespie, Billy Eckstine, Lionel Hampton and Mercer Ellington. He replaced Miles Davis in the Charlie Parker quintet from 1948-50, playing with Parker at the Paris jazz festival in 1949. He freelanced in New York during the early 1950s, and in 1954 was a founder-member of Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers. Dorham was a star soloist on the great 1954 album which was the blueprint for the Messengers, Horace Silver And The Jazz Messengers. From 1956-8 he replaced Clifford Brown in the Max Roach quintet, and played superlatively on another classic album of the 1950s, Max Roach 4 Plays Charlie Parker. During the late 1950s and the 1960s he led various groups of his own, composed and played music for some films, worked with Joe Henderson and Hank Mobley, toured internationally and played major festivals. Dorham recorded with Parker, Coltrane, Monk, Oliver Nelson, Tadd Dameron, J.J. Johnson and Sonny Rollins, and some of his finest playing was done on other people's albums. He died of kidney failure in 1972.
Dorham was one of the first bebop trumpeters, and had something of the fleetness of Gillespie and the sonority of Miles Davis. By the beginning of the 1950s he had absorbed his influences and found his own individual voice on trumpet. He was a brilliant player who was never glib, and could project great lyricism even at fast tempos, producing astonishingly long lines of fluid triplets. He was also a magnificent blues player, because his fluidity of execution was accompanied by all the tonal inflexions of the vocal blues tradition. Dorham influenced and inspired countless trumpeters all over the world, but never himself broke through to a wider audience or got all the recognition he was due, because he was overshadowed by Davis and Fats Navarro in the 1940s and Clifford Brown and others in the 1950s and 1960s. He was a fine composer, and one of his pieces, "Blue Bossa", has become part of the general jazz repertoire.”
“Kenny Dorham was one of those musicians fated to be always the bridesmaid, never the bride when it came to handing out the trumpet honors. Throughout his career, he stood in the shadow of more mercurial talents like Dizzy Gillespie, Fats Navarro, Clifford Brown or Lee Morgan, and, for that matter, less virtuoso but more popular masters like Miles Davis and Chet Baker - Kenny couldn't win either way. The extra luster reflected from these great horn men should not dazzle us into underestimating Dorham's own considerable capabilities. He was highly adept technically, had a fine sense of swing, and deep roots in a blues sensibility. His sound was generally dark and a little astringent, and he liked to develop his melodic ideas in a lucid, carefully structured, and often understated fashion (David Rosenthal calls it 'austere') which depended more on subtle nuances of tone and rhythmic accent than on pyrotechnics.
He was the perfect example of the musician's musician, and the high regard of his peers is reflected in his credits as a sideman. He cut his teeth with the seminal bebop big bands of Billy Eckstine and Dizzy Gillespie, recorded with Fats Navarro and Bud Powell for Savoy, and took Miles Davis's place in Charlie Parker's quintet in 1948 (he is heard on some of the saxophonist's live sessions from the Royal Roost - there is a good solo on the version of 'Hot House' from 15 January, 1949 - and the Verve studio set Swedish Schnapps among others).
The distinguished roster of leaders who gave Dorham a call also included Lionel Hampton, Art Blakey, J. J. Johnson, Stan Getz, Milt Jackson, Thelonious Monk, Sonny Rollins, Lou Donaldson, Tadd Dameron, Gil Melle, Phil Woods, Ernie Henry, Hank Mobley, Matthew Gee, Herb Geller, Benny Golson, Abbey Lincoln, Betty Carter, Cecil Taylor, Randy Weston, Oliver Nelson, Harold Land, Clifford Jordan, Jackie McLean, Joe Henderson, Andrew Hill, Cedar Walton, and Barry Harris. He was a member of Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers, and was part of Max Roach's group for two years. He worked frequently throughout his career with baritone saxophonist Cecil Payne. The baritone was an instrument which appealed to him, and he incorporated it frequently in his own groups. Space prevents consideration of his work as a sideman here, but no understanding of Dorham's music would be complete without hearing at least some of it.
He was born McKinley Howard Dorham in Fairfield, Texas, on 30 August 1924, into a musical family. He vacillated between music and boxing through high school and as a science student at Wiley College, Texas (where he played in the Wiley Collegians band which also included pianist Wild Bill Davis and drummer Roy Porter), but finally opted for a career in music in 1945. He moved to New York (where he was initially known as Kinny) after his military service, and took advantage of the GI Bill to study composition and arranging at Gotham School of Music in 1948. A useful compilation of Dorham's scattered contributions as a sideman in the late 1940s was issued as Blues in Bebop in 1998.
He began the 1950s as a freelance, and played on Thelonious Monk's classic Genius of Modern Music for Blue Note in 1952, then made his debut as a leader with a session cut on 15 December, 1953, for Debut, the label run by Charles Mingus and Max Roach. Kenny Dorham Quintet featured Jimmy Heath on tenor and baritone saxophones, Walter Bishop on piano, Percy Heath on bass, and Kenny Clarke on drums. The trumpeter came up with some very pleasing arrangements on the six tunes, including his own uptempo swinger 'An Oscar For Oscar' (the dedicatee is Oscar Goodstein, the owner of Birdland) and tunes like Monk's 'Ruby, My Dear' and Osie Johnson's 'Osmosis'. A couple of previously unreleased blues outings were added to the CD issue.
Just over a year later, Dorham replaced Clifford Brown in the band which became The Jazz Messengers, and was still a Messenger when he cut his first Blue Note date. Afro-Cuban eventually featured material from two sessions, but was initially released as a 10-inch LP with four tunes featuring the Cuban percussionist Carlos 'Potato' Valdes, recorded on 29 March, 1955. The session featured the first studio recordings of three of Dorham's best compositions, 'Afrodisia', the lovely 'Lotus Flower', and 'Minor's Holiday', named for another trumpeter, Minor Robinson (an excellent alternate take is included on the CD issue), and a Gigi Gryce chart, 'Basheer's Dream'.
The trumpeter adopts unusually punchy single note lines, a strategy which led the Penguin Guide to note that 'Dorham never sounded more like Dizzy Gillespie than on Afro-Cuban', an impression enhanced by the rhythmic concept. The octet featured J. J. Johnson on trombone, fellow Messenger Hank Mobley on tenor and Cecil Payne on baritone saxophone, and a rhythm section of Horace Silver on piano, Oscar Pettiford on bass, and Art Blakey on drums. The remaining selections on the first 12-inch LP release, all by Dorham, came from a session on 30 January, featuring a sextet with Mobley, Payne, Silver, Blakey, and bassist Percy Heath. The CD issue now includes an additional track released as 'K.D.'s Cab Ride', but later discovered to have been given the somewhat more romantic title 'Echo of Spring' by the composer.
Dorham contributed to Tadd Dameron's classic Fontainebleaufor Prestige in March, 1956, and was back in the studio as a leader on 4 April. He had decided to set up his own group along similar lines to The Messengers, to be known as Kenny Dorham and The Jazz Prophets, with J. R. Monterose on tenor, Dick Katz on piano, Sam Jones on bass and Arthur Edgehill on drums. He cut a session under that name for Chess, with the optimistic addition of Volume 1 to the title, a gambit which proved less than prophetic, since there was no follow-up. The Prophet' is the outstanding track of the five cut that day, a surging minor key workout which follows the initial statement of the catchy theme with a delicate staccato trading of thematic material between Dorham and tenor saxophonist J. R. Monterose, then opens out into expansive solos and a return to the theme.
'Tahitian Suite', also in the minor, shifts from the 6/8 of the theme to standard 4/4 for the solos, and is the first of several tunes inspired by distant places. Dorham adopted a mute on 'Blues Elegante' and 'Don't Explain', but succeeded in not sounding like Miles in the process, while 'DX', is an up-tempo workout.
Monterose, an interesting but relatively neglected saxophonist from Detroit who played with Charles Mingus on the classic Pithecanthropus Erectus (although it was not a happy experience for him), is in fine form on this session, apart from an intermittently squeaking reed, notably on 'Tahitian Suite'. His subsequent debut as leader for Blue Note, J. R. Monterose, recorded on 21 October, 1956, is worth seeking out.
A version of the Jazz Prophets band is featured on Dorham's 'Round About Midnight at The Cafe Bohemia, with Bobby Timmons replacing Katz on piano, and Kenny Burrell added on guitar. Recorded for Blue Note over a single long night on 31 May, 1956, it captures the band in fine fettle, while underlining the quality of his writing in two additions to his exotic travelogue, 'Monaco* and 'Mexico City', as well as the bop fundamentalism of 'The Prophet', 'Riffin" and 'K.D.'s Blues'. His original and engaging melodies and marked structural awareness have won him a fair amount of critical praise as a composer, but with the exception of the ubiquitous 'Blue Bossa', that admiration has not really been reflected in the take-up of his tunes by other players (Don Sickler's Music of Kenny Dorham on the Uptown label in 1983 was an obvious exception).
Dorham joined Max Roach's band as a replacement for Clifford Brown following the trumpeter's tragic death in June, 1956, and remained with the drummer for two years, avoiding the jinx which Roach feared afflicted his trumpet players in that era (both Brown and Booker Little suffered premature deaths). He cut several albums with Roach during that association, and also continued to record as a leader.
Jazz Contrasts, made for Riverside on 21 May, 1957, is one of his strongest statements on record. The contributions of harpist Betty Glamman on three carefully arranged ballads will not suit all tastes, although the instrument is effectively employed to complement the rhythm section of Hank Jones on piano, Oscar Pettiford on bass (Glamman was a member of his big band), and Max Roach on drums, with Sonny Rollins as the second horn. Dorham is a fine ballad player in any setting, and shines on Gigi Gryce's arrangements of 'My Old Flame' and Clifford Brown's 'Larue', a heartfelt tribute to the late trumpeter, as well as his own arrangement of 'But Beautiful'.
Both Dorham and Rollins are in fiery mood on the up-tempo material. Dorham negotiates the skittering eighth notes and flying triplets of a manic 'I'll Remember April' and his own equally energized 'La Villa' (a tune first recorded on Afro-Cuban) with real poise and command. His lines are clean, sharply articulated and accurately pitched even at these tempos, but the speed of execution does not deflect his attention from the unfolding shape of his solo. Their version of 'Falling In Love With Love' is taken at a more relaxed clip, and features a lovely melodic solo from Hank Jones, long the most unsung of the famous trio of Detroit siblings completed by his brothers Thad and Elvin. Like Tommy Flanagan, another Detroit native, Jones was equally at home in swing or bop settings, but both these great pianists only really made their mark as leaders later in their careers.
Dorham's next album for Riverside, cut on 13 November and 2 December, 1957, took a different tack. 2 Horns, 2 Rhythm dispensed with piano for a date which featured the ill-fated alto saxophonist Ernie Henry, with either Eddie Mathias (in the earlier session) or Wilbur Ware on bass, and G. T. Hogan on drums. Dorham had worked with Henry before, including the saxophonist's 1956 debut for Riverside, Presenting Ernie Henry, but this date was to be the saxophonist's last before his premature death on 29 December, 1957. He made only two other albums as a leader, Seven Standards and A Blues and the posthumously issued Last Chorus, both of which date from September, 1957. Henry also participated in the mammoth sessions for Monk's Brilliant Corners, although he often seemed out of his depth in that demanding music. His own records, and his contribution here, provide better evidence of his unfulfilled potential.
Dorham made good use of the spare instrumental textures. A piano less quartet was not a new innovation (Gerry Mulligan was enjoying great success with that format, and Dorham had been partly responsible for its adoption in Max Roach's group), but it was still fairly unusual, and posed special challenges to players used to a reassuring carpet of chords running beneath their work. The horn players revel in the extra space, with the trumpeter in excellent creative shape on five standards and three original compositions, including another 'Lotus Blossom' and an evocation of classical counterpoint in 'Jazz-Classic'. The standards included a very solemn version of Gershwin's 'Soon', with minimal piano interjections by Dorham, and an exhumation of 'Is It True What They Say About Dixie?', a selection which suggests some of Sonny Rollins's predilection for unlikely vehicles may have rubbed off on the trumpeter.
Although Dorham had doubled as a blues vocalist with Dizzy Gillespie's band, and claimed that he saw his singing as an integral aspect of his overall musical identity, he made only one record featuring his voice, and that at a time when Chet Baker was racking up big sales with his own combined efforts. His vocals are agreeable enough, but the lack of any sustained follow up makes the album, This Is The Moment, something of a curiosity in his output. It was recorded in July and August, 1958, for Riverside, and marked the recording debut of pianist Cedar Walton. …
Dorham taught at the jazz school organized by pianist John Lewis at Lenox, Massachusetts in 1958 and 1959. He contributed characteristically well focused trumpet playing to a famous but ultimately disappointing session featuring John Coltrane and pianist Cecil Taylor in October, 1958, although the disappointment stems largely from the very high expectations such a combination generates. It was originally Taylor's date, and appeared as Stereo Drive on United Artists, but was later reissued as Coltrane Time on Blue Note. Dorham's 'Shifting Down' and bassist Chuck Israels' 'Double Clutching' are more interesting than the two standards, neither of which quite catches fire.
His final Riverside date, Blue Spring, was recorded on 20 January and 18 February, 1959, and combined four of his own compositions on that theme ('Blue Spring', 'Poetic Spring', 'Spring Is Here', and 'Spring Cannon') with two tunes by Richard Rodgers, 'It Might As Well Be Spring' and 'Passion Spring'. In a reversal of the sparse textures he had chosen for his previous album, Dorham assembled a septet, with Cannonball Adderley on alto saxophone alongside Cecil Payne on baritone and the more unusual timbre of David Amram's French horn, and a rhythm section of Cedar Walton on piano, Paul Chambers on bass, and either Jimmy Cobb or Philly Joe Jones on drums. Dorham's solos are characteristically purposeful and inventive, while his deftly handled arrangements make expressive use of the contrasting sonority of the alto with the darker shadings of baritone and horn in another strong, thoughtful album.
Dorham's style was well set by the end of the decade, and he had developed a more refined approach to tone and sonority. He was soon recording again, this time for Prestige's New Jazz imprint. Quiet Kenny, recorded on 13 November, 1959, with a rhythm trio of Tommy Flanagan on piano, Paul Chambers on bass and drummer Art Taylor, is one of his most consistently achieved records. Despite the title, this is not primarily a ballad album, although it contains beautiful interpretations of 'My Ideal' and 'Old Folks', as well as another 'Lotus Blossom'. Rather, the title implies a measured deliberation. It was the first time he had recorded without another horn, and while he relished the freedom of that context, his statements are made sotto voce, and impress with their discipline, authority and sheer musicality rather than any more brash means of point-scoring. Flanagan is a perfect foil, and the whole disc is a polished gem.
Flanagan was present again on 10 January, 1960, with Charles Davis on baritone saxophone, Butch Warren on bass and Buddy Enlow on drums. The results have been issued under contrasting titles as Kenny Dorham Memorial Album on Zanadu and The Arrival of Kenny Dorham on Fresh Sounds. It included Tm An Old Cowhand', a tune forever associated with Sonny Rollins, and an elegant 'Stella By Starlight'. Davis's baritone was also prominently featured on a session on 11 February, 1960, released as Jazz Contemporary on the Time label, which included versions of 'Monk's Mood' and Dave Brubeck's ‘ln Your Own Sweet Way', as well as Dorham's 'Horn Salute'. Showboat, recorded for Time on 9 December, 1960, featured a quintet with Jimmy Heath on tenor saxophone and pianist Kenny Drew, and was devoted entirely to the music of Oscar Hammerstein. In between, he had taken part in the alternative Newport Rebels festival arranged by Charles Mingus and Max Roach as a protest against the commercialization of the Newport Jazz Festival, which ended in chaos that year.
Dorham rejoined the Blue Note stable, and cut Whistle Stop on 15 January, 1961. Although it would have been difficult to guess at the time, and impossible to deduce from the powerful trumpet playing and strong compositions on this excellent and still rather undervalued album, Dorham's career was now in its final phase. He would do little of any real significance after 1964, and some of the music which he did make in this three year period shows occasional signs of strain. Conversely, much of it is amongst the strongest work of his career, both on his own albums and as a sideman with two of the newer generation, saxophonist Joe Henderson and pianist Andrew Hill.
Whistle Stop reunited the trumpeter with an old front line partner, saxophonist Hank Mobley, as well as his favored rhythm twins, Paul Chambers and Philly Joe Jones. Pianist Kenny Drew completed the quintet which laid down one of his most overtly straight-ahead sessions, led by the energized title track, and dipping into the familiar well-springs of the blues on 'Philly Twist' and funk on 'Buffalo', as well as more recent modal directions in 'Sunset'. 'Sunrise In Mexico' and 'Windmill' aimed at colorful musical evocations of their subjects, and swung furiously into the bargain. The album closed with 'Dorham's Epitaph', a brief melancholy theme which, according to Ira Gitler's sleeve note, the trumpeter had apparently worked up into a large scale orchestral piece, which to my knowledge has never been performed.
The inspiration behind Matador, made for Richard Bock's Pacific Jazz, was a tour of South America with Monte Kay's First American Jazz Festival in June, 1961. His response to Brazil and its music was swift and immediate. He was drawn to its emotional power (he described the tour as 'an exciting, wild, new, unforgettable experience' and the music as shattering), but also to its structural variety and time signatures. The album, and in particular his own 'El Matador', is a vivid response to the experience, and includes his arrangement of the Brazilian composer Heitor Villa-Lobos's 'Prelude'.
Matador was later combined on CD with his other Pacific Jazz release, the live set Inta Somethin,’ recorded at the Jazz Workshop in San Francisco in November, 1961, which included the title track of Dorham's next Blue Note disc, 'Una Mas'. Matador was recorded in New York on 15 April, 1962, and also featured an intense version of Jackie McLean's 'Melanie'. The saxophonist played alto on both sessions, with two entirely different rhythm sections, and has remained a prominent booster of the trumpeter's reputation. Dorham also recorded several sessions as a sideman in 1961, two of which were later reissued by Black Lion under his name as West 42nd Street and Osmosis, although they were really led by saxophonist Rocky Boyd and drummer Dave Bailey respectively.
His most significant musical relationship of the period was the one which developed with the up and coming young saxophonist Joe Henderson, newly signed to Blue Note in 1963. It spanned six albums in 1963-64, all for Blue Note: Dorham's Una Mas and Trompeta Toccata, Henderson's Page One (which featured the first recording of 'Blue Bossa'), Our Thing and In ‘n Out, and Andrew Hill's Point of Departure, a key record of the era. Both Henderson and Hill will be dealt with in the next book in this sequence, and space does not permit a detailed consideration of these albums here, but they are essential to a full picture of the trumpeter's music in the last decade of his career. He was clearly well aware of the new currents flowing through jazz, and adapts comfortably within the more progressive frameworks generated by musicians like Hill and Eric Dolphy on Point of Departure, and McCoy Tyner, Pete LaRoca and Elvin Jones on the Henderson albums.
The session for Una Mas on 1 April, 1963 was Joe Henderson's first ever record date. Dorham had taken the saxophonist under his wing, and Henderson remained a staunch admirer when I spoke to him about his big band album in 1996, a project which had its roots in a rehearsal band he co-led with Dorham three decades earlier. Henderson acknowledged the trumpeter's role in his own development, placing him alongside Horace Silver and Miles Davis in that regard, and added that'Kenny was one of the most important creators around, and yet you hardly ever hear his name anymore'. The quintet also featured Herbie Hancock on piano, Butch Warren on bass, and drummer Tony Williams, in a solid session which contained three original tunes by Dorham, the Brazilian influenced 'Una Mas' and 'Sao Paulo' and the more boppish 'Straight Ahead', as well as a tender evocation of Lerner-Loewe's 'If Ever I Would Leave You'.
Short Story and Scandia Skies, made in Copenhagen for Steeplechase in December, 1963, are less impressive, although the label gathered an interesting group of musicians for the dates, including the mercurial Catalan pianist Tete Montoliu and bassist Niels-Henning 0rsted Pedersen, as well as a second trumpet or flugelhorn (Allan Botschinsky on Short Story, Rolf Ericson on Scandia Skies) rather than saxophone. Dorham's playing often sounds routine, both in technical terms and degree of emotional commitment.
His final date for Blue Note, Trompeta Toccata, was made nine months later, on 4 September, 1964, with Henderson on tenor, Tommy Flanagan on piano, Richard Davis on bass, and Albert 'Tootie' Heath on drums. The long title track moves away from standard song form entirely, using a rubato introduction followed by a 20-bar structure in flowing 6/8 time, which the players treat freely in terms of phrase lengths. The music is also distant from hard bop, but reflects Dorham's interest in both classical and Latin music, as well as something of the new harmonic freedoms current in the jazz of the time, led by John Coltrane, whose approach is echoed in Henderson's solo. Both 'Night Watch' and 'The Fox' are framed in more conventional jazz structures, while Henderson supplied his infectious Latin groove tune 'Mamacita'. The album has some fine moments, but it is arguably the least compelling of his records for the label.
It is ironic that Leonard Feather's sleeve note concludes with Dorham saying that there is 'more and more I feel I can do. And these days, it strikes me that the sky's the limit.’ Despite that confident assertion, Trompeta Toccata was his last significant outing as a leader. Although he was only forty, the long anticipated major breakthrough had not arrived, and jazz fashions were set to change again as the decade progressed, leaving him swimming against the tide.
He co-led a rehearsal big band with Joe Henderson for a year or so from mid-1966, but his later work was mainly as a sideman, including dates with Cedar Walton and Detroit pianist Barry Harris for Prestige, and an intriguing session led by Cecil Payne in December, 1968, issued as Zodiac: The Music of Cecil Payne on Strata East. Dorham's contributions to an excellent date dispel any notion that he was even remotely a spent force, and the prompting of a band which included pianist Wynton Kelly alongside Wilbur Ware on bass and Tootie Heath on drums drive the trumpeter to the most impressive playing on disc of his later years.
Dorham also did some reviewing for Down Beat, and, as he told Art Taylor in 1971, planned to concentrate his energies on education rather than performing. He died from kidney disease on 5 December, 1972, in New York. Art Blakey described him as the uncrowned king of modern jazz, and if not quite that, his best work is conclusive evidence of his right to be regarded as one of the finest players and composers of his era.”
"In retrospect, can you imagine the enormity of Tal’s accomplishment? Here’s someone who played a little hillbilly guitar and had no formal musical training who altered his work schedule as a sign painter so that he could listen to nightly radio broadcasts and transcribe by ear Charlie Christian guitar solos and who, after hearing pianist Art Tatum’s broadcasts, would later buy all the Art Tatum records he could lay his hands on to learn these note-by-note and play them on a guitar?! This latter feat involved a pianist whose solos were so brimming full of ideas and were played so speedily that when other pianists heard him on radio or via records for the first time, these pianists thought that they were listening to two pianists!! The scale of Tal’s achievements boggles the mind, and this from a guitarist who, shy to begin with, later became so embarrassed because he couldn’t read music that the magnitude of what he had achieved was self-effaced to a point that forced him to retire from playing music in public for long periods of time. What a way to treat genius." - The editorial staff at JazzProfiles.
Gary Giddins - "Rhythm-a-ning"
"My intuition tells me that innovation isn't this generation's fate...the neoclassicists have a task no less valuable than innovation: sustenance. [M]usicians such as Marsalis are needed to restore order, replenish melody, revitalize the beat, loot the tradition for whatever works, and expand the audience. That way we'll be all the hungrier for the next incursion of genuine avant-gardists..." (161)
Doug Ramsey of Rifftides on JazzProfiles
"Steve Cerra is the proprietor of the endlessly informative and entertaining JazzProfiles. ... Cerra excels at creating a montage of portraits and constructing them into videos that serve as musical examples of his features."
in New
York City. I heard somebody say once.
Yeah...if you can't make it
in New
York City, man, you can't make
it nowhere.
So where do people come to
scuffle? Right here.
Think you can lick it? Get to the wicket. Buy you a ticket. Go! New
York, N.Y.,
a city so nice. They had to name it twice. It may seem like a cold town,
but man. let me tell you,
it's a soul town.
It ain't a bit hard to find
someone who's lonesome or forlorn here...
But it's like findin' a
needle in a haystack to find somebody who was born here.
New York, N.Y., a somethin'
else town, all right!
East side, west side, uptown,
downtown.
There's one thing all New
York City has and that's Jazz.
A while ago, there were cats
readin' while cats played jazz behind them, but wasn't nothin' happening, so
the musicians cooked right on like they didn't even mind them.
I wrote the shortest jazz
poem ever heard.
Nothin' about lovin' and
kissin'...
One word...LISTEN!!”
- Jon Hendricks, vocalese introduction to Manhattan
With Milt Hinton’s
string bass and Charlie Persip playing brushes on snare drum in the background,
Jon speaks these poem-like lyrics on Manhattan, the opening track of George Russell’s album
New
York,
New
York[Decca DL
9116].
Each time I listen
to Jon’s vocalese, the orchestral arrangement and the individual solos on this
track, I am enthralled anew by the way all of these “moving parts” fit together
so smoothly.
It is a
magnificent piece of Jazz scoring.
Manhattanruns over 10 minutes and George uses the
space well allowing for generous solos by trombonists Bob Brookmeyer and Frank
Rehak, pianist Bill Evans, tenor saxophonist John Coltrane and trumpeter Art
Farmer to be interspersed throughout his consistently swinging arrangement.
George’s chart is
constructed in segments which serve to launch each soloist. The band then drops
out leaving the soloist accompanied only by the Milt Hinton’s walking bass line
for a chorus. The drummer joins in playing double time for the second chorus
with the band returning to provide a background until the next solo is propelled
forward.
Recorded in 1958,
the arrangements on New York, New
Yorkwere the
first extensive showcasing of George system of voicing instruments which he
termed – “The Lydian Concept of Tonal Organization.”
In his Visions
of Jazz: The First Century, Gary Giddins provides the following
background to, and description of, George Russell’s Lydian Concept of Tonal
Organization:
“Cycles and cycles
within cycles are the meat of the matter. One could argue that jazz is a music
based on cyclical motion, a strictly defined chorus, usually twelve or
thirty-two measures, repeated until a musical statement has been made. Cycles
are fomented by radical evolutionary movements, each of which contains the
seeds of its own destruction. One example: during the ferment of jazz activity
in the '40s, when modern jazz, or bebop, was born, the intoxicating harmonic
ingenuity of Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie blinded sympathetic fans from
recognizing the anti-harmonic implications of George Russell's modal composition,
Cubana Be/Cubana Bop written for
Gillespie's orchestra. In a day when Thelonious Monk's clattering minor seconds
and rhythmic displacements were dismissed as the fumblings of a charlatan,
Russell's work was appreciated as something of a sui generis novelty.
Russell codified
the modal approach to harmony (using scales instead of chords) in a theoretical
treatise that he says was inspired by a casual remark the eighteen-year-old Miles
Davis made to him in 1944: “Miles said that he wanted to learn all the changes
and I reasoned that he might try to find the closest scale for every chord.’
His concept, published as the Lydian
Chromatic Concept of Tonal Organization, is based on a perfect cycle of
fifths generated by the Lydian mode, which sounds more complicated than it is.
Russell was exploring relationships between chords and scales that would foster
a fresh approach to harmony. Davis popularized those liberating ideas in
recordings like Kind of Blue, undermining the entire harmonic foundation of
bop that had inspired him and Russell in the first place.” [pp.5-6]
Richard Cook and
Brian Morton explain Russell’s achievement this way in their Penguin
Guide to Jazz on CD, 6th Ed.:
However important
Russell's theories are, they are even now not securely understood. Sometimes
falsely identified with the original Greek Lydian mode, The Lydian Chromatic Concept is not the same at all. In diatonic
terms, it represents the progression F to F on the piano's white keys; it also
confronts the diabolic tritone, the diabolus
in musica, which had haunted Western composers from Bach to Beethoven.
Russell's
conception assimilated modal writing to the extreme chromaticism of modern
music. By converting chords into scales and overlaying one scale on another, it
allowed improvisers to work in the hard-to-define area between non-tonality and
polytonality. Like all great theoreticians, Russell worked analytically rather
than synthetically, basing his ideas on how jazz actually was, not on how it
could be made to conform with traditional principles of Western harmony. Working
from within jazz's often tacit organizational principles, Russell's fundamental
concern was the relationship between formal scoring and improvisation, giving
the first the freedom of the second and, freeing the second from being
literally esoteric, 'outside' some supposed norm. [pp 1282-83].
In his Jazz
Retrospect, Max Harrison offers the following insights into Russell’s
accomplishment:
Simply, he
examined the entire harmonic resources of Western music, saw and systematized
an entirely fresh set of relationships that had always been present within the
traditional framework and which, as it were, only awaited discovery. Far from
being a constricting set of regulations, Russell's precepts made available
resources whose full possibilities, in the composer John Benson Brooks's words,
‘may take as much as a century to work out’. And according to Art Farmer,
trumpeter on many of these discs, the Lydian Concept ‘opens the doors to
countless means of melodic expression.
It also dispels
many of the don'ts and can'ts that, to various degrees, have been imposed on
the improviser through the study of traditional harmony.’ Of course, it is
necessary to remember Schoenberg's words, ‘ideas
can only be honored by one who has some of his own.’ [emphasis, mine]
That is to say
Russell offers no magic formula to transform mediocre soloists into good ones.
But the gifted improviser is not the only one to benefit. These investigations
led Russell to produce music that has strong individuality yet which is very
subtle, that teems with invention but is absolutely consistent stylistically.
And in the sheer variety of his thematic materials he surpasses all Jazz
composers except Duke Ellington. [pp. 58-59; paragraphing modified].
In Jazz
Matters: Reflections on the Music and Some Of Its Makers, Doug Ramsey
offers this essay on George’s work which he originally prepared in 1966 to air
on Jazz Review, a program that Doug
wrote, produced and broadcast on WDSU-FM and WDSU-AM in New Orleans:
“Over the next few
programs we're going to consider the recorded work of George Russell, not only
because his music is interesting, absorbing, listening, but because of his
influence on the development of jazz in the sixties. Russell's impact, I
believe, is more profound and widespread than is generally recognized, even by
many musicians. It may well develop that he is having as great an effect on the
course of jazz as any composer or arranger at work today, as important as that
of such imitated innovators as John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman.
Russell believes
that jazz must develop on its own terms, from within. He believes that to
borrow the concepts of classical music and force jazz into the mold of the
classical tradition results in something perhaps interesting, perhaps Third
Stream music, but not jazz. Faced with this conviction that jazz musicians must
look to jazz for their means of growth, Russell set about creating a framework
within which to work. In 1953 he completed his Lydian Concept of Tonal Organization.
The system is built on what he calls pan-tonality, bypassing the atonal ground
covered by modern classical composers and making great use of chromaticism.
Russell explains that pan-tonality allows the writer and the improviser to retain
the scale-based nature of the folk music in which jazz has its roots, yet have
the freedom of being in a number of tonalities at once. Hence, pan-tonality.
That's a brief and
far from complete summary of Russell's theory, on which he worked for ten
years. It's all in his book, The Lydian Chromatic Concept for Jazz
Improvisation, published by Concept Publishing Company.
Freedom within
restrictions, however broad.
Discipline.
Improvising
Russell's way demands great technical skill. Listening to his recordings, one
is struck by the virtuoso nature of the players. …. All that talk about
concepts and theories and pan-tonality and chromaticism may have led you to
expect something dry and formidable. On the contrary, there's a sense of fun
and airiness in the music. The humor is subtle and, I should add, more evident
after several hearings. …
In 1959 there was
a good deal of thought being given to the directions jazz would take and strong
indications that one important departure would be along the path of freedom.
Russell was an
invaluable guide along that path, providing the player a means of achieving
greater freedom of expression without falling into licentiousness. The means
was his Lydian Concept of Tonal Organization. It gave the improviser a
theoretical base from which to play with fewer harmonic restrictions than in be
bop. Even musicians who have never studied the theory have been influenced by
it because it is a spirit that has moved through the music. In the close
community of jazz musicians, new ideas spread rapidly. So, in a tangible sense,
this was one of the first recordings of the so-called New Thing. It is a good
demonstration of Russell's theory. But, theories aside, it is delightful
music.” [pp. 266-267 and 269].
Particularly
germane to New
York,
New
Yorkis the
following commentary by Burt Korall which served as the liner notes to the
original LP:
“New York, N. Y.... the most fascinating address.
New York, N. Y. is a world unto itself, a world of tumult and
silence, love and hate, towering buildings and tenements, big people and
small... and the gradations between.
New York, N. Y. is
a look up and live town, or a sigh, cry, die town; the big juicy apple that
tempts and magnetizes, nourishes or consumes, but is never forgotten.
New York, N. Y. has a face of concrete that menaces those who have
not found the key to her heart. And she is a woman—fickle, sometimes cold, warm
to those who know her ways. It takes time to know and love her. She is not
easy.
New York, N. Y. is
always on the move; motion is native to her torso, and whether good or bad,
profitable or not, it's there, day and night, like the beat of a tom-tom or a
heart — faster by day, slower by night; pushing, easing time along.
New York, N. Y. has many moods. She broods and all her glitter is
but a well spring for sadness. She is just as frequently happy, even frivolous,
fresh and new, depending on your view.
New York, N. Y. is a blues/dues town. She can take and forsake ...
and without conscience. In no time, her beauty can become unforgivable to
those to whom she yields nothing.
New York, N. Y., a compound of all those that live within her arms,
is liberal and bigoted, probing and disinterested. She is affected, phony, and
unstintingly real. All these things and more ...
She is rich and
poor—Sutton Place and Harlem, Madison Avenue and "The Village", Park
Avenue and "Hell's Kitchen"; Brooklyn, the Bronx and Staten Island,
too; all the boroughs and sections, streets and avenues, in sum, are New York,
N. Y. ... and contribute to her heart, body and soul.
In essence, New
York, N. Y. is people; each one important, each one in need of the other.
* * * *
New York, N. Y. is
filled with the sounds of jazz.
Jazz musicians
come pouring into New York, N. Y. ‘Let's go to the Apple, man, that's where it is,’
they cry, not realizing that the taste of it is reserved for only the equipped.
Many return to their home hamlets disappointed; some, more than a little
changed for being here.
New York, N. Y. is a cruel mistress. Bring her something new and she
is torn between a desire to understand and an inclination to resist change.
‘Prove it!’ she tauntingly says to those who come to her bearing the future in
their hands.
‘New York, N. Y. is a challenge,’ claims composer-arranger
George Russell. ‘Youth comes here to accept the challenge.’
‘I've had a
running love affair with this town since I first saw her as a child,’ he
continued. "I'd rather sink here than swim anywhere else."
Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, on June 23, 1923, Russell's first manifestations of
interest in music occurred in early adolescence. At 15, he was earning his
living as a jazz drummer in a Cincinnati night club. At 17, on scholarship at WilberforceUniversity in Ohio, he was studying music and playing with The Collegians, the college dance/jazz
band.
Shortly after his
twentieth birthday, Russell left school, joined the Benny Carter band on drums,
and came to New York.
‘I got to hear Max
Roach. He was too much,’ Russell explained. ‘Max had it all on drums. I decided
that writing was my field.’
Returning home to Cincinnati determined to learn all he could about
writing, Russell culled as much as he could from jazz writers around town. Proceeding
by the ‘trial and error’ method, the budding writer used the house band at the
old Cotton Club as a laboratory for
his work. The band would play his arrangements and compositions, allowing him
to err and correct, to progress.
Benny Carter was
the first person of significance to take an interest in Russell's writing. In
the course of one of his tours through Ohio, Carter passed through Cincinnati, heard one of Russell's compositions,
liked it. and made a request for an arrangement of it for his band.
‘It took me five
months and a trip to Chicago,’ Russell recalled in an interview with Down Beat Magazine, ‘but
I finally caught the band at a downtown theatre, and they rehearsed it. Benny
was very happy with it, and on top of that he paid me for it.’
On recommendation,
the young writer then wrote for Earl Hines and shows at the Rhumboogie and El Grotto clubs in Chicago.
In 1945, the
height of the modern revolution in jazz, everybody was talking about Parker,
Gillespie, Powell and Monk etc. and 52nd Street, the center of it all. All who
could came to New York to see and hear. Some came to learn.
George Russell
arrived in New York in 1945. He took a room on 48th Street and Sixth Avenue, four blocks from "Swing Street." He met and became closely
associated with many of the key figures creating the upheaval. Miles Davis,
Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker and Max Roach, among others, were frequent
visitors at his lodgings.
‘I began writing
for Dizzy's big band,’ Russell reports. ‘I was learning. Just being on the scene
and listening helped so much.’
Unexpectedly,
illness interfered as the composer-arranger was getting his start with Dizzy's
band, and he entered the hospital. Unfortunate as illnesses are, this one
cannot be considered in a completely negative fashion. During the 16 months
spent in a hospital in the Bronx,
Russell evaluated his position, found himself in need of further education, and
began an intensive research into tonality. This resulted in the coming into
existence of elements of his Lydian
Concept of Tonal Organization, a thesis that would eventually free him,
lend the facility for full expression.
Upon discharge
from the hospital, Russell accepted an invitation to live at the home of Max
Roach. He continued his investigations, staying on nearly a year.
‘While working on
my theory,’ says Russell, ‘I lived all 'round town—East Side, West Side. John
Lewis and I roomed together for a time. He helped me to truly appreciate
traditional classical music.’
Until the Lydian
thesis was completed, Russell composed infrequently, and for short periods, at that.
He would run into problems while working within his concept that had to be
ironed out before he could proceed further. As progression was made toward his
ultimate goal of freedom within his own set of disciplines, he became more and
more the master of his materials.
Today, Russell is
not bothered by composing problems for long; he is able to make any needed
adjustments within his concept. Through extended study of music and himself,
the composer has found his way into the open.
'My Lydian concept
has changed my whole mode of life,’ Russell explained. "It took years, but
I now feel that I function logically. At last, I'm organized and ready. I
realize that music, like life, must have an inner logic. George Endrey, a
scientist friend of mine, taught me how mathematics relates to life and music.
Without him, I would never have understood logic for what it is.’
‘There are many
others to whom I owe a great deal. The Gil Evans composer conclave of 1949-50,
composed of Gil, Gerry Mulligan, John Lewis, John Carisi and myself, opened my
eyes to many things. Gil and John are special friends and have exercised more
than their share of influence upon me. Composers Alban Berg, Bela Bartok, Igor
Stravinsky and Stefan Wolpe are just a few of the others who have helped shape
my thinking.’
Reviewing his
output before completion of the Lydian
Concept of Tonal Organization in 1953, we realize that the composer had a
few fruitful periods. The results are memorable.
In 1947, he penned
Cubano Be and Cubano Bop, a two part composition that successfully combined
modern jazz and Afro-Cuban rhythms, for the Dizzy Gillespie orchestra. Bird In
Igor's Yard came off his writing desk in 1949. It was performed and recorded by
the Buddy DeFranco big band. Ezzthetic
and Odjenar were created for Lee
Konitz around the same time.
‘I was hardly
prolific,’ commented the composer. ‘Four compositions and a few arrangements
for dance bands — Shaw, Thornhill and Charlie Ventura — is not much to show for
six years, but I felt that I had to finish my thesis before I could say what I
wanted to.’
Keeping body and
soul together by working a variety of jobs in New York, N. Y., an ever evolving knowledge of self
and the importance of his work, coated his senses and dulled extraneous
pressures and annoyances.
In 1955, after two
years of experimental writing employing all the facilities of his concept,
Russell felt ready to make a statement. Jack Lewis, a jazz adventurer, provided
the recording circumstance. Reception for the composer's first statement of
policy was tremendously encouraging. Ground, at last, had been broken.
A commission to
write an original composition for the Brandeis Music Festival, which garnered
kudos for its author, followed. Offers to score albums for important jazz
artists began to trickle in. An invitation to teach at the School of Jazz in Lenox, Massachusetts was extended and accepted.
George Russell's
presence on the American musical scene is being felt; the avenues for his
talent, only beginning to present themselves.
* * * *
The extended
musical statement herein is New York, N. Y. as George Russell sees, hears and
feels it. In a sense, it is an expression of this composer's belief in the
city, the city he feels is symbolic of life and culture.
The city is drawn
in terms native to Russell's basic orientation. He is a jazz writer. His
concept was born of jazz and its needs.
It was his
intention to showcase many of the important jazz soloists on the New York scene in this program. He did so, pulling
no punches in his writing, providing an intelligent, functional, dramatic frame
for the soloists. The framework is not arbitrary, but a thematically controlled
entity from beginning to end.
New York, N. Y. is important in that a statement of depth
and scope is made. Never self conscious, though often quite impressionistic, it
is challenging to the senses, yet has the feeling of emotional completeness.
A community
project notable for the love and enthusiasm of all the participants, New
York, N. Y. moves from old jazz territories to new and back again,
breaking the barriers of tonality, presenting the jazz orchestra in a truly
modern, linear sense, yet retains the earthy taste basic to the idiom.
An American
composer, only beginning to tap his resources, is revealed.”
In order to afford
you with an interesting vehicle to watch while listening to Manhattan, the opening track on George
Russell’s New York, New York, with the help of the ace graphics team at
CerraJazz LTD and the production facilities at
StudioCerra, I have created a montage of the cover art from nearly all of the
Jazz LP’s that Decca Records released, primarily in the 1950s.
Although it had
been a major label for Jazz during The Swing Era [circa 1930-1945], Decca was
never a “major player” on the modern Jazz scene in the USA. Therefore, many of the album covers in
the video may be relatively unknown to you.
What little of value or interest it may contain, this blog is my gift to my friends.
Google Translator
Much like the Universe, the miracle of Jazz lies in its variety. Hearing Jazz played by one musician or by one group is just that; hearing Jazz played once. Jazz is infinite and only falls into two, broad categories: good Jazz and bad Jazz. We only feature the former on JazzProfiles.
George Wallington Quintet - "In Sallah" [Mose Allison]
"Gracias" by Frank Foster
John Lewis/Grand Encounter - "2 Degrees East, Three Degrees West"
Grant Green - "The Kicker"
Mulgrew Miller - "Comes Sunday"
JazzProfiles Mission Statment
A celebration of Jazz in its myriad manifestations.
The contributions
that Orrin Keepnews and Gene Lees have made to Jazz over the past fifty years are immense and go
well beyond anything that can be described in this brief introduction. Orrin’s work in recording and reissuing the
music and Gene’s in writing about it have made the world of Jazz a far richer
place because they devoted so much of their talent and creative genius to it.
Teaming up to
develop and describe this retrospective of Jeri Southern’s early recordings at
Decca is certainly an indication of the respect and admiration that Orrin and
Gene have for this member of the Jazz family, a female vocalist who was not
accorded enough of either in her lifetime.
When the likes of
Orrin Keepnews and Gene Lees have so much praise to offer about the song stylings of Jeri
Southern, the least I can do is to listen to them and to recommend that you do
so as well.
The Very Thought of You: The Decca Years, 1951-1957 [Decca GRP – 671]
“Here is a good
clear look at one of the very best singers to emerge from the Pop/Jazz/Show-tune musical world that flourished in the mid-century years. By now this era can
seem incredibly long ago and far away, but at its strongest it still retains
all of its power to charm us and move us - and to demonstrate that, in the best
of hands, this area of popular music is a true art form.
It has been my
pleasure to work on this project with Kathryn King - a long-time friend with a
solid track record of her own as a record producer, who has the considerable
added incentive of being the daughter of the artist who is heard here in
retrospect. Jeri Southern began her significant recording career with the half-dozen
years at Decca from which this CD is drawn, As we picked our way through an
extensive body of music, finding that our individual lists of preferred songs
were looking remarkably similar, it did seem best to follow chronology in a
general way, but without being excessive about it. As a result, tempo and
instrumentation and the emotional content of these songs have led to a program
that seems to pretty much set is own pace.
I knew Jeri
Southern hardly at all; I only met her after she had ended her singing career.
But I first heard her a long time ago, and have been fascinated over the years
by what I consider to be a striking example of one of the major show-business
paradoxes. This woman, a warm-voiced, sensitive, intelligent interpreter of the wonderful repertoire that a lot of
us insist on capitalizing as The Great American Song Book, had all the
qualities that I associate with two closely allied, important and consistently
undervalued fields: being a jazz singer and being what for want of a better name
is often called a cabaret singer. In Jeri's case this included the helpful fact
that she was an excellent musician [among some attributes that in my view she
shares with Carmen McRae is that she may well have been her own best
accompanist]. But like so many of the best qualified female singers of the
pre-rock days of the Fifties and early Sixties, she was typecast into a ‘pop
vocalist’ category and as a result suffered through deliberate (although
presumably quite well-intentioned) efforts to make her sound like everyone else
and concentrate on the kind of lower-level Tin Pan Alley music that only a
song-plugger or a music publisher could love.
The only two women
I can think of who entirely fought their way through that mess and emerged as
universally acknowledged major artists were obviously very strong, very tough,
and supported by even tougher friends and associates. Ella Fitzgerald, who of
course had Norman Granz as her all-American blocking back; and the totally
indomitable Peggy Lee [who was a good friend of Jeri’s and, I’m inclined to
suspect, would have been her role model if Ms. Southern had by nature been a
more hard-shelled personality]. But that was not the way it worked out for
Jeri; it should realty not be surprising to learn that her relatively early
retreat from the show biz battlefront was basically the result of her being -
to apply a phrase usually used to describe a jazz musician whose work goes
sailing way over the heads of his audience – “too hip for the room.”
Way back when I first
heard this voice, I was in Chicago visiting a World War II army buddy - it
couldn’t have been past the very beginning of the Fifties, maybe earlier. He
and his wife insisted on my listening to the laidback late night disc jockey
who was The Man of the moment, Dave Garroway, soon to become one of the very first of the star night
time (and subsequently early morning) casual television hosts. But all that lay
ahead. What Garroway was doing at that particular time was shouting the praises
of a great young locally-based singer by the name of Jeri Southern.
I became a fan at
first hearing, then admittedly cooled off as her career seemed to be going in
directions that I didn’t care for – you’ll note that we have not included one
of her most popular recordings, a folksong tear-jerker called "Scarlet
Ribbons.” Consequently, it took me much too long to become aware of some
important factors. One was that her voice remained a great instrument, and
another that she was singing a very high percentage of the right kind of songs
- merely note in passing that the
writers represented here include Rodgers and Hart [four times], Cafe Porter
[twice], Jerome Kerr [two more] and Kurt Weill.
It also seems
apparent that she was doing battle energetically and in two ways against the
kind of arrangements that were all too often in deadly vogue in those days. For
one, in a period when a singer’s worth seemed to be measured by the size of the
accompanying orchestra, she nevertheless succeeded fairly often in working on
records in much the same setting as she would appear in clubs: backed only by a
rhythm section, which on five of these numbers is led by guitarist/arranger Dave Barbour [long and closely a collaborator
with Peggy Lee). It’s a formula that at times even allows her to be the piano
player - check out the Southern solos on
Ray Noble's I HADN'T ANYONE ‘TILL YOU and her own I DON T KNOW WHERE TO TURN. And secondly, even
when the writing behind her was lush and potentially overbearing, someone --
perhaps the artist herself, or a properly- motivated manager or other
colleague - often was able to keep the
background writing under control. Or, when necessary, she seems to have been
able simply to overcome it. I refer to my own listening notes on possibly my
personal favorite in this collection, the magnificent Kurt Weill/Ira Gershwin
MY SHIP. It was a specific and private comment, not intended for publication,
but it now strikes me as quiet generally applicable to this compilation, and
indeed as a summation of the artistry of Jeri Southern. “The strings are a
matter of taste I wrote, "but it is
such a great performance of a great song.”
-0rrin
Keepnews
Remembering Jeri – Gene
Lees
"Once upon a time, America was blessed with any number of small
nightclubs that featured excellent singers singing excellent songs, and even
the' big record companies were interested in recording them. Some of the best
of them played piano, ranging from the competent to the excellent, Most of them
were women, and there was a glamour about them, superb singers such as Betty
Bennett, Irene Kral, Ethel Ennis, Marge Dodson, Lurlean Hunter, Audrey Morris,
Shirley Horn, and even regional singers, such as Kiz Harp of Dallas. Many of
them are forgotten now; Shirley Horn alone has enjoyed a resurgence.
They were
sometimes called jazz singers, although they were no such thing, or torch
singers a term I found demeaning, not to mention horrendously inaccurate. Male
singers were with equal condescension from an ignorant lay press called
crooners.
The songs they sang
were drawn from that superb classic repertoire that grew up in the United
States between roughly 1920 and the 1950s, and had any of us been equipped with
foresight, we’d have known that the era was ending, doomed by “How Much is that
Doggie in the Window?” and “Papa Loves Mambo” and “Music Music Music “even
before the rise of Bill Haley and His Comets, Elvis Presley, arid the Rolling
Stones.
Of all these
singers, one of the greatest was Jeri Southern, born Genevieve Lillian Hering
near Royal, Nebraska on August 5, 1926, the baby in a family of two boys and
three girls. Her grandfather had come from Germany in 1868, and in 1879 built a water-powered
mill on Verdigris Creek. His sons and grandsons, including Jeri’s father,
worked there. I am indebted to Jeri’s sister, Helen Meuwissen), for this
information about Jeri’s early life.
“She could play
the piano by ear when she was three, Helen said. She started studying at six. I
don t think she ever quit taking lessons. (I car confirm this Jeri was doing
some formal study of piano to the end of her life.) She went to Notre DameAcademy in Omaha, and always credited the nuns there for
her background. She took voice lessons in Omaha with Harry Cooper. It was her desire to be
a classical singer.”
Jeri also studied
classical piano in Omaha with a much beloved teacher, Karl Tunberg. But her ambitions in
the classical world evaporated one evening when she walked into a nightclub and
heard a pianist playing jazz. She loved this music, and the experience changed
her life. After high school graduation, she moved to Chicago.
She started
playing standards in clubs, and got more experience as a pianist in local Chicago big bands. Eventually, as her reputation
grew, she was advised that she could make more money if she would sing, a
standard casting for women pianists in those days: women were not supposed to
be instrumentalists, they were supposed to sing, or, just maybe, play the harp.
So she did start to sing, and accompanied herself at the piano. She abandoned
her trained operatic voice and began singing in her speaking voice, which had a
smoky sound, with a very soft enunciation and a haunting intimacy. And her
career took off.
Her greatest
popularity was in the 1950s. The first of her records I heard was YOU BETTER GO
NOW, the oldest track on this CD. I was blown
away by it: the simplicity, the exquisite lack of affectation or mannerism. She
recorded it for Decca in late 1951, just after she turned 25. She then turned
out a series of superb performances for Decca, through to the Rodgers and Hart
gems she recorded November 26, 1957: YOU'RE NEARER and NOBODY’S HEART. I met
Jeri probably two years later, in 1959. She eventually left Decca and went on
to record for other labels.
Unlike many
performers, her stage career represented a great struggle for Jeri. First, she
was extremely shy. I remember her telling me during our Chicago friendship that the first time she arrived
at a nightclub and saw her name on the marquee, it terrified her. She deeply
felt the responsibility of drawing and pleasing an audience – she was
intimidated by the look of expectation in their eyes.
There are
performers who passionately crave the audience. They will climb over
footlights, climb over the tables, do anything to claim the audience’s attention
and, I suppose, love – or the illusion of love. Jeri wasn’t like that. She
simply loved the music. The music was everything, She was almost too much a
musician, and certainty a perfectionist. Her philosophy of performing was the
diametrical opposite of Carmen McRae's, who not only wouldn't do a song the
same way twice, but probably couldn’t remember how she did it the last time.
Jeri worked on interpretation until she got it ‘right,' which is to say the way
she wanted it. She would then stick with her chosen interpretation. She was
also disinterested in scat singing. I have noticed an interesting thing about
those with the harmonic and instrumental skills to scat-sing - they often don’t
and won’t do it. Nat Cole was a classic example of this fidelity to the
original melody; so was Jeri.
As her reputation
grew, her handlers – the managers, agents, publicists, record company
executives - set out to make her into a pop star. Certainty with her Germanic
beauty, she had the basic material for it. They dressed her in fancy
gowns. They took her away from her
beloved piano and stood her in front of a microphone with some else to play for
her. Nothing could have been more diabolically designed to send her fleeing
from the spotlight. And so, like Jo
Stafford [and for the record, Greta Garbo, Doris Day, and others], she simply
quit. She walked away from the business and the discomfort it brought her.
But the
musicianship was always there, and she took to teaching. She wrote a textbook, Interpreting
Popular Music at the Keyboard. She enjoyed composing, and over the years
wrote pop songs with various partners [one of which, I Don’t Know Where to Turn is included here], and even ventured
into other genres like orchestrating film scores and writing classical songs.
I used to drop by
to visit her every once in a white at her apartment in Hollywood. Illustrating some point in a discussion
of this song or that, she would go to the piano and play and sing for me. She
simply got better throughout her life, and during these occasional private
performances, I could only shake my head and think what the world was missing.
Her piano playing in those last years was remarkable. It had grown richer
harmonically, and the tone had evolved into a dark golden sound.
She was working on
a book of piano arrangements of songs by her friend Peggy Lee, also a friend of
mine. One sunny afternoon a few years age, I telephoned Peggy. How re you
doing? I began.
‘I’m very sad,’
she said. ‘Jeri Southern died this morning.’
As I learned later,
she succumbed to double pneumonia. The date was August 4, 1991. The next day, August 5, she would have
turned sixty-five.
Once she told me
that during those Chicago years, she considered me her closest friend in the world. It is an
honor I will not forget. I truly loved Jeri, not only the singer but the person
inside who through music so diffidently allowed us glimpses into her
all-too-sensitive soul.”
-Gene Lees
Jeri Southern at
Home
"Jeri Southern was
essentially an intensely private person whose talent for music thrust her into
a public career. Since Gene Lees and Orrin Keepnews have done such a fine job of describing my
mother's public life, I thought it would be of interest to her still devoted
audience to learn something of her private life. as I knew it.
My mothers life
was unusual in a number of respects, not the least of which was the fact that a
great deal happened to her at a very early age. She started performing as a
pianist while still in her teens, moved from Nebraska to Chicago, developed a
following there, married, signed a record deal, had a baby, and had her first
great commercial success as a recording artist, all by the time she was 25. At
36 she retired from her public career. For the next 30 years her time was as
much taken up with music as it had been before, but as a teacher, a writer and
a composer - she never went back to performing.
Shortly after
recording YOU BETTER GO NOW, my mother moved from Chicago to Los Angeles, where she lived for the rest of her life.
Taking the title of one of the songs she recorded perhaps a little too closely
to heart ( Married I Can Always Get"), she married four times; three of
her husbands were musicians, one a radio der5onatity. My earliest memories are
from the house we had in Malibu, a wonderful place right on the water,
where she and I would take daily "walks' with our hyperactive Irish
Setter. The intellectual pursuits, the preoccupation, the pleasures my mother
enjoyed at the Malibu house were the ones she carried with her throughout her Life – she
loved reading, exploring the whole dimension of the mind, summoning the
restorative powers of the sun, and most of all, playing the piano.
She always
practiced classical pieces, although she never performed them. Some of her
favorite things to play were Beethoven sonatas, Grieg’s HolbergSuite, Debussy’s Images, and in later years the Brahms Intermezzi. She would also compose and improvise
at the piano. Because she suffered from what could only be described as a
crippling case of performance anxiety, she hated to be observed while she
played, and only really enjoyed herself when she thought that no one was
listening. So it was that I got in the habit of sneaking
She had the most
exquisite command of harmony, so that
when she played a tune, she would basically use it as a launching pad for an
extended improvisation which often went very far afield harmonically. Sometimes, as I sat surreptitiously
listening to these explorations of hers, I would be certain she could never
figure out how to get back to the
original key of the piece, but she
always did, and in the most spectacular way, with subtle and elegant voice
leading and chord progressions that were simply stunning. For a period of years
she also studied guitar with a fuzzy-voiced Italian whose greatest contribution
to our lives, notwithstanding the guitar lessons was probably the killer
spaghetti sauce recipe she induced him, after much cajoling, to surrender.
When she was at
home she spent a lot of time reading. She was fascinated by the work of Carl
Jung, whose ideas became an essential part of her world view. She was also very
taken with Gurdjieff, and even got interested in numerology toward the end of
her life. She found it exciting to contemplate both the innumerable possibilities
of inner space, so to speak, and the complexities of the physical world.
Another pursuit of
her life at home was listening to the work of other singers. Her perfectionism
made her a tough audience, but there were a few to whom she would return again
and again. As one can immediately discern from listening to her recordings, she
felt that the most important criterion for a great singer was a reverence for
and communication of the lyric. She was not swayed by technical brilliance; the
only singer with astonishing vocal technique whose work she enjoyed was Mel
Torme, and that was because he delivers a lyric so well. She also loved Frank
Sinatra, Nat Cole, Tony Bennett, Peggy Lee, Lucy Reed, Jackie & Roy, and the Hi-Los.
Music was really
the playing field for her entire life. And with a few important exceptions, all
of her most important relationships were with musicians, with whom she could
share her opinions, her discoveries, her delights. Though she lived in Hollywood most of her adult life, she was not involved
in that world. To say that she was reticent socially would be a mammoth
understatement.
She hated parties
and social gatherings, and had the same small circle of friends the day she
died that she’d had for decades before. But for those of us who were privileged
to be close to her, she had that rarest of gifts - acceptance. She was a
loving, supportive, non-judgmental friend and mother. She loved her family and,
in an important part of her mind and heart, she never really left Nebraska.
I still miss her
so much, but it fulfills the dream of a Lifetime to be able to put this package together, to remind the world of what a wonderful singer she was."
- Kathryn King
Jazz Writers and Critics
Over the years, the editorial staff at JazzProfiles has benefited from the knowledge and opinions of a whole host of learned and informed Jazz writers and critics. Whenever possible, we attempt to repay this debt of gratitude by featuring their work on the blog. It’s our small way of thanking those whose writings have enriched our appreciation of the music and its makers.
Big Band Jazz from St. Petersburg, Russia
The Jazz Philharmonic Orchestra's CD is now available for order through CD Baby. Just click on the image above to be redirected to the CD Baby order information.
Remembering Gene Lees: 1928-2010
"In the past few years, I have been only too aware that primary sources of jazz history, and popular-music history, are being lost to us. The great masters, the men who were there, are slowly leaving us. I do not know who said, "Whenever anyone dies, a library burns." But it is true: almost anyone's experience is worth recording, even that of the most "ordinary" person. For the great unknown terrain of human history is not what the kings and famous men did — for much, though by no means all, of this was recorded, no matter how imperfectly — but how the "common" people lived. When Leonard Feather first came to the United States from England in the late 1930s, he was able to know most of his musical heroes, including Louis Armstrong and Jelly Roll Morton. By the end of the 1940s, Leonard knew everybody of significance in jazz from the founding figures to the young iconoclasts. And when I became actively involved in the jazz world in 1959, as editor of Down Beat, most of them were still there. I met most of them, and became friends with many, especially the young Turks more or less of my own age. I have lived to see them grow old (and sometimes not grow old), and die, their voices stilled forever. And so, in recent years, I have felt impelled to do what I can to get their memories down before they are lost, leading me to write what I think of as mini-biographies of these people. This has been the central task of the Jazzletter."
What Heaven Looks Like to a Drummer
"Jazz is only what you are." - Pops
Here at JazzProfiles, we make every effort to memorialize or honor those who have given us pleasure in the music and those whose writings have taught us more about it
Alain Gerber - "Portraits En Jazz"
"En Jazz comme alleurs, le plus difficile ne se distingue pas du plus simple: c'est de jouer comme on respite." "With Jazz as with anything else, the most difficult and the easiest are one and the same; the whole thing is to play as your breath." [translation by F. Le Guilloux]
A Note of Appreciation
"I am always amazed by the fact that intelligent people with better things to do offer me their time and expertise." Martin Cruz Smith, Three Stations, p. 243.
The editorial staff at JazzProfiles echoes this sentiment and wishes to express its gratitude to all those who assist with and contribute to its efforts in hosting this blog.
Something To Think About
"Writers about jazz are often notable for an ill-concealed jealousy and a sullen conviction that they alone know anything about the subject, that it is or should be their exclusive domain." - Gene Lees
The Drums in Jazz
"The basis of Jazz has always been rhythmic. The development of jazz and its innovation from the early days of ragtime at the turn of the century to the many highly sophisticated, exciting and challenging styles of jazz that can be heard today, has always derived from that basis. In the European concert tradition, the drums serve as a noise-making device, aiming to create additional intensity or dramatic fortissimo effects. They do not effect the continuity of the music and could even be left out without creating the breakdown of a Beethoven or a Tchaikovsky symphony. In Jazz the drumbeat is the ordering principal which creates the space within which the music happens. The beat of a swinging drummer forms the basis of the musical continuity of a jazz performance." - Introduction to the Properbox set - THE ENGINE ROOM: A History of Jazz Drumming from Storyville to 52nd Street."
The Piano in Jazz
"At the turn of the century-before the age of radio, television, high-fidelity recording, and computerized video games-the piano was one of the focal points of American family life in the home. The image of Mother seated at the keyboard with the children gathered around her and Father in his pinstriped shirt and suspenders looking on proudly epitomized the American dream. White American families purchased moderately priced "uprights" at the rate of nearly 250,000 per year. In black family life the piano was one of the first major purchases made by those who could afford it. Although they were less likely than white families to own instruments, blacks frequently heard piano music in churches, which were the center of community life, or in the urban "tonks" and "juke" houses (the ancestors of the jukebox). Indeed, black pianists were largely responsible for the instrument's acceptance as "part of the family." The music they played and composed during the late 1890's, eventually known as ragtime, was a major source of the piano's popularity in the two decades that followed."
Noal Cohen - Jazz Historian and Discographer
Noal is the owner-operator of one of the best Jazz discographies out there and he's recently made some changes and additions to his website which you can checkout directly by clicking on the photo of him.
"The hardest thing about this music is getting it from the head into the hands."
"The thing you need most to play this music is concentration." - Bud Shank
Search This Blog - Type in Name of Musician to Retrieve Previous Features Posted to the Blog
Loading...
Jazz Improvisation
“In a way, the entire act of music is mind put into sound. It has to go through some sort of physical medium in order to be heard. I chose the saxophone, but the whole issue is to have such control over the instrument and over what you hear that the instrument physically doesn't get in the way of visualizing sound. Technique to me means dealing with an instrument in the most efficient manner possible so that it's no more than peripheral to expression." – Ralph Bowen
Click on the above image to be redirected to David Palmquist of Canada and Carl Hallstrom of Sweden's new site featuring Steve Voce's marvelous essays on Duke and His Men.
Typographical Mistakes [aka "typos"]
I could claim that like the age-old Chinese newspaper trick, I include typos intentionally so that you will read more closely to find them.
The fact is that I edit the entire site myself and the years are rolling by.
Please excuse any mistakes that you find on the blog and just let me know about them so that they can be corrected.
I'd appreciate it.
The "Editorial Staff" at JazzProfiles
Victor Feldman with Louis Hayes and Sam Jones
Our five-part feature on Victor Feldman is archived on AllAboutJazz. Please click on the image to be redirected to the AAJ site.
Our Your Tube Video Channel
Click on the image to visit our YouTube channel and sample our videos.
Copyright
Copyright Protection
Any and all aspects of the presentations, features and photographs as set forth on this website are protected under The Copyright Act of 1976, Title 17, Chapter 1, Section 107 and no portion of these copyrighted presentations, features and photographs may be used in any fashion without the expressed, written permission of Steven A. Cerra or the guest authors and photographers whose work appears on this site. At JazzProfiles, we frequently cite or include information from other authors or sources. When works are copyrighted, we attempt to secure permission from the author(s) or copyright owner whenever possible. If you are a copyright owner or author and believe your work is being displayed here without your express permission or consent, please contact the webmaster at JazzProfiles, and we will be happy to remove the work(s) from the site.
I started playing drums when I was 14 years old and was largely self-taught until I began taking lessons from Victor Feldman and Larry Bunker during my last year in high school. Through their connections, I ultimately found work in movie and TV soundtrack recording, doing jingles and commercials and subbing for both of them at jazz gigs in the greater L.A. area. I was a member of a quintet that won the 1962 Intercollegiate Jazz Festival held at The Lighthouse Cafe. Everyone in the group was also voted "best" on their instrument. Performed with the Ray and Leroy Anthony Big Bands and the Les and Larry Elgart Orchestras. I also worked with Anita O'Day at Ye Little Club in Beverly Hills, CA, with Juliet Prowse on a number of occasions in Las Vegas and with Frank Zappa on his 1963 film score for "The World's Greatest Sinner" which starred cult actor and director Timothy Carey.