Saturday, June 30, 2012

The Metropole Orchestra "in Blue"

You don't hear much bass trumpet in Jazz. 


After listening to Bart van Lier's beautiful playing on the instrument on the following video featuring Rob Pronk's arrangement of Horace Silver's Peace, one wonders why it isn't played more often. 


Our thanks to a very special friend for making many of the images used in the video montage available to the crackerjack graphics team at CerraJazz LTD and to the production facilities at SudioCerra for putting the music and the slides together. [Click on the "X" to close out of the ads when they appear.]


Friday, June 29, 2012

“Tom Talbert: A Different Voice”


© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“The music of Tom Talbert is the essence of creative Jazz composition. Like all great artists, Talbert gains inspiration from his surroundings, both past and present, and molds it into his own musical voice. His music has been described as ‘a stylistic combination of Jazz, French Impressionism, abstraction and blowing.”
- Ken Poston, Director, Los Angeles Jazz Institute

“Since the mid-1940s, Tom Talbert has kept to his own path and his own vision, writing extraordinary music. Judged on talent and quality alone, he would be as well known a composer and arranger as Gil Evans, Bill Holman, Thad Jones and Bob Brookmeyer.”
- Doug Ramsey, Jazz author and critic

"A jazz classicist, schooled in the past, with a yen for the future, Tom Talbert is a romantic who shuns the cliché. He is a technician who trusts the heart. Even when he's being clever his notes are warm and tender."
- Budd Schulberg, writer and columnist

I’ve always had a fondness for rehearsal bands and over the years I’ve played in a great number of them.

A few of these were led by notable bandleaders, but the majority were assembled by composer-arrangers who were “amateurs” in the true, French meaning of that term.

Their main interest in running a rehearsal band was to have a vehicle in which to hear their arrangements, which, interestingly enough, is in line with the main reason why the great Duke Ellington maintained his own orchestra throughout his lifetime.

Because there is so little money involved, finding a time and place to rehearse and a group of musicians who can make it on a regular basis can be challenging. It also takes a few volunteers to copy all the parts for the arrangements.

Musicians play and interpret music differently, so it helps if the rehearsal band leader can keep at least a core or nucleus together and substitute around them.

The first trumpet and first alto chairs, lead trombone and rhythm section are the sources for most of the continuity in the “sound” of a big band arrangement and the “style” of the band itself.

Soloists obviously add a lot, too, but they are more interchangeable, because when someone gets up to blow, they are usually expressing their individualism and not that of the writer/leader of the band.

Some pretty talented arranger-composers have toiled in the relative obscurity of rehearsal bands.

A few of these rehearsal band leaders have become “discovered” and contracted with to write arrangements for well-known bands and vocalists .

Occasionally, they may even catch the ear of a producer who hires them to score an album of their own for a lesser known recording company.

One of the benefits of volunteering for rehearsal bands is that you often come across very different and even unconventional arrangements. It’s always fun to try and sound like the Basie Band or deal with the elaborate arrangements of Pete Rugolo and Stan Kenton or try to get into the light and airy feeling of the Thad Jones – Mel Lewis Orchestra, but nobody ever does it as well as the originals.

That’s why it’s enjoyable to play the original music and/or arrangements of a New Voice, a writer who takes your ears in a different direction.

Someone who fits this mold perfectly is Tom Talbert, a composer-arranger who began his career in this manner. Following the Second World War, he put together a series of rehearsal bands that were primarily based in Los Angeles.


He described how it all began in the insert notes to a CD that Sea Breeze issued which documents Tom’s music 1946-1949 [SB-2069]. It’s a very familiar and almost classic story of the evolution of a series of rehearsal bands under a then-unknown composer, arranger and leader.

“My first Los Angeles band began rehearsing in the spring of 1946.

I had been in the army and was discharged from a band at Fort Ord, California the summer before. I had no formal music schooling and the year I spent as chief arranger for a good army dance band was a major part of my education. Worked with several bands and met arranger-bandleader Johnny Richards in Boston. Moved to Los Angeles the winter of 1946 and was soon living at the Harvey Hotel...a musician's hangout fondly referred to as the Hot Harvey.

Before long Richards appeared and, in his generous manner, started looking for things I could do. He soon encouraged me to start a band and that seemed a logical move for an out-of-work twen­ty-one year old arranger. We started with a group of guys who wanted to play and as we rehearsed some were changed and others just left for a real job. The trumpet section of Lou Obergh, Ronnie Rochat and Frank Beach was very strong. Veteran Babe Russin brought his beautiful tone to the sax section.

Richards' brother, Jack Cascales, had a small label, Paramount Records, and he was also acting as my manager. (Last I ever had.) He wanted to record the band. The session at Radio Recorders Studio in June 1946 went very well and we, the orchestra and my arrangements, were out in the world.

I took a smaller group to a nice but miniature casino at Lake Tahoe for July and August. Back in Los Angeles that fall, we were rehearsing and working occasionally. I wrote Flight of the Vout Bug. It was recorded with a good band put together for the date and having the great Al Killian playing lead trumpet was a joy for me. Dodo Marmarosa was tops as my featured piano soloist.

When we went to Tahoe I hired a fine drummer, Dick Stanton. He would later introduce a num­ber of good, young players into the band who were Los Angelenos.
Then, in the summer of 1947, I went on the road with Anita O'Day and wound up in New York.

Returning to Los Angeles I started rehearsing the band again. There was considerable arrang­ing work as another musician's union recording ban was imminent. We did some sessions for Paramount with singer Joan Barton that were used on television, lip-synched in early TV fashion. Although I was unhappy with the engineering, we did a good date early New Year's Eve to beat the ban and to record a couple of forgettable pop tunes for the company. We included my Love Is A Pleasure, then called Never Meant For Me.

The band continued to rehearse and play an occasional job during 1948. Warne Marsh and Steve White were the tenors when we played the Trianon Ballroom that April.

Early in 1949 I met Ed Nathan, a warm-hearted, erudite man who worked at CBS. Ed put a lot of effort into trying to get something going for the band but L.A. was not the place nor was it the propitious time in the business. We were playing some jobs, rehearsing weekly, and the band was very tight and up for some concerts at the Coronet Theatre that spring. Don Prell was on bass. Wes Hensel now played lead trumpet between Johnny Anderson and Johnny McComb, so that section was set.
Art Pepper's arrival in the band gave us a new voice. We hadn't had an improvising alto player before and, at the time, Art was already one of the greatest players around. Harry Betts joined John Haliburton in the trombone duo. El Koeling and Don Davidson were still playing lead alto and bari­tone saxophones. Jack Montrose and Johnny Barbera were the tenors.

Pianist Claude Williamson had just left Charlie Barnet and was often in the audience we regu­larly had at rehearsals. I had broken my arm in a fall from a horse, and Claude started playing with Prell and the lightly swinging Jimmy Pratt on drums. The final band was now in place.

Everyone was young and full of energy. I wrote new music for each rehearsal and Don Davidson copied it. (As Ronnie Rochat had done for the first band. What great friends!) The band was extremely faithful about rehearsal and job commitments and good natured with my demands on shading and intonation. As a group, they grew to play with confident authority. Plus, we liked each other and each other's playing. Twenty-six years later Art Pepper reflected, "They were all such nice guys."

So, in November 1949, I was back in Radio Recorders good studio where we had first recorded. I was sending acetate audition discs east to the recording companies where they were then judged not commercial. Perhaps that surprised only me. Bands were being canceled, not signed. But, we kept having .rehearsals. That winter, 1950, Stan Kenton decided to reorganize. Pepper and Betts went on the Innovations Orchestra and I was asked to write. We disbanded.

I followed the audition records east that spring.”


In what has to be considered a true labor-of-love, Bruce Talbot, who is always doing nice things for Jazz, put together a fascinating book about Tom and his music.

Bruce was born in Wellington, New Zealand, where, as a young radio producer in the late 1950s he first heard and was moved by Tom Talbert's music. Moving to London, England in 1963 he worked for the BBC in radio, television and record production before being invited, in 1991, to come to the U.S. as Executive Producer of the Smithsonian Collection of Recordings record label.

Bruce’s book is entitled Tom Talbert: His Life and Times: Voices From a Vanished World of Jazz, Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2004 | Series: Studies in Jazz (Book 45).

The following is a brief synopsis of the book.

"A jazz classicist, schooled in the past, with a yen for the future, Tom Talbert is a romantic who shuns the cliché. He is a technician who trusts the heart. Even when he's being clever his notes are warm and tender."

Budd Schulberg wrote these words in 1957. Almost 50 years later they still apply. A contemporary of Gerry Mulligan, Shorty
Rogers, Gil Evans, Bill Holman, and Ralph Burns, Tom Talbert is a composer, arranger, bandleader, and pianist. In the late 1940s he led his own big band in Los Angeles, featuring star artists like Art Pepper, Warne Marsh, and Claude Williamson. In New York in the 1950’s he wrote for Charlie Barnet, Buddy Rich, Claude Thornhill, Marian McPartland, Kai Winding, Machito, and conceived and scored some strikingly original jazz recordings that were issued under his own name.”

Tom Talbert returned to
Los Angeles in 1975 and has continued to record his own innovative, impressionistic, and subtly swinging music using the finest players, even to this day. In this account of his life and career, Bruce Talbot paints a vivid portrait of Tom Talbert and his world. Utilizing first-hand accounts, the book is crammed with memories of Los Angeles in the 40s, road tours of the Mid-West, a rare glimpse of the Twin Cities jazz scene during World War II, and a portrait of New York City in the 50s when it was truly the jazz capital of the world. The book includes a complete discography of Tom Talbert's work and a CD containing fourteen of his most important and representative recordings.



The editorial staff at JazzProfiles collected these Editorial Reviews to give you some additional perspectives on the significance of Tom Talbert’s music and Bruce’s book.

“He could have been as famous as Gil Evans or Quincy Jones. Certainly the talent was there in abundance. Instead, Tom Talbert remains one of jazz's most neglected figures, his unique arranging and composing abilities known only to the discerning few who listen to music based on its content rather than its name value. Expatriate New Zealander Bruce Talbot, formerly head of the BBC and Smithsonian record divisions, brings his own vast jazz knowledge and experience to this fascinating biography. In dealing with Tom Talbert's life and works he depicts the man against the backdrop of an equally neglected period of American music, that of the post-war experimental years of the late 1940s and early 1950s, where talent bloomed in the unlikeliest of places, flourished despite the awful conditions imposed on the traveling musicians, only to choke and die on the creeping blight known as rock 'n' roll. Truly a golden age that has been overlooked by jazz historians, here brought vividly to life again by the author.” (Brooks, Michael )

 “Since the mid-1940s, Tom Talbert has kept to his own path and his own vision, writing extraordinary music. Judged on talent and quality alone, he would be as well known a composer and arranger as Gil Evans, Bill Holman, Thad Jones and Bob Brookmeyer. In this fascinating biography, Bruce Talbot examines the circumstances and choices that have won Talbert the admiration of music insiders and left him a secret to most of the public. Talbot's book should do much to bring Talbert recognition he has long deserved.” (Doug Ramsey, Jazz Matters: Reflections on the Music )

“Bruce Talbot's edgy biography of an American Jazz original reads like a John dos Passos epic novel of America in the World War II and Post War years. Only it isn't a novel - it's the jazz life captured through the wide eyes of a young mid-western musician who was born to make his mark in jazz. Bruce Talbot turns in a dazzling writing performance - it's a very hip, very real, very full biography of a brilliant musician known until now as "the best kept secret in jazz'. Discover Tom Talbert and live life on the road, in the studios and in Jazz history.” (Dom Cerulli )

“This well researched book should bring belated recognition to one of the music's most neglected figures.” (Jazz Journal International )

“…not only a source of intrigue for the jazz enthusiast, but also fascinating for the average reader who may be unfamiliar with Talbert's quiet legacy. (International Musician)

“A fascinating view of this talented gentleman from the world of jazz. Beyond that, however, it also gives a perceptive insight into the various musical environments that formed Talbert's style, and the ways in which he contributed to the development of modern big band music. For those of you who just dig hearing inside stories from musicians, many of them full of humor, there is plenty of meat here for you. If you love delving more deeply into jazz history, you will also find great satisfaction in this volume.” (Jersey Jazz )

“Don't let the opportunity pass to learn more about [Talbert]. His is the stuff of real quality, and the Jazz world and anyone with an interest in composing and arranging should be made more aware of this fact.” (Jazz Now )

“There is an abundance of gorgeous writing and arranging on this disc, and combined with the book's many great stories, and its reevaluation of one of the music's great arrangers, this is truly one of the Jazz publishing events of the year.” (Cadence )

The following video tribute to Tom contains a sampling of his music with an audio track comprised of Shipping Out from his Louisiana Suite.


Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Larry Goldings – “Caminhos Cruzados”


© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“With a decade [now, more two decades] of playing together under their belts, Larry Goldings, Peter Bernstein and Bill Stewart must form one of the most long-lived organ trios in Jazz history.

Each member has amassed an imposing individual resume, during this period, yet their collective work has signified something more – a reaffirmation, not of the organ trio as a unit capable of satisfying a temporary fashion for things, but as an instrumentation as perfectly balanced in its way as the threesomes of piano, bass and drums or, in another realm, the string quartet.”
- Bob Blumenthal, 1999

The music and the musicians on Hammond B-3 organist Larry Goldings’ Caminhos Cruzados [loosely translated from the Portuguese as “crossings paths”] have always been among my favorites.

Recorded in 1993, the compact disc seemed to come out of nowhere because its Brazilian bossa nova tunes hadn’t been in vogue for many years.

Here’s Larry description of how the recording came about.

“A few years ago, I made an interesting discovery about my early childhood. I had gone home to Massachusetts to visit my parents and brought with me a recording of the Brazilian singer João Gilberto. I had recently been introduced to his music by Jon Hendricks, with whom I was working, and instantly became somewhat of a fanatic.

At some point that weekend, I decided to play the CD for my mother, who isn't normally interested in the music I listen to, but I had an in­stinctual feeling that she would like it. After his opening guitar introduction, João started singing, and almost immediately my mother's face lit up and she said, ‘Oh, I remember this !’ I was sur­prised by her reaction and asked, ‘You mean you used to own this record?’ ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I used to play it for you when you were a baby. It would always calm you down.’

This startling piece of information was quite a revelation to me. Could this, I thought, ex­plain why I am so moved by João Gilbert's voice? Could it be, that upon listening to him now I experience the same feelings of innocence and security that I felt as an infant, 25 years ago?

Well, Sigmund Freud might have been better equipped to answer these questions, but all I know is that the music of Brazil is very close to my heart, and it was a pleasure to prepare and re­cord this CD. It was also a special challenge because the Hammond organ is not often heard in Bra­zilian music, although interestingly one of the early pioneers of the bossa nova was in fact an organ­ist named Walter Wanderley.

On this CD, the focus is not so much on the organ itself, but on the jazz organ trio - that is, organ, guitar and drums. The other members comprising the trio are Peter Bernstein and Bill Stewart, who are two of the most creative musicians playing today and have recorded with me on two other occasions. The group is augmented by the exceptional Brazilian per­cussionist Guilherme Franco, who, during the making of this CD had many insightful comments and suggestions that helped shape the music. Finally, listeners will be enchanted by the thoughtful play­ing of Joshua Redman.

While researching the material for this CD, I realized that there are many beautiful songs that have not been given the recognition they deserve. I discovered four such song among my João Gilberto records:  So Danco Samba, Ho-ha-la-la,  Avarandado, and the title track, Caminhos Cruzados. The latter, written by the prolific Antonio Carlos Jobim is perhaps my favorite on the CD. The composition is one of Jobim's most lyrical and is harmonically lush and unpredictable. Listen to Peter Bernstein's sublime statement of the melody, and the percussion accompaniment of Guilherme Franco, who, like Peter, is a master of taste. Among the other tracks are the obscure Menina-Moca. whose harmonic movement has a particularly "classical" sound, and the familiar Once I Loved, which is treated in a much slower, moodier manner than usual.

There are three selections that are not Brazilian songs at all, but naturally lend themselves to the bossa nova feeling. They are: Where or When, Una Mas, and Serenata, on which the band could not resist the urge to swing the solos. One of the two sambas on the CD, Manine, is my own composition. Featured here is the exciting interplay between Guilherme (on the cuica) and Bill Stewart. Words is also my composition, and was inspired by a Chopin mazurka. It is a perfect vehicle for Joshua Redman, who displays his ability to interpret a ballad with finesse and a hint of the blues.

I must admit that I have never visited Brazil. I feel, however, as if I have, because as I recently discovered, the first musical sounds I ever heard were those of Brazil. Although I doubt that I was actually "listening" to my mother's João Gilberto record, (as I was only 1 or 2 years old), his voice, and the harmonies and rhythms of his guitar, were seeping into my subconscious, planting the seeds that would later become my love of music.

- written by Larry Goldings”

To give you some idea of the wonderful music on offer on Caminhos Cruzados, the editorial staff at JazzProfiles in conjunction with the crackerjack graphics team at CerraJazz and the production facilities of StudioCerra have developed the following video and audio tracks for you to sample.

We hope that you will enjoy this in-depth presentation of classic Brazilian bossa nova by some of today’s most accomplished Jazz musicians.



Monday, June 25, 2012

Eric Ineke: The Ultimate Sideman - A Review


© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


“This is really a history of Jazz, especially in the second half of the 20th century when so many of the original masters were still active.”
-         Dave Liebman, Jazz saxophonist and composer

Each explanation that Eric gives is like he plays: lucid, to the point and very precise.
And swinging, of course!”
-         Wouter Turkenburg, Head of the Jazz Department, Royal Conservatoire, The Hague, The Netherlands

“Another of our favorite drummers playing in the style of Philly Joe Jones is Eric Ineke.

Eric is based in Holland and we first heard his work on a 1981 Criss Cross recording by the late Jazz guitarist, Jimmy Raney, and subsequently on recordings by Dutch Jazz pianist Rein de Graaff, alto saxophonist Herb Geller, who has been based in Germany for many years, and soprano saxophonist David Liebman.

Eric keeps time in a manner that is best described as Philly Joe Jones-lite.

Like Philly, his time-keeping is very insistent, but his accents, background figures and fills are more spaced-out.

He’s not as busy as Philly which serves to make his time-keeping sound even more firm and resolute.

Since 2006, Eric has been leading his own quintet, The JazzXpress, in which his driving time-keeping can be heard in support of some of Holland’s finest, young Jazz musicians: Rik Mol on trumpet and flugelhorn, Sjoerd Dijkhuizen on tenor saxophone, Rob van Bavel on piano and bassist and bass guitarist, Marius Betts.”
-         The editorial staff of JazzProfiles, 2/22/2011

Just to be clear, Eric Ineke: The Ultimate Sideman is the name of a book.

It is also an apt description of Eric Ineke, a Dutch drummer who, since 1968, has performed with many legendary Jazz musicians.

The format of the book is based around Eric’s recollection of his experiences with these Jazz masters as told to the American saxophonist and composer, Dave Liebman.

Dave adds his own commentary in places, but the book is essentially Eric’s story as told to Dave because as Liebman notes: “Eric’s memory is flawless and seemingly photographic.  His detailed recounting of time and place are incredible.”

Jazz horn players [in the broadest sense], whose orientation to the music is based on melody and harmony, can have a difficult time working with drummers, because although drummers can be “melodic” [think Shelly Manne], their involvement is primarily with rhythm.

Therein lays the rub.

The melody and harmony guys are often of the opinion that Jazz drummers are not aware of what they have to deal with to make the music happen.

If a drummer is too forceful, too loud, too busy; they can become distracting to horn players [including pianists, guitarists and vibraphonists] and make it difficult for them to concentrate on their improvisations or their ability to play the arrangements.

Sometimes drummers rush or drop [lag] the beat or even override it to push the music in a direction the soloist doesn’t want to go.

They may use cymbals that are not “harmonic;” the overtones don’t blend in well with the other instruments.

There are some drummers who absolutely aver the use of brushes [mainly because they don’t know how to play them] while preferring instead the use of drum sticks at all times: nothing like a few “bombs” going off in the middle of a quiet, bossa nova.

Some drummers are in love with their techniques. I mean, after all those hours of practicing those drum rudiments, you gotta show people what you got, right?

Or then there is the drummer who shows up to a trio gig with a veritable arsenal of cymbals and drums all set up in such a way so that they can cut through big band volume levels. Talk about overplaying!

Because they can be disproportionately domineering, when it all goes wrong for a drummer, they can really irritate other Jazz musicians.

And then there are drummers like Eric Ineke who always seem to fit in, whatever the musical context: hence the terms of respect and endearment – “The Ultimate Sideman” – being accorded to him by many of his fellow Jazz musicians.

For a drummer, being considered in this manner doesn’t just happen. You have to work at it and earn such praise.

Such an appellation is based on merit.

As a drummer, Eric is always listening, always trying to find ways to unobtrusively swing.  He plays what the music calls for. His first choices are always based on enhancing the expression of the music by working closely with the other musicians in the band.

Eric has “chops” [technique], but doesn’t choose to show them off. He knows he can get around the instrument, but he’s not trying to impress anyone with flashiness.

Eric is the prototypical “engine house;” his drums set things in motion. When you listen to the sound of his drums, it’s like listening to the smooth blend of a quietly humming motor. The engine just purrs along and so does the music when Eric’s in the drum chair.

When called for, he can also “gun the engine,” what he refers to as “… kicking the soloist in the a**,” or throttle back on the engine, which he does to help things settle into a groove.

He’s always thinking back there, always aware of how things need to sound for different tenor saxophonist like Joe Henderson, or Dexter Gordon, or Hank Mobley, or how best to have a “conversation” with an instrumentalist while trading “fours” and “eights” with them, or even what bad habits or tendencies in the playing of others he might need to disregard in order to keep the music honest and swinging.

What comes across throughout this book is how constantly aware Eric is of what he is doing in the drum chair and how articulate he is in explaining it.

The book is a document of oral history, but doesn’t read like one. Each chapter is in two parts with Eric laying the groundwork by sharing his reminiscences and observations about the Jazz musicians he’s worked with over the years which are grouped around the Tenor, Alto and Baritone Saxes; the Clarinetists, the Trumpet Players and Trombonists; the Guitarists, Vibraphonists, Pianists and Bassists; The Singers; The Composer-Arranger-Conductors.

The second part of each chapter consists of Dave Liebman interviewing Eric with questions drawn for Ineke’s comments about certain of the Jazz musicians mentioned in each of the instrumental categories.


The opening Preface is written by Wouter Turkenburg who hired Eric to chair the Jazz Drums and Percussion Department, of the Royal Conservatoire, The Hague, in The Netherlands when he took over as Head of Jazz Studies at the school in the mid-1980’s.

Wouter sets the tone for the entire book when he writes: “Eric has an immense knowledge and understanding of music. Moreover, he is a great teacher and he can demonstrate it all on his drum set. When Eric talks about music, you hear the music and you’re in it. Eric connects the presents to the past and to the future.”

The book has two Introductions, each of which is a brief testimonial to Eric’s greatness as a Jazz musician.

The first is by Dave Liebman who authored the work and the second is by Eric’s long-time musical companion on the Dutch and European Jazz scene – pianist, Rein de Graaff.

Dave sets the context for the book when he explains in his opening remarks that –

“Of all the rhythm section instruments, the drums are the most difficult to learn from books and even records. With drums, you have TO BE THERE … one has to see and feel the music, more so than for other instruments whose techniques could more easily be assimilated by studying available recordings which was the customary method for European musicians learning the music.

After all, this was pre-Jazz Education time in Europe. To put it succinctly: finding a drummer who could ‘swing’ could be problematic. …

Jazz is not an automatic pilot art form … the personality and the music is the same. Eric Ineke fills the bill perfectly. To put it succinctly, he was and is THE UTLIMATE SIDEMAN.

If there is one comment that musicians like myself use to describe Eric it is that he SWINGS … HARD!!

Eric has studied the drum language handed down from Klook [Kenny Clarke] to Max to Roy to Elvin and Tony.

Adding his own personality and musicianship to this encyclopedic knowledge translate to what I describe as a feeling of buoyancy when Eric plays, even beyond mere swinging.

His musical personality along with a positive and uplifting persona puts anyone playing with him at ease.

Plus he WILL show up at the airport and get you to the hotel or gig or recording, etc. Eric is a sweet man who can really play … what more could you ask for?!!”

As for Rein de Graaff, Eric’s long-time running mate, he puts things very succinctly in his part of the book’s Introduction when he declares:

“Playing with Eric never has a dull moment and he is always giving his utmost. There are moments when I can really play everything that’s in my head thanks to him. Sometimes I feel like jumpin’ off a cliff but knowing that he’s always there to catch me. He inspires me constantly with his rhythmical inventions.

The best moments are when we start to play freely ‘around the beat.’ Then it is really happening. It is like flying!

In this world of fake Jazz, it’s good to have people like him; always telling the truth on his instrument; always playing the real thing.”


Eric Ineke: The Ultimate Sideman was recently published in April/2012 in a paperback folio edition by Pincio Uitgeverij of The Netherlands and you can obtain information on purchasing it from Eric at www.ericineke.com, or Dave at www.davidliebman.com or by writing to G.B.Vinke@wxs.nl.

Among the musicians that Eric discusses in this book are Hank Mobley, Dexter Gordon, Johnny Griffin, George Coleman, Al Cohn, Eric Alexander, Pete Christlieb, Bob Cooper, Lucky Thompson, Clifford Jordan, Teddy Edward, Frank Foster, Joe Henderson, Scott Hamilton, David Liebman, Harry Sokal, Alan Skidmore, Ferdinand Povel, Sjoerd Dijkhuizen, and Simon Rigter – and that’s just the tenor saxophone players!

Others include alto saxophonists, Lee Konitz, Bud Shank, Herb Geller and Benjamin Herman; baritone saxophonists Pepper Adams, Ronnie Cuber and Nick Brignola; clarinetists Buddy DeFranco, Eddie Daniels, and John Ruocco; trumpet players Freddie Hubbard, Dizzy Gillespie, Jarmo Hoogendijk and Conte Candoli; trombonists Urbie Green, Slide Hampton, Curtis Fuller and Bart van Lier; guitarists Jimmy Raney, Wim Overgaauw, Jesse van Ruller, and Martijn Iterson; pianists Barry Harris, Don Friedman, Tete Monteliu, and, of course, Rein de Graaff; bassists John Clayton, Marius Beets, Ruud Jacob and Jacques Schols; vibraphonists Dave Pike, Red Norvo and Frits Landesbergen; singers Anita O’Day, Deborah Brown and Shirley Horn.

Many of the descriptions by Eric and Dave offer an inside-the music perspective that make you think differently about what goes into the making of Jazz.

Here are some anecdotal excerpts from Eric Ineke: The Ultimate Sideman.

Dave Pike:

“‘David Samuel Pike, the Master of the Vibes,’ as Rein de Graaff would announce him … is a super swinging and a real great bebop player. He is a very emotional player and he sometimes has a tendency to rush, so we try to take care of this in a very unobtrusive way.”

Buddy De Franco

“As soon as we got on stage you felt immediately that you were dealing with a great artist. There was that beautiful round almost wooden sound and that flawless, perfect technical command, great articulation, swing and super-fluent bebop lines.

Although his time was in front of the beat, I could deal with it easily, because it was so smooth and relaxed.

It always surprises me that the person you know from hearing on records feels more or less the same when you are playing with them on stage.”

Eric Alexander

“His influences were clearly Dexter Gordon and George Coleman and Trane [John Coltrane], so knowing the first two, I was on familiar ground.

His sound and phrasing are super clear, great chops, energy and [always] swinging.

There is no doubt that if he keeps developing he will become on of the real great tenor players. …

He has that special ‘New York vibe:’ no bullsh**, just hit it from beat one.

That’s what I miss in most European players. It takes them almost a whole set to get on that same level.”

Scott Hamilton

“His style of playing comes right out of Lester Young and Al Cohn. Since I played with Al it was the same kind of looseness only even more relaxed. …

And, of course, his ballad playing is exquisite with that beautiful sound like Ben Webster.

He has a choice of the best standards and he knows so many tunes. The audience loves him. As a person he is also a real gentleman; a good conversationalist; so easy to travel with. He is American, but he could as well have been British.”

Bud Shank

“West Coast wailer, but the way he played he could be from New York, beyond category so to speak. Bud was special to me. I liked his no nonsense straight forward attitude.

He was not the type of person you could make easy contact with, but it always felt o.k.

He was a very melodic swinger, always looking for interplay. We sometime did drums and alto duets and he was always listening to the drums; he liked the melodic way I played with him. He said to me ‘you are something else.’”

Benjamin Herman

“Not to mention Benjamin Herman is totally unthinkable. He is from the younger generation and I think one of the best alto players around. … A real no nonsense Jazz player who is able to work in all kinds of funky situations. … He is also a smart businessman and always impeccably dressed. …

He knows how to play the blues … his phrasing is a little behind the beat, and sometimes even a lot, like Dexter’s [Gordon], which makes it all the more swinging.

He always plays on a high level, but when you kick his a** firmly he starts flying and really plays some sh**.”

There is no other book like Eric Ineke: The Ultimate Sideman.

Its point-of-view is singular; no one has ever seen the Jazz world like this and no one will ever see it like this again.

In addition to the pleasure of its stories and recollections, reading Eric Ineke: The Ultimate Sideman also provides a basis for a fuller appreciation and understanding of how The Act of Jazz Creation comes into existence.

Our thanks to Eric and David for creating such a wonderful reading experience.

The following video tribute to Eric features his JazzXpress quintet performing Body Movement which is the group’s take –off on Body and Soul. In addition to Eric on drums, the JazzXpress is made up of Rik Mol on trumpet, Sjoerd Dijkhuizen on tenor saxophone, Ron van Bavel on piano and bassist Marius Beets.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

Jack Montrose: “Over Before It Began”


© -Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


 “During the fifties, when the jazz media spotlight shone brightly on Los Ange­les, Jack Montrose's writing and playing were very important ingredients in what became known as West Coast Jazz.”
- Gordon Jack

“For a time in the mid-fifties, Jack Montrose's reputation as an arranger threatened to eclipse even that of his former instructor Shorty Rogers. As 'staff arranger' for Pacific Jazz in 1953 and 1954, he had gained favored attention for his writing on the Chet Baker and Clifford Brown ensemble albums, as well as the initial ten-inch LP of his favorite playing companion, baritonist Bob Gordon. In 1955 Montrose was offered his own album by Dick Bock, and the resulting LP was entitled The Jack Montrose Sextet. Joining the tenor saxophonist were Gordon, Conte Candoli and the rhythm section of pianist Paul Moer, bassist Ralph Pena and Shelly Manne.

Shortly following the Pacific Jazz session, Montrose was again recorded - this time by Atlantic. The line-up for this date was a quintet with Bob Gordon, Paul Moer, Shelly Manne and bassist Red Mitchell. The quintet format must have felt more congenial to Montrose, for this Atlantic session produced his finest work. Again every tune on the album was either composed or arranged by the leader.

With these two albums Jack Montrose seemed about to be recognized as a major jazz writer, but tragedy struck before either album was even released. On the way to an out-of-town concert with Pete Rugolo, Bob Gordon was killed in a car accident. Montrose and Gordon had been close friends offstage as well as in performance, and the loss seems to have hurt Montrose creatively as well as personally. Whatever the reason, Jack Montrose never again produced any recorded work comparable to the Pacific Jazz or especially the Atlantic album.”
- Bob Gordon

« J'aime ecrire dans le style "musique de chambre" a cause de son intimite. Rien n'y est superflu ni ne peut 1'etre [...]. En ecrivant en vue de cet album, aucun instrument n'a ete neglige. Mon but est d'utiliser chacun dans son registre propre. » Comme par ailleurs Montrose proclamait hautement que le blues etait la forme musicale la plus fantastique qui puisse etre et qu'un bon interprete du blues ne pouvait etre qu'un bon jazzman, on voit a quel confluent se situe sa musique.

“I enjoy composing in a ‘chamber music’ style because of its intimacy. Nothing is superfluous nor can it be […]. While writing for this album, I tried not to neglect any of the instruments and to blend them with one another. My goal was to use each one in its proper tonal range ” In addition, Montrose proclaimed his high regard for the Blues as a musical form and that it was difficult to be a good Jazzman if one was not a good interpreter of the Blues. One hears such a confluence in Montrose’s music.
- Alain Tercinet

“Born December 30, 1928, in Detroit, Montrose had attended high school in Tennessee before journeying west to study music at Los Angeles State. In addition to being a leading saxophonist on the Southern California scene, Montrose also distinguished himself as a composer and arranger with a flair for the indigenous contrapuntal sound so popular in California jazz in the 19505. His writing credits grace record dates for, among others, Clif­ford Brown, Chet Baker, and Bob Gordon. For a brief period Montrose seemed on the verge of establishing himself as a major force in West Coast jazz, but instead his career went into a tailspin after the mid-1950s. Rele­gated to playing the LA strip club circuit and odd studio gigs, Montrose decided to resettle in Nevada. There he has kept himself busy in the finan­cially secure surroundings of the casino entertainment world.”
- Ted Gioia

Prior to his passing in 2006, I had a brief conversation with Jack Montrose at one of the Los Angeles Jazz Institute’s semi-annual, four-day events.

We had met years before in Las Vegas when both of us worked a gig for singer-dance Juliet Prowse. Jack played tenor saxophone in the pit band and also took over the nominal leadership of the group when her regular arranger couldn’t make it out of Hollywood.

After the usual, conversational asides and hair loss references, I asked Jack, whom I had lost track of when I moved to another career, how he had managed to stay involved with music “all these years.”

Jack said: “Well, as far as my work in Jazz was concerned, it was over before it began, wasn’t it?”

He then went on to essentially provide me with the highlights of his career as detailed in the following interview with Gordon Jack which can be found in Fifities Jazz Talk: An Oral Retrospective [Lanham, MD: The Scarecrow Press, 2004].

“One thing is for certain,” he said: “It may have been short, but I had a ball while it lasted.”

I always considered Jack one of the most talented cats I’d ever met and his loss to the Jazz world as a tragedy. But then, the loss of Jazz itself from its halcyon days was no less so.

© -Gordon Jack, copyright protected; all rights reserved. Used with the author's permission.

“I was born in Detroit on December 30, 1928, which of course was during the Depression, and although we were very poor, I was never unhappy. I thought that everybody was like us and all kids had one pair of pants per se­mester. To escape the poverty, we moved to Chattanooga when I was about five years old, where we lived in a black ghetto called Onion Bottom. Thanks to a relative who financed my Dad in a grocery store which had a jukebox, I heard my first records by people like Lionel Hampton, Johnny Hodges, Benny Goodman, and Duke Ellington, and I was thrilled by it all.

Nobody in my family was musical, but I acquired a metal clarinet when I was about twelve, and a couple of years later, I worked a whole summer in a pawnshop to buy a C melody sax for $20.1 was completely self-taught be­cause we couldn't afford a teacher, and by the time I was fourteen, I had joined the union and played my first professional job on alto. Although I didn't really know what I was doing, I had also begun writing arrangements by ear—and right away discovered the bottom line: whatever sounds right is the truth. I switched to tenor when I heard Don Byas and Joe Thomas, and for the next couple of years I played with bands down South. By 1946 I moved with my family to Los Angeles and started doing one-nighters around town with people like Lennie Niehaus, Jack Sheldon, and Russ Freeman. Russ always knew more tunes than anyone else and was very generous with his harmonic knowledge. He helped us all and influenced my progress to a great degree, and I have always loved him for that. He lives in Las Vegas now, and it never ends, because he still knows tunes that I don't.1 The only other person who may know as many tunes as Russ is Herb Geller.

It was around 1948 that I first met Bob Gordon. He was with Alvino Rey's band, and we used to play together whenever he was in town. I never knew him to play anything except the baritone, which was the perfect instrument for him because he played it so well, with an absolutely beautiful sound. I have heard some guys play very effectively, but nobody sounded like Bob; he was unique. He and Gerry Mulligan both played Conn’s, because they made the best bari­tones, and although Gerry had a great sound, Bob's was even better. He had a natural mind-to-hand coordination that gave him fast fingers, which was un­usual on the baritone at that time.

Incidentally, Paul Desmond was also in Rey's band, and I enjoyed his playing very much, even though it was a little one-dimensional. He was very poetic and melodic, but his intensity never seemed to change. He actually sounded better on recordings than in person, because he didn't have a big sound, so he was hard to hear in clubs. The only time I ever worked with him was when we played with Jack Fina for about a month. Jack had been Freddy Martin's pianist, and he had a band at the Coconut Grove in the Ambassador Hotel with three tenors: me, Paul, and Herb Geller.

For a lot of us growing up in the late forties in Los Angeles, Herbie Harper's jam sessions at the Showtime on West Ventura Boulevard were an important part of our musical education. They were like a postgraduate study in jazz for guys like Bill Perkins, Shorty Rogers, Chet Baker, Art Pepper, and myself. Art of course was always one of my heroes, and I was unashamedly influenced by him and Chet Baker. One of the first things I notice about a player is his sound, and I think that Art had the loveliest sound on alto, out­side of Johnny Hodges. He admired Zoot Sims very much, and he even sounded like Zoot to me. I adored his playing, and still do, but I think he lost it for a while when he became too influenced by John Coltrane towards the end of his life. He lost what was valuable, because a great artist should search within himself without copying, and Art fell into that hole. As Lennie Niehaus told you, Art lost his honesty and played in a style that didn't suit him; he was just not playing "Art" anymore.

Chet was always an outstanding player. He immediately grabbed your at­tention, and just like a comet blazing through the sky, he wouldn't be denied. Gerry Mulligan in his wisdom really nailed it when he said that Chet knew everything about chords except their names, because he had the best ears of anyone I have ever encountered. The other myth about Chet not reading mu­sic is quite untrue. He played my charts, which were far from easy, as well as anyone.


In 1949 I played in Tom Talbert's Jazz Orchestra, which included Art Pep­per and Claude Williamson. I loved that band and, funnily enough, four or five years ago Sea Breeze reissued one of our albums and Tom sent me a check for $41.25, which was scale for a record session at that time. There were a lot of very talented players in the band who were never heard of again, like Steve White, who was a marvelous tenor player. He was one of the great­est white Prez-influenced players I have ever heard and could have been one of the "Four Brothers" without any trouble. His ears were so good that he could play anything, and he had all the makings of becoming a legend.2

I also did a lot of playing with Shorty Rogers, and around 1952 Bob Gor­don and I worked in John Kirby's last group at the 5-4 Ballroom, on 54th and Broadway. It was a sextet that played for dancers, and that is where I first met Gerry Mulligan. His girlfriend, Gail Madden, was a photographer at the ball­room, and he used to sit in with us every night when he came to pick her up. I had already become aware of him from the "Birth of the Cool" sessions, which was the only jazz writing that influenced me at that time. Those charts were wonderful, and the arrangers seemed to be affected by something that was quite unearthly. Gerry was a genius, and when he and Chet were at the Haig, I used to visit two or three nights a week. It was an unbelievably stim­ulating experience, hearing them play together, and the rest is history, because that is one of the best jazz groups ever. This was around the time I had a seven-piece rehearsal band, which included at different times Bob Gordon, Bill Perkins, Stu Williamson, and Dave Madden, and for a while we worked the off-nights opposite Gerry's group. Dave isn't too well known, but he was a very talented tenor player and one of my best friends.3  When Chet left Gerry, Dick Bock wanted to do something different with him, so he recorded him with my band on an album called The Chet Baker Ensemble in Decem­ber 1953.4 "

By this time I was studying for my degree in music and composition at L.A. State College, and one day between classes, I went down to CBS on Sunset Boulevard to audition for Jerry Gray's band. I got the gig, which was the jazz tenor chair, and I stayed with Jerry off and on for about five years. We were resident on the Bob Crosby radio show, and we played at the Am­bassador Hotel on Wilshire Boulevard. Bob Gordon also had a steady gig, working around town with George Redman, who was the drummer with the Harry Zimmerman orchestra on the Dinah Shore T.V. show. George had a great following, and it was a very hip little group, usually one horn and rhythm, so there was a lot of jazz. Whenever I was free, I used to sit in with them at places like the Bombay club, and later on, Bud Shank and Maynard Ferguson were with the band. One way to keep busy when things were slow in the music business was to work in one of the many strip joints around L.A., so I started playing at the Body Shop on Sunset Boulevard. Herb Geller was the first real jazz player I knew to work those clubs, and it kept his head above water when times were hard. I used to sub for him there if he had other work.

In May 19541 arranged and played on Bob Gordon's only date as a leader, and we used his friend Billy Schneider from St. Louis on drums.5 We had been working in clubs like the Purple Onion, Peacock Lane, and Peacock Al­ley, and at the time of the recording, one of my original ballads was untitled. Bob asked if I would dedicate it to his wife, which I was happy to do, and I think "For Sue" came out very nicely. Another title, "Onion Bottom," was a reference to the area that my family had lived in when we first moved to Chat­tanooga.

I was also playing a lot with Art Pepper at the Angel Room on South Crenshaw Boulevard and Esther's on Hermosa Beach, and that summer our quin­tet appeared opposite Max Roach and Clifford Brown at the Tiffany club. Dick Bock wanted to record them with some West Coast musicians, and I was booked to write the arrangements, but I didn't play, despite what Ira Gitler has written, although I would have loved to.6 Dick decided the instrumentation and personnel, and it was his choice to do "Blueberry Hill" and "Gone with the Wind," not Brownie's. Clifford had an old studio upright at his motel in the West Adams district, and I used to visit him every day to work on the mu­sic, which was written with Max in mind, because he was supposed to be on the session. Unfortunately he got into a money hassle with Dick and bowed out at the last minute, so Shelly Manne was called, and he played just beau­tifully, bless his heart. I spent about two months writing the charts, and we re­hearsed the band three or four times over at my place. As you can hear on the record, everyone jelled immediately and it was a very friendly date.7

I have already said that Chet Baker was an unsurpassed "ear" player with no theoretical knowledge. Clifford Brown on the other hand had Chet's ears, but he was also a thoroughly schooled musician who would have practiced all day if he could. He was an absolute giant, very advanced in theory and totally immersed in music. He was also a sweet person, without a drink or drug prob­lem, living a perfectly clean lifestyle. Along with Stu Williamson and Bob Gordon, Zoot Sims was the other horn on the Brownie date, and for a while he caused me the same problem that Pepper had with Coltrane. I loved his playing so much that I couldn't imagine it any other way, and I had a rough time until I discovered myself again. Zoot was a marvel, and still is. He may no longer be with us, but as John O'Hara said about Gershwin's death, "I don't have to believe it if I don't want to."

While I was working with Clifford, Art Pepper and I recorded an album with our own group which we used to refer to as Art's "Spice Suite."8 This was because it featured a number of his originals like "Nutmeg," "Cinnamon," "Thyme Time," and "Art's Oregano." I don't know the significance of the other titles, but nutmeg was something inmates in confinement used to get high on. After the record release we planned to go East with our quintet, but as so often happened, Art got busted and disappeared off the scene. Being a junky, he was not the most reliable person in the world, but he loved playing so much that I can only remember him missing a couple of nights at the Tiffany club. When it came time to play, nothing else existed for him. He was one of my very best friends, easy to get along with, and marvelous to make music with.

In 1954 I spent six months with Stan Kenton, but truthfully I didn't like the band, although I adored the man. We were on different musical paths; that is not to say he was wrong, but his muse was not my muse. He actually hired me to write for him, and I was going to submit some of my originals like "Credo," "Pretty," "Speakeasy," and "Listen, Hear." I sketched them out on the long Kenton bus rides, but I changed my mind because the band was just too loud for my material. "Credo" was very ephemeral and delicate, but they would have destroyed it, totally losing the inner voices. "Listen, Hear" was a double fugue, and I couldn't imagine Stan playing it the way I wanted. Until you play in one, you have no idea how damned loud a big band can be, and Stan's could be pretty overwhelming.9


I rearranged all those numbers for my 1955 sextet album with Conte Candoli and Bob Gordon.10 Paul Moer was the pianist, and Bob and I liked his playing so much that he did three albums with us. I have never found anyone else who could play those sextet charts as well as he could. He came from Florida, and I first met him at the Cottage Italia, where they used to have mar­velous jam sessions.

Shelly Manne was on the date, and he was a prince of drummers, but Bob Gordon didn't like his playing at all. Bob preferred the New York school, like Philly Joe Jones and Art Mardigan, because he was an aggressive player and he liked aggressive drummers. We had both played with Philly Joe when he had come out to the Coast, and Bob especially liked the way he used his hi-hat on two and four, something Shelly didn't always do, which occasionally led to arguments on record dates. It's strange how some people don't get along. Bob and Art Pepper didn't like each other, and as far as I know, they never worked together. As Herb Geller told you, Joe Maini and Art actually hated each other, and I was there the night they nearly came to blows.

A few weeks after we recorded the last titles for the sextet album, Bob was killed in a car accident. I met his parents at the funeral, which is when I dis­covered that his real name was Bob Resnick, and I don't know why he changed it. His wife, Sue, wanted some of us to play at the service, so Jack Sheldon, Bob Enevoldsen, Joe Maini, and I played my arrangement of "Goodbye," which under the circumstances was very difficult to perform. If he hadn't died, things would have been a lot different in my life, because we were only just beginning. We had great plans for the future and would have certainly carried on playing together; I actually had another album already written for us. We were a partnership, and I have never missed anyone as much as I missed Bob Gordon.11 Sue eventually went to live on Staten Island, and she died a few years ago.

In 1956 Art Pepper and I were supposed to make an L.P. called "Blues and Vanilla."12 We rehearsed it, but I think he got busted again, so I called Joe Maini, and he was bebop incarnate, doing it so well and so naturally. I played a lot with Joe, and he was great fun and a wonderful player who didn't get recorded enough. We did studio sessions together when Marty Paich hired us for some Mel Torme recordings, but Joe was on lead alto, so he didn't get any solos. Mel Torme of course had the best phrasing, the best ears, and the best breath control; he was just superb, and I think Marty's writing for him and that little band was excellent. Marty had a way of understanding singers very well, and although it was not my kind of writing (I would have done it dif­ferently), those records still sound very good. I know that Corky Hale told you that Mel was hard to get along with, but I never saw it. I was on many dates with him and found him to be pleasant, and everything was as efficient and musical as could be.

All through the fifties I did a lot of writing for Dick Bock at Pacific Jazz, and he had a considerable input regarding players and repertoire, but he could not have been easier to get along with. He was a marvelous man in the right place at the right time to be part of the regeneration of jazz on the West Coast. However by 1960 something happened, because suddenly all the recording stopped and jazz seemed to be out of favor. I was still working in jazz clubs and strip joints where the girls were all jazz fans, so it was great practice. I also did some rock 'n' roll dates, but I don't want to talk about them at all—they were painful. That music started edging us out, although some of the jazz guys had a lot to do with turning off their audiences with their terrible arrogance. They started turning their backs on the customers, for instance, and I don't just mean Miles; a lot of lesser players were doing it. Also the avant-garde move­ment was too inaccessible and tough to take, and probably still is. Tastes were changing, but not being a social scientist, I could do nothing except suffer the results. I tried the Hollywood scene, but I couldn't make the deadlines; they just debilitated me. An agent would call and want three arrangements for the next day, and that isn't how I like to work. I'm not suited to turning out mate­rial without regard to its quality, so I was ready to quit by that time.

I decided to move to Las Vegas in 1971 because, if I had to do commercial work, Vegas provided a more relaxed atmosphere. I started playing in the shows, which were first class at the time, and acts like Sinatra, Steve and Eydie, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, and Tony Bennett were certainly as good as the music could get in show business. I didn't rail against it, and I didn't mind going to work every night. This is when I met my wife, Zena, who was a vi­olinist in house bands, and we still work together sometimes. Although I was embroiled in making a living in show business, I didn't stop playing jazz. The union had a rehearsal hall with a bar that stayed open all night, and after the second show, everyone would go down there to play. That carried on until about 1985, when we lost the musicians' building during a strike. There is not much work left in the casinos now, because most of the acts we used to ac­company are no longer there.

Don Byas was the man who made me want to play the tenor, but Charlie Parker has to be my all-time favorite instrumentalist. He was absolute per­fection as a creator, and any player who grew up during that time would have to admit there was no denying Bird. His solos were actually compositions on a level far advanced from anyone else, and some guys became so taken with him that they became cripples; they couldn't play anymore. They missed the message, which is to be yourself and not be a copy. Funnily enough, the first time I heard him, I wasn't really impressed with his sound, but I soon real­ized that his ideas required that particular sound. When I understood that, Bird became a fixture in my consciousness, as did John Coltrane later on. John had a sound without historical evolution—totally unique, and it went with what he played. The ideas couldn't have been produced with any other sound, which is true of every great player.

There are some marvelous writers in jazz, but nobody has influenced me as much as Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn. I would also have given any­thing to have played in Duke's band, and if it exists in another lifetime, I want to be in it!

NOTES
1.  Russ Freeman died two years after this interview took place, on June 27, 2002.
2.  Steve White's album on Nocturne OJCCD-1889-2, where he is accompanied by the incomparable Jimmy Rowles, confirms Jack's enthusiasm.
3.  In 1945 Dave Madden recorded with Stan Kenton's band, where he sat next to the eighteen-year-old Stan Getz. He also worked with Tom Talbert, Woody Herman, Jerry Gray, Si Zentner, Dave Pell, Frank Capp, and Harry James. He and Gail Madden were what the gossip columnists refer to as an "item," although they never married. Gail later had a similar relationship with both Bob Graettinger and Gerry Mulligan.
4.  Chet Baker Ensemble. Fresh Sound FSR CD 0175.
5.  Bob Gordon, Memorial. Fresh Sound FSRCD180.
6.  Leonard Feather and Ira Gitler, eds. The Biographical Encyclopedia of Jazz (Oxford University Press).
7.  Clifford Brown, Jazz Immortal. Pacific Jazz CDP 7468502.
8.  Art Pepper, The Complete Discovery-Savoy Master Takes. Definitive Records DRCD 11218.
9.  Jack left the Kenton band in October 1954. He was replaced by the obscure Varty Haritounian, whose only commercial recording was with Serge Chaloff and Dick Twardzik in Boston a month previously, titled "The Fable of Mabel" (The Com­plete Serge Chaloff Sessions. Mosaic MD4-147).
10.  Jack Montrose Sextet. Pacific Jazz 7243 4 93161 2 6.
11.  In Gerard J. Hoogeveen's discography of the great Bob Gordon, Jack Montrose had this to say about his friend and colleague: "Bob Gordon was an inspiration to every jazz musician or aspirant who ever heard him play, or was perhaps fortunate enough to share the bandstand with him. Fortunate enough to partake of the fire that roared, the sparks that flew and the proclamations of the Gods that sounded, when he put his big horn to his lips and made the world abound with life, zest, and unbounded love. For the world was a better place to live in when he played and perhaps this sin­gular ability to make it so, was in itself his greatest gift. . . . His feeling was conta­gious, his sound indomitable, his time impeccable, the beauty and logic of his thought inexplicable. I learned to write through playing and it was largely through Bob's in­fluence that I learned how to play." Jack Montrose did not exaggerate, for Bob Gor­don was, indeed, a giant.
12.  Jack Montrose, Blues and Vanilla. Fresh Sound NL45844.

The editorial staff at JazzProfiles with the help of the crackerjack graphics team at CerraJazz LTD and StudioCerra Productions developed the following video tribute to Jack on which he performs his original composition "Some Good Fun Blues" with Conte Candoli [trumpet], Bob Gordon [baritone saxophone], Paul Moer [piano], Ralph Pena [bass] and drummer Shelly Manne.