Wednesday, September 2, 2026

The West Coast School Of White Musicians And Its Soloists - from "Modern Jazz" by Morgan and Horricks

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


Along with Robert Gordon's Jazz on the West Coast, Ted Gioia's West Coast Jazz: Jazz in California - 1945-1960, Alain Tercinet's West Coast Jazz and my own modest efforts in the form of Jazz West Coast: A Reader Volumes 1, 2 and 3, Raymond Horricks' and Alun Morgan's Modern Jazz also offers excellent insights into the West Coast School, especially since they are viewing it from far off England.

In some cases, they offer unique interpretations of certain of the observations generally associated with the West Coast style of Jazz. For example:

“There have been many critics who have opposed the use of the term "West Coast Jazz", claiming it was merely a coincidence that so much jazz talent was placed in the same area at the same time. Up to a point this assertion is correct, but it must be remembered that jazz can only progress and develop through influence and association. Over the years the close proximity of jazz musicians in Hollywood led inevitably to the passing on of ideas and means of expression and the subsequent creation of a style.”

Published in 1956, the work remains somewhat incomplete in terms of later developments. Since the authors are based in the UK, they use English spelling.

Here’s more of Messrs Morgan and Horricks’ writing on the subject of “The West Coast School Of White Musicians And Its Soloists.”

“Towards The End of the forties the first signs heralding the large-scale move to the West Coast became apparent. In retrospect it is true to say that Stan Kenton was largely responsible for the formation of this new school, if not as a practising member then certainly as an influence and mentor.

He formed his first band to play an engagement at the Rendezvous Ballroom, Balboa, in April 1941 and since then his various orchestras have been formed and disbanded on the Pacific Coast. This inevitably resulted in a large number of musicians becoming available for club and studio engagements at the same time, men not necessarily natives of California but who found themselves there by force of circumstance. A contributory factor was the amount of work open to skilled musicians in film, television, radio and recording studios. For these engagements the ex-big-band members found themselves ideally suited, for their sight-reading and playing abilities placed them in an enviable position.

Having established a nucleus on the Coast, more and more jazz musicians began to gravitate towards the area. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, the centre of the recording world shifted its position across the continent from New York in the East to Hollywood and Los Angeles in the West.

The formation of "after-hours" clubs in the area was an inevitable outcome of the move, and in such places as The Haig, Zardi's, The Tiffany, The California and The Lighthouse in Los Angeles, and the Downbeat and Hangover in San Francisco, the new school of experimentalists was given the opportunity to develop and expand into a new and recognized entity.

Foremost amongst these establishments was The Lighthouse at Hermosa Beach, the club with which most of the new West Coasters became identified. It was here in 1948 [May, 1949?] that Howard Rumsey, a musician who had played bass in the earliest Stan Kenton band, gave the first of his many Sunday concerts. His task was not easy at the outset and the local following was slight. He persevered, however, and by 1950 had created a new jazz tradition in California. He became part owner of the club and helped in the production of a musically conducive atmosphere by his continued appearance on the stand with the visiting musicians.

The leaders of the West Coast movement comprised three ex-Kenton musicians. Of these trumpeter Shorty Rogers was the most well-known, for despite his youth he had had a wide and lengthy experience of working with and for jazz. One of his earliest jobs was in the band of his brother-in-law Red Norvo in the middle forties. Subsequently he played with Herman and Kenton as well as many engagements with studio bands and small jazz groups. The second founder member was drummer Shelly Manne, one of the most improved percussionists of recent years. He was stationed in New York during his service with the Coast Guard, and it was here that he played and recorded with Coleman Hawkins, Ben Webster, Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. His work with Stan Kenton was exemplified by a certain tenseness, although the seeds of his future inventiveness were evident in Kenton's composition Shelly Manne. The third musician was the versatile saxophonist Jimmy Giuffre, most often to be heard on baritone but almost equally facile on tenor and clarinet. He, too, had played in bands led by Woody Herman and Stan Kenton before settling down in California. It was around these three men, Rogers, Manne and Giuffre, that the main body of the school was formed and in the light of future development it was fortunate that each of the three recognized jazz's allegiance to the beat.

Amongst the remainder of the Stan Kenton sidemen who stayed in the Hollywood area were trumpeter Maynard Ferguson, trombonist Milt Bernhart, alto saxists Art Pepper and Bud Shank, tenor saxists Bob Cooper and Bill Holman and bassist Don Bagley. Other musicians of repute arrived on the scene after the initial confirmation of the new school and there is no doubt that the West Coast movement encouraged the development of many who might not otherwise have turned to jazz.

The regrettable feature of this rapid formation of the new jazz centre was the almost complete exclusion of coloured musicians from the clubs and recording studios. The Negro has always experienced difficulty in obtaining regular musical employment apart from the all-coloured touring bands and the local groups which have played in and around the Southern States. The continual prejudice against non-whites whittled the number of coloured musicians in California down to a very small percentage of the total. It is worth considering here the work of these few personalities.

First on the list comes the late Wardell Gray, who had managed to find employment for his small group at most of the Hollywood clubs, specializing in jazz played with a beat. His untimely and tragic death in the spring of 1955  robbed the jazz world in general and California in particular of a most respected and well-liked personality. Wardell was originally spotted by Benny Goodman at a 1947 Gene Norman concert in Pasadena and, after tours with Goodman and Basic, returned to the West Coast in 1950. Bass player Curtis Counce has achieved the near-impossible by becoming a member of the studio round, and there is ample evidence on record that his musicianly sound has helped many of the Hollywood studio-assembled bands to swing in a relaxed manner. Drummer Max Roach had made a brief but memorable visit to Rumsey's Lighthouse during the winter of 1953-54 and returned to the Coast later with Clifford Brown as co-leader of a Quintet. Pianist Sonny Clark became identified with the scene principally as a member of Buddy De Franco's rhythm section. The more gifted pianist Hampton Hawes has also played chiefly with white groups.

Harry Edison, a mainstay of the Count Basie band for many years, has figured on many sessions and played in the trumpet section of the Shorty Rogers band when it recorded a tribute to Basie. The resulting long-playing record, titled Shorty Courts The Count, did not, however, contain any solos by Edison, which would seem to indicate that a golden opportunity had been missed. Edison played a successful engagement at the Haig club, in the summer of 1953, as the alternating attraction to the Gerry Mulligan Quartet. Tenor saxist Dexter Gordon and drummer Larry Marable had both worked for long periods with Wardell Gray, the former's association dating back to the original Chase success recorded for Ross Russell's Dial label in 1947. Falling into this same category is Teddy Edwards, another tenor player who first gained prominence in the middle forties and, in 1954, played at a few West Coast concert dates with the Max Roach-Clifford Brown unit.

Drummer Chico Hamilton was born in Los Angeles and worked with Charlie Barnet, Lester Young, Duke Ellington, Count Basie and Lena Home before becoming the first drummer in the Gerry Mulligan Quartet. With Mulligan he set and maintained a very high standard, particularly with his crisp brushwork. Finally, Frank Morgan an alto saxist with an incisive tone and an inherent sense of swing who recorded with Teddy Charles's West Coasters. Morgan later moved across country to New York at a time when most trans-American jazz traffic was in the reverse direction.

These are the most prominent non-white musicians to have worked on the Pacific Coast. Without them the new jazz which has been created there would have already become stagnant, for no true and lasting jazz development has yet occurred which has not been fostered or helped by Negroes.

The white musicians are legion and have constituted the vast majority of the jazzmen in the area. Shorty Rogers is an omnipresent influence either through his scoring or his playing. His own solo work rarely fails to swing and is typified by a welcome and extrovert sense of humour. After Rogers the most outstanding soloist on trumpet is Chet Baker, who was given his chance in the original Quartet formed by Gerry Mulligan. Subsequently he left to form his own group, and his association with the West Coast was severed except for visits occasioned by his touring schedule. Chet specializes in a warm-toned approach to trumpet jazz, heard to best advantage on slow ballads. His success with Mulligan on the recording of My Funny Valentine was repeated on record with his own Quartet versions of Imagination and Moon Love. In common with many other trumpeters who had gone before him, he attempted to broaden his expression by singing. His vocals are not without interest, although their value should not be overstressed.

Maynard Ferguson gained notoriety with his high-note effects for Charlie Barnet and Stan Kenton. His establishment on the Coast gave him greater opportunities to play jazz, principally at The Lighthouse, and when restricted to the normal register of his instrument he produces a style of playing close to that of Shorty Rogers. A second Rogers disciple possessed of an even less-inhibited approach than Shorty is Don Fagerquist. Don, of Swedish-American extraction, possesses the qualities necessary for big-band work and he figured in both the Gene Krupa and Les Brown trumpet sections for lengthy periods. His solo work is constructive and exciting in the better sense of the term.

Dick Collins will be remembered as the trumpet mainstay of the Dave Brubeck Octet. In common with other Brubeck associates he studied at Mills College under the modern French composer Darius Milhaud. He continued his studies under Milhaud in Paris and made his first jazz records there with Kenny Clarke for French Vogue. He has worked subsequently with many styles and sizes of bands from Alvino Rey to Woody Herman, and his association with the West Coast appears to have been more by accident than design. The first new trumpeter of distinction is Jack Sheldon, who has worked at The Lighthouse, recorded with Jimmy Giuffre and also with a Quartet under his own name. Tonally his approach is close to the Rogers style, but his solos are constructed with softer outlines.

A feature of the Pacific Coast style is the accent placed upon adaptability and versatility. Shorty Rogers has experimented with flugel horn, while trumpeter Maynard Ferguson took up the valve trombone. This latter development was occasioned by the work of Bob Enevoldsen, a sincere and gifted musician who gave the piston-operated trombone a new lease of life in jazz. In addition, Bob has recorded on tenor saxophone and double bass and is capable of playing trumpet as well as most of the reed instruments.

Furthermore, he has been responsible for several simple but effective arrangements. Another important valve trombonist is Bob Brookmeyer, a native of Kansas City and an inhabitant of the West Coast by choice. His work both with Stan Getz and Gerry Mulligan placed him before the jazz public, and the later recordings under his own name show the steady development of his own musical personality. His style is founded upon a firm love of the Count Basie principles, namely that jazz must swing all the time.

Stu Williamson, younger brother of pianist Claude Williamson, added the valve trombone as a double to his main instrument, the trumpet. On the more conventional slide trombone Milt Bernhart is the oldest-established member of The Lighthouse group, with an expressive and emotional approach to his solo work. The rich tone heard on such recordings as Solitaire with Kenton has become familiar on many small group recordings, notably Decca's "Jazz Studio Two" session. Herbie Harper, from Texas, played trombone in the Charlie Spivak band which worked in California during the nineteen-forties. He remained in Hollywood after Spivak's 1946 engagements and then became one of the first to join the coveted circle of studio men. His jazz playing is represented on two long-playing records under his own name for the Nocturne label, a third issue under the leadership of drummer George Redman for Skylark and a four-title session for the Trend label with clarinettist Abe Most. The records reveal him as a dependable if somewhat predictable soloist with a warm tone and an ample technique.

Turning to the reed instruments it becomes evident that this category has been a firm favourite with the West Coasters. The modern jazz movement had previously placed the accent on tenor and alto through the work of Lester Young and the late Charlie Parker, and it was no doubt these earlier influences which contributed towards the large-scale use of the saxophone. The clarinet did not seem suited to the West Coast style and there is probably no significance to be read into this virtually complete forbearance. Jimmy Giuffre used the clarinet for solo work, to heighten the Basie atmosphere in Shorty Courts The Count. In addition, he took solos on his own LP and on "Jazz Studio Two" revealing a soft-toned approach not completely in keeping with his forceful, robust work on tenor and baritone. Abe Most, a one-time Les Brown musician, recorded for Hollywood's Trend label and produced four titles which gave rise to much exaggerated praise and an attempt to foster Most as the replacement for Benny Goodman.

The first alto soloist of note in the new Hollywood school was Art Pepper, the principal jazz soloist with Kenton for several years. Despite the advent of several new arrivals, each hailed as a sensation, Pepper has emerged catalytically as the best in a highly competitive field. His natural and free sense of swing contains more of the true jazz spirit than many of his contemporaries. His solo work on record is as impressive with either large or small groups, for his playing imparts a sense of presence and personality. With Kenton he recorded his longest and best feature, the arrangement by Shorty Rogers which was named after Art himself. His Quartet and Quintet LPs for Discovery are most enjoyable, as are his solos, on both alto and tenor, with Shorty Rogers on Victor/H.M.V.

Bud Shank was a contemporary of Pepper in the Stan Kenton organization and, consequently, was accorded few solos. It was his later work on record with the Gerry Mulligan Tentette and the Afrodesia feature with Shelly Manne on Contemporary that confirmed him as a soloist rather than merely a good section man. His versatility has been demonstrated on many occasions, for he is a capable musician on tenor and baritone saxes and in 1953 he commenced the serious adaptation of the flute to jazz. In this respect he was not as successful as some of his East Coast contemporaries who had attempted the same task. The unusual flute sound neither helped nor hindered the first LP volume by guitarist Barney Kessel, and the subsequent flute and oboe duets between Shank and Bob Cooper have formed a more useful contribution to jazz. His best flute solo will be found on the Nocturne LP under his own name, the composition being Lotus Bud written by Shorty Rogers.

Herb Geller comes nearest to the standard set by Pepper as a jazz soloist pure and simple. His broad-toned alto has graced many recorded performances and his contribution to "Jazz Studio Two" places him well above his colleagues as a musician of sincerity and deep-seated jazz feeling. In comparison with Geller the work of Lee Konitz (who was resident in Hollywood for a time) and Paul Desmond sounds anaemic. Konitz became less introspective in his musical outlook during his term of service with the Stan Kenton Orchestra, for he was lucky enough to play in one of the most swinging bands ever to have played under the Kenton baton. Desmond's work has been almost inseparably linked with the playing of Dave Brubeck and as a complementary voice to Brubeck's piano style he is irreplaceable.

Lennie Niehaus, yet another Kenton alto player, exhibits enormous potential and is possessed of a prodigious technique. His first recordings for the Contemporary label were extremely impressive by virtue of Niehaus' length of melodic line, purity of tone and sense of swing. Despite these attributes his playing lacks the elusive jazz quality which would make him the equal of Pepper or Geller.

The tenor saxophone has attracted an almost equally large following. Jimmy Giuffre has used the instrument frequently, for it is ideally suited to his sense of humour. He indulged in excursions into the rhythm-and-blues field by way of his Big Girl and Big Boy recordings although he is capable of turning in more serious work when the occasion demands. His own LP on Capitol indicates that the tenor is his second best instrument and it is the larger baritone that gives him a better means of expression.

Bob Cooper concentrates on tenor apart from his occasional use of oboe and English horn. His solos have always been well constructed and competently played with a-tone reminiscent of the woodwind family. He acknowledges the influence of the Stan Getz school although he is by no means a complete copyist. On his instrument he is a greater technician and perfectionist than another ex-Kenton tenorman Bill Holman. Holman's solo playing contains more punch but less lightness and grace and it is for his arranging that he is most noteworthy.

Both Zoot Sims and Stan Getz have been identified with the West Coast in the middle fifties, Sims by virtue of his engagement with Stan Kenton and his subsequent settlement in California while Getz was a frequent visitor at the head of his Quartet and Quintet.

Jack Montrose is a more genuine West Coast jazzman, developing into a soloist after some years of work principally as an arranger and composer. He became staff arranger for Richard Bock's Pacific Jazz label and wrote for several Chet Baker and Bob Gordon sessions.

Bill Perkins qualifies for inclusion in this chapter despite his long association with the Woody Herman band. Perkins created the smooth tenor solo to be heard on Blues for Brando played by the Shorty Rogers Orchestra (H.M.V.).

Lastly, Dave Pell, a musician who has been heard most frequently as a member of the Les Brown band. Pell headed a most musicianly Octet for recording purposes using arrangements by Rogers, Marty Paich, Johnny Mandel and Wes Hensel and his smooth, sophisticated sound has been a pleasing addition to Hollywood's jazz scene.

The larger baritone saxophone was placed very firmly in perspective by Gerry Mulligan during the autumn of 1952 when he came to the West Coast. Around this instrument he formed a Quartet completed by trumpet, bass and drums and proved immediately that as a solo instrument the baritone had few if any, drawbacks. His playing undoubtedly influenced Bob Gordon, who took up the instrument and who played it in preference to the tenor whenever he was able. He made great progress and was soon given the opportunity to record an entire LP for Pacific Jazz under the title Meet Mr. Gordon. He may be heard almost equally well on the George Redman album for Skylark. As has been noted previously Giuffre plays baritone very successfully, as do both Geller and Shank. On one notable occasion in the Victor recording studios Shank, Art Pepper and Giuffre all played baritone on the Shorty Rogers recording of Sweetheart of Sigmund Freud.

There have been many critics who have opposed the use of the term "West Coast Jazz", claiming it was merely a coincidence that so much jazz talent was placed in the same area at the same time. Up to a point this assertion is correct, but it must be remembered that jazz can only progress and develop through influence and association. Over the years the close proximity of jazz musicians in Hollywood led inevitably to the passing on of ideas and means of expression and the subsequent creation of a style. This is particularly notable in a study of the pianists. The earliest identified keyboard artiste in the new school was Joe Albany, who aroused a great deal of interest by virtue of his work on some records with Lester Young for the Aladdin label. Most musicians who followed were enthusiastic about his early work and acknowledged the influence of his playing on their own work.

One of the first pianists to work at The Lighthouse after the foundation of the Sunday concerts there by Rumsey was the Negro Hampton Hawes. He was already known in the area and had recorded with Teddy Edwards and Herbie Harper for the Rex label. Of all the pianists to follow none have played with the same amount of uninhibited swing as Hawes. His earlier work with Negro musicians gives him an advantage over his contemporaries. Frank Patchen figured on some of the earlier concerts at The Lighthouse with Shorty Rogers' Giants and was replaced by Russ Freeman. Freeman became an established West Coaster relatively quickly, largely due to his work with the Chet Baker Quartet. His facile playing contains more than an element of the glibness associated with much of the Hollywood school. More so than ever before in jazz, the head has become master of the heart. Technically Freeman's playing is excellent and on record he is best heard in the company of Shelly Manne, principally on the Contemporary LP they made together and also on the long Night Letter for Emarcy.

Marty Paich has developed from an unspectacular pianist into a more important soloist and arranger. He studied under Mario Castelnuovo-Tedesco, the modern composer, and took a degree in composition at Los Angeles Conservatory of Music. All this did not prevent him from working with Shorty Rogers, where his economical, Basie-like style was ideally suited to the big band. He commenced writing in 1953 and representative examples will be found in Contemporary's Shelly Manne Vol. 2 (Dimension In Thirds) and "Jazz Studio Two" (Paicheck).

Claude Williamson arrived on the West Coast scene in 1953 when his discharge from the American Forces coincided with Russ Freeman's departure from The Lighthouse. Claude was not, however, an unestablished jazzman at this time, for in 1949 he had recorded a piano feature with Charlie Barnet under the tide Claude Reigns which brought him some measure of prominence. His earliest jazz influence was Teddy Wilson and his own playing later reveals a neat and orderly approach. While he has not the percussive driving force of Russ Freeman his work is hallmarked by an omnipresent tastefulness and a delicate sense of touch. He was one of the first to record for the "Kenton Presents Jazz" series on Capitol and may also be heard on the Bud Shank-Bob Cooper flute and oboe LP. His own composition for this latter album, Aquarium contains the inherent sense of elegance and delivery which makes his own playing so readily identifiable.

The remaining West Coast pianists of note include Maury Dell (who may be heard on George Redman's Skylark LP), Pete Jolly, who recorded first with Frank Rosolino and Shorty Rogers before being given a solo session for Victor, and Lorraine Geller, wife of Herb Geller. The list would be incomplete without mention here of Dave Brubeck. Brubeck now became the centre of his own esoteric school and his importance is assessed in the following chapter. As a technician he has improved slowly over the years, commencing with a touch sorely lacking in sensitivity and developing later into a musician better qualified to translate his own ideas into tangible form.

The remaining rhythm-section musicians are headed by the "veterans" Shelly Manne and Howard Rumsey. The formation of the Gerry Mulligan Quartet in 1952 emphasized the importance of the double bass as the pivot instrument. The work of Bob Whitlock and Carson Smith in this field pointed the way to future developments. Bassists previously content to mark time realized the true potentialities of their instruments, and the authoritative lines set down by both Whitlock and Smith caused a minor revolution. Joe Mondragon and Harry Babasin, both of whom had been resident in Hollywood for some years, reassessed their own importance and fell in with the new movement. Not since the days of Jimmy Blanton had the bass assumed such a position of respect and arrangers commenced to write in special parts for the instrument. At last it was realized that the correctly chosen notes played by the bass could imply a complex chord pattern.

Failing the availability of first-class musicians capable of choosing the unusual but accurate notes for themselves then the obvious solution was to score in the bass as a necessity to the strength of the group. Inspired by the success of the earlier exponents, new musicians such as Monty Budwig took their places behind the unwieldy but masterly instrument. In addition, Harry Babasin re-introduced his experiments with the 'cello in jazz. He had first recorded with this instrument on a Dodo Marmarosa session for Dial during 1947. With the founding of his own record company, Nocturne Records, he again placed the 'cello to the forefront as an interesting though not widely accepted jazz voice.

The leading guitarist resident on the Pacific Coast has been Barney Kessel, although he has hardly been a true West Coaster. After his unique contribution to Charlie Parker's 1947 record date and his stimulating work on Gene Norman's "Just Jazz" concerts, Barney became a familiar figure with the touring "Jazz At The Philharmonic" unit before making his home in Hollywood. He made two well-recorded albums for Contemporary under his own name, the first with Bud Shank, the second with Bob Cooper. His work on each places him at the very top of the list of performers on his instrument and his influence upon other guitarists is immediately apparent.

Howard Roberts was born in Arizona and came to jazz by way of "Country and Western Music"; in many ways his musical life being along parallel lines so his East Coast contemporary Johnny Smith. His resident Hollywood berth in the fifties has been with the Bobby Troup Trio, but when the occasion demands he is transformed into a dependable and accurate jazz soloist. He recorded with Bob Cooper in Capitol's "Kenton Presents" series and with the "Jazz Studio Two" and "Jazz Studio Three" assembled by Decca. He may also be heard on Bob Enevoldson's Nocturne LP and the Pacific Jazz album under Chico Hamilton's name. Laurindo Almeida, a Brazilian, got his first chance in jazz with the Stan Kenton Orchestra after the war and has been unrelenting in his attempts to wed jazz and Latin-American rhythms into a cohesive musical pattern. Although not a true jazz musician his work is extremely interesting and he has recorded several long-playing records for Capitol, Pacific Jazz and Coral.

On drums the tower of inspirational strength is Shelly Manne. The standard set by him is remarkably high and it is not surprising to find that he has few serious rivals. Larry Bunker continues to use the formulas laid down by Chico Hamilton with Mulligan and has also proved his worth as a vibes player on record with the Harry Babasin Quartet (Nocturne). Roy Harte came West from Brooklyn in the middle forties to work in a series of bands, including the Vido Musso group, which included Jimmy Giuffre and Stan Getz. His work in the recording studios is notable principally for its quantity, although his playing on jazz dates is good if somewhat unspectacular in comparison with Manne. Drummers Bobby White, Gene Gammage and George Redman have also contributed to the West Coast scene.

Finally to the vibraphone players, led by the veteran Red Norvo. Norvo has been associated with jazz since the late twenties, and his continued progress with the younger elements is not easy to understand. His original contemporaries had remained in the swing groove which they had helped to excavate, yet Norvo is capable of playing with his Trio (completed first by Tal Farlow and Charlie Mingus, and later by Jimmy Raney and Red Mitchell) without any apparent anachronistic drawbacks. He had been associated with Hollywood for some years and following his tour of Europe at the beginning of 1954 he returned to his home in the West and cut a series of records with studio assembled bands for Victor using arrangements by Shorty Rogers. Cal Tjader was the first drummer with Dave Brubeck and he doubles vibes effectively. It was on this latter instrument that he gained an entry into the George Shearing Quintet and developed an appetite for Latin-American rhythm experiments. Teddy Charles came West from New York and stayed for a couple of years. His "New Directions", which had startled some of the East Coast enthusiasts, are a long way from jazz and despite his attempts to fit the Hollywood school successfully, he remains, like Brubeck, the leader of a small school beyond the pale of the larger West Coast movement. He has recorded exclusively for Prestige and was, in fact, the company's Pacific Coast representative before returning East in 1954.

These, then, are the principal actors on the West Coast jazz stage. Their music and its value as a contribution to jazz progress will be assessed in the following chapter.”



Tuesday, September 1, 2026

Bob Phillips and the Lighthouse Jazz Quartet Plus One by Liz Jacobs

 


This posting falls under the broader category of a public service announcement - AKA -  helping out some local musicians. 

I realize that for many of you who visit the blog from “far away places” that attending the events outlined in the following correspondence may be somewhat of a stretch, but perhaps you might check out the links to the music.

For those of you who have ready access to the  noted locations in northern California it might be fun to attend these performances.

“Dear Steve,

I’m writing to ask whether you might be interested in reviewing a new, independently produced jazz album with deep roots in the Monterey Peninsula: The Lighthouse Jazz Quartet Plus One — Live at the Cherry Center.

 

The album features five highly regarded local musicians: Bob Phillips on piano, Dennis Murphy on electric bass, Mike Shannon on drums, Stu Reynolds on tenor saxophone and bass clarinet, and Paul Contos on saxophones, clarinet and alto flute. It was recorded by engineer Jesse de Carlo during a live performance at the Carl Cherry Center for the Arts in Carmel.

 

The recording grew out of a rather wonderful local story. During the pandemic, when our Pacific Grove restaurant, Wild Fish, had become little more than a to-go operation surrounded by boxes, Bob Phillips appeared at the door and asked whether we would like a piano. We said yes, imagining we might find a use for it when the restaurant reopened.

 

Bob delivered the piano the following day. A day later, he returned and announced that he had forgotten to mention that the piano came with a free piano player—himself.

 

From that unlikely beginning, Bob became a treasured part of Wild Fish, and the Lighthouse Jazz Quartet developed a regular Friday and Saturday residency that has continued for six years. Over time, the restaurant became a genuine musical home: a place where some of the Peninsula’s finest jazz musicians could play together regularly, welcome guest artists and encourage exceptional young players.

 

Wild Fish subsequently produced this album in celebration of the musicians and the remarkable musical community that has grown around them.

 

The record opens with Jobim’s “Triste,” followed by “A Weaver of Dreams” and Stu Reynolds’ original composition, “Blues for Bobby.” Side two begins with Gershwin’s “‘S Wonderful” before moving into what may be the album’s most distinctive achievement: an unusually thoughtful closing sequence of five Billy Strayhorn compositions—“Chelsea Bridge,” “A Flower Is a Lovesome Thing,” “Passion Flower,” “Blood Count” and “Take the ‘A’ Train.”

 

That Strayhorn sequence is especially artful, revealing the range and emotional complexity of the composer’s work while allowing the individual voices within the ensemble to emerge. A veteran British music critic and album producer who heard the recording was genuinely impressed by the musicianship and production, and particularly by these final five pieces. His response encouraged us to seek thoughtful independent critical attention for the album.

 

The release will be celebrated through three significant local performances:

 

Sunday, September 6, 2:00–4:00 p.m. — Carl Cherry Center for the Arts, Carmel. The group returns to the venue where the album was recorded to perform selections from it, joined by gifted young musicians from its Legacy Program.

Sunday, September 27, 1:30–2:30 p.m. — Monterey Jazz Festival, Courtyard Stage. Wild Fish will proudly present the Lighthouse Jazz Quartet Plus One as part of the 69th Monterey Jazz Festival.

Sunday, October 25 — Wave Street Studios, Monterey. A final album-launch celebration will bring the established musicians together with student guest artists, reflecting the group’s commitment to passing this musical tradition forward.

 

If the album might be of interest, I would be delighted to provide a vinyl, CD or private digital review copy and any further background you may need. We would also be very happy to arrange interviews with Bob Phillips or other members of the ensemble, and to welcome you to any of these performances.

 

We are proud of the album—but more importantly, we believe the performances deserve to be heard and considered on their musical merits. I very much hope you will have an opportunity to listen.

 

Warmly,

 

Liz Jacobs

Wild Fish Restaurant

Pacific Grove, California

(707)734-3240

 

 

Sound tracks on Google Drive Link:

https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1gzwo2w6KIrbQ-LzT79nvZuiM5msOiWo7?usp=sharing

  

 September 6 concert and tickets:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/bob-phillips-and-the-lighthouse-jazz-quartet-plus-one-album-release-party-tickets-1997156938164

 

Monterey Jazz Festival artist page:”

https://montereyjazz.org/artist/wild-fish-presents-the-lighthouse-jazz-quartet/



Saturday, August 29, 2026

Stan Levey: From Left to Right - The JazzProfiles Interview

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

A number of Jazz fans have requested that I bring this feature up again.



Bebop was causing the swing drummers fits because of the jabs and stabs required of the left hand and right foot — snare drum and bass drum — against the ride cymbal pattern. The stuff Kenny Clarke had started ten years earlier had developed into a new complex way of playing that meant the "new" drummers had to really develop their ability to play four different patterns all at the same time. The left foot played the hi hats, the right hand the ride pattern — the left hand and right foot played the drums. The bass drum sound needed to punch out the patterns with a kind of "thud" sound, while the snare drum was often tuned loose — kind of funky — with the snares barely against the bottom head.


Although the following interview with drummer Stan Levey took place primarily in 1997 when I called him to ask for his input regarding a feature I was writing on the late pianist and vibraphonist Victor Feldman, it really had been going on for over 40 years


By the mid-1990’s, Stan had been retired from active work as a Jazz drummer and studio percussionist for about 25 years.


Stan was always a very straight-talking man and this composite interview reflects that quality which is why I prize it so much.


During the late 1950s, I got to know Stan quite well. He was performing weekly with Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse All-Stars in Hermosa Beach, CA and I was attempting to flunk out of high school while I studied his drumming technique in-person, as often as possible.


He was always kind and generous with his help, fatherly in his advice and I learned from him the greatest lesson for any Jazz drummer - to keep time that you could set a watch to. Some of the questions and answers in the interview date back to this early period.


In those days, Stan “The Man” shared the town [the Los Angeles Jazz scene] with Mel Lewis and Shelly Manne and the three of them - along with Larry Bunker who always claimed that he picked up their left-overs-  provide an aspiring, young Jazz drummer with a terrific laboratory in which to study. 


[Their style of drumming, individually and collectively, may also be one answer to the perennial question about how East and West Coast Jazz differ. But that’s a topic to be addressed in a future JazzProfiles entry.]


As a point in passing, you can see and hear Stan talking about his career on his self-produced DVD - Stan Levey “The Original Original: The Jazz Bop Pioneer Tells His Story. The reference is from Dizzy Gillespie who was fond of calling Stan - “the original, original.” I’ve embedded the YouTube version of this video at the conclusion of this piece.


Posting this interview is a small way of remembering Stan Levey and of saying “Thank you.”


JazzProfiles [JP]: Do you feel that the drummer has other roles besides time-keeping?


Stan Levey [SL]: Sure, absolutely. You have musical statements to make. To enhance whatever is going on in the front line.


JP: What was the equipment like in the early 1940s when you started playing compared to today?


SL: By the ‘40s you had pretty good equipment. The Ludwig Company had good stuff. They had pretty good drums. Actually the wood was very good, too. But the ‘20s and ‘30s stuff was a little weird. It just wasn’t that good. By the middle of the ‘40s everything was worked out.


JP: Being a contemporary of players like Max Roach and Art Blakey, did you notice a lot of competition among yourself and other drummers or was there an effort to try and share the idea? Shelly once said that “42nd Street was like a garden.”


SL: A lot of camaraderie, actually. Max and I were very close. We were all good friends. There wasn’t that much work around, so we all split it up. Everybody kind of helped everybody; like Shelly said.


JP: I wasn’t sure of how that might have played out considering it was such a new style.


SL: Yeah, but there were so few guys who were playing it or could play it. What’s the point of hiding something? You can’t hide anything anyway, wherever you play someone picks up on it.


JP: When you were making a lot of those bebop records in the 1940s, would you have predicted the kind of longevity they’ve had?


SL: Yeah, because it was musically valid. It was good music. The musical content was very good. If you listen to it, it holds up today. Mozart is good, that was 200 years ago. I’m not trying to make it sound like we were as good as Mozart. Good is good, bad is bad. Bad stinks and that’s the end of it. That’s the way I look at it.


JP: Why do you think that drummers are considered to be less worthy as musicians; or not as competent as those that play other instruments?


SL: Mostly because in the early times they had no real musical knowledge. They didn’t know the keyboard and a lot of them couldn’t read. Today that’s not true. They’re all just great.


JP: Did you find your early recording sessions to be difficult, as far as getting a good sound or playing together as a unit?


SL: Well, there was no intercutting. You made a record from the top. They cut the record right there. If you didn’t like it, you would start again. It was a little more stressful. And the micing was a little primitive.


JP: Did you prefer to play live as opposed to make records?


SL: Live playing is always more fun; less confining.


JP: What value do you see in a drum solo?


SL: It depends on how good it is, how it’s constructed. Does it make sense? When you listen to the masters play a drum solo you never stop listening, you’re locked into it. It takes you somewhere. Listen to Buddy Rich or Louie Bellson or Joe Morello - they know how to build things to generate excitement and to keep you interested. It’s not just about technique. Those guys have it to burn and they all put on a show with it but they know how to take you with them.


JP: Were there certain repertories or melodies that you thought of when you soloed?


SL: Yeah, you think musically. Not a melody, but where you’re going with it. You’re going to build and come back. I am not a fan of long drums solos, unless it’s a guy like Buddy or Louie or Joe. That was not my forte anyway.




JP: Do you like trading fours over a solo?


SL: That’s fun, fours and eights. If it makes good musical sense then I think it’s good, but not to do it just for the sake of doing it.


JP: Would you say that drums could be approached melodically?


SL: Oh, absolutely. In fact they should be tuned to a note.  I’ve always done that. Instead of tensioning it, it should be tuned.


JP: Was there a specific pitch you would tune your drums to?


SL: I’m trying to remember, it was so long ago. Probably an “F” on the bass drum and then a “C” on the small tom. You try to make some musical sounds out of them instead of just cranking them up.


JP: Do you ever think colors or use terms like color or texture?


SL: No. Well, texture, yes. Cymbal textures which are at a higher pitch. Not color.


JP: Did you use riveted cymbals; so-called “Chinese” cymbals; crash cymbals?


SL: Yeah, we just punched a hole in them and put a rivet in. We all did that for different sounds or textures, getting back to that. I fooled around with a Chinese for a while in Stan’s [Kenton’s] band and you had to have big cymbals to project power over the band, but I went with 18” cymbals in a small group: one with rivets and one without.


JP: What about brush playing? It almost seems to be becoming a dying art.


SL: I hear guys today that are good brush players. I could play the hell out of brushes. The old masters always argued that almost anything you could play with sticks you should be able to play using brushes.


JP: Were there any specific guys that you preferred to play with?


SL: I played with all of them, [Charlie] Parker, [Dizzy] Gillespie, Miles [Davis], Dexter [Gordon], Ben Webster, Coleman [Hawkins]. I loved them all. These guys were just great. They’re all dead, too. But the new guys are good; there’s a lot of good players out there today.


JP: Did you give lessons to other drummers?


SL: I used to have a few students in the ‘50s, but teaching drums is not my thing. I’m self-taught, both to play and to read, but I was never much into drum rudiment books


JP: Did you ever get stage fright playing with these people who are now referred to as giants?


SL: Yeah. One guy, Ben Webster, scared the hell out of me. He looked like he was about nine feet tall and fifteen feet wide; big shoulders. He was just that kind of guy, but he really was a pussycat. We didn’t get along well at the beginning, but later we became very good friends. We did a lot of records together. He just scared me because of his presence.


JP: Were a lot of your influences from people like Gene Krupa, Chick Webb, and Sid Catlett?


SL: Sid very much so. Sid, Max [Roach], Davey Tough. We all go to the same well.  Nobody invents anything; everybody stands on somebody’s shoulders. So we all took from the best and Sid was one of the best.


JP: Would you consider the bebop style as coming from Max Roach and Kenny Clarke?


SL: It didn’t come from any one person. The same way that Parker didn’t come from just Parker. Parker came from Lester Young. When I started playing with Parker in the early ‘40s, he sounded like Lester on alto. Then he’d take a left-hand turn every once in a while. And you’d say, “Whoa, what was that?” And I think drumming is the same thing. Shadow Wilson had something different. Each one had a little flap, it would open another door. It just developed, and Max would take it, of course. Max was the front runner.


JP: How about guys like Roy Haynes?


SL: Roy was later. I like Roy. He’s a real nice imitator and he did it well.


JP: What do you think separated Max and Art Blakey?


SL: Art was just like a rough, uncut diamond. Where Max was highly polished, very good chops, very good technique. Max was more studied. Art was just rough. He had a great heart. Another guy who was great, Denzil Best. Man, I want to tell you that guy could play. He was a trumpet player first. He worked with Coleman Hawkins. I heard him in New York when he first joined George Shearing’s group. Beautiful brush work.


JP: There’s a lot of talk of how bebop eliminated the bass drum on all four beats. Did you do that?


SL: What really happened … the way Dizzy played, he would do his high notes and then back off for maybe half a bar. He needed something to fill that; it’s called a fill or they’d call it “dropping bombs.” The idea was to fill the little spot and keep the momentum going. That was what it was all about. The drummer felt obligated to do that. The thump-thump-thump-thump four beats to the bar thing on bass drum was still used by some drummers, even later, but it was quieter. We called it feathering. So guys just found it easier to come off that to “drop bombs.” Some guys played the hat on 2 and 4 and the bass drum on 1 and 3.


JP: Did you have a lot of interplay between your two hands in terms of keeping ride patterns with one hand and other patterns or accents in the other?


SL: Sure, but you always had to keep the momentum going to make sure it swung. The left-hand accents are used to emphasize and push the swing.


JP: Did the swing or groove come out of the hi-hat?


SL: If we are talking about small bands then it would be the ride cymbal. In those days you didn’t get real technical about what you were doing. You related what you heard to what was coming out of your drums. You were just supposed to know what goes with what and lay it in.


JP: Was there anything specific that you listened for, or you just got up there and did your thing?


SL: Well, we usually had real good players because one weak link and you were in trouble. First of all, they wouldn’t be there. Usually, it was Parker, Gillespie, Haig, Ray Brown and myself. Each guy was a premier player; they knew what the hell to do. I mean we rehearsed, but it was about the unspoken word. If you had to speak about it, you were in trouble.


JP: Did you go to Minton’s [Playhouse in Harlem] a lot?


SL: Oh yeah, sure.


JP: I’m sure you get this question a lot but for the record are you a lefty player, a “southpaw”?


SL: I’m a right-handed player that plays drums left-handed. Don’t ask me why. There were no drums teachers to ask; it just felt good.


JP: Did you have trouble going to the jam session nights having to switch everything around?


SL: That was always a pain.


JP: Is there anything that you would say that made you’re playing unique?


SL: I had a God-given gift; it was nothing I studied for. I had a very good technique and could play fast as a son of a bitch. I don’t know how it happened, I could just do it all night long. I played through my ears. If you don’t play through your ears, it becomes just mechanical.


JP: All night and almost all day, too, I heard.


SL: We’d finish on 52nd Street at four in the morning, then go uptown and play until ten. We didn’t care about the money, anything; in those days, the music was the thing. The music was new, and we were new. We were young and we just wanted to do it.


JP: Did you find it, at any time, disheartening with a lot of the critics talking down about bebop or rebop-  the new music?


SL: Nah, we knew the music was great.


JP: They say a lot of the swing guys couldn’t make the transition to bop. Davey Tough for instance.


SL: No, he couldn’t. Davey’s from the ‘20s. Well, Davey had other problems, too. Whatever the hell “swing” means, that’s what he played: Roy Eldridge, Coleman Hawkins – that kind of thing. The change came in the early ‘40s; ’44 was really the year and it just went from there. Just the way it went from ragtime to Duke Ellington.  I guess what I played with Benny Goodman in the early 1940s was swing.


JP: Did you feel that you had those big shoes to fill, Krupa’s, for example? 


SL: Yeah, I took Gene’s place, sure, big shoes. But when you are 17 or 18 years old, who gives a shit? You just go out and do it. The worst thing that could happen is the guy don’t like me. That’s being young, that’s the great part about it. Young and stupid, or whatever you want to call it. You just do it because you love it and you know it’s going to be okay.


JP: It seems the scene was very welcoming to new players.


SL: Well, there weren’t many players. There weren’t many good drummers around, maybe eight or ten. Today, for young people who want to be drummers; they have all the information on tape and in books. We had no tapes, no books and not that many records. We used to wait six months for a good drummer to come to town and try to soak up everything he could do.


JP: Did you guys used to go together, you and other drummers, just go and check it out and talk about it?


SL: If there was a good drummer or a good band in town we’d all wind up there. It was just that way; we’d all be there to see what was going on. Today’s everybody’s in their homes with their twenty-four track machines; it’s a different world.


JP: Did you like being on the road touring?


SL: I liked working. If the music was good, I didn’t care where it was playing. Wherever the music took you, that’s where I went.




JP: Did you play for yourself; or the audience; or the group?


SL: Never the audience. Not one minute in all my years. Not for myself, for the group. For the music. That’s purist talk, but that’s the way it was. It couldn’t be any other way.


JP: How did a bad review of one of your performances or records affect you?


SL: Oh, yeah. On one of my first albums, the guy said that I was playing like a street drummer; like a marching drummer.


JP: How did that make you feel?


SL: I quieted down because he was right. I was playing too loud.


JP: Do you like being a leader versus a so-called sideman?


SL: On records, sure, because you can put material together, bring in guys that I think are great.


JP: What would you think if you heard guys copying your licks?


SL: I’d be very happy. In fact, a lot of guys are doing it and have been doing it for years.


JP: Do you ever listen to records that you’ve made?


SL: Once in a while, but very seldom.


JP: You don’t play much anymore?


SL: I haven’t played in over 25 years.


JP: Is there a reason why you gave it up?


SL: The music changed and I became a mallet player. I worked in the studios for about eleven years and then things started to change. The young composers came in and they just wanted their own people, which is the way it should be. I saw what was happening and I always had my own other business [Stan was a very successful commercial photographer]. Then the electronics came in and nobody’s working now!


JP: Did you ever go to Boston to pick out your cymbals at the Zildjian factory? If so, was there a specific thing or tone you would look for?


SL: Sure, many times. Every drummer has a cymbal sound in their ears they know they like. You go in and ask for it.


JP: Do you listen to Jazz now?


SL: If it’s good, straight-ahead Jazz.


JP: What about the stuff in the 60s, the Ornette Coleman type?


SL: That’s crazy. That was just one chord horse shit.


JP: Do you think that they are saying the same thing about you?


SL: I don’t care what they say. I didn’t worry about it. It’s not my business what they say, and it’s not their business what I say.




JP: Was race ever an issue for you as far as getting gigs?


SL: That was never a problem. In fact when I was with Dizzy, a lot of Black drummers would say, ‘Hey Dizzy how come you got a White drummer?’ He’d say: ‘If you could do the job better than him you’d have the job.’ That’s the way he was. Race never entered into anything. I worked with all those guys and it was never a problem. But around 1948 or ’49 things started to change and the Black players got a little weird. They were saying things like: ‘You’re taking or stealing my music.’ They started the race things about White guys working on jobs they felt should be all Black players. That kind of bull shit. So that did happen, but it didn’t affect me. Dizzy made the statement: ‘The guy who can do the job best will have the job.’


JP: Did you find you needed a different approach for different types of instrumentalists or groups?


SL: Each situation requires its own touch, it’s own sound. Being a musician is knowing what to do and when to do it. With Stan Getz it’s one approach with Sonny Rollins it’s another. Each player has a different sound and a different freedom. But if a guy has to tell you what to do, you wouldn’t be there.


JP: What was your first drum set like when you started to play professionally?


SL: In the ‘early days’ when I first started playing, nobody had a drum set. You just played on whatever was at the club. Max didn’t have a set; I didn’t have  a set. Wherever we went, whatever was there we played. I only played on the job and I never practiced. I never had a record player, either. If it was a gig, then you played; no gig, no play.


JP: Is there anything that sticks out that connects players like yourself, Max, Kenny Clarke, Philly Joe [Jones], and all those guys?


SL: Well, they are all different and they are all great. They all went down their own road, but there is a thread through all of us, we never discarded that. The approach to the music, to bop or whatever you want to call it. The thread of the music from Parker and Gillespie was always there but each of these guys decorated it with his own thing. Even Elvin Jones, as far out as he gets, is part of that thread because he feels its momentum. And I think that’s what we all have basically in common, a forward motion feeling that grows with everyone adding to it.


JP: Do you think that there are people who were greatly overlooked?
SL: Sure, there were a lot of guys.


JP: Do you feel that you were overlooked?


SL: I didn’t get as much mention as I should have, but whatever happens, happens.


JP: Does that bother you?


SL: Nope. I played with the best. They know it and I know it. I wasn’t in vaudeville, you know what I’m saying? I wanted to play with the best and I did what I wanted to do.

JP: Do you miss playing?


SL: I miss good stuff, good players. Guys like Victor Feldman and Scott LaFaro; they’re all gone. And there are some very good guys around today. But the business is so awful that I know guys my age that are still trying to play. There’s no work.


JP: Are there any recordings of yours that you can suggest that one should check out?


SL: One is called The Arrival of Victor Feldman [Contemporary S7549; OJCCD 268-2] with Scott LaFaro and myself. A trio album it is one of the best things I’ve made. I have one originally called This Time The Drum’s On Me [Bethlehem BCP-37; Toshiba-EMI TOCJ-62027]. It’s been bought and re-released by different companies. That’s with Dexter Gordon.  I also did some things with Parker on Dial Records.




JP: As far as solos go, did you ever develop a repertoire that you play during solos or as the solos came you just went with it?




SL: Everybody develops patterns, even horn players. I did a record with Stan Getz, Sonny Stitt, Dizzy, Ray Brown and John Lewis called For Musicians Only [Verve 837-435-2]. It’s a great record and Stan stole the whole goddamn thing. Everything was really super fast, and he played one thing that was absolutely incredible. It seemed like he came up with this off the seat of his pants. About five years later, I heard a record that he had made four years before this record and he played the same solo! We all have patterns, but you embellish on them.