Thursday, August 27, 2026

Hal McKusick - Cross Section-Saxes

 © Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.



Interview with Hal McKusick


“Composer and alto saxophonist HAL McKUSICK, born 1924 in Medford, Massachusetts, plays most saxophones, clarinets, and flutes. He was a member of the orchestras of Boyd Raeburn, Claude Thornhill, Woody Herman, Benny Goodman, Dizzy Gillespie, and Charlie Barnet. In the later 1950s he made recordings with George Russell, Art Farmer, Al Cohn, Manny Albam, Jimmy Giuffre, Gil Evans, among others, and appeared on the 1959 album Lee Konitz Meets Jimmy Giuffre. From 1958 to 1972 he was a staff musician for CBS in New York. His compositions for Boyd Raeburn, his own groups, and others show an original avant-garde sensibility. Today he teaches and performs on Long Island in New York, and makes fine handcrafted furniture.”

- Andy Hamilton, Lee Konitz: Conversations on the Improviser’s Art [2011]


Hal McKusick

ALTO SAXOPHONE

Born 1 June 1924

McKusick was a section-player in many big bands in the 40s and early 50s, but he's best remembered as a studio man who led some interesting dates of his own for a number of different labels in the latter part of the 50s. His RCA set The Jazz Workshop (1956) was recorded contemporaneously with George Russell's of the same title, and features material by Russell, Jimmy Giuffre, Gil Evans and others: a quietly compelling record with some starkly challenging music, although Triple Exposure (Prestige, 1957) and Cross Section: Saxes (Decca, 1958) also have some fine and rewarding music. McKusick's own playing was soft-toned and wryly inventive. After this burst of activity, though, he doesn't seem to have recorded again as a leader, although he still did studio work into the 70s and carried on playing into the 90s with small groups. He is also a pilot.”

- Richard Cook’s Jazz Encyclopedia


“McKusick, Hal [Harold Wilfred] (b Medford, MA, 1June 1924). Alto saxophonist. He first worked as a sideman and a principal soloist with a number of big bands, including those of Les Brown, Woody Herman (both 1943), Boyd Raeburn (1944-5), the guitarist Alvino Rey (1946), Al Donahue, Buddy Rich, and Claude Thornhill (1948-9). During the 1950s he played with Terry Gibbs (1950-51,1955-6), Bill Harris  (1952), and Elliot Lawrence (1952-7), and also worked as a studio musician and led his own groups. In 1958 he joined the staff of CBS in New York, but continued to perform and record as a freelancer. McKusick is noted for his experiments in the 1950s with novel time signatures, modes, and counterpoint; the influence of Lester Young may be discerned in his delicate tone and phrasing, both well suited to the cool-jazz style.”

- DIANNA RHYAN in Barry Kernfeld, Ed., The New Grove Dictionary of Jazz [1995]


I’ve wanted to bring up a Substack feature on multi-woodwind and reed specialist Hal McKusick [1924 -2012] for sometime be I couldn’t seem to find a starting point until I recently listened to a CD collection that contained Hal McKusick - Cross Section-Saxes which was originally released in 1958 as a Decca LP.


Hal was not only a fine soloist and an excellent arranger in his own right, but also an excellent interpreter of the work of other arrangers. In this case, George Russell, Jimmy Giuffre, Ernie Wilkins and George Handy who did some very intriguing work with sax sections on Hal McKusick - Cross Section-Saxes.  


On some of the tracks on this album, the sax arrangements sound like a forerunner to Med Flory and Buddy Clark’s Supersax, a sax section that came to prominence in Los Angeles in the 1970s playing unison and harmonic versions of Charlie Parker’s classic Bebop repertoire replete with his iconic, original solos.


This album is also of interest because it is one of the earliest to feature the work of pianist Bill Evans before his association with Miles Davis and his twenty year career as the leader of his own trio.


The details about this recording are discussed in full in the following liner notes by George Russell, Jimmy Giuffre, Ernie Wilkins, George Handy and Burt Korall and they are also contained in the booklet that accompanies Hal McKusick: Three Classic Albums - The Jazz Academy, Jazz Workshop, Cross Section-Saxes [Avid AMSC-1167]. Interestingly, each of the composers talks about the work of other composers on the album in a way that illuminates special features of their singular style of composing and/or arranging. Burt provides a summation.



“When the jazz musician no longer seeks out fresh avenues of expression, he shrivels on the vine. Of necessity, the creative artist must be refreshed and revived at frequent intervals. He must be challenged; it is essential to his continued vitality. Obviously, it is too easy to be trapped, to wallow in a comfortable groove, turning away from the more creative, and indulging in the pleasure or success of the moment.


Whether or not the jazzman becomes lax is dependent, in varying degrees, upon two things: talent and temperament. Those who are content to reach a comparatively modest level of accomplishment, and to exploit the attendant feeling of mastery over material and a sense of case for their own sake, are numerous. Fortunately for jazz, however, there are more musicians who are not content with the fulfillment of today and keep building for a more fruitful tomorrow. Musicians of this genre are acutely aware of the symptoms of stagnation, avoid the pitfalls manifest in jazz and themselves, and remain "alive", musically. These are the people that prevent jazz from suffering from an acute case of "tired blood."


Hal McKusick, since his stay with the adventurous Boyd Raeburn orchestra in the 'forties, when he collaborated with arranger-composer George Handy in the writing of some noteworthy compositions - Yerxa, Tonsillectomy, etc. - and was one of the more enthusiastic subscribers to the modern manner of playing fathered by Lester Young and developed by Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, T. Monk, Kenny Clarke - the Minton's- 52nd Street coterie - has found psychological and financial sustenance following the challenging paths in the jazz woods.


"A continuing sense of growth as a musician and as a person is of utmost importance to me," says McKusick. "I feel that very little can be gained by doing the same sort of things over and over, especially if there's no more to be learned by doing them. " I don’t wish to imply, however, that the jazzman should flit indiscriminately from one thing to another without adequate preparation, or that he should grow compulsively rather than naturally; but I do want to emphasize that standing still in jazz can only become an unfortunate habit.


"It is for this reason that I generally try to vary my activities, to have my albums project something of the extensiveness, the variety that is jazz; each one of them calling for something different from the players and myself,


McKusick has done "free-blowing"' sets, where the disciplines and general sense of interest are dependent upon improvisation. Altering the emphasis, other McKusick programs have placed stress on incorporating free-blowing in a "lightly" arranged framework. As of late, Hal has veered to what he considers a most fruitful set-up-a close interrelation between the writer and the players; the writing in the latter situation, ranging from the deceptively simple to the more complex, according to the composer's bent. The value of the performances is, once again, relative to the invention, the interpretive strength of the players; but the organizational elements basic to scoring render a more overt sense of form of a written score that tends to inhibit the jazz blower" Yes and no. It could well inhibit individuality if the writers had no understanding of the needs of the jazz player. However, the writers involved in this album, through their experiences in jazz, have come to realize that the player must be given a chance to play, and/or be challenged by the feel, the variety and unity of the writing. In essence allowance must be made for the player to contribute meaning to the work, not only on the group level, but as an individual as well.” -GEORGE RUSSELL


“Composer-arranger George Russell realizes this. Like the jazz soloist, George creates compositions and arrangements that underline adventure and flexibility, the basic and not so basic.


Russell feels that he, too, is an improviser. Discussing jazz composition he said, "Given a set of musical facts, he (the writer) can, in the same way a soloist improvises on chords, improvise upon musical facts pertaining to his composition and produce a swinging, logical, vital-sounding piece of music. Improvisation on various levels is an integral part of jazz.


In the process of composing music over the years, George has evolved his "Lydian Concept of Tonal Organization," encompassing the whole of composition - the consonant (tonality) and the dissonant (atonality). There is dissonance in his work, but always in relation to a tonal center. As Russell said to Jack Maher in JAZZ TODAY: "I feel that writing tonally, in many ways, is more of a challenge. The limitations of tonality force you to look and feel harder for the endless variations that exist."


In the manner of Duke Ellington, Russell emotionally and scientifically measures the capabilities of his instrumentation and the artists he is dealing with, writing for the player and the unit, rarely overextending himself, for he always seeks to fully understand all the elements with which he is working. This is something he tried to do even in his fledgling period as a writer for Dizzy Gillespie, Benny Carter and Charlie Parker.


Russell, at 35, has been over a decade in finding himself. Through self examination and study, he has come to a point in his development when forging his own message is possible. Relatively unheralded today, his future is fraught with possibility.


The Russell contributions are played by Hal McMusick, alto: Art Farmer, trumpet; Bill Evans, piano: Milt Hinton, bass; Charlie Persip, drums: and Barry Galbraith, guitar.


YOU'RE MY THRILL - Russell maintains the identity of the song without adhering too closely to its melody or form. "I tried to compose on the song," said Russell. Perhaps the chief recommendation of this arrangement is that the written ensemble lines move well and in a most natural manner. The solos follow as release for the tension set up by the lines; the interweaving of both add to the pulsing feeling of the selection. Speaking for the soloists, Hal succinctly commented: "George sets you up his own way, and makes you play."


STRATUSPHUNK is a medium-tempoed blues that intimates atonality though it maintains an essential tonality-Blues in F. The prime motif is a bass line built on the interval of a minor seventh that is picked up by trumpeter Farmer, then further enlarged upon by the ensemble. Piano and drums drop out for the first six or eight bars of each solo, after which the full rhythm section plays in double-time, and then reverts back to straight time, thus establishing a variety of rhythmic tensions and enriching this deceptively inornate, well organized opus.


Russell seems to follow an emotional plan: By building from the opening bass line through ensembles to solos, diversifying his rhythmic and melodic colors and buoyantly supporting soloists along the way, Russell logically reaches climaxes, and then returns, in progressive steps, to bare essentials - bass line in close.


END OF A LOVE AFFAIR is an apt illustration of the degree of inner organization of Russell's writing. One is aware of planning, the form of the arrangement, but the loose, natural quality of the work never makes that knowledge any more than a convenience.


Opening with a 32 bar verse, a colorful affair notable for shifting rhythms and clever handling of melodic elements, the emphasis changes in the theme sections to the more straightforward as Russell underlines "the romantic feeling and a definite sense of swing." The general flow of the solos is aided by the "dancing feel" of the rhythm section headed up by drummer Charlie Persip.” - JIM GIUFFRE


“The challenge to the players is continued in the work of the next writer to be considered. Jim Giuffre, the man and the musician, functions as he feels he must. A product of the mainstream of jazz, the man who wrote Four Brothers for the Woody Herman Orchestra, played tenor in the tradition of Lester Young for Woody, Buddy Rich and other bands, has come to know himself, and now feels a good deal of security concerning his concepts.


Indeed, Jim has taken hold over the last few years. By organizing his thinking and his life, he has managed to free himself of the shackles of influence, and has gone his own way. His writing exhibits individuality and is identified by "low volume, gentleness and restraint, which makes more clear attitudes often not found in jazz: pensiveness, compassion, even meditation. Because of those same three major elements, his music makes the relationship between other musical forms and jazz more evident, since the relationships arc not obscured by the

overwhelming power and intensity representative of most jazz performances."


Giuffre's music shows an express concern for American folk elements: a closeness to the blues, spirituals, the feeling of the land and people of this country. It is a personal, earthy kind of music.


Not inhibited or circumscribed in his writing, Giuffre does not hesitate to make use of devices or techniques native to musical forms other than jazz. No matter what techniques or materials he incorporates into a composition or arrangement, however, one never gets the feeling that he is grafting anything alien onto the body of the work. On Jim's three efforts here, his objective was to set three distinct moods, sustaining the basic flavor of each tune by developing a long line throughout; the balancing of the instruments generally, utilizing each instrument as a "contributing" melody instrument, fundamental to his method.


Hal McKusick is heard on bass clarinet and alto on the Giuffre selections. Art Farmer is the trumpeter: Bill Evans is at the piano; Paul Chambers, bass; and Connie Kay, drums.


The treatment of Yesterday brings out the essential sadness and yearning of the tune, ascertains a deep blues feeling and spots Connie Kay playing finger cymbals throughout. Sing Song is a Giuffre spiritual, notable for building continuity and a close interrelation of the instruments in the development of one basic motif.


Tranquil, somewhat pastoral. It Never Entered My Mind is representative of the Giuffre sound and sense of beauty. A feeling of completeness -that of a vignette well told - is this selection's essential strength. The McKusick and farmer solos, Hinton's sustained excellence, and Connie Kay's sensitive cymbal work are certainly to be noted.” - ERNIE WILKINS AND GEORGE HANDY


“The remaining four selections - Whisper Not, Now's The Time, La Rue, The Last Day Of Fall -were arranged for sax section (and rhythm) by Ernie Wilkins or George Handy. Stress was placed on dynamics, blend and feeling in the performance of these arrangements. (Ed. note: the compounding of these three elements in sax section work today is certainly a rarity.)


"The sax players were selected for their ability to work in a section," McKusick pointed out. "We aimed for a feeling of unity, a togetherness that is best illustrated by the sax sections of the early Benny Goodman band, and the Basie crew that recorded "Jump The Blues Away," over a decade ago."


Ernie Wilkins, a long-time sax section inhabitant (Earl Hines, Count Basie) before he began to arrange and compose on a full-time basis, comes well equipped to write for reeds. Always a writer closely identified with techniques and source material in jazz, Ernie feels the future lies within the idiom itself, not in amalgamation with elements native to other musical forms.


Though consistently aligned with Basie by critics, (he's been writing for the band since 1951) this association is not all there is to the man. In recording projects of his own, equally reflective of his jazz roots. Ernie has shown he can voice a message of his own, without the "fashioned for Basie" trademark.


For this program, Ernie arranged Benny Golson's beautiful jazz melody, Whisper Not, and the Charlie Parker blues, Now's The Time, complete with scoring Parker's memorable solo for full sax section. Both are the work of a craftsman acutely aware of the possibilities of his material


Ever so "experimental" when writing for the Boyd Raeburn band in the 'forties, "often echoing Bartok and Stravinsky and Debussy," as Barry Ulanov phrased it, 38 year old George Handy has consolidated his thinking in the last decade. Much of the dissonance of his life has become consonance; his music, just as authoritative as before, like the man, has become more settled.


George has become more traditional. His maturation has allowed him to really deal in jazz terms. He is just as thoughtful and clever as in the past, but now is more flexible, and can write for all situations. His two scores for this set, La Rue and The Last Day Of Fall, reveal a more swinging Handy than his old fans will remember. The former is a line written by the late Clifford Brown; the latter, a "Handy capture" of the improvisations of one of our leading jazz tenormen.


On the four aforementioned titles, Hal McKusick and Frank Socolow are heard on altos; Dick Hafer, tenor and Jay Cameron, baritone. Bill Evans is at the piano; Connie Kay, drums; and Paul Chambers, bass.


In summation, the most valid thing to say is that this program has a point of view. It is an expression of the musicians and the writers and their need to pump fresh life into the body of that which they love and obviously respect. With people of this kind - the restless, the adventurous yet well-rooted-lies the future of jazz. If for no other reason, this cross section of jazz thought is important.” - BURT KORALL













Tuesday, August 25, 2026

Quincy Jones's Morning Orange Juice - "Kind of Blue"[From the Archives with Additions]

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




Kind of Blue has been on my mind a lot recently. Whatever the nature of the neurological or sensory impulse, occasionally I find the music of some Jazz recording playing in my head.

Most of the time, the music brought back in these memories is from LP's [vinyl] that I listened to often when Jazz first formed its youthful impression on me.

I popped the digital version of this classic Miles album in my CD player and while listening to it, I began a casual rereading Ashley Kahn's book on the making of Kind of Blue recording which included a review of it that I found tucked away in the dust jacket by Don Heckman writing for the LA Times on Sunday, March 30, 1997. 

I had a hunch about a missing aspect of what makes this record so astonishingly special and sure enough after doing further research there is no mention of it. The overall musicianship on display is considerable, I mean, a front-line of Miles Davis, John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley; Bill Evans on piano and the legendary Paul Chambers on bass. 

But there are few kudos for the drummer Jimmy Cobb who was new to the group for this recording [replacing the legendary Philly Joe Jones who had become undependable because of personal problems].

Philly Joe was a very busy drummer; always filling in space.

Yet the moody, modal music on Kind of Blue would have been overwhelmed by Philly's very busy style and benefited immensely by Cobb's just-play-time-and-stay-out-of-the-way approach. Jimmy gave the music space and in so doing allowed it to breathe and come to life.

Also, Jimmy is using a 22" [it may have even been as large as 24" in diameter] K-Zildjan ride cymbal which had just come into vogue at that time and whose overtones just washed under the music to give it all a very melancholy sound, something which is part of the music's appeal.

I tried one of these large cymbals on a few occasions and you really had to keep up with it or it would eat you alive.

With the horn players all struggling to learn how to solo in a modal environment, a busy drummer like Philly Joe would have been an unwanted distraction. If there's one thing you need to play Jazz its concentration; Philly's drumming brought fire but it was not a platform over which you could reflect and think. He'd run over you if you'd stopped to do this.

No discredit to Philly but without Jimmy playing time on this big cymbal with its beautifully harmonic overtones washing over everything, the music on Kind of Blue wouldn't have had the same feel or sound to it. 

"Wynton Marsalis has commented in an interview he gave to Ben Sidran: "Harmony is not the key to our music. Harmony is used in motion. And motion is rhythm. And rhythm is the most important aspect. I mean everything is important. But whenever you find a valid rhythmic innovation, that changes the music. If you change the rhythm, you change the music."

Jimmy Cobb's style of drumming changed the rhythm on Kind of Blue and enhanced the impact its modal Jazz had on the listener.

In celebration of all of this subconscious revelation, the editorial staff at JazzProfiles thought it might be fun to re-post this excerpt from Ashley Kahn very fine book Kind of Blue: The Making of the Miles Davis Masterpiece.

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


“That will always be my music, man.
I play Kind of Blue every day – it’s my orange juice.
It still sounds like it was made yesterday.


Kind of Blue can be heard as a recapitulation of almost every step of the jazz tradition that preceded it."
-Quincy Jones, composer-arranger, musician, impresario

For many of us growing up listening to Jazz on records in the 1950s, the day we first heard the Kind of Blue album has no doubt been timed and dated somewhere in our memory bank of significant encounters with the music.

Returning to the music on this recording over the years has always been a satisfying experience and many of the reasons why this is so are described in Ashley Kahn’s Kind of Blue: The Making of the Miles Davis Masterpiece [New York: DaCapo Press, 2000].


As is the case with the classic recording which practically plays itself into one’s subconscious, Mr. Kahn’s work is a sensitive and unassuming narrative of how this phenomena of an album came together. He does an admirable job of capturing the circumstances that brought about a great work of art and presents this recounting in a manner that is both readable and interesting. This is not an academic “study,” but rather a well-written story of how a group of musicians gathered together on two fateful days in March and April 1959, respectively, to create a masterpiece.

What follows is Mr. Kahn’s Introduction to his work in which he details his considerable efforts at research, interviews and editing in order to bring the reader as many fresh insights into the making of the album as possible. 



“ON A DECEMBER MORNING in 1999, millennium mania and snowflakes swirled about me as I entered a squat, near‑windowless building on Tenth Avenue. The awning outside read "Sony Music Studios." Inside, down a dimly lit corridor lined with posters of rock and rap artists, thick doors with porthole windows led into fully furnished studios, where large consoles with matrices of red and white lights stood next to racks full of the latest sound equipment. People lost in concentration scurried past me.

The few times I had visited the place before, I had felt the same way: This hi‑tech beehive, a monument to Sony's global technological superiority, seemed somehow transitory. I felt that a careless flip of a switch could plunge the entire place into darkness. Maybe it was the signs of constant renova­tions‑plastic sheeting covering doorways‑that created the feeling of imper­manence, or perhaps it was the rotation of posters from one visit to the next. It didn't surprise me to learn that Sony Music had built their recording center in the remains of the old Twentieth Century‑Fox Movietone reposi­tory. Where dusty film canisters had once stored a week‑by‑week chronicle of the world's troubles and triumphs, four stories of state‑of‑the art studios now operated: new technology rising phoenix‑like from the vestiges of old.


Four months earlier, for The New York Times, I had written an appreciation of Miles Davis's melancholy masterpiece Kind of Blue on the fortieth anniversary of its release. Now I had been granted a rare opportunity to hear the complete master tapes of the two sessions that produced the album. Sony Music‑the parent company of Columbia Records, which released Kind of Blue and remained Miles's record label for the majority of his career ­did not often send to their subterranean archives in upstate New York and allow the reel‑to‑reel tapes to be auditioned. When dealing with priceless and irreplaceable forty‑year‑old recordings, even the wear on the tape is a consid­eration. For a jazz fan like me, the occasion had the rarified, historic air of, say, the unearthing of an Egyptian tomb.

The receptionist directed me to room 305. Equipment dedicated to sound reproduction, including a turntable in a stone base with a speed lever reading "78 rpm," filled the room. Sitting amid the machines, scattered tape reels, vinyl records of varying formats, and general clutter was an engineer trained in audio formats new, old and ancient. In this room, I was convinced, whatever means of capturing audio information have ever existed‑wax cylinders to the latest computer‑driven, digital discs‑all came back to life.

Delicately, the engineer placed a reel of reddish‑brown, half‑inch ribbon onto a tape machine, manufactured expressly to play back archival three­-track tapes. He paused, asked if I was ready. (Ready? I had been giddy with anticipation for weeks.) He hit the "play" button.


The tape threaded its way across the playback heads and I heard the voices of Miles Davis and his producer, Irving Townsend, the instantly recognizable sound of Miles's trumpet, John Coltrane's tenor, Cannonball Adderley's alto and the other musicians. I listened to their harmonized riffs start and stop and grew acclimated to the rhythm of the recording process. A few engineers who had heard that the masters were being played that day dropped by and quietly pulled up chairs or stood in the corner to listen.

What could I hear or intuit that would reveal the secret of that spring day when Davis assembled his famed sextet (Coltrane, Adderley, Bill Evans, Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb with pianist Wynton Kelly taking over from Evans on one number) in a converted church in downtown Manhattan? I was flooded with questions, hungry for details. How did this band talk while creating music for the ages? Was that Coltrane's voice or Adderley's? How - ­if at all ‑ did they prepare? What was Miles like in the studio? Why did that take end? I had learned that the three master reels, the few rolls of black-­and‑white film, and the less‑than‑distinct memories of the drummer, a photographer, and a tape operator who were in the East Thirtieth Street studio on that day back in 1959 were about all the evidence there was of the making of the album. The dearth of related material only heightened the album's mystique and intensified my desire to uncover anything that might throw light on what seemed such a shadowy, skeletal moment.


As the first full take of "Freddie Freeloader" began playing, I put down my pen and focused on the music. By the time Coltrane began soloing, I was transported to an austere twilight world that requested silence and contem­plation. I was familiar with the album from years of dedicated listening but the music's seductive spell had not lessened‑it still held the power to quiet all around it.

Still acknowledged as the height of hip four decades after it was recorded, Kind of Blue is the premier album of its era, jazz or otherwise. Its vapory piano‑and‑bass introduction is universally recognized. Classical buffs and rage rockers alike praise its subtlety, simplicity and emotional depth. Copies of the album are passed to friends and given to lovers. The album has sold millions of copies around the world, making it the best‑selling recording in Miles Davis's catalog and the best‑selling classic jazz album ever. Signifi­cantly, a large number of those copies were purchased in the past five years, and undoubtedly not just by old‑timers replacing worn vinyl: Kind of Blue is self‑perpetuating, continuing to cast its spell on a younger audience more accustomed to the loud‑and‑fast esthetic of rock and rap.



The album’s appeal was certainly enhanced by Miles’ personal mystique. Cool, well-dressed, endlessly inspired, and uncompromising in art and life, Davis was and still is a hero to jazz fans, African Americans and an interna­tional musical community. "Miles Davis is my definition of cool," Bob Dylan has said. "I loved to see him in the small clubs playing his solo, turn his back on the crowd, put down his horn and walk off the stage, let the band keep playing, and then come back and play a few notes at the end."

Since his death in 1991, Davis's legend has only grown larger. But even before his passing, Kind of Blue was the recording that a vast majority called his defining masterwork. If someone has only one Miles album‑or even only one jazz recording‑more often than not, Kind of Blue is it. Even twenty‑five
 years ago, as jazz guitarist John Scofield relates, the album had already become as common as a cup of sugar:



I remember at Berklee School [of Music in Boston) in the early seventies, hanging out at this bass player's apartment and they didn't have Kind of Blue. So at two in the morning he said he'd just go to the neighbor's and ask for their copy, not knowing the people, assuming that they'd have it! And they did. It was like Sergeant Pepper.


In the church of jazz, Kind of Blue is one of the holy relics. Critics revere it as a stylistic milestone, one of a very few in the long tradition of jazz performance, on equal footing with seminal recordings by Louis Armstrong's Hot Fives and Charlie Parker's bebop quintets. Musicians acknowledge its influence and have recorded hundreds of versions of the music on the album. Record producer, composer, and Davis confidant Quincy Jones hails it as the one album (if that were the limit) that would explain jazz.

Yet, Kind of Blue lives and prospers outside the confines of the jazz community. No longer the exclusive possession of a musical subculture, the album is simply great music, one of a very, very few musical recordings our culture allows into the category marked "masterpiece." Many of its admirers are forced to reach back before the modern era to find its measure. Drummer Elvin Jones hears the same timeless sublimity and depth of feeling "in some of the movements of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, or when I hear Pablo Casals play unaccompanied cello." "It's like listening to Tosca," says pianist/ singer Shirley Horn. "You know, you always cry, or at least I do."



In the fin‑de‑siecle frenzy, Kind of Blue proved its evergreen appeal, becoming a fixture in the first tier of countless "Best of the Century" surveys and "Top 100" polls. Hollywood film in the nineties employed the album as an instant signifier of hip. In the Line of Fire shows secret serviceman Clint Eastwood, the cool loner at home, listening to "All Blues." In Pleasantville, a group of fifties high‑schoolers are intellectually awakened to the tune of "So What." In Runaway Bride, Julia Roberts's character bestows an original vinyl copy of Kind of Blue on Richard Gere.

As I began the research for this book, Sony Music was in the midst of producing high‑quality repackaging of Miles's recordings and of jazz in general, a fortunate change from the offhand reissue strategy of previous decades. They graciously provided me complete access to all information, photographs and recordings in their archives, and facilitated contact with former employees. I located session and tape logs that disclosed the identity of the recording staff who worked on Kind of Blue, most of whom‑like the members of the sextet save for drummer Jimmy Cobb‑are no longer with us. My conversations with Columbia engineers of that era painted a picture of what it was like to work in the 3oth Street Studio, the former church where the album was born. Sifting through company files, I glimpsed the inner workings of the marketing and promotion departments which first brought Kind of Blue to market.

To bring the reader as near as possible to the actual creation of the album, I have placed the transcription and discussion of the record sessions at the heart of the book. The unedited studio dialogue, false starts and break­downs‑herein reproduced for the first time‑offer a rare glimpse of the inner workings of those two days in the studio. The transcribed chatter alone, revealing Cannonball Adderley's irrepressible sense of humor and Miles's constant ribbing of his producer, will delight those who love the music that occasioned it.



I stumbled on a number of surprises in my research. There were Bill Evans's original liner notes, neatly handwritten and hardly edited. Engineer Fred Plaut's photographs, never published before now, showing the sheet music for a tune's modal infrastructure. Proof that the famously dark and intense cover shot of Miles was taken during a live performance at the Apollo Theater. Never‑before‑published radio conversations with Adderley and Evans in which they spoke of Miles and the album in detail, conveying a personal dimension lacking from previously published interviews.

Beyond the new information my research yielded about Kind of Blue, I was equally drawn by the more mystical aspects of the album. The legend of its pure, one‑take creation. The alchemic blending of classical and folk music influences. The interplay of Miles's less‑is‑more philosophy with the styles of the equally spare Bill Evans and his other, more voluble sidemen. The drama of Davis driven by an endless search for new styles creating a masterwork, then leaving it behind for his next endeavor. I was challenged to examine what is true in the mythology of the recording. Was the album really impromptu and unplanned? Did Miles really compose all the music? Did it change the jazz terrain forever, and if so, how?

To do the album justice, I needed to transport myself back to the place and time that brought it forth. I spoke with as many musicians, producers, and critics as possible‑those who were involved in making the album, were influenced by the music, or who analyzed its effects. Eventually I conducted more than fifty interviews for this book, including talks with veteran jazzmen who knew or worked with Miles, newer arrivals who grew up with his music, producers, music industry executives, deejays, writers, and witnesses of the jazz scene of the 1950s. Priority was given to the people still alive who were present at the two Kind of Blue recording sessions: drummer Jimmy Cobb, photographer Don Hunstein, and tape operator Bob Waller. I found that though a few musicians and producers were reluctant to speak, burned out on the subject of Miles or simply burned by the trumpeter in uncompli­mentary portrayals in interviews or in his autobiography, many were eager to share their memories and insights. I gave special attention to those who worked with Miles in and around 1959, or soon after: Jimmy Heath, Dave Brubeck, George Russell, John Lewis, Joe Zawinul and Herbie Hancock; producers George Avakian and Teo Macero; and engineer Frank Laico.


Some saw Kind of Blue as the sound of 1950s New York; some as a high point in Miles's career trajectory; others as one more successful product of a record label at the height of its dominance. As the anecdotes coalesced, the structure for the book that suggested itself was a reverse telescopic path­ - beginning with Miles's arrival in New York, then following his career course before closing in, take‑by‑take, on the album's two recording sessions. From there, the book moves outward again to trace the album's influence. Side­bars add further context: Columbia Records' rise to prominence and its role in the success of Kind of Blue; the unique acoustical properties that made music recorded at the 30th Street Studio distinctive; the eponymous Freddie Freeloader.


When I spoke of writing this celebration of Kind of Blue, whether to music
professionals or to fans, reaction was uniformly positive: "You know, that's a good idea"; "Let's hear more about that album"; "It's about time." Then after a pause, with little or no solicitation, a testimonial would follow.

QUINCY JONES: "That will always be my music, man.
I play Kind of Blue every day‑it's my orange juice. It still sounds like it was made yesterday."


CHICK COREA: "It's one thing to just play a tune, or play a program of music, but it's another thing to practically create a new language of music, which is what Kind of Blue did."


GEORGE RUSSELL: "Kind of Blue is just one of those amazing albums that emerged from that period of time. Miles's solo on 'So What' is one of the most beautiful solos ever."

With the clarity of memory usually reserved for national disasters, personal traumas, or first romantic encounters, many I interviewed recalled their first hearing of Kind of Blue. Some encountered the music when it first appeared in 1959: on a late‑night radio station in Cleveland; in a Wisconsin furniture store selling records; live in a New York nightclub or at an outdoor festival in Toronto; on a jukebox in a Harlem watering hole. Others came across it in the sixties: among the mono LPs a friendly salesclerk with a flowered tie was selling off at a dollar a disc; playing at a late‑night party down in Greenwich Village. One acquaintance admitted hearing Kind of Blue in a college class on Zen.

Kind of Blue's aphrodisiac properties were mentioned frequently in reminiscences of listeners male and female, young and not‑so‑young. Jazz veteran Ben Sidran recalls that "clearly it was just a great seduction record. I can close my eyes and remember situations with long forgotten girls." Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, when asked for his favorite make‑out music, answered, "For slow action, I put on Kind of Blue." Because of "the trance‑like atmosphere that it created, it's like sexual wallpaper. It was sort of the Barry White of its time," remembers Steely Dan's Donald Fagen. Essayist/playwright Pearl Cleage was turned on to the album in the late seventies: "I will confess that I spent many memorable evenings sending messages of great personal passion through the intricate improvisa­tions of Kind of Blue when blue was the furthest thing from my mind. . . . "


My own discovery of the music came in the mid‑seventies, when a high­ school buddy yanked a dog-eared album out of my father's record collection and explained: "This is a classic." Between the scratches and pops (Dad must play this one a lot, I recall thinking) a stark, moody world unveiled itself. Though the sound was far simpler and sadder than any of the peppy, big band music I then thought of as jazz, it was somehow immediately familiar.


If you are already a fan of the album, perhaps a "first time" story of your own comes to mind. Or ask the friend who turned you on to Kind of Blue. Bring that memory with you to the world we're about to enter. Use this book as a primer, a listening guide, a way to understand that there is even more to these forty minutes of great jazz performance than meets the ear. Allow this book to show you that occasionally that which is the least outspoken has the most to say.”




Sunday, August 23, 2026

Jazz Interpretations of Porgy and Bess Companion Marketing Announcement

 


A Companion to Jazz Interpretations of Porgy and Bess is now available as a paperback and eBook exclusively through Amazon.com. Just enter my name in the search box under “Books.” With so much of this music now available on YouTube you’ll be able to listen to the music while you read the commentaries.



Here are the details:


A Prologue, Preface, Introduction and Epilogue plus 32 chapters by a variety of Jazz authors documenting Jazz interpretations of the folk-opera Porgy and Bess, one of America’s great cultural achievements, including those by Bethlehem Records, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, Gil Evans and Miles Davis, Bob Crosby, Oscar Peterson’s Trio, Oscar Peterson and Joe Pass, Hank Jones, Paolo Fresu, Diahann Carroll, The Jim Cullum Band, Rex Stewart and Cootie Williams, Ralph Burns, Mundell Lowe, Joe Henderson, The Modern Jazz Quartet, Bill Potts, Clark Terry, Nueva Manteca, Eddy Louiss, Phil Woods, Buddy Collette, Sammy Davis Jr. and Carmen McRae, Harry Belafonte and Lena Horne.



TABLE OF CONTENTS


Prologue by Hollis Alpert, pp. 8-14

Preface - The Embryonic Beginnings and Flavor of the Times by Hollis Alpert, pp. 15-37

Introduction to A Companion of Jazz Interpretations of Porgy and Bess - Steven A. Cerra, pp. 38-43

Chapter 1. The Bethlehem Records Release of George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess by J.F. Quinn, Joseph Laredo and Art Hilgart, pp. 44-70 

Chapter 2. Porgy and Bess - Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong - Lawrence D. Stewart, pp. 71-97 

Chapter 3. Ella and Louis and Porgy and Bess by Ricky Riccardi, pp. 98-101

Chapter 4. Miles, Gil, and Porgy and Bess - In the Jazz Literature - Steven A. Cerra, Editor, 102-106

Chapter 5. Miles and Porgy and Bess - Jack Chambers, pp. 107-113

Chapter 6. Gil Evans and Porgy and Bess - Gene Lees and Charles Edward Smith, pp. 114-124

Chapter 7. Gil Evans and Porgy and Bess - Stephanie Crease, pp. 125-132

Chapter 8. Porgy and Bess: Ray Charles, and Cleo Lane (1976) by Benny Green, pp. 133-147

Chapter 9. Summertime - Norman Granz and Ted Gioia, pp. 148-152

Chapter 10. Duke Ellington with Edward R. Murrow on Gershwin's Porgy and Bess—and a Response from the Office of Irving Mills (1935/1936), pp. 153-161

Chapter 11. 1959 Bob Crosby “Porgy and Bess As Gershwin Would Have Liked It” by Nelson Riddle, pp. 162-165

Chapter 12. Oscar Peterson and Joe Pass Play Porgy and Bess Notes by Benny Green, pp. 166-169

Chapter 13. Porgy and Bess Swingin' Impressions by Hank Jones - by Edward Jablonski, pp. 170-173

Chapter 14. Paolo Fresu and the Jazz Orchestra of Sardinia - Porgy and Bess by Marcello Piras and Paolo Fresu, pp. 174-179

Chapter 15. Diahann Carroll and the AndrĂ©  Previn Trio - Porgy and Bess by Edward Jablonski, pp. 180-186

Chapter 16. The Jim Cullum Jazz Band - An Original Transcription of Porgy and Bess, pp. 187-192

Chapter 17. “Porgy and Bess Revisited Stewart-Williams & Co." - George T. Simon, pp. 193-199

Chapter 18. Ralph Burns - Porgy and Bess by Burt Korall, pp. 200-208

Chapter 19. Gershwin’s PORGY AND BESS by the Mundell Lowe All-Stars - Frank Talmadge, pp. 209-214

Chapter 20. Joe Henderson’s PORGY AND BESS - A Review of the Jazz Literature - Steven A. Cerra, Editor, pp. 215-220

Chapter 21. The Modern Jazz Quartet Plays George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess - Joel Dorn, Ira Gitler and John Tynan, pp. 221-230

Chapter 22. Bill Potts - The Jazz Soul Of Porgy And Bess  by AndrĂ© Previn and Steve Wallace, pp. 231-253

Chapter 23. Clark Terry with the Chicago Jazz Orchestra - Porgy & Bess - Steve Graybow, pp. 254-258

Chapter 24. Oscar Peterson Plays Porgy & Bess by Lawrence D. Stewart and Benny Green, pp. 259-264

Chapter 25. Nueva Manteca Porgy and Bess -  Jan Laurens Hartong, pp. 265-268

Chapter 26. Eddy Louiss, Ivan Jullien and PORGY & BESS - Alain Tercinet, pp. 269-272 

Chapter 27. Porgy and Bess - The Jazz Class Orchestra Meets Phil Woods - Vittoria Franchini and Gabriele Comeglio, pp. 273-277

Chapter 28. Paolo Fresu – Kind Of Porgy & Bess, 278-280

Chapter 29. Buddy Collette and the Poll Winners - Modern Interpretations of Porgy and Bess - John Tynan, pp. 281-285

Chapter 30. Sammy Davis, Jr. and Carmen McRae - Porgy and Bess - Wil Haygood, pp. 286-294

Chapter 31. Lena Horne and Harry Belafonte Sings Porgy and Bess by George Durham, 295-298

Chapter 32. Akiyoshi, Bailey, Hanna, Mraz and Rosengren - Not a Law Firm! - Steven A. Cerra, pp. 299-301

Epilogue -Porgy and Bess - Some Considerations and Reviews Excerpted from Gershwin Biographies, pp. 302-317


Winner of the 2025 Jazz Journalist Association Special Citation for Historic Writings, Steven Cerra is a professional Jazz drummer and the author of anthologies on Gerry Mulligan, Bill Evans, Stan Kenton, Dave Brubeck, Shelly Manne, Jazz West Coast Readers Vols. 1-3, Profiles in Jazz, Vol.1, Jazz Drummers A Reader Vols. 1-2, Jazz Saxophonists A Reader, Vol. 1, 2 & 3, Jazz Piano A Reader, Vols. 1, 2 & 3, Jazz Trumpet A Reader Vols. 1 and 2 and A Companion Celebrating The 100th Anniversary of the Jean Goldkette Orchestras, 1926-2026. He also hosts the jazzprofiles.blogspot and cerra.substack blogs.





Saturday, August 22, 2026

Ray Pizzi – Conception (Full Album) [ Jazz / Post Bop / Jazz-Rock / Fusion ][1977]

 


Tracklist: A1 Ray Pizzi - Conception 00:00 A2 Ray Pizzi - Willow Creek 05:23 A3 Ray Pizzi - The Missing Link 10:44 B1 Ray Pizzi - Angel's Crest 18:03 B2 Ray Pizzi - Friday Night Rush Hour Blues 22:49 B3 Ray Pizzi - Rhapsodie 26:53 B4 Ray Pizzi - Digitations 31:27 Credits Acoustic Bass – John Heard (tracks: B1 to B4) Artwork By [Layout & Design] – Norman Granz, Sheldon Marks Drums – Peter Donald Electric Bass – Joel Di Bartolo Engineer – Buddy Brundo Guitar – Dan Sawyer, John Morell Percussion – Mark Stevens (tracks: A1 to A3) Photography – Phil Stern Piano [Solo] – Mark Levine (tracks: B1 to B4) Piano, Organ, Keyboards – Greg Mathieson Saxophone [Tenor, Soprano], Flute, Bassoon, Producer, Composed By, Arranged By – Ray Pizzi Website: https://intrinse.net/

Friday, August 21, 2026

Double Play: Harry Carney and Johnny Hodges Interviewed by Don DeMichael [1962]

 © Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved.


By 1962, when the following article by Don DeMichael appeared in Downbeat  (7 June 1962, 20-21, 44), saxophonists Harry Carney (1910-1974) and Johnny Hodges (1907-1970) had been key figures with Ellington for three and a half decades. Carney officially joined Ellington's band in 1927 (though he may have played in it occasionally the preceding year in New England), while Hodges became a full-time member in 1928.


As DeMichael's piece revealed. Carney and Hodges shared more than their long experience together in the Ellington reed section. Both hailed from Massachusetts (Carney from Boston, Hodges from Cambridge), came under the influence of Sidney Bechet early on, and spoke of their experience as Ellingtonians with a mixture of cool professionalism, obvious pride, and unabashed awe for their leader's abilities.


“It's hard to keep track of some jazzmen. One week they're with so-and-so's band, the next week with a different group. It seems they change jobs as easily as they change clothes —and sometimes as often. But when a man joins the Ellington band, he usually stays.


Take the two senior members of the band. Harry Carney has been with the band since he was 17, and that was 36 years ago. Johnny Hodges, except from 1951-55, has been an Ellingtonian since 1928. So strong has been the association of men and band that Hodges' flowing, sensuous alto and Carney's full-blooded baritone are as much a part of the "Ellington sound" as are plunger-muted brass and Duke's piano.


But the Hodges-Carney relationship extends beyond their careers in the Ellington band. Both are from the Boston, Mass., area, and though Hodges is four years older than Carney, they were boyhood chums.


"Johnny and I lived a few doors apart," Carney said recently. "We used to get together and listen to records. And, of course, I've always been a great admirer of Johnny. I was trying to play alto in the same vein, and I stuck as close to him as he would allow me. It did me an awful lot of good."


Carney, a large man, sat quietly on the edge of a hotel-room bed. Hodges, a small man, sprawled on the bed, watching the flickering picture of a silent television set. He chuckled occasionally. It was difficult to tell if he was amused by the TV show or by Carney's reminiscences of far-away days.


Carney continued: "Hodges was in New York before I came there. He was instrumental in getting me my first job in New York. That was in 1927.

"He was with Chick Webb at the Savoy Ballroom. They were having what they called a Masquerade Ball Night, an all-day, all-night affair. Instead of the regular two bands playing, there were four bands. Johnny got me a job in one of the relief bands. In the band was a fellow, Henry Saytoe [Henri Saparo], who had a job coming up in a couple of weeks at the Bamboo Inn, a Chinese-American restaurant. I got permission from my folks to stay, and I took that job. I was 17."


Hodges chuckled again.


While Carney was at the Bamboo Inn, Ellington often came in on his nights off to dine and listen to the band. After Carney had been at the restaurant for about three months, the place burned down.


But he evidently had made an impression on Ellington.


"One day I bumped into Duke on the street," Carney said. "He inquired as to what I was doing. I told him I was jobbing around, gigging. That's when he made me the offer to join him. He was taking a band up to New England, which was my stomping ground. I'd been away from home long enough to be homesick, and it didn't take much for him to influence me to go back."


Still an altoist, Carney added baritone saxophone to his doubles during his first week with the band.


"There were quite a few good baritone players in those days," he said. "Sonny Adams, Willie Grant, Joe Garland, Foots Thomas with the Missourians. As a matter of fact, all the bands used baritone if the band was above a certain number of pieces. The average nine- or 10-piece band would have baritone or someone who doubled baritone. I continued with alto, though, to about '32 or maybe later than that."


Hodges, who speaks much the same way he plays, stirred when asked how he joined the band.


"I'd been with Chick Webb," he said, "You see, Duke started Chick, gave Chick his first band. Duke was working at the Kentucky Club, six pieces. Another club opened up on 50th St. and Seventh Ave. I don't remember the name of it. But it wanted a band just like Duke's. So he asked me to have a band, and I didn't want any part of having a band. He asked Chick. (Chick would stand on a corner and sing whole arrangements.} We got together with six pieces and tried to make it sound like Duke. We did pretty good until we had a fire. During that time fire was common in clubs. We went up to the Savoy for two weeks. Stayed about six months.


"I left and started gigging with a fellow named Luckey Roberts. The bread was good. Thought it would last forever. So I kept gigging and gigging and

gigging-


"Meanwhile, Otto Hardwicke [who was playing alto with Ellington] had

an accident went through the windshield of a taxicab. Had his face all cut up, and I had to go to work for him. Duke offered me a job. I still wouldn't take the job, kept putting it off and putting it off. Everybody was trying to talk me into taking it. So I finally took it. And here I am."


Hodges would have it that nothing much happened between then and now. He fails to mention that in those years he became one of the important alto saxophonists, that his manner of playing influenced countless musicians. He will mention in an off-hand manner the small band he led from 1951-55 ("a little experience of my own, a few knocks, a few headaches").


But Hodges comments freely when the topic of discussion turns to Sidney Bechet (pronounced "Bash-shay" by those who knew the late soprano saxophonist well).


"I went to hear him at a theater in Boston," Hodges said. "My sister knew him very well. Made myself known, and had a little soprano under my arm. He asked me to play. I caught the show two, three times to catch as much as I could. And then I started buying records. Him and Louis Armstrong. The Clarence Williams Blue Five.


"The best thing that ever happened to me was when I went to New York and was playing at a little cabaret on 135th St. He came after me. He had a club of his own called Club Bechet on 145th St. He came after me and offered

me a job. He would tell me to learn this and learn that. The old man won't be here long,' he'd say. I didn't know what he was talking about then, but he would go away and get lost, and I was supposed to play his part. At the same time, I was learning, getting an education.


"They used to have midnight shows at the Lafayette Theater every Friday. All the clubs used to put on their shows for free. Fantastic. We put on our show, and that's how I got to be known, through him. We played I Found a New Baby in duet form. So I was a big guy from then on, playing a duet with Bechet.


"That was way before Carney. I was 17. I used to come to New York and stay a week and run back. I'd take a job in a dancing school that would pay about $40 a week and only draw $8 or $10, just enough to go home. Day before payday, I'd go home, and we'd sit down and compare notes. Me, him [Carney], and Charlie Holmes [a saxophonist prominent in the late '20s and '30s, especially during his stay with the Luis Russell Band when it was fronted by Louis Armstrong]. Go back next week and do the same thing."


Carney, too, came under Bechet's influence.


"It was through Johnny that I became Bechet-conscious," he said. "That was before I left Boston. After I got with Duke, I heard so many fabulous stories about Bechet. Finally I met him and found he was a wonderful guy, very humorous, dry."


But it was Hodges who absorbed Bechet into his playing. For example, Hodges' alto solo on his small-band recording of Dream Blues, made in 1939 and reissued last year on an Epic LP, if played at 45 rpm instead of 33 rpm sounds like Bechet's soprano.


"I had quite a few of his riffs," Hodges said, smiling. "Quite a few of his pets. My pets too. Used to nurse him."


Hodges turned to Carney, the conversation about Ellington small-unit recordings seemingly having reminded him of something.


"You know those test records they used to give us?" he asked Carney. "I got all those. Jeep's Blues. You remember when you, me, and Cootie were getting it together?"


Carney nodded.


"I got all those," Hodges said. "They'd do four or five takes and keep one or two. And one or two of what they didn't use would be better than what they put out."


The mention of trumpeter Cootie Williams, who was a mainstay of the Ellington band from 1929 to 1940 when he left to go with Benny Goodman, brought to mind the Ellington band of the late '30s and early '40s, considered by many to be the golden era of the band.


But Carney would have none of this the-1940-band-was-the-best-band.


"A lot of people come up and start talking about the 1940 band and say, 'Gee, that was the band.' For the most part, they've stopped going where the band's playing. Then they come out one night and say, 'Oh, this band is nothing like the band of 1940.' And they actually haven't heard enough or absorbed enough of the current band's playing to say that. In 1940 there was something that did something to them, and that's all they remember."


Carney's point was well taken. Ellington, through both his music and the band, has evolved. For example, the band's library has several arrangements of Ellington tunes that have become standard.


"Take It Don't Mean a Thing" Hodges said. "I used to play the verse. You never heard the verse, didcha? That's the original. Then Ivie Anderson came in, and there was another arrangement. Then they had one for Ben Webster. And one for the brass section. Had one for Ray Nance. Then another one for Ray Nance, a different one."


"Rosemary Clooney did one," Carney added.


"We got all those," Hodges said. "We got a million of 'em. And they're all in the book."


"The book is jammed," Carney said. "We just carry them all over the country."


"And don't even mention the arrangements for Caravan," Hodges sputtered.


Nor is the library numbered, which, to say the least, makes finding a seldom-played arrangement difficult.


"He's very unpredictable," Carney said, referring to Ellington. "If someone comes up and asks for something, he'll have everyone digging through the book looking for it. Sometimes we find it, sometimes we don't."


In addition to carrying a large library filled with yesterday, the band carries a spirit and tradition that began the day before yesterday. Spirit and tradition are strong.


One of these traditions, an Ellington sound, is the plunger-growl trumpet, a tradition that started with Bubber Miley, was inherited by Cootie Williams, and continues, to a great extent, in the playing of Ray Nance.


"If Duke finds an individual who can do it," Carney commented, "he gives him the work to do. It must be gratifying to a player to know he plays enough to satisfy the Duke in this particular style.


"I can say the same thing about Russell Procope playing clarinet. When he plays clarinet, he plays Barney [Bigard] so well."


Commenting on the spirit of the band, Carney said, "There're a lot of nights when . .. everybody can't feel well all the time. But if the band gets something going, the spirit just comes up."

The tradition of the band members adding to, making suggestions about, arrangements is well known. It also is indicative of the band's spirit.


"For instance," Carney began, "when you go into a recording studio, you might have an arrangement all made, yet it'll probably be changed. Guys come up with ideas of injecting something. That still goes on."


"Everybody pitches in  — all the time," Hodges interjected. "Somebody might have ideas to make it a little better."


"In other words," Carney said, "everybody is still conscious of making a good record."


Spirit. Tradition. Both are contagious. Both are magnets, drawing new blood into the band but blood that is Ellington blood. For the band has always been made up of musicians best described as "Ellington people." When they leave the band, if they ever do, that special sheen of Ellington usually remains.


It is made up, in part, of suavity, urbanity, self-confidence. It is something no other band imparts to its members. It is a unique attractive-force.


Perhaps Carney said it best: "You still hear musicians say the height of their ambition is to play in the Ellington band."”


Winner of the 2025 Jazz Journalist Association Special Citation for Historic Writings, Steven Cerra is a professional Jazz drummer and the author of anthologies on Gerry Mulligan, Bill Evans, Stan Kenton, Dave Brubeck, Shelly Manne, Jazz West Coast Readers Vols. 1-3, Profiles in Jazz, Vol.1, Jazz Drummers A Reader Vols. 1-2, Jazz Saxophonists A Reader, Vol. 1, 2 & 3, Jazz Piano A Reader, Vols. 1, 2 & 3, Jazz Trumpet A Reader Vols. 1 and 2 and A Companion Celebrating The 100th Anniversary of the Jean Goldkette Orchestras, 1926-2026. He also hosts the jazzprofiles.blogspot and cerra.substack blogs.