© Introduction Copyright ® Steven Cerra, copyright protected; all rights reserved
“The Samuel Goldwyn-produced film version in 1959 created a raft of recordings, many in anticipation of Porgy & Bess' release. Three of the best were by Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald (1957), Miles Davis and Gil Evans (1958), and the undersung and out-of-print The Jazz Soul Of Porgy And Bess (1959) by arranger Bill Potts and a truly all-star cast of instrumentalists.”
Ira Gitler, Notes to The MJQ Plays George Gershwin's Porgy And Bess
“Potts’ approach here was largely to showcase the straight-ahead blowing abilities of his star-studded cast of New York regulars: Art Farmer, Harry Edison, Charlie Shavers, Marky Markowitz, Bob Brookmeyer, Jimmy Cleveland, Phil Woods, Gene Quill, Al Cohn, Zoot Sims, Sol Schlinger, Bill Evans, and more. Needless to say, he achieved his end, as each of the many featured soloists contributed immeasurably to the success of his respectfully constructed charts.”
Jack Sohmer, JazzTimes April 25, 2019
When it was released in 1959, The Jazz Soul of Porgy and Bess was one of the first Jazz albums with gatefold cover containing pages of extensive notes and photos from the sessions, published by United Artists as a numbered Limited EditionUnited Artists UAL 4032.
The master tapes to this exquisite session were lost. To produce the 1991 Capitol Jazz CD [7 95132 2], Bill Potts and Jack Towers [who oversaw the transfers] gathered as many mint copies of this collector’s item as they could find and painstakingly transferred the best pressing of each selection to tape.
And “All-Stars” may be an understatement when you consider the following personnel on the original dates:
Charlie Shavers, Harry Edison, Bernie Glow, Art Farmer, Markie Makowitz (tp), Bob Brookmeyer (v-tb), Frank Rehak, Earl Swope, Jimmy Cleveland (tb), Rod Levitt (b-tb), Phil Woods, Gene Quill (as), Zoot Sims, Al Cohn (ts), Sol Schlinger (bs), Bill Evans (p), Herbie Powell (g), George Duvivier (b), Charlie Persip (d). Arranged, orchestrated and conducted by Bill Potts, recorded at Webster Hall, New York City, January 13, 14 & 15, 1959, recording engineer: Ray Hall
The recording has been universally acclaimed as one of the best Jazz interpretations of Porgy and Bess ever recorded. It didn’t take long for the commendations to begin and they are continued here in the following insert notes by André Previn.
© Copyright ® André Previn, copyright protected, all rights reserved, the author claims no right of copyright usage.
“In the musical history of the twentieth century there have been a shamefully large number of instances wherein a noteworthy musical work has been acclaimed at its premiere and has subsequently, through either public apathy or a lack of performances, declined into near oblivion. George Gershwin's opera, Porgy and Bess, is an encouraging example of the reversal of this procedure. When it was first heard in 1935 there was quite some dissension among the critics about its lasting values, and although it was heralded as something of a milestone by much of the audience, it certainly did not create a national furore at the time. Since then, each subsequent revival has brought it greater acclaim and greater popularity until now, in 1959, it has become a staple in the repertoire of almost every country in the world. Road companies have taken it to the four corners of the earth, symphonic suites are played by orchestras everywhere, countless recordings have been distributed, and surely every singer of great or little note has programmed its highlights. Nonetheless, it seems as though the next few years will bring about an undreamed-of amount of hearing for the music of "Porgy." Samuel Goldwyn's motion picture production of the opera premiered in June, 1959 and since it was one of the most widely publicized and heralded pictures in many years, it prompted practically every recording artist in the business to bring forth an album of selections from the score.
Apart from the movie sound track version there will be literally dozens of vocal albums, symphonic syntheses, reissues of the various Broadway casts, dance bands, choral arrangements, novelty groups, and jazz versions. Now, just within the framework of the last-mentioned category; never before have so many jazz artists of so many divergent styles attempted interpretations of the same music. The range covers the entire compass of jazz from the excellent to the indifferent to the downright pointless; many of them attempting to the best of their musical ethics to say something interesting and important and many, alas, simply cashing in on what looks like a sure thing. Since this plethora of recordings was well known in advance by all recording artists, it became a matter of courage for Jack Lewis to join the pack with an album led by a relatively unknown musical personality, realizing that every giant in jazz would be recording the score. The man he chose to lead and orchestrate the score was a man whose musical personality has unfortunately hitherto been unknown to the general public, namely: Bill Potts.
The term, "musician's musician," is an overworked one but nonetheless very true in Bill's case. His name has cropped up innumerable times in musicians' discussions of their favorite arrangers. This alone is quite notable, since Bill has chosen up to now to remain in the Washington, D.C. area for all of his productive life. He was the head arranger for Willis Conover's "The Orchestra," an organization which, in the opinion of visiting musicians, rivalled the Washington Monument and the National Art Gallery as one of the indispensable attractions in the Capital. Since the unfortunate demise of "The Orchestra," Bill has contributed scores to a great many bands, but it is only with this album that he is presented fully and correctly. In the fall of 1958 I was one of the afore-mentioned visiting musicians in Washington; it was at that time that I first met him. He is a young man of Dickensian proportions with added touches of Peter Ustinov and Captain Ahab. This imposing structure, however, houses one of the most soft-spoken and self-effacing gentlemen I have ever met. His musical curiosity is insatiable; he is willing to talk music until six in the morning, pause for coffee, then start over again. Generally, it was Bill's habit to begin these musical discussions with me while seated in his small open sports car and considering that I, as a Californian, have grown more and more thin-blooded, I can think of no greater compliment to Bill's opinions and ideas than to say that I hardly noticed the cold. At the time I was half-way through my assignment as the musical director of the film version of Porgy and Bess and Bill was in the process of writing his jazz version of the score. With typical candor he made what seemed like an amazing and somewhat apprehensive confession to me; the fact that he had never before been called upon to arrange and orchestrate another composer's music, but had restricted himself solely to his own originals. Now, half a year later, after hearing the results of his labors, I can only say that he never should have wasted a moment worrying about it.
One of the most difficult attributes to come by in today's jazz scene is originality. By that I don't necessarily mean a "far-out" method of playing or writing but rather an immediately recognizable personal imprint upon the music rendered. This is, God knows, as true of arrangers as it is of performers. Too many gifted facile writers pattern themselves wholly or in part after the few innovators. The Basie school of writing currently has the largest following, closely followed by the imitators of Ellington, Gil Evans, Gerry Mulligan, Bill Holman, John Lewis, etc.
Bill Potts is an originator in the truest and best sense of that word. It is impossible to hear more than eight bars of any of his arrangements without recognizing the man behind the pencil. His style is made up of many things: there is an ever-present aura of strength and vitality, an awareness of all the possible dynamic shadings from pp to ff, a rare concern for voice-leading, and a strong preference for ensembles rather than interludes between solos. His arrangements have a wonderfully timeless quality about them; he is not concerned with the fad of the moment or of the year, nor does he strive for orchestral effects simply for the sake of the effects. The orchestrations are sensible and mature, while creating the same feeling of freedom and spontaneity usually found in a solo voice. And over all they swing from bar one right through to the end of the coda.
It is my personal opinion that the detailed analyses of record albums, section by section, solo by solo should be separate from the notes. That's why I will not go into them here. The personnel-of the orchestra conducted by Bill Potts is indeed a gleaming one, as can be gathered by the listing of its members, and the band plays with an esprit and a precision hardly ever encountered in a "one-time-together" studio ensemble.
Summertime has blossomed into a swinging lullaby indeed; no child at all hip would want to waste time falling asleep during this version. A Woman is a Sometime Thing is of the same nature; while the lament My Man's Gone Now, retains most of the original Gershwin intent, except for its particularly ingenious shifting from 3/4 to 4/4. It Takes A Long Pull is again a fast swinger. Porgy's happy song, I Got Plenty 0' Nuttin' is in Gershwin's original tempo but with its lovely canonic imitations a far cry from the original subtitle, "The Banjo Song." In Bess, You Is My Woman Bill has utilized one of the loveliest passages in the opera, namely, Porgy's "They Pass By Singing" as a sort of introductory verse before going into the famous aria proper. Side one ends with a sly downhome interpretation of Sportin' Life's loose conception of the apocrypha [a popular story or claim that is likely untrue or made up] It Ain't Necessarily So.
Side two opens with a MEDLEY which includes the incidental music preceding the Act I crap game, Peter's song, and the chants of The Strawberry Woman, The Honey Man and The Crab Man, all strung together in a comfortable medium tempo. I Loves You, Porgy remains a haunting romantic ballad. Clara,Clara, originally sung by the choir after the hurricane, keeps the melody intact but loses all of its Requiem quality by double-timing the rhythm section; despite this and despite the roaring climax, the spiritual reverence of the original is maintained. Three interweaving melodies introduce another swinger, Sportin' Life's lure to Bess, There's A Boot That's Leavin' For New York. The choir's happy "How Are You This Morning?" serves as the introduction to Porgy's touching lament Oh Bess, Oh Where's My Bess, played in the original 3/4. The album ends with a true big band flag-waver interpretation of Lord, I'm On My Way; for once the listener is made to feel that such a joyous Porgy will surely make it to New York and find his Bess.
Having worked on the film version of "Porgy" for a period covering six months; having been exposed to the music of the score innumerable times; having written some two and a half hours worth of orchestrations of the score — I'm sure it would be natural for me to be practically immune to further versions of it; proof of the strength of the music and of Bill Potts' unique creativity is that I found myself listening to this album with the attentiveness and pleasure of a premiere performance.
The Musician's Union requires by law that arrangers be paid a certain amount per page of four bars each; if that law were changed to read that arrangers be paid per each new idea, Bill Potts could retire today a rich man.”
—ANDRE PREVIN May 12,1959
________________________________________________________
Steve Wallace “Putting the Potts On”
[Footnotes are at the end of the piece.]
STEVE WALLACE (bassist) was born on August 16, 1956 in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and is today regarded by many as the most powerful bass player that Canada has produced. He is almost certainly the most experienced, having begun working with visiting jazz greats in Toronto clubs such as Bourbon Street, Lytes, and George’s Spaghetti House while he was still in his twenties, backing some of the music’s most famous names including Clark Terry, Harry ‘Sweets’ Edison, Eddie ‘Lockjaw’ Davis, George Coleman, Zoot Sims, and Pepper Adams.
He has also recorded and toured with some of the biggest names in Canadian jazz including Fraser MacPherson, Rob McConnell, Oscar Peterson, and Oliver Jones. In 1982 Steve became associated with the Concord Jazz label, touring the Soviet Union, Europe and Japan, and recording albums as a sideman with Rosemary Clooney, Ed Bickert, Mel Torme, and others.
Steve became bassist with Rob McConnell’s ‘The Boss Brass’ in 1983 and remained with the band for ten years. In 1985, he replaced ailing bassist George Duvivier to tour Europe, Japan, and Australia with Woody Herman's All Stars, a group that included Al Cohn, Buddy Tate, Urbie Green, John Bunch, and Jake Hanna. Wallace toured frequently as a member of the Oscar Peterson Trio in the 1990's. He also appeared with the Rob McConnell Tentet and the Sam Noto Quintet.
He posted the following review entitled “Putting the Potts On” to his Jazz, Baseball, Life and Other Ephemera blog on February 11, 2014.
© Copyright ® Steve Wallace, copyright protected, all rights reserved, the author claims no right of copyright usage.
“There are many more examples from this period of good ‘one-off’ big band records, and because many of them share a common pool of writers and players drawn from the New York jazz “stock company”, it’s tempting to lump them together into a sub-category with a name, such as ‘modern swing’ or ‘big band mainstream’ – but they form a unique and satisfying body of work that eludes such easy labelling. The Jazz Soul of Porgy & Bess fits very comfortably among them but even so, making it was a courageous gamble on the part of United Artists and producer Jack Lewis [4], for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, the record market at that very time was becoming saturated with a preposterous array of Porgy and Bess renditions, jazz and otherwise. First heard in 1935, Gershwin’s opera enjoyed a huge revival during the mid-50s, culminating with the much-ballyhooed release of the Hollywood film in March of 1959. In the years leading up to the making of the movie, there were several Broadway productions and dozens of Porgy and Bess albums, ranging from symphonic adaptations, vocal groups, Broadway casts, novelty groups, dance bands, choral arrangements and of course jazz versions, of which the Davis-Evans effort from 1958 was not the first [5].
And secondly, entrusting such a potentially redundant undertaking to Bill Potts was doubly risky because he was largely unknown to the jazz public outside of Washington, though he’d earned a solid enough reputation among Manhattan-based musicians. Potts began playing Hawaiian guitar and accordion as a child and picked up piano in his teens. While in the military from 1949-55, he had transcribed charts for Army bands and after his service he settled in Washington. He did the arranging for broadcaster Willis Conover’s series The Orchestra, which did both live shows and regular broadcasts, sometimes featuring such high-flying guests as Dizzy Gillespie and Charlie Parker. During this time he also wrote freelance for various big bands and was arranger/composer and pianist for Freddie Merkle’s Jazz Under the Dome album. He was also pianist and leader of the house trio at a local jazz club called the Patio Lounge, often accompanying visiting big names from New York. Lester Young did a celebrated engagement there in 1956 and recordings from two of these evenings were released to some acclaim as the five-volume Lester Young in Washington, D.C., despite sketchy sound and a woeful piano. So, Potts had a fairly high profile in his adopted hometown, but Washington was still a relative jazz backwater. To make matters worse, Potts was also in a serious car accident late in 1957, which left him in a full body cast for several months after. He was fully recovered when UA commissioned him to begin work on the Porgy arrangements and the recording sessions were scheduled for three consecutive days beginning on January 13, 1959. The studio of choice was one of New York’s favoured recording venues, Webster Hall, with its superior piano and acoustics and the young veteran jazz engineer Ray Hall at the controls.
***
The band Potts took into the studio was dubbed “New York’s Finest” and was so studded with big names, jazz experience and ability, it’s hard to know where to begin, but I’ll start with the saxophone section, which is all-world. Potts, or perhaps producer Lewis, made a really smart decision here – they formed a ready-made section by simply selecting a matched set of alto and tenor players, each pair of which had played together for years. The altos are Gene Quill (“the angry young man of the alto saxophone”) and Phil Woods, who had played and recorded many times together as “Phil and Quill.” Both came heavily out of Charlie Parker and Woods – the more responsible of the two – often acted as leader for their group. Among musicians, each man had a reputation for being able to play just about anything, written or otherwise; together they were sublime and each was an excellent clarinettist to boot. Quill’s fiery wildness led directly to his early death, whereas Woods went on to have a much longer and more successful career. At the time of this record they were very evenly matched, and occasionally it’s hard to tell them apart. Quill’s sound is a little more high-pitched and metallic than Phil’s, which was more robust and creamy. Quill has a little more double-time and sass in his playing than Woods, who tended to be more blues-oriented and direct, but both men are absolutely authoritative, trenchant jazz soloists.
The tenors are Al Cohn and Zoot Sims and not a lot needs to be said; it’s much the same as Phil and Quill, only more so. Al and Zoot began playing together in the saxophone section of Woody Herman’s famous “Four Brothers” band in the late-40s and in the years after they appeared together many times on studio dates such as this one. They formed a two-tenor quintet around 1956 and played together whenever possible, with Cohn often writing clever arrangements. Their playing dovetailed beautifully and they’re more easily distinguishable than Quill and Woods. Cohn had a thicker sound with more belly and tended to focus on the middle and lower registers of the tenor, making his attack and phrasing seem slower, almost like a lighter baritone saxophone. He also sometimes featured a delightful moan in his sound; I’m surprised he or someone else never wrote a tune called “Cohn’s Moan” or “Moan With Cohn”. Zoot’s sound was lighter and sleeker and he used the upper register more, so his playing seemed to come out faster. He was also a more volatile and whimsical improviser than Cohn, who was bound more by musical logic. Together they made a gorgeous sound.
Anchoring the section is Sol Schlinger, then one of the busiest baritone saxophonists in New York, as he would remain even after the arrival of Pepper Adams around the time this record was made. Schlinger’s ensemble playing had always been stellar, but he’s featured more than usual here and shows himself to be a mobile, thoughtful jazz soloist with a pleasantly crunchy sound. As he did with others, Al Cohn made a song title pun using Schlinger’s name, converting “Linger Awhile” to “Sol Schlinger Awhile”. A funny guy was Uncle Al. At any rate, this tremendous reed section stands out as a unit of strength even in this all-star lineup and serves throughout as a lyrical counterbalance to some of the hot and heavy brass work on this record.
The trumpets combine terrific power with precise and cohesive sectional playing, while offering a wide range of solo voices. The lead trumpet chores are handled by Bernie Glow, then one of the best lead men in the business, and he’s surrounded by three veteran soloists, each with roots stretching back to the big bands of the Swing Era – Charlie Shavers, Harry “Sweets” Edison and Irvin “Markie” Markowitz. The section is completed by the much younger Art Farmer, who had really come into his own in the five years or so leading up to this session and was then entering his prime. Although mostly known for his lyrical work in small groups, Farmer was much-featured in this kind of setting then, valued for his reliable section work, glowing tone and flawless technique, as well as his obvious melodic gifts as an improviser. Markowitz, a veteran of big bands (Charlie Spivak, Boyd Raeburn, Woody Herman and Buddy Rich in the 1940s) and no stranger to studio work, was the journeyman of the trumpet section and is probably the least well-known of them now. However, he manages to outshine all of his colleagues with his arresting turn as a soloist on “My Man’s Gone Now”, but more on that later.
With five men, the powerhouse trombone section has one or two more members than was customary. They are Jimmy Cleveland, an ebullient virtuoso with a gutsy, machine-gun delivery; Frank Rehak, a favourite of Gil Evans and a fixture on the New York studio jazz scene; Earl Swope, who cut his teeth playing lead trombone for Woody Herman and others in the ’40s; Bob Brookmeyer, equally prized as a section player and a unique, piquant soloist, and bass trombonist Rod Levitt, who was then kind of the Frank Rehak of that instrument. All of these men would be featured on the record at least once, except for Rehak, which is odd because he was a very smooth, eloquent jazz soloist.
Even more oddly, the rhythm section contains the lone non-ringer of the entire group in rhythm guitarist Herbie Powell. Before encountering this record I’d never heard of him, nor can I recall coming across his name on other records, although he must have been on plenty of them. Obviously, he’s a good player or he wouldn’t be in this company, but the guitarist one would expect to see here is Barry Galbraith, who was the very epitome of this kind of work in New York those days. For a while I thought Herbie Powell was a pseudonym for the ubiquitous Galbraith, concocted to avoid any contractual conflicts between record labels. Usually these were more tongue-in-cheek and coy in nature though, as with “Charlie Chan” for Charlie Parker, or “Art Salt” for Art Pepper. No, Herbie Powell was a real guy alright and acquits himself very well here, particularly during quieter passages where he can be heard rather than just felt.
The rest of the rhythm section is top-drawer; the pianist is Bill Evans, who requires no introduction. At the time this record was made he was gaining fame for working with Miles Davis, for his first two Riverside records as a leader and would go on to be most celebrated for the ground-breaking trios he led. But in his early years he was much sought after as a studio sideman in New York, prized for his phenomenal sight-reading, his thorough musical training and background which allowed him to assimilate seamlessly into complex, larger musical settings such as this one, and his ability to deliver memorable, pithy solos at the drop of a hat. He does not disappoint here, in fact his unique playing on several features helps to put this record over the top.
The bassist is George Duvivier, and it’s hard to imagine anyone doing a better job. He was, along with Milt Hinton, the dean of New York studio bass-playing at that time, indeed he’s still one of the most recorded double-bassists in the history of American music. He was made for this kind of work and, although not at all heavily featured, he makes his presence felt here in delivering everything required – big tone, round, in-tune notes, springy bass lines, a wide, pulsing beat, accuracy and expert arco work – all without calling much attention to himself. Duvivier was utterly reliable and a pro’s pro, so was largely taken for granted by all except those who played alongside him.
Charli Persip is the drummer and was then at his very peak, known as a sleek, driving, lean-but-mean player in both small and large groups. His reputation for the latter was at an all-time high after kicking along the various high-octane big bands led by Dizzy Gillespie in those years.
***
So, a glittering and imposing lineup of players and to his credit, Bill Potts knows just what to do with them, his writing really allows everyone to shine individually and collectively. As Andre Previn [6] points out in his liner notes, Potts’ arranging abounds with originality, ideas and energy. His style is generally muscular and exuberant, but shows a sensitivity for ballads and all the dynamic shadings from pp to ff, a deftness with voice leading, counterpoint and counter-melody, a preference for full ensembles rather than small interludes between solos. He does some unusual things, such as using the melody of a song as a background behind solos, having one soloist play a quiet, improvised obbligato behind another soloist, or having soloists improvise against an ensemble statement of the melody. He’s occasionally fond of using the round form – having various voices echo a melody with staggered entrances – and he also uses key themes from earlier songs as intros or links in later ones, giving the whole album an organic quality without overdoing this. And, perhaps because he was a functioning jazz pianist, Potts understands rhythm sections, the needs of soloists and most importantly, jazz time. Above all, his writing always swings and the band has no trouble getting anything off the page, it all sounds like jazz.
Beyond what a jazz arranger actually writes – his scoring, orchestration, etc. – perhaps the most important consideration is how he handles the balance between the written and the improvised. After all, this is supposed to be jazz, and the ratio of improvisation to written ensembles, the degree of freedom afforded soloists and rhythm sections to cut loose and how they are integrated with (and accompanied by) the larger ensemble are all key factors. This demands an arranger who can see the big picture and avoid the temptation to over-write. One who excels at this – Toronto’s own Rick Wilkins – once said, “Some of the best written music is no written music at all.” I feel this is Potts’ greatest strength on this record, his deployment of the many soloists on hand and his determination to let them play. Whether it’s a melody feature or playing a jazz solo, time and time again Potts seems to find the right guy for the right tune, then drapes him in an interesting variety of background textures. In all, Potts uses sixteen different soloists, often as brief patches of vivid colour against the fabric of the ensemble.
This record was not meant to be a literal interpretation of the Porgy & Bess score, it’s really jazz versions of key selections from it. That being said, a lot of Gershwin’s music is covered here and for the most part the selections follow the general order of the original opera. Potts decides to forgo the overture and elects to lead things off with the opera’s best-known song, “Summertime”. After an exciting intro with shouting brass and a brief saxophone section soli, the tune is stated by altos and trumpets at a medium-up clip, with some angular counter-melodies from the rest of the band. Then there’s a shout chorus from the band on an ascending figure, starting soft then rising to a crescendo, which kicks off the first soloist : Sweets Edison, with a cup-mute. He begins with a few of his patented ‘fall-off’ phrases, then knuckles under for a smoking solo with the band echoing the melody behind him. Duvivier is superb here, grabbing hold of the pulse with throbbing quarter notes. After a similar kickoff Al and Zoot trade choruses and the whole track swings like mad. Normally, my only criticism would be that the chart misses the gentle, lullaby essence of the song, but even with that quibble, it’s hard to argue with this as an opener. I don’t think this track should be considered on its own, but rather seen as a rousing ice-breaker to the whole record and as such, it’s irresistible. It grabs you by the scruff of the neck and yanks you into what follows, announcing, “This is a hot, swinging band and we’re going to take the gloves off and play some jazz, so buckle up!”
“A Woman Is A Sometime Thing” follows and it’s also pretty hot and heavy, with a sizzling stop-time exposition of the melody. There are good solos by Gene Quill and a very hard-blowing Earl Swope, followed by some crisp drum breaks from Charli Persip and a brief turn by Markie Markowitz on muted trumpet.
This sets the stage for the record’s first great, extended lyrical outing, Markowitz’s breathtaking turn on “My Man’s Gone Now”. It’s a very interesting and complex song in its own right, with built-in switches from 3/4 to 4/4 and subtly shifting harmonies under the mournful, bluesy melody and Markowitz plays it as if he’s been waiting his whole life to do so. Chiefly it’s his ravishing open-horn sound that gets to the listener at first – glowing and burnished, dense and broad, with just the right amount of vibrato to add some lustre. He stays mostly in the middle and very fat lower registers of the horn, suggesting Bunny Berigan in his prime, but with more bebop in the delivery. Markowitz sticks fairly close to the very strong melody throughout, but invests it with all kinds of personalized inflection – bends, smears and slurs, subtle shifts in vibrato and volume, little rips, turns and glisses – it’s a master class in how to make jazz while playing a written melody. Al Cohn drops in under him for a while, blowing a soulful obbligato. All the while, the band is thrumming along portentously under Markie and, as he builds the intensity on the repeat of the upward-moving bridge, there’s a climax as the trombones take over the melody briefly, then Markie answers them in a higher register. There’s an extended, closing vamp by the band over which Markie improvises freely, building to a crescendo with the final melody phrase played by the brass, way up high. This never fails to make the hair on my neck stand up, always brings goosebumps and I’m not alone. I remember listening to this record one night at my house with my good friends Mark Eisenman and John Sumner. Sumner had turned me on to the record in the first place and had introduced Mark to it more recently. Mark called for quiet when this track came on and we listened to it in a kind of rapture. When it was over, he was beaming, but his eyes were wet and he croaked, “That’s what my dad meant when he talked about schmaltz in music.” By schmaltz, Mark’s father Henry didn’t mean “corn” or mawkishness as many would think, but rather real emotion and soul. This track alone is worth the price of the CD, ten times over.
After an arresting brass intro and the melody, Sol Schlinger, Bill Evans, Gene Quill and Jimmy Cleveland are all featured on “It Takes A Long Pull To Get There”, with its minor-to-major chord sequence.
“I Got Plenty of Nuttin”’ is pretty much the saxophone section the whole way, as they take turns tossing the pastoral melody around with staggered entries in a round form. It’s very relaxed and almost canonical in character and shows off the beautiful sound these men make, both on their own and as a section. Then it’s Quill, Zoot and Al taking solos, separated by gently swinging shout choruses built around the melody. Zoot is particularly eloquent here and Quill shows his typically swaggering insouciance. It was this same swagger that would get the little Irishman killed a few years later when he picked one too many bar fights, but it was part and parcel of the personality that make him one of my very favourite alto players.
The record’s next great “goosebump moment” comes with “Bess, You Is My Woman”. It’s probably the opera’s greatest song, an aria really, and I wish it was played more often in small jazz groups. Without any decoration, its melody sounds to me like a great jazz chorus, but I can understand why it isn’t played more. It’s very complex, with built-in key changes and enough sub-themes and secondary melodies for several tunes, it almost demands a large, orchestral setting. Once again, Potts makes a wise choice of soloist in assigning most of the spotlight here to Phil Woods, who bathes the song in his luxuriant sound and tough brand of lyricism. While Woods is playing the melody, Charlie Shavers improvises an obligatto behind him, so quietly that at first he’s barely noticeable – he’s not only using a Harmon mute, but his horn sounds as though it’s wrapped in layers of cotton batting – it’s very effective. Woods goes on to play a bristling solo which builds as the full band enters under him with the melody and Phil just wails over this, it’s thrilling. As this climax is winding down, Zoot Sims enters and takes over briefly, then he and Woods engage in a lovely saxophone pas de deux, the band playing soft organ chords under them. The blend of their sounds and intertwining lines is just gorgeous. There’s a double-time shout leading into a vamp over which Woods plays an extended cadenza, ending with the opening phrase of the melody.
After a gospel-inflected intro, Al Cohn plays “It Ain’t Necessarily So”, his funky, moaning sound perfect for the blues-tinged melody. He’s off to blowing in fairly short order, then Rod Levitt takes over, his sound very round and fat. Then it’s Bill Evans with a boppish, long-lined solo full of the tensile and elastic rhythmic phrasing he was known for.
Next, Potts cleverly arranges the minor themes of the opera – “Prayer”, “Strawberries”, “Here Comes de Honey Man” and “Crab Man” – into a medley with shifting moods and tempos. Gene Quill, Jimmy Cleveland, Zoot Sims and Sol Schlinger are all featured briefly as soloists on “Prayer”. The highlight of the medley is Bill Evans playing the melody to “Strawberries” in glowing octaves, with the band padding softly behind him. No one ever made a more gorgeous sound on the piano or made it sing quite the way Evans does here. Charlie Shavers, with a cup-mute, is very sweet on “Honey Man” and speaking of confections, “Sweets” Edison takes the whole piece out with his puckish wah-wahs on “Crab Man” in a gradual fade.
“I Loves You, Porgy” is probably the most tender song in the whole opera and Potts chooses the perfect voice to play its melody: Bill Evans, with just the rhythm section at first, then with soft trombone chords underneath. His tone is very pearly and crystalline, and he uses the sustain pedal to get the melody notes to run together, then uses the damper pedal at precisely the right instant to freeze everything in place, a breathtaking bit of alchemy leading to more goosebumps. The trombones take over the melody on the repeat, and another great melodic voice enters, as Art Farmer plays a glowing solo over top, quoting “Falling In Love With Love” along the way. Zoot ups the lyrical ante with a ravishing solo over the bridge, his smoky Pres-inspired sound never better. The whole band plays the closing melody statement at full roar, then Potts brings everything down and has Evans finish it as he started. A beautiful arrangement of a lovely song that would remain a staple in the repertoire of Evans from this point forward.
Potts really makes something out of “Clara, Clara”, one of Porgy’s lesser-known themes. With bass and rhythm guitar providing a gentle pulse, he sets up a see-saw, four-note phrase repeated from tightly voiced muted trumpets, then has bowed bass and baritone saxophone play the solemn melody in unison underneath this. It’s a very effective and unusual combination of sounds and he later switches it up, assigning the four-note figure to low voices and the melody to higher ones in a kind of round. Markowitz and Edison both take graceful solos on muted trumpets, followed by gutsy ones from Phil Woods and Al Cohn. This unexpected little gem is my favourite track on the whole record.
Next is a straight-ahead, swinging arrangement of “There’s A Boat Dat’s Leavin’ Soon for New York City” at a perfect, medium tempo. Potts passes the various themes of the melody around the band very deftly, using the trumpet, trombone and saxophone sections separately where appropriate and together at full blast in other spots. It’s fittingly a very hot arrangement that again makes occasional use of the round form and has a folkish flavour at times. The brief solos are by Evans, Woods, Quill, Cohn and Farmer, with the pianist in hard-swinging form; this was a great period for Evans.
It’s late in the game, but after a startling brass intro of almost operatic intensity, Potts finally gets around to featuring Bob Brookmeyer on “Oh Bess, Oh Where’s My Bess?” One wonders what took him so long, but I think Potts was waiting for the perfect vehicle for Brookmeyer’s unique solo voice and this dramatic, bluesy and soulful ballad is an ideal fit. The melody has echoes of “Bess, You Is My Woman” in it, but overall this is a hotter, more mournful song and, much like Markowitz on his earlier feature, Brookmeyer makes it his own with his inimitable bag of tonally expressive effects. Smears, blats, half-valve effects, slurs, those wry, dissonant brays and surreal glisses he somehow managed, all delivered in his burry, flat tone and with darting shifts in volume, he’s quite remarkable here. Always sounding like himself and remaining utterly faithful to whatever he’s playing, Brookmeyer manages to echo almost every trombonist who ever played with Duke or Basie, while sounding fresh and modern at the same time. Not that Brookmeyer needed any help, but Charlie Shavers again sidles up and improvises another elegant, very soft obbligato behind Bob playing the melody on valve trombone. Overall, Potts makes quite unusual use of Shavers on this record – he was small, but a powerful enough trumpeter to blow the paint off the walls – but he’s the very model of taste and restraint throughout.
The album closes with an up-tempo “Oh Lawd, I’m On My Way”. It’s intended as a flag-waving send-off, with exchanges of four-bar solos throughout the three horn sections – saxophones, followed by trombones and trumpets. All is going well, when there’s a sudden hiccup during the round of trombone exchanges – out of the blue, the tempo speeds up noticeably. The rhythm section is far too steady for this to have happened naturally, it’s far too abrupt. It sounds like a bad edit or splice to me, or may be something which happened on the CD transfer. The original master tapes for this session were lost, Potts and Jack Towers did the transfers by assembling as many mint-condition copies of the LP as possible and using the best one for each selection. At any rate, it’s a small blemish on the overall proceedings, the faster tempo gets a little out of control and it’s a shame this happens on the closing track. It leaves a faintly bad taste in one’s mouth near the end, but isn’t enough to spoil what is otherwise a splendid record.
For me, this album stands out today, but when it was made it probably didn’t – there was so much going on then, it was likely seen as just another record, even with its glowing personnel. It certainly couldn’t have been made today, and I don’t mean because pretty much everyone who was involved is now dead. It’s just that those were peak times, you couldn’t find a band who could play that way now, certainly not with so little preparation, and certainly not with so much personality and swagger. And you would have a tough time finding a record company to finance such a project now, it’s not commercial enough anymore. Although Potts’ reputation as an arranger is permanently cemented by this work alone, it didn’t seem to make much of a difference in his career or make him suddenly busy, there was far too much competition for that. He remained in Washington doing pretty much what he’d been doing before : free-lance arranging, some piano playing and eventually teaching arranging and composing at a college. He did do a similar album with a great lineup in 1963 for Colpix, though with less promising source music – a jazz version of Bye-Bye, Birdie. As with many good big band projects, it’s impossible to say how much of the overall success of Jazz Soul can be attributed to the writing and how much to the stellar playing. At the end of the day it’s equal parts of both, as each feeds the other.
I hope those who already have The Jazz Soul of Porgy & Bess will give it a fresh listen, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. I certainly urge those who don’t have it to buy it, there’s a CD version of it available that also includes the 1963 Birdie material, which is worth hearing, if not quite as successful. You won’t be disappointed, Jazz Soul is a real keeper and a unique window into a time when giants roamed the streets of New York, disguised as everyday working musicians.”
FOOTNOTES
[4]. The Jazz Soul was only one of many feathers in the cap of Jack Lewis; it was quite common to see his name listed as producer/A&R man on jazz records made in New York during the 1950s and ’60s. He loved no-nonsense, straight-ahead jazz of both the big and small band variety, and had a real appreciation for good jazz arranging. After starting with Columbia in his teens, Lewis eventually oversaw the jazz division of RCA and instituted a series called the “Jazz Workshop”, which helped to showcase the writing and playing talents of men like Al Cohn, Joe Newman, Manny Albam, Bob Brookmeyer, Phil Woods, Gene Quill and many others. He later did similar work for Colpix and United Artists, as well as starting up his own short-lived Little David Records with jazz manager Monte Kay. Lewis and Al Cohn were particularly close, perhaps owing in part to a shared Jewish heritage (Lewis was born to Canadian parents – a Jewish mother and a non-Jewish father) and the fact that both men each had only one functioning eye. This led to the well-known story involving these two and Zoot Sims. Once, Zoot was driving his red Volvo, with Cohn and Lewis as passengers. For no reason Zoot suddenly asked, “Both you guys have a glass eye, right?” Cohn and Lewis answered, “Yeah…..so?” After a pause, Zoot said, “I want you guys to keep both eyes on the road.”
I often confuse Jack Lewis with Jack Tracy, who filled a similar role in jazz during the same period. Tracy began as a jazz journalist, writing liner notes, record reviews and eventually became the Chicago editor of Downbeat magazine in the mid-’50s. He was very close to Quincy Jones, and in 1959 Jones persuaded Tracy to begin working full-time as a record producer and A&R man for Mercury Records, where he oversaw the making of many good jazz records into the 1960s. There’s a third Jack to make things even more confusing – Jack Towers. After a long military career, Towers became an expert in the field of CD mastering and transferring, overseeing this process on may projects including The Jazz Soul.
Returning to Jack Lewis, not many remember him now (he died alone and broke in 2011), but jazz would have been much poorer without him. In his prime, he exerted an important and benign influence over the recording world of New York and always put his money (and that of others) where his mouth was as far as jazz was concerned. Seeing his name on a jazz record is pretty much a guarantee that the music on it will be fresh, swinging, well-written and unpretentious.
[5]. One of the problems with the frequent comparisons of the Miles/Evans and Potts versions of P&B is that they seem to imply that these were the only jazz versions made up to that time, but there were at least three which pre-dated the 1958 Miles record. The earliest of these was a massive one on Bethlehem Records, with an almost preposterously wide-ranging array of talent. The CD reissue is two discs, the original must have been on four or five LPs. It’s a full-scale jazz mounting of the opera, with each character assigned to a different singer and/or actor, including Mel Torme, Francis Faye, Betty Roche, Johnny Hartman, George Kirby, Sallie Blair, Frank Rosolino(!), Loulie Jean Norman, Joe Derise and Bob Dorough, with narration from jazz personality Al “Jazzbo” Collins. The large orchestra is drawn from Duke Ellington’s band, augmented by strings and woodwinds, but there are also instrumental contributions provided by the Stan Levey Group, the Pat Moran Quartet (including vocalist Bev Kelly) and the Australian Jazz Quintet. The musical direction is provided by the veteran arranger/conductor Russell Garcia and as one might expect from such a huge and motley crew, it’s a little wild and uneven in places, but well worth hearing.
There was a strange little one recorded in 1957 by the L.A. multi-reed whiz Buddy Collette, called “Jazz Interpretations of Porgy and Bess” and not easy to find. It has Collette playing flute and bass clarinet, leading a small group consisting of Pete Jolly on accordion, Gerald Wiggins on organ, Jim Hall on guitar, Red Callender on bass and Louie Bellson on drums. They play eight selections and achieve some interesting colours for such a small band, although frankly, the combination of accordion and organ is a bit much for me.
1957 also saw the release of the Louis Armstrong-Ella Fitzgerald version, done on Verve with a full orchestra also under the direction of Russell Garcia. It’s often overlooked in discussions of jazz recordings of P&B, but is a must-have, if only to hear Louis’ blistering treatment of “Summertime” on trumpet, his priceless vocal rendition of “Bess, You Is My Woman” (“Besssssssssssssssssss….”) and Ella’s beautiful singing on “I Loves You, Porgy”. Throughout, the luminous talents of Louis and Ells transcend the competent but unimaginative scoring of Garcia, who was maybe worn out by his 1956 efforts for Bethlehem.
There was a very good version done in 1958 on RCA by guitarist Mundell Lowe, who wrote all the arrangements for two groups – a trio featuring his guitar, and a septet notable for featuring Ben Webster, along with Art Farmer and some fine baritone sax from Tony Scott. Jack Lewis was also the producer on this date.
Pianist Hank Jones entered the fray in 1958 with his “Porgy and Bess: Swingin’ Jazz Interpretations”, done for Capitol with a quartet featuring Kenny Burrell on guitar, Milt Hinton on bass and Hank’s incomparable brother Elvin on drums. The playing is impeccable throughout, but overall the record suffers from a kind of commercial blandness, as the tracks are all too short and these great players are kept under wraps.
There were also small group versions recorded after the big band efforts by Davis/Evans in 1958 and Potts and Co. in 1959. The Oscar Peterson Trio did one for Verve later in 1959 and, though hastily arranged and obviously lacking the tonal range of the larger-scale records, this one definitely has its moments.
The MJQ did a lovely version in 1964 on Atlantic and featured some of the songs from P&B in their repertoire for a few years after this. Their work on “My Man’s Gone Now” is particularly brilliant and this is my favourite small group interpretation.
Joe Henderson did an uneven but at times interesting version in 1997 with a sextet and two singers in tow – Chaka Khan and, believe it or not, Sting.
I have all of these in my record collection, but there are many others, including vocal ones featuring parings of Carmen McRae and Sammy Davis, Jr., Ray Charles and Cleo Laine (though they never appeared together in the studio) and by Nina Simone. This would all indicate without any doubt that Porgy and Bess has held a lasting allure for players, arrangers and listeners alike, making it one of the most timeless masterworks in all of American music.
[6]. As a composer, arranger, conductor and jazz pianist, André Previn was eminently qualified to write the commentary on The Jazz Soul upon its release in 1959. But more specifically, Previn had been at work for six months writing the orchestrations for the soundtrack score for the movie Porgy and Bess, which would be released later that year. So to say the least, he was intimately acquainted with the music, and one could forgive him for not wanting to hear any more of it for a while. Nevertheless, he is effusive in his praise of both the musicians and the writing of Bill Potts on this record. To quote him: “I’m sure it would be natural for me to be practically immune to further versions of it; proof of the strength of the music and of Bill Potts’ unique creativity is that I found myself listening to this album with the attentiveness and pleasure of a premiere performance.”
Bill Potts' The Jazz Soul of Porgy and Bess was one of the first Jazz albums with a gatefold cover containing pages of extensive notes and photos from the sessions, published by United Artists as a numbered Limited Edition. It is amazing to look back at 1959 and witness these kinds of resources being put into a Jazz recording by a relatively unknown arranger.
