Monday, July 13, 2026

Pacific Jazz Records A History of the Label and Its Artists, 1952-1965 by Jim Harrod - A Review

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


"During the last half-century, New York's preeminence in the jazz world has faced a serious challenge only once. For a brief period following World War II, California captured the imagination of jazz fans around the world. 'West Coast Jazz' suddenly became a catchword, a fad, a new thing. Jazz writers even wrote

about a battle of West Coast versus East Coast, as though an actual war was taking place."

—TED GIOIA, AUTHOR OF WEST COAST JAZZ


One of the more arresting aspects of Pacific Jazz Records, A History of the Label and Its Artists, 1952-1965 [McFarland 2026] is the unique backstory about how the book came to be in the first place.


Jim Harrod is a close friend so I’ve heard the story of its origins over numerous get-togethers. But each time I reflect on how a young man in Sheridan, Wyoming came of age in the Jazz World by listening to recordings of Jazz artists issued by a then still somewhat obscure record company based in Los Angeles, it never fails to cause me to shake my head in amazement.


Here’s how Jim describes this journey in his Preface which also provides an overview of how the process of writing the book evolved.


“My interest in jazz blossomed in the mid-1950s when I was exposed to the music through a friend in high school, Jon Brooder, and a radio program, Willie's Waxworks, on the local AM radio station, KWYO. Willie's Waxworks was hosted by Bill Emery, who managed one of the record shops in town at Mossholder's Furniture. Jon had accompanied Bill on a visit to the West Coast in 1955 when Bill visited friends in Los Angeles that he had established during his time in the city in the early 1950s when he met Ray Avery, Woody Woodward, and Danny Alguire. 


Woody invited Bill and Jon to attend several recording sessions at Pacific Jazz during their visit and Dick Bock gave Jon an armful of the latest Pacific Jazz releases to take home. Bill's visit in 1951 coincided with the emergence of Pacific Jazz and Contemporary Records. Bill's selection of jazz records at Mossholder's favored the West Coast labels he knew intimately through contacts with Dick Bock at Pacific Jazz and Les Koenig at Contemporary. My initial jazz library was built around releases from these companies.


Bill and I maintained a friendship that included seeing one another when he visited California to see his Los Angeles jazz friends. My visits to my hometown in later years always included a visit with Bill, and during a visit in 1994 I suggested that we should consider writing a history of the Pacific Jazz label. We began working on compiling a complete list of every release on the label including later releases on World Pacific. List members at the organissimo online jazz forum suggested that I compile an online resource containing all of the labels issued by Bock's Pacific Jazz and World Pacific companies.


Initial planning included a discography. Additional research revealed that myriad inconsistencies rendered a definitive discography impossible, so that task is left to the professional jazz discographers to tackle. Hopefully they will find this history that includes details of every AFM contract on file at AFM Local No. 47 of assistance in that task.


Writing the history was delayed as the background of co-founder Roy Harte was scant. This obstacle was overcome when Roy's son, Rex Harte, shared details of Roy's musician logbooks that he maintained meticulously during his big band years in the swing era. Roy's logs provide intimate details of the time Roy spent with Muggsy Spanier, Bobby Sherwood, George Paxton, Johnny Richards, Billie Rogers, Boyd Raeburn, Jerry Wald, Lucky Millinder, Ike Carpenter, and others.


The inconsistencies that discouraged the inclusion of a discography also presented a challenge regarding how to present an orderly history of the label. The opening chapters offer biographies of the people and places that figure prominently in the evolution of Pacific Jazz and World Pacific. The yearly activity of the labels presented a similar challenge. Recording sessions for specific releases were often weeks or months apart. When a finished album reached the marketplace its review was often months later. An album released in 1956 might not receive a review in the music press until 1957. The history unfolds in the following chronological fashion.


The yearly activity chapters begin with the earliest recording session date. If additional recording sessions were needed to complete an album, reviews of the album follow the last session date. Noteworthy news concerning the label is inserted in the narrative according to the date it was published in the music media. Each chapter ends with a listing of the albums released that year including various numerical series, speed formats, and matrix numbers.


Matrix numbers are listed as they present the best evidence regarding when planned releases entered the production schedule at Pacific Jazz.”


Jim’s Pacific Jazz history, which celebrates the accomplishments of it principals, Dick Bock and Roy Harte, becomes a welcome addition to the books that have been written in recent years about the pioneering entrepreneurs who managed independent record labels that documented the halcyon days of modern Jazz following the close of World War II among them: Tad Hershorn, Norman Granz, The Man Who Used Jazz for Justice, Richard Cook, Blue Note Records which celebrates the work of Alfred Lion and Francis Wolff and  Ashley Kahn, The House That Trane Built which fetes Creed Taylor’s productions. 


As an aspiring Jazz drummer in Los Angeles in the late 1950s, I looked forward to the next Pacific Jazz release because the music on them celebrated the Jazz heroes that I’d heard performing in the local Jazz clubs, concert halls and festivals. I usually found out about them by reading Downbeat, Metronome, the Jazz Review and many other, sadly, short-lived magazines devoted to Jazz.


Radio airplay was also a source of information about forthcoming albums, especially after the development of KNOB- FM in the greater Los Angeles area which was hailed as the “world’s first all Jazz radio station.”


Finding Pacific Jazz albums in record stores was another matter because unlike the “big guys” - Columbia, RCA and Capitol - independent labels such as Pacific Jazz, Nocturne and Contemporary Record had limited budgets for marketing and distribution.


Thank goodness for the "I can order it for you and it should be here in a few days” mantra of the locally owned record store which enabled me to acquire some of the Pacific Jazz recordings detailed in Jim’s book.


This is how I “met” the original Gerry Mulligan Quartet featuring Chet Baker on trumpet, the early editions of Shorty Rogers and His Giants and the wonderful recordings that trumpet Clifford Brown made with Zoot Sims with music arranged by Jack Montrose and a host of other marvelous recordings made by a number of Jazz artists that were “before my time.”


Later, after I became active in the music, many of the Los Angeles based Jazz players that I enjoyed would be featured on Pacific Jazz recordings including the Jazz Crusaders, Joe Pass and Les McCann and the Gerald Wilson Orchestra.


Due to an accident of geography, I had the advantage of being able to acquire and listen to the many fine recordings issued on Pacific Jazz. In a way, perusing Pacific Jazz Records, A History of the Label and Its Artists, 1952-1965 becomes an exercise in visiting old friends. 


But for those of you with limited exposure to the West Coast Jazz scene from 1945-1965, Jim’s book will help open a whole new world for you as it provides a road map to use and discover many new listening experiences involving artists primarily based in southern California during this period.


For as annotated on the book’s back cover:


“From its modest beginning in the back of a drum shop, Pacific Jazz became one of the most respected and successful independent jazz record labels in America, starting with a single 78 rpm release in 1952 that introduced the Gerry Mulligan Quartet. Its exponential growth during the 1950s launched the jazz careers of Mulligan, Chet Baker, Chico Hamilton, and Bud Shank. With expansion in the mid '50s and a name change to World Pacific, the catalog included folk, comedy, pop, vocal, Latin, and world music genres featuring artists such as Kimio Eto and Ravi Shankar. Jazz releases continued to introduce major artists in the 1960s including the Jazz Crusaders, Les McCann, Curtis Amy, Paul Bryant, Clare Fischer, Joe Pass, Gerald Wilson, and Carmell Jones. Dick Bock sold Pacific Jazz to Liberty Records in the spring of 1965, ending its 13-year run as an independent jazz label. This history covers in depth all 13 years of the transformative record label's independence.”


Jim writes the way he talks in an easy to understand almost off-handed manner which makes his book a pleasure to read. While important technical information is included, Jim’s narrative brings to life the artists and the music they made.


Using a chronological approach, the book focuses on key albums that were issued during each year of the label’s thirteen-year existence.


For example, this annotation about Clifford Brown’s sole excursion on Pacific Jazz which was made even more unique because of it emphasis on arrangements, something that often distinguished the West Coast based Jazz musicians from their East Coast brethren who often favored the more informal blowing sessions:



“The Thursday evening, August 12, 1954, Clifford Brown session was scheduled from 5:00 to 8:00 p.m. at Capitol Recording Studios on Melrose Avenue. The AFM contract listed Clifford Brown, trumpet; Russell Freeman, piano; Joe Mondragon, bass; Robert Gordon, baritone saxophone; Sheldon Manne, drums; Stu Williamson, valve-trombone; Jack "Zoot" Sims, tenor saxophone. The contract also credited Maury Dell as copyist and Clifford Brown as arranger although Bock's liner notes credit Jack Montrose as sole arranger on the Clifford Brown ensemble sessions. The second Clifford Brown session occurred on Wednesday, September 8,1954, at Capitol Recording Studio "A" from 4:30 to 8:00 p.m. Carson Smith replaced Joe Mondragon on bass and the AFM contract noted Jack Montrose, arranger, plus Maury Dell and Joe Estren as copyists. 


The Clifford Brown ensemble sessions endured an extended period of gestation, unusual for Dick Bock as albums normally reached the retail market within a month or two after taping.


Will Thornbury asked Dick Bock about the Clifford Brown sessions thirty years after they were recorded. "The thing that I didn't want to do was to record Clifford in the same context that he had been recorded, and the same context he was always recorded in and a lot of people including Max Roach hated me for doing this because it was not what they wanted to do and it wasn't the setting that they had conceived that was Clifford's normal setting. The chance to record Clifford was a great one, and I thought let's try to do something different, and see what happens, put him in another context. It is one of the few albums that is unique from the rest of his albums. I don't think it is any better than the albums that Clifford recorded with Max Roach, in fact their albums are in some ways superior performances because they're more integrated, they're tightly knit, they're really well rehearsed because that's the way they play on the job. I think it was successful, a good counterpart to Clifford, he wrote for the session and played beautifully on it."



Or the following description of The Mastersounds, a quartet with the same instrumentation as The Modern Jazz Quartet, but with a looser, more swinging feeling which made their music somewhat more accessible than that of the more classically constructed approach of the MJQ. The fact that The Mastersounds drew their music from the popular Broadway shows during the 1950s such as The King and I, Kismet and The Flower Drum Song may also have contributed to their recordings being among the label’s best-sellers. The following extract also shows Jim’s efforts to locate and include album reviews from the major music magazines including Downbeat, Metronome and The Billboard.


“AFM contracts for the Mastersounds first two albums on World Pacific are not in the files at Local No. 47 in Los Angeles. The mention in The Billboard that Bock had two packages already in the works indicates that the sessions may have been recorded independently by the Mastersounds in San Francisco where they burst onto the local jazz scene at Dave Glickman's Jazz Showcase. Ads in the San Francisco Examiner for the jazz club carried a byline, "Pacific Jazz New ' Stars of '57" indicating that Bock had signed the quartet prior to the August 9, 1957, date of the newspaper. Jepsen dates the session for Jazz Showcase Introducing.... The Mastersounds, PJM-403, to September 12, 1957, and The King and I—A Modern Jazz Interpretation by the Mastersounds, PJM-405, to September 19, 1957, both in Los Angeles.47 Don Gold extended a three-star cautious review of PJM-403 in Down Beat. "It may be trifle too early to determine the full value of the group, flaws and virtues are apparent, additional time together may benefit."48 Metronome's review of PJM-403 was less critical. "A capable, well-rehearsed group, playing some imaginative arrangements of both standards and originals, they swing."49 The King and I—A Modern Jazz Interpretation by the Mastersounds, PJM-405, was reviewed in The Billboard under their "Sound" section, not the "Jazz Albums" area. "The unusual sounds produced by The Mastersounds only reflect their good taste and top musicianship in this collection of tunes from The King and I."


Jazz is a reflection of the times in which it is created and this was no less the case during the period that Pacific Jazz was in existence.


Jim offers commentary on some of these socio-cultural influences then in vogue in southern California such as the coffee houses that spawned the Jazz and Poetry movement and the music associated with it which found its way onto a number of Pacific Jazz recordings.


The surfing craze, the advent of interest in folk music and the forerunners of bossa nova, soul and funk and one world, international music were chronicled on Pacific Jazz recordings well before they later reached national prominence.


Pacific Jazz was also involved in some of the earliest efforts to create a larger listening audience for Jazz with its involvement in the Jazz International’s education efforts.




Much of the music described and discussed in Pacific Jazz Records, A History of the Label and Its Artists, 1952-1965 reflects the spirit of exploration, joy of discovery and sense of entrepreneurial adventure that dominated California culture during these years.


This risk-taking even extended to some of the recording techniques employed by Dick Bock and his associates at Pacific Jazz:


“Jack Tracy gave Cy Touff, His Octet & Quintet, PJ-1211, four stars in Down Beat. "This is high caliber fare, and achieves a compulsive swing and joy which is practically guaranteed to make you pat a hole in the floor." John Tynan wrote an extended article for Down Beat about the recording session at the Forum Theater and Bock's decision to use the theater to record. The musicians were set up on stage in front of a large curtain. The only lighting was supplied by overhead stage lights, and Bock had solved the chilly temperature problem encountered with the Jack Sheldon session.


The musician's sound projected out into the theater seating area and provided perfect acoustical balance. "Reverberations are completely lacking ... rather the music fills the theater and filters back to the performers, making for an extremely true sound."


The reader can also get a sense of these “Wild Wild West” qualities through the book's many photos, album covers [especially those associated with William, Claxton] and posters.


Jim’s  book is a professional achievement written by someone passionate enough to turn his personal interest into a well-researched, well-written behind-the-scenes look at what went into making this music happen.


The work is an invaluable addition to the canon of books on the subject of Jazz in California from 1945 to 1965 along with Ted Gioia’s West Coast Jazz: Jazz in California 1945 - 1960, Robert Gordon’s, Jazz West Coast and my own self-published trilogy, West Coast Jazz - A Reader, Vols. 1, 2, and 3.


The photo that adorns the cover of the book shows Bobby Troop, the host of the Stars of Jazz TV Program, interviewing Dick Bock.  We’ve come full circle here as Jim is also the author of Stars of Jazz: A Complete History of the Innovative Television Series, 1956-1958 which McFarland published in 2020!


For order information go here.


[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 and Jazz Trumpet A Reader Vols. 1 and 2. He also hosts the jazzprofiles.blogspot and cerra.substack blogs.]





Saturday, July 11, 2026

Stan Kenton Plays Chicago

 


The Creative World of Stan Kenton - Part 5

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


In developing a broader understanding and appreciation of Kenton 70's music to share with you in these continuing features on the subject we are fortunate that so many of the band members from that era were available [many continue to be] to participate in interviews in which they shared their experiences about Stan and what it was like to be on the band.


The following interview appears in excerpts from Lillian Arganian’s Stan Kenton: The Man and His Music [1989], Lillian was for many years associated with Michigan State University. A violinist herself and a lifelong fan of Kenton’s music, her book contains 24 interviews with musicians and arranger’s associated with the Kenton Band in the 1970s.


Since the trombone section has always been a major part of the Kenton Sound, I thought it might be fun to continue our look at the Creative World of Stan Kenton in the decade of the 1970s with the following interview from Lillian’s book with trombonists Dick Shearer and Mike Suter.


If you ever wanted to know what the true costs were - from many points of view, financial and otherwise - of being on the Kenton Band in the 1970s, you’ll get a close look by reading this interview.


Mike SUTER: Southern Illinois, remember we did that? 

Dick SHEARER: And I had to go up and. . . 

SUTER: Stan's ultimate band!

L.A.: Why was that? 

SUTER: Thirty-seven hundred people.


Lillian Arganian.: (Laughs.) What was this?

SUTER: They brought us to Southern Illinois  University to play at the

half-time.

L.A.: Oh, the Stan Kenton band? At half-time?

SUTER: It was their band day.

L.A.: You're kidding!

SUTER: So there were like 25 high school bands...

L.A.: Oh, wow.

SUTER: And the Stan Kenton band ... 

L.A.: (Laughs.)

SUTER: We played "MacArthur Park." Well fine. Pop-da-da-daa-dot-dot-dot-daa. You can't do that with thirty-seven hundred people. It went pop-dot-dot-daa-dudugududum-dot-dot. It was ponderous, it was terrible, the people loved it, and it was the perfect-sized band for Stan.

L.A.: (Laughs.) Thirty-seven hundred? 

SUTER: He finally had enough people in his band!

SHEARER: And I'm the only one that went Duh-duh-duh-da-duh-duh-

duh-'duh. (Laughs.) I thought about that old joke.

L.A.: What's the old joke? 

SHEARER: This piccolo player dies and goes to Heaven, and the Lord grants him one wish. Says he wants to play with great musicians. So poof there he's in the Grand Canyon and he looks up, and there's five thousand trumpets. Four thousand trombones. A thousand sousa-phones. God only knows how many drummers, and clarinet players and all this. Goes up to the podium and plays that little solo march in "The Stars and Stripes Forever."

SUTER: You can imagine what it was like when they all came in after that. L.A.: It would have knocked him over! 

SHEARER: Would you like five thousand people playing two quarter notes in your ear?

SUTER: That's what was happening with Dick. It was him against literally the world.

SHEARER: I had a two-bar solo every time it happened. I'm the only one who played it. Duh-duh-duh-da-dee-duh- duh-duh. I'd walk up to the microphone and do that, just me and a couple of soft woodwinds, then I'd step back and all of a sudden WHAAACHHH! Duh-duh-

duh-da-dee-da-da-da.  Da-da-daa-da- dee-da-da-da. WHOH WHOH-WHOH WHOH-WHOH!

SUTER: It was really; it was weird.

L.A.: Stan must have loved it. That's his idea of a band, all right.

SUTER: We kidded him about it. We said he finally got enough people in his band to make him happy.

L.A.: A new high in tone color! Why do you suppose Stan favored trombones so much?

SHEARER: What he said to me was, when he was a young kid, and used to go down and hear the shows 'n' stuff, and he'd hear those trombones in the pit orchestra with that sound they used to get, he'd say "Someday I'm gonna have a band with a bunch of trombones." He loved the sound of it. He just loved that rich sound — that's why the band had a lot of low horns in it. Stanley always said, you need  that  bottom.  You  get  a good bottom and the top comes out straight. That's why he had the trumpets up there.

L.A.: More people wrote for trombone, then, among Kenton's arrangers. SUTER: We had more music in every chart than any other horn. 

SHEARER: The trumpet book was two inches thick, the saxophone book was two inches thick, the trombone books were three-and-a-half inches thick. SUTER: There were things you'd look forward to playing, like "Tonight." We played that maybe twice a month. There were three hundred tunes in the book. Once a month you played at least everything once. But some of 'em were killers, where you'd be playing nothing but whole notes. And it hurts to play whole notes.

SHEARER: Ken Hanna lives. 

SUTER: Ya. Ken Hanna's stuff. Terrible for trombone players. All you're doing is playing long tones. And pretty soon the band's in Poughkeepsie and you're in Hawaii someplace, blowing your lungs out. 

L.A.: (Laughs.) My gosh. 

SUTER: That's where "How's Hawaii?" comes from. That's what that means. Because you hyperventilate and you're sitting there in your chair and you're playing your pitch but you don't really know where you are sometimes. 

L.A.: My gosh. 

SUTER: Playing is physical. 

L.A.: It takes a lot out of you. 

SUTER: That's the thing Stan would do — he'd come up, there'd be a bass player sitting in his chair playing an upright bass, and Stan would walk along and hit him in the shoulder. "Stand up, so I can't knock you down." You'd hear that sort of stuff. And he'd talk about it at the one-day clinics. It's a physical thing. You've got to get involved with it. And he'd show 'em. He'd always use bass, because that was his little thing. He'd show how you have to embrace a bass, how you have to hold it, interact with it. And you have to do that with any horn. It's hard work. He used to talk about that — you can't swing with your brain, you gotta swing somehow with your body. You've gotta have some kind of physical motion in there. 

L.A.: It's miraculous that the music never left him, even after his last illness. SHEARER: First couple of times he sat down at the piano, everybody was nervous, wondering whether the operation had affected that. He sat down and started playing. "What's the name of that?" And it just came right out. At other times he'd get up there with the band, and couldn't remember the bridge to what he was playing. 

SUTER: Ya, the chops were a trained reflex action with him. He never lost them. He never had a lot. But there were nights when he was the best emotional piano player in the world. I can't remember where it was in New York, but one night he played "Body and Soul" and the whole band missed the cue. Stan played his chorus and he looked up and gave his downbeat and there are nineteen guys in the band sitting there looking at him. Nobody made a move to pick up their horn. Nobody even knew that we were playing a concert. And that doesn't happen to me. I mean I'm not sayin' that for shock value. We all just blew it. We all just missed it. He would do that, once every three or four months. He'd get out alone and he'd play something really great.

L.A.: Some of the best piano music I've heard him do is on his Chicago album. 

SHEARER: There's another album called Stan Kenton Solo. It's all just him and there's times in there where you can hear his whole life. It's very emotional stuff. 

SUTER: It's the hardest one to listen to.

SHEARER: Ya. Hard to listen____

L.A.: What did Stan like about you? He must have singled you out for some reason to be such a close friend. 

SHEARER: I don't know. Just one of those things that happen. We'd get along very well. We had dinner together almost every night for years, and ... you know, many a night we'd sit there and not say a word! At dinner. But he was perfectly content. All he had to do was look up, there was somebody there . . . 

SUTER: I think that had a lot to do with it. I can speak about that relationship as an outsider. Dick did things for Stan that Stan didn't want to do. Dick took care of the hiring on the band. Stan did the firing. That was their agreement. But also, Dick made no other demands. I mean, one of the tests of a friendship is, you know, you can spend a couple of days together and not have to entertain one another. 

SHEARER: Um-hm. 

SUTER: I think long before they were friends, Stan trusted Dick. That allowed their friendship to blossom. 

L.A.: Why were you so dedicated to Kenton?

SHEARER: I enjoyed it. It's what I wanted to do. I never thought about that when I joined the band, that I'd be doin' all that stuff someday. 'Cause he was a pain in the ass to me at times. He and I used to go around and around. I'd have to fight with him to go out, on our nights off. "Let's go to a movie, let's do something, come on!" Well I'd get 'im going. We'd go out and eat and we'd go see some band somewhere, or catch a film, or some concert, and he comes back and he says, "God damn that was great! We gotta do this more often!" Next time we had a night off, I hadda kick him in the butt again. "I gotta go see 'Hello Dolly.' " Pearl Bailey was doin' it. We were in Toronto. We had a night off from the clinic. And I had a hassle with him. We finally got him so he'd go down there, and I sent a note backstage to Pearl that Stan was there. And I'm lookin' over at 'him and he's just smilin', oh he's havin' a good time. Pearl got Stan up on stage, and everybody in the place stood up. And he gives me that look as he walks by me, and he gets up there, and afterwards we're in the dressing room. He just had a ball. But to get him to do stuff like that, he'd just as soon go to his room and get juiced. 

L.A.: As band manager, you had quite a lot of responsibility toward the running of the band, didn't you? 

SHEARER: I used to have to call and make reservations and all that, plus do the payroll.

L. A.: That's quite a load on you, isn't it? Plus playing the book. 

SHEARER: Well it got to be a load. It got to be a little scary now and then. You lose $3,000, you wonder where it went. (Laughs.) 

L.A.: (Laughs.)

SUTER: Did he think he was paying us a lot of money?

SHEARER: Well, you know . . . 

SUTER:  No I mean really, I'm not making a joke.

SHEARER: Oh, Christ yes, Mike! 

SUTER: He thought he was? 

SHEARER: That's one thing Stanley could never get straight in his mind. He was back twenty years ago. I fought with him for I don't know how long. I finally got the base pay up to $250. 

SUTER: You know what happened last summer.

SHEARER: I know, it went right back down.

SUTER: It was the lowest paying band ... in the world.

SHEARER: He thought it was a lot of money!

L.A.: The lowest paying band in the world?

SUTER: The lowest paying band in the world.

L.A.: How would he get away with that? 

SUTER: People worked for him, didn't they?

L.A.: (Laughs.) That's what I'm wondering.

SUTER: There's no union on the road. Who're you gonna call? 

L.A.: Would he pay more if you were stationary somewhere? 

SUTER: No. You always got paid the same, no matter what. But I mean, if you went out with him, you knew beforehand what you were gonna get. So it was my fault that I got paid that little. I'm not saying it was bad. It just was. 

L.A.: Maybe the prestige of it made it worth it. 

SUTER: Whatever.

SHEARER: (Laughs.) That and a hotdog won't get you a cup of coffee. Here's

a payroll sheet from 1968. That was the base pay then. A hundred and fifty

bucks.

SUTER:   'Course now,  motel rooms were — people will use this argument...

SHEARER: It was still the same ten years later.

SUTER: Um-hm.

SHEARER: The prices went up and everything.

L.A.: You mean out of that base salary you had to pay for your own motel

room?

SHEARER: Oh ya.

SUTER: Ya.

SHEARER: Except we had a thing later on where anything over eight dollars the band picked up. So you knew it cost you fifty-six dollars a week for your room, and the band picked up everything else. That's why we started staying at Holiday Inns, Ramadas, nice places, where it would cost us — the band itself — up to sixteen dollars a night. The guys would pay eight of that and we'd pick up the rest of it.

L.A.: Was that fairly recently? 

SHEARER: It got started around 70, 71. We used to give the guys their money back. They would pay their bill . . .

SUTER: Ya, we paid our own bills. 

SHEARER: And I'd reimburse 'em. 

SUTER:  Every two weeks  we'd get reimbursed.

SHEARER: With the exception of when we went to Europe, then we paid all the bills and got the money back from the guys later.

SUTER: At the same time I was on Stan's band — I joined for $250, plus overages — at that very same time Maynard was paying $400 and Maynard paid for the rooms. Woody paid $400 and paid for the rooms. We worked more and got paid less than any band. I joined the band, played the first night at the St. Nicholas Hotel. Had a night off. Then worked 135 straight nights. I joined the band two days before Stan set his record. 

L.A.: What record?

SUTER: A hundred and thirty-five nights without a break. We broke for Christmas.

SHEARER: You've got to have at least twenty to twenty-five grand a week, now. And you couldn't possibly earn that much. You're talking about five, six thousand dollars every night. To make that, you've got to have a hell of a good name.

SUTER: The worst part is, the recording company never made money. So guess who made up that money? The band did. The publishing company never made money. Guess who made up that money? The band did. So if the band made — the band was working for $2500 a night — what we made on the road went to support the entire Creative World. Not just the band. They made as much for the Kenton band as they would for Maynard Ferguson, yet their guys were getting a hundred and fifty dollars a week plus motel rooms more than we were.

SHEARER: And Stan was always broke! (Laughs.)

L.A.: Kenton's life story is peppered with the times that he could have gone more commercial and made the money. 

SUTER: That's okay. That's what he wanted to do. And we chose to stay with him. The people who went on the band chose it — nobody held a gun to our heads. So we don't have any right to complain about it. And I'm not. I enjoyed what I did.

SHEARER: But the band was not one of the highest-grossing bands. That was part of the problem. They would book us for $2500 a night, $2,000 a night. We used to have a hell of a party every time the band broke $20,000. We didn't have too many of those.

L.A.: But he would do it because he wanted to play that kind of music, right? SHEARER: Well, he'd try to keep working. It got a little bit better in the later years.

L.A.: That's what I think is heroic about him, to want to stick with his music even though it wasn't really commercially rewarding. How many people do you know who will do that? 

SHEARER: (Looking in accounts book.) Okay, let's see. This week was $9970. We had a $6900 week. We had an $8,000 week. This was all 1968. Thirty-four hundred. At $3400, we were still on the road all week.

L.A.: How much did you have to pay the members of the band? About twenty people—that's $4,000 right there, isn't it?

SHEARER:  The net payroll was $3,000. Not gross. Net. Which still had to be met on the Coast. 

SUTER: But we never missed a payroll. 

SHEARER: No. 

SUTER: We were— 

SHEARER: There were times when we were late. Gross, $8,000. $10,000. We must have had a hell of a time then. $9,000. $9,000. $7,000. This is still 1968. In 1978 it was better. We were probably around 19-20. When we'd go to Europe it would be another story. 

L.A.: Why was that? 

SHEARER:  We'd  make a lot more money over there. But then again we had a lot more expenses. When we were in Rome, it cost the guys eight bucks a night, and the hotel room was $40. So we picked up the other $32 ourselves. Stan did.

SUTER: When the band had the occasional five- or six-thousand-dollar job, the band didn't get paid any more. 

SHEARER: No. See that's the way . .. 

L.A.: Would it go to Creative World, then?

SUTER: Yeah, exactly! 

SHEARER: It would go there, sure. 

SUTER: It would go to Stan Kenton Incorporated. Or whatever you want to call it.

SHEARER: 'Course, some weeks we only worked three days. Well the band was paid for the whole week. 

SUTER: Um-hm.

SHEARER: Bus expense. Every time the band would fly somewhere . . . 

L. A.: As long as you're leveling with me, tell me this: would a guy join the Stan Kenton band because it was the only offer he got? 

SUTER: No.

L.A.: Or because he wanted to be in the Stan Kenton band? 

SUTER: Ya. Um-hm. 

SHEARER: You joined because you wanted to be in Stan's band. 

L.A.: If you had three offers, and two of them were from Maynard Ferguson and Woody Herman . . . 

SUTER: Yeah, if you were in your right mind you wouldn't join Stan's band. Businesswise it was the worst mistake I ever made. But like I said, I decided when I was twelve.

L.A.:  You  said  it  was  because you wanted to play bass trombone. Is that the only reason you wanted to join? 

SUTER: That's the only reason I wanted to join.

SHEARER: How many bass trombone . . .

LA.: They don't have bass trombones in the other orchestras?

SUTER: They do, but they're nothin'.

SHEARER: Nothin’. They're nothin'.

SUTER: I mean, there's some substance to what was happening there.

L.A.: Would you say that Kenton created his own idiom, or wouldn't you jo that far? Classical jazz, is there such a thing?

SUTER: Whatever it was, he made it himself. Ya. I would go that far. 

L.A.: He's got his own definition of what he did, right?

SUTER: Oh ya. He had his own definition of what swing was. 

L.A.: Isn't that why he doesn't fit neatly into anybody's category? 

SUTER: That's true. 

L.A.: Why they're always shaking their fists at him? 

SUTER: Sure.

L.A.: Because he made his own kind of music.

SUTER: Yep. 

L.A.: Would you call that classical jazz? 

SUTER: No. 

L.A.: Concert jazz.

SUTER: I'd call it Stan Kenton. I don't even call it jazz. I don't think Stan Kenton ever played jazz, or his band ever played jazz, after 1954. 

L.A.: What would you call that kind of music?

SUTER: Stan Kenton. I'm not being evasive.

L.A.: Come on. You can't label a kind of music "Stan Kenton." 

SUTER: I sure as hell can. 

SHEARER: He used to call it "concert jazz."

L.A.: Nobody's ever put the whole picture together.

SHEARER: Nothing will happen about Stanley 'til about two years from now. L.A.: And then what? 

SHEARER: Then they'll get some kind of movement goin' and all of a sudden everybody's gonna realize what great things he's done.

L.A.: Stan's a cultivated taste. Not that many people in the United States even care about him, or know who he is. But the people who are involved in music do. Disc jockeys do. Musicians do. 

SUTER: He used to say some little dumb things that just killed me. We played a concert in Jackson, Michigan, once, at Central High School. Somebody had let off a stink bomb. We smelled it, it was no big deal. It wasn't in the auditorium, it was in some other part of the school. And he was straight. We're playing the gig, played the first half, came back for the second half, and he said, "I understand somebody let off a stink bomb in the school here. I understand some of you people thought it was the band. Well, I'm sorry somebody let off a stink bomb." He turned to walk back, took about four steps, and turned around. Walked back to the mike, said, "We thought it was you." (Laughs.) I couldn't play the next two tunes.

SHEARER: He'd always say things like that. Sometimes he'd forget about how great some of the acoustics were. And he'd be straight as an arrow and he'd say something to me that would just floor me, and people in the front two seats are just dying laughing'. And he catches them out of the corner of his eye, he says (whispers) "Can they hear me?" And I says "Oh yes. Because you said it right into my microphone." 

L.A.: (Laughs.)

SHEARER: He would do things to try to break us up. We were working at some country club. The bandstand was up about this high, and there were bushes. We're playing some ballad, Stanley disappears. All of a sudden he peeks through the bushes, goes "VERY INTERESTING." That stopped the trombones. And when he'd tell us some corny joke just before the curtain would go up, he'd time it perfectly. Curtain would go up and he'd give the downbeat right at the punch line. Jamieson was on the band. That poor guy. I'd have to send him away, he'd start laughin' so hard. Took us twenty minutes to get through the first eight bars of "Rainy Day." He'd always do stuff like this. 

SUTER: I got him once, though. It was in Michigan. We played up at Mott Community College. Their band leader had this multi-colored patchwork vest on. He came around. Bus pulled up to the clinic. He came out the door, waving at the bus, and he came running around to the side of the bus. And just as he reached for the bus door I said "Stan whatever you do, don't laugh at his vest."

L.A.: (Laughs.)

SUTER: Well that did it. Door opens— "Mr. Kenton, how are ya!" and Stan's just draped over the thing, tears running down his face. Poor guy never knew what hit him.

SHEARER: Oh I'd get him good. Any time someone would go weird he'd look over at me. "Dick! Are you behind this?" We'd always do strange things when he'd have his back to us.

SUTER: He stopped the band one time in Springfield, Ohio. We were at the St. Nicholas Hotel. You had stolen Keim's mouthpiece. We were playing "Peanut Vendor." And Keim's sittin’ there, with no mouthpiece. Stan got mad and stopped the band. "Who's got his mouthpiece?" Dick reached in his vest. Put the mouthpiece back. We started it again.

SHEARER: I was probably the only one to get away with it. 

SUTER: I got Dick one night and almost got fired for it. Dick would drop a dime in your mouthpiece -then you'd blow, and nothing would happen. Dick told me that I would never get him. Well that was an immediate challenge. SHEARER: Wrong choice of words. 

SUTER: So this is like a year and a half later. We were in Jeff City, Missouri. We had some game that used golf tees in our rooms. I took a golf tee with me. We were playing "Intermission Riff." Two other tenor trombones go out front to play their solos. Dick stays in the middle. The two bass trombones move in to the inside of the section, so when the jazz players come back they can just sit down on the outside, 'cause it's the last thing before intermission, and it made the logistics of playing the chart a lot easier. So we moved on in. Dick turned around and was saying somethin’ to the trumpets. I took the golf tee and put it in his mouthpiece. No big deal, he discovered that. 'Cause he always, always looked. So I took a dime, and it went: "CLANG!" And Dick's turned to the trumpets, he could see it went clang. He knew the dime was in there. I knew I had 'im. He picked up his horn and dropped the dime out. Stan was so mad at me. It was obvious who did it. None of us were playing. Sodersack and I were giggling, and I was on the floor. 

SHEARER: And I was laughin'. 

SUTER: Oh, he was mad. "I want to see you at the break." He bawled me out. I didn't pay any attention to any of it. (Laughs.)

L.A.: I suppose if it went on all the time, he really couldn't single you out.

SUTER: That  band  was like the Waltons.

LA.: (Laughs.)

SUTER: We'd get to the hotel after the job: "Goodnight Stan." "Goodnight Mike." "Goodnight Stan." "Goodnight Dick." "Goodnight Dick." "Goodnight Mike." "Goodnight Tom." "Goodnight George." (Laughs.)

SHEARER: (Laughing.) It was awful. You couldn't get off the bus for five

minutes! I forgot all about that.