For those who knew his work, the magnitude of the admiration for Tubby’s achievements was such that Simon Spillett, posits the question of “What would the British Jazz scene [... have been] like without him?”[The Long Shadow of the Little Giant: The Life Work and Legacy of Tubby Hayes [Equinox, 2nd Ed., 2017].
Thankfully, especially most recently, there is much more of Tubby’s work to “know” as newly discovered treasures, complete series of recordings and CD issues of vinyl albums provide additional dimensions and perspectives on his music.
Most, if not all, of these new Hayesian delights have the added benefit of annotations by Simon Spillett who, as regular visitors to these pages have come to know, has researched the English Jazz scene during the second half of the 20th century quite extensively.
A tenor saxophonist who is based in the UK, he leads his own quartet and big band and is the great tenor saxophonist Tubby Hayes’s biographer. You can locate more information about Simon by visiting his webpage.
© - Simon Spillett, copyright protected; all rights reserved, used with the author’s permission.
“The release of this new double CD volume from Candid Records - Inventivity [CCS 79101 2] is a timely reminder of the days when Ronnie Scott’s club - then in its infancy [1964] - was functioning as the crucible in which British modern jazzmen met their American opposite numbers, often for the very first time.
Fortunately for the generations of listeners who weren’t lucky enough to have been around when Stan Tracey and his resident trio held forth with the likes of Stan Getz, Sonny Rollins, Johnny Griffin, Roland Kirk, Ben Webster and Sonny Stitt, journalist Les Tomkins ensured that at least some of this mythic and exciting music found its way onto magnetic tape.
Tomkins’ Ferrograph recorder caught music by all the above names, and more, and after previous associations with other labels, this historic archive is now being extensively investigated in collaboration with Candid Records.
Whilst the forthcoming series of “Jazz Club” releases promises to encompass performances by many of the leading American visitors to Scott’s on those halcyon nights in the mid-sixties, it is especially fitting that the opening salvo is dedicated to newly unearthed treasures by some of our finest UK jazzmen.
Legendary players such as the youthful multi-instrumentalist Victor Feldman, the drum icon Phil Seamen and Ronnie Scott himself are among those to be featured, but it perhaps inevitable that the first issue documents the work of indisputably the greatest British jazz virtuoso of his generation, the late great saxophonist Tubby Hayes, a performer who has latterly achieved almost iconic status among a new generation of jazz listeners.
Hayes reputation as a free-wheeling no-nonsense tenor saxophonist has long been assured, and during the late 1950s and early 1960s, when British jazz often laboured under a crippling inferiority complex, Tubby was widely recognised as one of the few home grown jazzmen who had gifts comparable (and in some cases, superior) to those of his American contemporaries.
The story of Hayes’ US triumphs has been told many times elsewhere, but equal emphasis has yet to be placed on his ability to attract Stateside visitors, eager to blow with the local top gun. There are apocryphal tales about jazzmen like Dizzy Gillespie, Freddie Hubbard and Philly Joe Jones seeking out and sitting in with Hayes, but these two discs present the first audio verite evidence of Tubby with some of his American friends, relaxing after hours in an equal exchange of musical ideas .
The majority of the performances heard here find these guests augmenting Tubby’s regular quintet of the day, a group whose tight-knit Hard Bop know-how was well showcased on the 1962 Fontana albums Late Spot at Scott’s and Down In The Village. Those familiar with these classic sessions will doubtless be fascinated at how Tubby and his sidemen react to the inherent looseness of these quite different off-the-cuff jams.
An example at one extreme is the approach that the quintet takes to Sonny Rollins Oleo, wherein Duke Ellington trumpeter Cat Anderson eventually prises apart the band’s regular modus operandi to turn things into something much more informal. On the other hand, tenorist Sal Nistico’s appearance on Just Friends transpires to simply be a friendly fire version of the old-fashioned cutting contest.
Disc One begins with two numbers featuring Nistico, recorded in July 1964 at the tail end of a brief but memorable UK tour made by the current powerhouse edition of Woody Herman’s Big Band, in which the saxophonist was then featured.
Sharing an eerie physical similarity, Nistico was a close opposite number to Tubby, similarly renowned for his formidable technical skills and a natural ability at very fast tempo. Nistico’s speedy reputation had been made by his stint with Herman, whom he had joined in 1962, and in some ways he was forever cursed by it, something he explained at length in March 1966, two years after this session, when both he and Hayes participated in an open discussion organised, recorded and then transcribed by Les Tomkins for Crescendo magazine (that same evening the two men jammed with altoist Lee Konitz at Ronnie Scott’s club, an encounter which also found its way onto Tomkins tapes.)
Nistico complained that his image of fast-fingered gunslinger wasn’t entirely of his own choosing; “I appreciate that Woody regards me as capable of carrying off those spots, but there are some times when I go on the job and I might not be in that mood. With me it’s very rare that I can be creative at the fast tempo. After a while my fingers start playing me”.
Hayes knew only too well the kind of expectancy Nistico suffered under: “We’re both stereotyped. Everyone expects the tear-up tempos all the time”.
Included on this double CD is the closing portion of this interview, hitherto never published or broadcast, in which, among other things, this clearly convivial partnership express mutual admiration, talk of their suspicion about some of the Avant Garde trends of the day and of their search for a genuinely less routine mode of expression. They also discuss a two-tenor quintet idea that sadly never came to pass, the similarities of their respective characters (some “that the public don’t know about”, says Hayes, with a laugh) and their straight-jacketed image as jazz automatons (“We’re not circus performers”, Nistico states). At one point Hayes modestly deflects Nistico’s praise for his greater ability, an affecting reminder that beneath his robust exterior Tubby had an appealing ego-free view of his immense talent.
Like Hayes, Nistico was a far more well-rounded jazz musician than his critique ever acknowledged. Inspired by Charlie Parker, Gene Ammons and Sonny Rollins, he was unusual in that, as a white tenor saxophonist growing up musically in the 1950s, he showed no real allegiance to the post-Lester Young “Brothers”. His earliest associations were with hard-bop trombonist Slide Hampton, and Chuck and Gap Mangione’s Jazz Brothers, a group very much in the mould of the Jazz Messengers and, as such, he made an ideal musical partner for Tubby.
Friends’ Blues is an appropriate title appended by Tomkins to what undoubtedly was a regular composition in Tubby’s repertoire, possibly the work of Jimmy Deuchar. The trumpeter is the first soloist, sounding eternally hip and slipping in a quote from Charlie Parker’s Parker’s Mood. If anything, Deuchar emerges from this entire set deserving greater respect and admiration. A player who could suffer from frustrating inexactitude and inconsistency of articulation, his work throughout is harmonically erudite, rhythmically assured and genuinely creative, and ranks with that of far better known jazz trumpeters.
Nistico’s solos on both this and Just Friends are perfect examples of the kind of blunt eloquence he was famed for. His dextrous technique, somehow never as pliant as that of Hayes, presents his ideas in a direct no-frills way with a tone that somehow veers between early Sonny Rollins and that of Sonny Stitt. Rollins’ favourite Lester Young quote, from Count Basie’s Every Tub, appears in the midst of proceedings.
In comparison to Nistico, Hayes is truly ebullient, with a darker, richer tone and an altogether far more “conversational” approach. It was critic and fellow tenor saxophonist Dave Gelly who once delivered the perfect description of Tubby’s style as “cockney tenor - garrulous, pugnacious, never at a loss for a word and completely unstoppable” and solos such as these serve as Exhibit A. in this argument.
Deuchar’s solo on Just Friends, as with several others in this set, is played upon the mellophonium, a peculiar hybrid instrument designed by Stan Kenton for his early 1960s orchestra, and based upon the french horn but with valves replacing keys and an enormous flared bell which faced outwards in order that, in the words of Humphrey Lyttelton, “you can’t get your fist stuck in it”.
Ungainly and awkward looking, the mellophonium never really caught on outside the ranks of Kenton’s monstrous brass section but its mellow sound and lower register somehow suited Deuchar’s playing.
Before the three horns share some exchanges towards the close, with Deuchar quoting Candy, there is a welcome chance to hear pianist Terry Shannon, one of the finest modern jazz pianists in the UK and a regular associate of Tubby’s who simply turned his back on music in the late 1960s and left London, and who now lives a reclusive life in rural Lincolnshire.
Shannon is also present on the next track Stella By Starlight, recorded three months later. Hayes had disbanded his quintet with Deuchar, Freddy Logan and Allan Ganley in late August, publicly citing the growing pressures of writing and arranging and travel to continental Europe for engagements as the contributing factors. Privately, he was also expressing dissatisfaction with the general direction of the band and felt that it was no longer suited to the adventurous musical ideas he was now pursuing.
Nevertheless, without a regular working group of his own, it was inevitable that Hayes and his former sidemen would continue to work together on occasion, and such was the night of October 3rd 1964 when Tubby sat in with Jimmy Deuchar’s quartet, who were appearing at Scott’s opposite singer Mark Murphy.
Les Tomkins’ recorder also fortunately captured another visitor, the bassist Albert Stinson, then working a short cabaret season with drummer Chico Hamilton’s group and Lena Horne at The Talk Of The Town night club.
In an era of some truly startling new bass players Stinson managed to make his mark, and would go on to have associations with such cutting edge musicians as Charles Lloyd, Bobby Hutcherson, John Handy and Larry Coryell before his untimely death at the tragically young age of 25 in 1969.
Indeed, he had just turned 20 at the time of this set but his technique, harmonic understanding and swing are already those of a mature performer. Stinson’s drive in particular has a very positive effect on drummer Benny Goodman, a well-known face among British jazz circles. Goodman was a capable but inconsistent performer, largely due to the hard drug dependency which would eventually lead to his early death some time in the mid-1970s, but here his playing, on brushes and sticks, is marvellously alert, lithe and swinging.
Hayes opts to play his solo without any piano accompaniment, and gives ample evidence as to how he then felt his music was moving forward. There is some hitherto uncharacteristic vocalisation and an adventurous juxtaposition of his own substituted harmonic choices and those of Stinson.
The leader’s trumpet solo here is among his very best work. Ronnie Scott had once written of Deuchar that “when Jimmy’s lip is ‘in’ he is one of the most thrilling soloists in jazz”. This is surely one of those nights, and to hear Deuchar course skilfully through the harmonies of Stella is indeed a thrill.
It was not at all uncommon for visiting American artists touring with regular bands to scour the London jazz clubs for an after-hours blow with the local players. Tubby had jammed together with several of Duke Ellington’s musicians, including the tenorist Paul Gonsalves, at The Flamingo in 1958 and from then on Duke’s men usually sought him out whenever they hit London.
Disc Two presents such an encounter captured by Tomkins on the evening of February 14th 1964, when trumpeters Cat Anderson and Rolf Ericson ventured down to Gerrard Street ahead of their first date of the Ellington tour.
Anderson was first up with Tubby and the quintet. Cat was probably one of the most undervalued trumpeters in jazz. His stunning high note range meant that for most of his lengthy tenure with Ellington he was used to coloratura effect, or on pieces like El Gato, designed to show off his brassy exuberance.
His improvisations throughout this set with Tubby reveal a conception not far removed from that of a young Dizzy Gillespie, and a surprising gentleness. There is little recourse to any super-high gallery playing, save for a humorous bat squeak final pip at the end of the quintet’s theme.
In fact, Cat comes across very well in a more modern context (hear his quote from Parker’s Buzzy on Billie’s Bounce) and clearly stimulates Jimmy Deuchar in the best jam session tradition. The exchanges that the three front-line men share towards the close of Sonny Rollins’ Oleo are joyous. Listen out for Tubby’s reference to Charlie Parker’s Merry-Go-Round. The individual solos are also brimming with quotes, with Deuchar inserting a chunk of his own theme Suddenly Last Tuesday.
One of the beautiful highlights of this session is the incredible groove laid down by Freddy Logan and Allan Ganley, the latter probably at his peak during his time with Tubby’s quintet, mixing his innate good taste with a crispness and precision rarely bettered by any other British drummer.
Mean To Me and Horace Silver’s 1951 theme Split Kick add Rolf Ericson on flugelhorn. A musician with a truly international career in jazz, Ericson was born in Sweden in 1922 but wound up in the US in the late 1940s, subsequently working with artists as varied as Charlie Parker, Harry James, Charles Mingus and Stan Kenton. His swing-to-bop style, with its sing-song tone, was amazingly adaptable but it must be said that on this night he suffers somewhat in comparison to Jimmy Deuchar, who was once again very much on form. Deuchar’s faster than thought quote from Rollins’ Strode Rode on Split Kick is one example, and it may well be Jimmy’s arranger’s brain that came up with the bright idea of having the familiar Perdido backing played behind his final theme statement on Mean To Me.
Tubby himself comes across as totally authoritative and relaxed throughout the evening’s proceedings, with his solos on Split Kick, and especially Oleo (with its allusion to Dizzy Reece’s Bang), leaping down through the years. Playing with two musicians from what was indisputably the finest orchestra in jazz clearly held no fear for him whatsoever.
However, there is a postscript to the Valentine’s Night set; although he couldn’t possibly have known it at the time, Tomkins’ tape recorder caught what was the beginning of a monumental 24 hours for Tubby.
After the gig at Ronnie’s, in the small hours of Saturday morning Tubbs and a selected entourage of fellow musicians, party-goers and friends decamped to Jack Sharpe’s Downbeat Club for an all-night jam session, where once again they were joined by several members of the Ellington band, including Sharpe’s good friend, tenorist Paul Gonsalves.
(Saxophonist Sharpe was a long-term associate of Tubby’s, having worked with him intermittently since the mid-1950s. He also produced four albums featuring Paul Gonsalves with British musicians, including Tubby, Stan Tracey, Kenny Wheeler and others, between 1963 and 1969. Gonsalves was to die at Sharpe’s London flat in 1974)
Besides sharing highly compatible musical outlooks, Gonsalves and Hayes also both knew how to have a good time off the stand. But whereas drink rarely incapacitated Tubby, it often proved to be Gonsalves’ downfall - literally - and by the morning of February 15th it was clear that after a long night of being plied by well-wishers the American was in no fit state to make the rehearsal for Ellington’s opening concert at The Royal Festival Hall. Hayes was unruffled by Paul’s familiar behaviour, and later simply recalled that, “about eight in the morning I went back to bed”.
What happened next has entered the realms of Brit-jazz folklore. Hayes and Jimmy Deuchar had decided to hear the opening of Duke’s first house before heading off to their regular gig at Scott’s. However, upon arrival at the Festival Hall, Hayes was confronted by Dougie Tobutt, road manager for the Harold Davison agency who were handling Duke’s tour.
Hayes wrote in Melody Maker in 1969: “Duke wanted to see me. I went into Duke’s room and he told me Paul was unwell. He asked straight out; could I and would I do the show? I can’t explain the feeling but I was overwhelmed, I agreed to have a go”.
Ronnie Scott kindly agreed to let Tubby take the night off and sent his saxophone down to the Festival Hall by taxi. The band had already begun by the time Hayes tenor arrived and so he made, in his own words, “a lonely entry” on-stage before settling down into the ranks of the world’s greatest jazz orchestra in front of a surprised audience. The response for Hayes’ first solo spot on The Opener, both from the crowd and the band, was rapturous and Ellington himself twisted his well-known patter to assure the audience that “Tubby wants you to know that he, too, loves you madly”.
Hayes was noticeably unfazed by the occasion and contemporary newspaper reports understandably glorified the occasion. In a review headlined Tubby Rides High on the Duke’s Bandwagon, Derek Jewell of The Sunday Times called it “a coup d’theatre rarely paralleled”; elsewhere Hayes himself was quoted as saying it was “the most memorable experience of my life”, and Melody Maker’s Bob Houston probably did more than anyone to seal the legend in print. Tubby had been “yanked from a comfortable seat in the audience” and thrust into “one of the unique moments of British jazz history”. “For a moment”, Houston wrote, “patriotism reigned and Tubby was the hero of the hour”.
The “yanked from a comfortable seat” bit didn’t take long to enter the subconscious of jazz critics. The following year, the editor of Jazz Journal, Sinclair Traill repeated the tale in his sleeve notes to the Hayes-Gonsalves LP Just Friends, recorded ten days after the Festival Hall concert.
In 1998, Pete King, co-founder of Ronnie Scott’s club, and Tubby’s erstwhile manager, recalled that late on the Saturday afternoon he received a phone call at his home wanting to know “if Ronnie Scott was available to play with Duke that very night as Paul Gonsalves had gone missing. I can’t recall if Ronnie was working or I couldn’t reach him. Whatever, I suggested Tubby.”
“I had a seat in the front on the opening concert,” King recalled, “and watched him sail through the arrangements. I was very proud of him, and many of the audience were ecstatic.”
“But”, he added as a somewhat rueful caveat, “and I can understand this, there were some mumblings about his appearance from some musicians and critics. After all, the punters had paid to see Paul Gonsalves with the Duke, not a local boy, however brilliant he was”.
The whereabouts of the grail-like bootleg recording of Tubby’s appearance with Duke Ellington has yet to be ascertained but here on this valuable new volume from Candid we have a belated chance to hear what the “local boy” was up to night after night on his own patch.”
Simon Spillett
February 2008
