Saturday, June 29, 2013

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Players

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


“This is Jazz in the 21st century: these players hear the music differently. The music of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players takes from the Jazz tradition while at the same time synthesizing influences and inspirations from disparate, contemporary musical sources – something that Jazz has done throughout it existence.”
- The Editorial Staff at JazzProfiles

Some beginning thoughts and observations.

First of all, I am not a Jazz critic.

I know from personal experience how hard it is to play this stuff so in my role as “the editorial staff at JazzProfiles,” I refrain from criticizing, in the negative sense of that term, Jazz that doesn’t appeal to me.

So when John Dorhauer reached out and asked if I would be interested in listening to Emergency Postcards, a self-produced CD by the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players [HUP], a large Jazz ensemble based in an area west of Chicago of which John is the Director, I said that I would be happy to give it a listen, but that I wouldn’t promise to write about it if I didn’t like the music.


I’ve been struggling with how to write a review of Emergency Postcards ever since.

Not because I didn’t like the HUP’s music, but mainly because I didn’t understand what I was listening to.

Not being a critic – “Yes, I liked it and here’s why; not I didn’t like it and here’s why” - I was confronted with the dilemma Peter Keepnews succinctly states in the following:

“Those of us who have tried writing about Jazz know what a daunting challenge it can be to do it well. Expressing an opinion about a given musician or recording is easy; explaining what exactly it is that makes that musician or recording worth caring about is not.”

Secondly, I have commented previously and at length about the role of texture or sonority, in other words, the way the music sounds, in composing and arranging music for big bands.

The earlier expositions on the role of texture in big band orchestrations are most notably to be found in my earlier posts on the music of the Gerald Wilson Orchestra and the Maria Schneider Orchestra.

Here’s an excerpt from my earlier piece on Maria Schneider’s music by way of explanation:

“When writing about the music of Maria Schneider, the “texture” of her music is often stressed as that quality which makes it so unique and so appealing.

But what is a musical definition of “texture” which joins with melody, harmony and rhythm [meter] as a fourth building block used to create a musical composition?

Ironically, of the four basic musical atoms, the most indefinable yet the one we first notice is – “texture.”

“Texture” is the word that is used to refer to the actual sound of the music. This encompasses the instruments with which it is played; its tonal colors; its dynamics; its sparseness or its complexity.

Texture involves anything to do with the sound experience and it is the word that is used to describe the overall impression that a piece of music creates in our emotional imagination.

Often our first and most lasting impression of a composition is usually based on that work’s texture, even though we are not aware of it. Generally, we receive strong musical impressions from the physical sound of any music and these then determine our emotional reaction to the work.” [Emphasis, mine]


Thirdly, I wrote this about the young Italian alto saxophonist Francesco Cafiso in a previous profile:

“Some young, Jazz players use a lot of notes in their solos.

This tendency seems to be a part of the joys of first expression; the thrill of discovering that you can play an instrument and play it well.

Kind of like: “Look what I’ve found? Look what I can do? Isn’t this neat?”

Another reason why these young, Jazz musicians play so many notes is because they can.

They are young, indiscriminately so, and they want to play everything that rushes through their minds, getting it from their head into their hands almost instantly.

Their Jazz experience is all new and so wonderful; why be discerning when you can have it all?

If such abilities to “get around the instrument” were found in a young classical musician romping his or her way through one of Paganini’s Caprices, they would be celebrated as a phenomena and hailed as a prodigy.

Playing Paganini’s Caprices, Etudes, et al. does take remarkable technical skills, but in fairness, let’s remember that Paganini already wrote these pieces and the classical musician is executing them from memory.

In the case of the Jazz musician, playing complicated and complex improvisations requires that these be made up on the spot with an unstated preference being that anything that has been played before in the solo cannot be repeated.


But often times when a Jazz musician exhibits the facility to create multi-noted, rapidly played improvised solos, this is voted down and labeled as showboating or derided as technical grandstanding at the expense of playing with sincerity of feeling.

Such feats of technical artistry are greeted with precepts such as “It’s not what you play, but what you leave out” as though the young, Jazz performer not only has to resolve the momentary miracle of Jazz invention, but has to do so while solving a Zen koan at the same time [What is the sound of the un-played note or some such nonsense].”

And lastly, in April, 1962 during what was then called "Easter Week", I was the drummer in a quintet that won the Intercollegiate Jazz Festival which was held annually at The Lighthouse Cafe located in Hermosa Beach, CA.

Much of the music that our quintet played was inspired by and/or derived from the Paul Horn Quintet.

By 1962, nearly every Jazz fan was familiar with the modal Jazz played by the Miles Davis Sextet in the Kind of Blue album, and with "unusual" time signatures immortalized by the Dave Brubeck Quartet's Time Out! album.

Modal Jazz uses scales instead of chord progressions as the basis for its themes [melodies] and improvisations. For “unusual time signatures” think the 5/4 of Paul Desmond’s Take Five or Dave Brubeck’s Blues Rondo a la Turk which is in 9/8 time but counted as 2-2-2-3 . In other words, those in other than the more standard 2/4 and 4/4 time.

What made the Paul Horn Quintet particularly appealing to our us was that it was playing modal Jazz in combination with unusual time signatures, just the thing to peak the musical interest of 5 young lads ranging in ages from 18-22.


Still with me? Here’s a recapitulation of the four points I’ve been discussing.

[1] - explaining what exactly it is that makes that musician or recording worth caring about is not an easy thing to do

-2] - “Texture” is the word that is used to refer to the actual sound of the music. This encompasses the instruments with which it is played; its tonal colors; its dynamics; its sparseness or its complexity.

Texture involves anything to do with the sound experience and it is the word that is used to describe the overall impression that a piece of music creates in our emotional imagination.

[3] - “Some young, Jazz players use a lot of notes in their solos.

This tendency seems to be a part of the joys of first expression; the thrill of discovering that you can play an instrument and play it well.

Kind of like: “Look what I’ve found? Look what I can do? Isn’t this neat?”

Another reason why these young, Jazz musicians play so many notes is because they can.

They are young, indiscriminately so, and they want to play everything that rushes through their minds, getting it from their head into their hands almost instantly.

Their Jazz experience is all new and so wonderful; why be discerning when you can have it all?

[4] - playing modal Jazz in combination with unusual time signatures, just the thing to peak the musical interest young … Jazz musicians who want to put their own stamp on the music.

Let’s see if I can tie these four observations together as they relate to Heisenberg Uncertainty Players, Emergency Postcards CD.

I was intrigued by the music’s texture [sound], by the technical virtuosity and facility of the young musicians playing it, engaged by their youthful exuberance  in executing it, constantly surprised by the new directions these talented players pushed the music, amused by their audaciousness in combining meter and melody in unexpected ways [Dave Brubeck would have loved these guys], amazed by the music’s humor and its poignancy [let alone some of its complicated song titles] and otherwise completely baffled about how I was going to explain the music and why I liked it.


So I did the next best thing.

I contacted John Dorhauer, the Musical Director of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players – not to be confused with the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle in Physics – and asked him if he would make clear what’s going on in the music for each of the tracks on the CD.

Much to my delight [and, relief], he agreed and sent along the following annotations.

Heisenberg Uncertainty Players, Emergency Postcards

“Death & Taxes”

This lead track from EP features a perpetual funk groove that winds through a few distinct permutations before finally returning to the opening idea.  The melody is first heard in a trio of trumpet, alto sax, and trombone, and this is immediately repeated with everyone joining in on the fun.  This gives way to the first solo (Tim Koelling, alto sax), which features backgrounds that progressively build the ensemble to a climax, only to drop back down in texture for the second solo (Andrew Ecklund, trumpet).  This section begins with a spacey, ambient version of the funk groove, but it switches back to the original hook halfway through.  After a brief ensemble section, the groove breaks down completely and shifts to a new funk groove built off a chunky hook.  This gives way to a bass solo (Dan Parker), which features another progressive ensemble build leading to a sudden drop off in texture.  The ensemble returns for a succession of biting punches that accentuate a series of drum fills (Keith Brooks), which ultimately brings back a brief statement of the original melody.

 “Stercorem pro Cerebro Habes (That is Definitely Food for Thought)”

“Stercorem” has a Latin groove cooked over a slow sizzle and a structure built around a compound ternary (ABA) form from classical music.  Both of the first two sections feature distinct melodies (the former starts in unison trombones, while the latter starts in unison saxes) that give way to solo sections built off their respective forms (Carl Kennedy, piano, and Luke Malewicz, trombone).  The final section is a fusion of these first two: though it uses the form and progression of the first section, the melodies from both sections are pitted against each other in a dense counterpoint.



“#howthef***didigethere”

Written by tenor saxophonist Vinny Starble, “#” features a constantly evolving texture supported by a mellow hip-hop groove.  The groove builds progressively over the intro as the ensemble slowly crescendos towards a peak.  Once the guitar solo enters (Chris Parsons), the ensemble builds towards another climax before dropping off and shifting to Starble’s tenor solo.  This extended solo section uses a single vamp, and it also includes its own rising/falling sense of tension.  The final build of the track occurs over the escalating drum solo (Keith Brooks) as members of the band enter progressively.  The opening vamp then returns, which ultimately tapers to a solo piano cadenza that reflects the fading tick of a clock.

“Cactus Fruit”

“Cactus Fruit” is a burning Bird blues that has an energetic drive that makes it an ideal opener for live sets.  After the initial full band blast, the drums fill into an angular soli for alto sax, tenor sax, and muted trumpets.  The rest of the band returns for the head of the tune, which pits all three horn sections against each other with layers of interwoven melodies.  This builds to a climax similar to the first four notes of the tune, which then gives way to the first solo section (Andrew Ecklund, trumpet).  Following this, the saxes take over with a virtuosic soli, culminating in the song’s first deviation from the 12-bar blues form.  Trombone pads and a New Orleans street beat introduce another section of melodic trade-offs between sax and trumpet pairings.  This deviation is short-lived, however, as another ensemble build leads back to the blues form and another solo (Adam Frank, tenor sax).  This then gives way to the final two choruses of the chart, and the resulting ensemble section is also its climax.  Though the blues form and short melodic motives are developed extensively, there is no repetition of extensive melodic material at any point throughout the tune.

“Honey Badger”

There is very little repetition of material in “Honey Badger,” as it is essentially a through-composed piece that explores a variety of styles and grooves.  After an ambiguous, winding intro, the music then shifts abruptly to a greasy speak-easy swing.  This section starts with a trombone solo (Phil Arquette), but ensemble backgrounds steadily build to a climax, at which point the groove changes yet again.  The bass lays down the foundation for a driving groove, and the texture evolves from a brass soli section to more contrapuntal one with weaving lines from the full ensemble.  A tenor solo (Adam Frank) is added over the same groove, but a new chord progression is introduced.  This then leads to yet another new section built over a similar groove that establishes unique melodic material played by the full ensemble.  What is unique about this section is that the bass line used generates many of the motives that develop throughout the piece.  After two more solos (James Baum, bari sax, Carl Kennedy, piano), another brief ensemble section gets interrupted by a short coda that uses the song’s intro.

“5 – e - & - a”

As its title implies, “5 – e - & - a” is an exercise in counting.  While it is a straight-ahead swing tune at its core, it also has measures of 5/4 meter sprinkled throughout that serve to thwart listeners’ expectations.  The melody follows a conventional AABA structure, and after a brief ensemble send-off modeled off the song’s intro, the first solo section emerges (Vinny Starble, tenor sax, and Luke Malewicz, trombone).  An ensemble soli section links the two solo sections, and unison brass and harmonized saxes trade off phrases that stumble in and out of 5/4 measures.  After the final two solos (Steve Duncan, trombone, and Chris Parsons, guitar), a climactic ensemble section gives way to a return of the song’s original melody.  This section starts much softer, but it brings back the original energy at the bridge.  It concludes with the full ensemble playing a short coda that borrows from the song’s intro.


“Lilacs”

This album closer blends numerous distinct styles together in what is another through-composed piece, and it treats the jazz band more like a symphonic ensemble (flute and clarinet are used extensively).  The intro features five chords over which the soprano sax (Tim Koelling) improvises a florid cadenza.  The docile R&B groove of the first section then kicks in, which also features an orchestrally conceived melody played by soprano sax, flute, flugelhorn, and trumpet with harmon mute.  Though this first section has two distinct phrases in an AABA form, the following solo section (featuring Dan Parker, bass, and Xavier Galdon, trombone) is played over a contrasting chord progression (borrowing the five chords from the intro) and form.  After a short return of both parts of the main melodic material, the music radically changes directions and veers into a brash and ominous symphonic march.  This second section is driven by a solo snare drum, and it also features thick brass writing.  Soprano sax solos over a stripped-down version of this groove with no chordal instruments, and this is interrupted by new material that is even more aggressive.  These interjections foreshadow the third and final section, which features a pummeling rock groove, symphonic writing for the winds, and even a dissonant circus waltz.  This builds to a point of climactic explosion in the brass, which tapers away to reveal a woodwind chorale coda taken from the beginning.

- John Dorhauer, Musical Director, Heisenberg Uncertainty Players, Adjunct Professor and Freelance Composer at Elmhurst College and Roosevelt University

With John’s road map to Emergency Postcards as my guide, I listened to the music on this CD with a new awareness and appreciation.

You have to work on being receptive to it to do justice to the talent these young Jazz musicians bring to playing it.

This is Jazz in the 21st century: these players hear the music differently. The music of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players takes from the Jazz tradition while at the same time synthesizing influences and inspirations from disparate, contemporary musical sources – something that Jazz has done throughout it existence.

But if you make the effort to “get into it” in much the same manner that you made the effort going from swing to bop to hard bop to modal Jazz and unusual time signatures to Free Jazz to Jazz-Rock fusion, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players will reward such efforts by moving your ears in different directions and by putting a big smile on your face.

The late, eminent Jazz author, Whitney Balliett once described Jazz as – “The Sound of Surprise.”

Trust me the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players’ Emergency Postcards CD is chock full of surprises.

As has always been the case, it takes a lot of courage, hard work and dedication to play Jazz. The music is rarely accompanied by a broad-based popular approval.

You play Jazz for the love of it and for the inner satisfaction that comes from achieving something that is not easily attainable.

Did I mention that it was hard to play this stuff?

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Players website can be located at www.huplayers.com. The site includes order information for the Emergency Postcards CD, biographies of the various band members, videos and an itinerary of the band’s appearances.


The Heisenberg Uncertainty Players on Emergency Postcards are –

John Dorhauer: Director
Tim Koelling: [Lead] Alto sax, Soprano sax
Kelley Dorhauer: Alto sax, Clarinet
Adam Frank: Tenor sax
Vinny Starble: Tenor sax, Flute
James Baum: Baritone sax
Luke Malewicz: [Lead] Trombone
Phil Arquette: Trombone
Xavier Galdon: Trombone
Steve Duncan: Bass Trombone
Tom Klein: [Lead] Trumpet
Andrew Ecklund: Trumpet
Jen Marshall: Trumpet
Jenni Szczerbinski: Trumpet
Chris Parsons: Guitar
Carl Kennedy: Piano
Dan Parker: Acoustic, Electric Bass
Keith Brooks: Drums

Here’s a video of the Heisenberg Uncertainty Players performing Cactus Fruit, which is a straight-ahead burner with a terrific sax soli that kicks in at 1:54 minutes, between a lively trumpet solo by Andrew Ecklund and a fine tenor solo by Adam Frank. Dan Parker on bass and Keith Brooks on drums really boot things along on this one.


Thursday, June 20, 2013

Johnny Costa – Flying Fingers

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


After a while, the kids became accustomed to it and stopped starring at my half-shaven face when I stood with a razor in hand and mouth agape while pianist Johnny Costa performed during one of the episodes of Mr. Rogers [a public television program for children that starred the late, Fred Rogers and generally aired around 7:00 AM].

I couldn’t help myself; Johnny’s playing was so spellbindingly beautiful it was as though a large magnet was pulling me to go and look at the TV screen in the den. [And it seemed smarter to wander out in this manner rather than to rush and cut myself whilst shaving].

Often when Johnny had finished playing, I’d shake my head in quiet disbelief, while returning to the bathroom to deal with my by-now dry lather, at the incredible creativity that he had just tossed off so effortlessly.

Based in Pittsburgh and rarely traveling, thanks to the national prominence of the television show, which was also filmed there, I along with countless others were given the gift of being allowed to share in Johnny’s virtuosity.

Johnny talks about himself and his playing in the following interview he gave to Hank O’Neal and Bill Hillman, who produced his Flying Fingers CD for Chiaroscuro Records [CRD 317].

[The questions were not explicitly stated in the interview, but you can infer them by John’s responses.]

“There’s very few things that I do that I’m completely satisfied with.

When it happens, it’s the most pleasurable thing in the world.

You say: ‘You know, that’s perfect. Or as nearly perfect as it can be.’

And what a great feeling that is.

But you know what?

With music as in living; you can’t really achieve what you want to all the time.

So you have to take what is good at the moment and go on to the next.

The reason the ‘first take’ [in making a recording] is often the best is because the ideas just flow. And then what happens when you do the ‘second take’ is that you try to recapture what you thought you had in the ‘first take.’

Somehow you can’t do that.

When we are taping the Mr. Rogers, one of the hardest things is to have to do things over and over again because of maybe a camera glitch or somebody blows a line or something and so invariably your taking the fourth or fifth or seventh cut; it’s somehow lost something at that point.


That happens which is why the first time is usually the best.

Jazz, as wonderful as it is, always leaves you open to walking away and saying: “I should have done this and I should Have done that.’ Or ‘why didn’t I use this chord?’

There are so many ways to play these things.

The minute it is recorded and it’s done, your walking home when you suddenly say: ‘Gee, I wish I could do that again. I try it this way or that way.’

But that’s the fun of Jazz.

The reason that I don’t want to do anything that sounds like anybody else is two fold.

First of all, I only want to play the songs that have endured, those by the great popular composers. They have been done so many times and in so many ways that I thought I should bring a fresh approach to them.

For instance, how many recordings are there if Stardust?

I had to try and do something with that song that is different.

And I don’t want to get into much of the newer music because I’m not sure that it is something that I can handle.

Talking about how you would play a certain piece brings up so many ideas.

For instance, you have what you feel you want to play; something tugs at you and say, ‘Well now, do you want to make it sound modern?’

You want to make it technical enough so that the people are not bored with it and yet you want to always make sure that the melody is there.

I have always tried to respect the melody.

The songs that I chose, I love the melodies. They are great songs by great composers and I want to keep that pure.

But at the same time, maybe you need to show what the left hand can do. Or maybe what both hands do together.

Maybe you want to be compared to Art Tatum or some of the greats. And sometimes you just want to be yourself.

And somewhere in this maze, you kind of find which way to approach these things.

But it needs a lot of thought; it just doesn’t happen.

I guess if you are playing in a saloon or something and you are running through some of these songs, you don’t have to give it so much thought and just enjoy and have fun with it.

But it does require thought and I think Jazz is getting more that way.

It used to be a lot easier and a lot more fun and more spur of the moment.

But now I think it is quite mental.


I think it has gotten to the point now where it is an extraordinary art form and it needs to be thought about.

Sometimes what I do is interject a Classical piece in the Jazz that I’m playing.

I never thought about it but I guess the reason I do that is kind of a surprise. I think it was a gift from Tatum because he would always do that.

Once in a while I’ll do the scales and a few exercises, but I really don’t practice that much at all.

I say this humbly but for some reason, the fingers work whether I practice with them or not. I know that’s not the case for most people so I guess I’m just lucky that way. But just because I don’t have to practice, that doesn’t make it the right way.

What I have is a gift from God, but you do the best you can with what you have.

[At this point in the interview, Johnny talks about some of the tunes on the Flying Fingers CD].

Tea for Two is one of those songs that whatever I learned I could kind of put it in this song because it kind of leant itself to that.

I started building my arrangement way back in the 1940’s and just added things to it as I went along. Today it has almost taken its form.

The first time I heard Art Tatum and the wonderful things he did with Tea for Two I thought, ‘Well, I gotta try a little of that, too.’

Before that, I had a chance to get and hear Mel Hinke in Chicago. He did something with the beginning of the tune where he went around the cycle of fifths.

And then I heard a man called Alec Templeton, a blind pianist and it was uncanny what he was able to do. The right-hand would play one melody and the left-hand would play another. He would put them together.

I thought, ‘How nice. I can try that with Tea for Two because I can put the verse in the right-hand and the melody in the left-hand. So that’s in there.

Another time, Ravel’s La Valse and it almost lends itself perfectly to Tea for Two, so that’s in there.

When I was learning to play boogie-woogie, I thought some of that would be good to also put into tea for Two.

My arrangement of Manhattan came about quite early in my life. I had never been there but I saw movies and was fascinated with the city. And I wanted a kind of ‘inexpensive’ version of [Gershwin’s] Rhapsody in Blue, in which I bring out what I think is in New York City from viewing the films like the traffic noises, café society, Chinatown, and The Bowery at the end of it.

I thought it would be like a little musical trip around the city of New York and that’s the way I try to play it.

The very first time I sat down to play Over the Rainbow, I want to thing about the movie [The Wizard of Oz] and what it means. That song makes me want to go someplace else; someplace maybe that’s better.

But then when I do I always want to come home. We all do, if we can get back home.

One of the things that I thought about when I played that song was that I wanted to keep it pure and keep the thought of it as beautiful as I could.

[John’s original composition] Flying Fingers came about because I wanted to write something for Mr. Rogers’ wife who is a concert pianist. Also for myself to use at the end of my concerts when I want to do something quick and fast.

I called it Flying Fingers because that’s he way it sound.”

You can get some idea of Johnny’s fabulously facility and interpretive ability on the piano by viewing the following video on which he performs  A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.




Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Remembering William "Buddy" Collette, 1921-2010 [From The Archives]

The editorial staff at JazzProfiles thought it might be fun to revisit this feature on Buddy Collette which first posted to the blog in September, 2010 so that we could add the video which is located below this lead-in photo and also to reflect once again about a musician whose music gave us so much personal enjoyment over the years.

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



One of my most enduringly favorite albums is Little Band – Big Jazz: Conte Candoli All Stars.

It was recorded on February 3, 1960 and in addition to a rhythm section of Vince Guaraldi [p], Leroy Vinnegar [b] and Stan Levey [d], Conte’s trumpet is joined by Buddy Collette on tenor saxophone.

I bought the album for $1.98 [+tax] off a rack that was located near a checkout stand at a super market.

Produced by Crown Records [CLP 5162], it is made up of six compositions penned and arranged by Conte [Guaraldi co-authored two tunes].

I gather from talking about the recording with Conte, that this was a hastily put-together session. Yet, as you can hear from the audio track that accompanies the following video, the music is warm sounding and wonderfully appealing.


Aside from the Pacific Jazz recordings that he made with The Original Chico Hamilton Quintet in the mid-1950s, on which he plays alto saxophone, flute and clarinet, this LP was really my first exposure to Buddy Collette’s playing in a more conventional small group setting [Hamilton group included a cello and a guitar in addition to Collette woodwinds and reeds].

It was also the first time that I heard Buddy play tenor saxophone.  I was quite taken with his tenor style which was somewhat different than the Lester Young- influenced sound of tenor saxophonists Bob Cooper, Bill Perkins, Bill Holman and Richie Kamuca or what came to be known as the “hard bop” tenor tone of Sonny Rollins, Dexter Gordon and Hank Mobley. Buddy played with a more “legit” tone [fuller, richer, sonorous] that was less hollow sounding than the former group and less harsher sounding than the latter.

Ironically, I was to soon hear quite a bit more of Buddy on tenor, as well as, on alto sax, flute and clarinet, because shortly after I purchased the Crown LP, he began appearing regularly at Jazz City with his own quintet with Gerald Wilson [tp], Al Viola [g], Wilfred Meadowbrooks [b] and Earl Palmer [d].

As is recounted in the excerpt below which is taken from Central Avenue Sounds: Jazz in Los Angeles an oral history project which has also been published by the University of California Press, Buddy was very instrumental in the integration of Local 767 [black] into Local 47 [white] of the AFL-CIO American Federation of Musicians.

Over the years, Buddy became a fixture at the Vine Street Hollywood office of Local 47. He would drop into rehearsals at one of the halls available there for this purpose, lead and perform with his own group to raise money for the union’s Trust Fund [whose mission is to provide live instrumental programs of high quality as a free, public service] and serve the organization in various administrative capacities.


Buddy was especially generous with his time in encouraging young musicians by conducting clinics at local highs schools and teaching on the faculties of a number of prominent, Los Angeles area colleges and universities.

Not surprisingly, Buddy’s music always reflected his warm personality and dignified bearing.

And as a studio musician, Buddy led by example: he showed up on time, was courteous to all around him and just “nailed’ whatever he was playing on whatever instrument.

The first time I met him, I had just passed the test and audition to gain my musicians’ union card and was exiting the building along with two friends who had done the same.

Buddy saw us coming, held the door open and, guessing at the reason for our high spirits said to us as we passed him, “Be good to the music, now.”

When these same friends and I went to see him perform with his quintet later that year at Jazz City, he recognized us, came back to our table, and honored our request to write out the “changes” for us to his tune Soft Touch.

My life would subsequently move in different directions that took me away from performing music, but some 25-years later I would be back at the union, this time to talk with its leadership about health and welfare benefits.

Buddy was there and when the meeting was over he came up to me and asked if I was still playing!
After visiting for a while with Buddy, I went home and dug out my copy of Little Band – Big Jazz: Conte Candoli All Stars.

While it played on the turntable [no CDs yet], I remember thinking how timeless the music was in terms of its gentle swing, the easy flow of its melodies and its well-constructed solos. The whole album just comes together almost effortlessly.

I’ll bet that Buddy presence had a lot to do with this: he was always “…good to the music.”

What follows are some of Peter Jacobson’s insert notes to Buddy’s Studio West album with vocalist Irene Krall [reissued on CD as V.S.O.P. #104], the aforementioned selections from Central Avenue Sounds: Jazz in Los Angeles[pp. 154-159] describing Buddy's involvement with the amalgamation of Locals 767 & 47, and a video tribute to Conte Candoli which features another cut from Little Band – Big Jazz: Conte Candoli All Stars as its soundtrack [Mambo Diane].

© -Peter Jacobson, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“William Marcell Collette, better known as Buddy Collette, has been one of the most active reed men on the West Coast since World War II. Born in Los AngelesAugust 6, 1921, he studied piano before turning to clarinet and saxophone in high school. Since then he has been one of the most accomplished multi-instrumentalists both in jazz and the Hollywood studios, displaying equal facility and remarkable technique on tenor and alto saxophone, flute and clarinet. This versatility was the result of an insatiable curiosity and constant drive to expand his musical horizons and abilities. He has studied at the Los Angeles Conservatory, the California Academy of Music, the American Operatic Laboratory and under many leading teachers including Merle Johnston, Martin Ruderman, Sorcorso Pirolo and Franklyn Marks. In addition to this impressive background, he has paid his dues in the many clubs and after hours joints on Central Avenue, on the road and in the Hollywood and Western Ave. jazz clubs of the fifties and sixties.

Beginning in the late 30's, Buddy Collette worked with various bands in and around Central Ave. He played with the Woodman Brothers, Cee Pee Johnson, Les Hite, among others, before joining the Naval Reserve in 1942. After the war, he helped organize a group with Charles Mingus and Lucky Thompson which never recorded. For the next few years, Buddy Collette undertook the rigorous and thorough musical training mentioned above, while backing up the Treniers and Louis Jordan, and performing with Gerald Wilson and Benny Carter, to name a few.


In 1950, he began working with the studio orchestra of Jerry Fielding which performed on the Grouch Marx show, remaining there until 1960. In 1956 he had joined Chico Hamilton in the first incarnation of the Chico Hamilton Quintet. Shortly thereafter, he formed his own band which, with personnel changes, he has kept together over many years, well into the late 1960's. Since the late 1950's Buddy Collette has been in great demand in the recording studios for sound track work and television shows. He has appeared on numerous recordings under his own name, with Chico Hamilton, Jimmy Giuffre, Barney Kessel, Red Norvo, Quincy Jones, Red Callender, and many others.”

© -Central Avenue Sounds Editorial Committee, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

The Amalgamation of Local 767 and Local 47

“With gigs in Hollywood, jams on Central Avenue, and classes at schools such as the Los Angeles Conservatory of Music, Buddy started meeting more musi­cians from Local 47, the white union, who were also unhappy with segregated locals.
We thought about it, especially a bunch of the guys who had been in the service, and Mingus, who hadn't been in the military. We kept thinking, "Man, we'll never make it with two unions, because we're getting the leftovers." All the calls came to 47. Maybe now and then they might want a black band for a sideline call, where the music had been recorded and they wanted to show the black group. You'd wind up making a hundred dollars, maybe. That was a lot of money, but that may not happen for another year or two, while at Local 47 that was happening all the time. I knew it was because I was around those guys. I'd go to The Jack Smith Show with Barney Kessel and some other guys at other shows. A bunch of those guys would be doing this all the time, working those radio shows and things. They'd be pulling down maybe two or three hundred dollars a week. But it wasn't going to get better, I felt, with the two unions. That was a real shaft.

The actual beginning of the amalgamation, I'll give Mingus credit for that. He was always fighting the battle of the racial thing. He got a job with Billy Eckstine at the Million Dollar Theatre on Broadway. Mingus was the only nonwhite or black in the band. Since Billy Eckstine was a black leader, he figured, "Why couldn't there be a few blacks in there?" Mingus was the only one, and he let them know that he didn't like it. And he could be tough on you. Everybody in the band had to hear it every day: "You guys are prejudiced! You should have some more blacks. You could hire Buddy Collette there." So my name was being tossed around every day until the guys even hated me without knowing me!


I was finally invited down and I was curious about the band. We wanted to meet people that understood what we were talking about: the unions getting together, people getting together, stopping all this. I met their flutist, Julie Kinsler, who supported the idea and drummer Milt Holland. Milt said, "Man, we've been wanting to do this, too. I know about six or eight people that think just the way you guys do. We can get together and start meetings or something." Mingus and I lit up, because that was the first time we heard anybody who was really excited about it. The next day Mingus and I met with a few of the guys who felt the same way. They wanted to call a big meeting. I said, "Well, I don't think we should call a meeting, because the guys that I know, they don't like meet­ings too much." Instead, most of us had been studying for a few years and I said that we need a thing where we can learn the music, possibly like a symphony rehearsal orchestra together. Milt said, "If that's what you want, that's easy. I know all the people from that world." That was the beginning of the Community Symphony Orchestra.

We also wanted to make sure more blacks were placed in different circuits, because at that time we had only worked clubs. If we did play the Orpheum Theatre or the Million Dollar, it was in a black band or when an all-black show would be there. But the other shows, if they'd need twenty musicians, then blacks wouldn't get the call at all, no matter how good you were. It just didn't happen. So that was the idea: can we show that it can work? So Milt said, "Okay, get as many people as you can, then we'll fill in." Milt was beautiful, is still beautiful. So I got Bill Green, me, Britt Woodman, Jimmy Cheatham, John Ewing, Red Callen-der, and another little kid named James McCullough. That wasn't a big number, but those were the only people that we could say were in the right direction, who had probably enough behind them to take advantage of this thing and who were also interested in playing this kind of music. Mingus wasn't there. Didn't want to do symphony music. He always wanted to do his own stuff. He was with us in a way, but it wasn't his world.


So we scheduled a rehearsal and the excitement started mounting. People were on the phones trying to get people who just wanted to be there. "Interracial symphony? Let's do that." We got the top clarinetists and flutists. Later on we got Arthur Cleghorn, who was one of the finest flutists at that time. Joe Eger was a great French horn player. John Graas was classical, and into jazz with the French horn. A lot of enthusiasm. Some would approach our rehearsal like it was one they were getting paid for downtown. We had something like five flutists, when you only needed three. They just wanted to be there. The orchestra had about sixty-five pieces. The orchestra was at Humanist Hall, Twenty-third and Union, and then we moved every now and then to Hollywood, Le Conte Junior High School, near Sunset and Gower. This was just rehearsals, but people could come.

The first night we had a conductor who was world renowned, Eisler Solomon. And he was excited, he really was. That got us in the papers. The press was there snapping pictures like crazy. People were really buzz­ing. That first night we also had a black bass player named Henry Lewis. He was playing so good he sounded like three basses. Later on he got to be a conductor. He even conducted here for a while. A very fine talent. He was only about nineteen years old then. Later he married an opera singer, Marilyn Home. We had other great conductors, too. Peter Cohen, Dr. Al Sendry, Dr. Walker.

The orchestra kept getting better, and we began to publicize what we were doing. We had a board to set policy. We had meetings, and we wanted to let people know what the orchestra was about. The main aims were to bring about one union in L.A., black and white under the same roof.

Then somebody said, "We're doing okay on the classical. Why don't we concentrate on a jam session for the jazz, and we can also get more of the people who aren't in tune with jazz to also understand that part." So we had Monday night for classical, and then we got Sunday afternoon for jazz, and we'd invite the classical people. The Sunday built up really great. We had great jam sessions.

We then got a hold of "Sweets" Edison, who was working with Jose­phine Baker. We wanted to get her and some other names to appear on one of the Sunday afternoon things. She didn't have to perform, but come out publicly. So she was playing the RKO or one of the theaters down­town, and she agreed to come between shows. And that place, Humanist Hall, you could not believe it; we really exceeded the limit. The place could hold about two hundred people; we had about five hundred in there. When she got on stage, she said, "I wonder why you have two unions," something to that effect. "Well, I think it should be one, and I don't know why you people are wasting time. You've got all these beau­tiful people here." She just kept talking about how there was coming a time when people could work together. Bang! Zing! So finally she looks down in the audience, and there were two little girls, one black and one white, and they're about five years old. She knew when you've got some­thing to work, right? So she said, "You and you, come up here." And they both dance up on the stage, and she whispers. And they grabbed each other and they hugged like that and they wouldn't let go. And she winked. "These kids will show you how to do it" and walked out. And the crowd was [freezes in astonishment] great!


Later on we got to Nat King Cole. He was great and did the same thing for us. We got the Club Alabam and just had all the people in the world. Sinatra didn't do a thing for us, but he sent a statement saying, "Well, there should be one union."

We were building an organization of sorts. We'd get money for mail­ings and notified people. We got Marl Young and Benny Carter into it. But we had a few years of hard work before a lot of the guys came in. Part of it was rehearsals and the jam sessions, and there were meetings.

Then I ran for president of Local 767. You see, we had all the publicity and people were doing fine, but we didn't know how to pull it off. So the next thing would be, "Maybe we'll have to be officers so we can move it from that standpoint." Because our officers at the black local didn't want it. Our place was not a great union. The building was kind of tearing down and the pianos were terrible. We really didn't have that much. But, the way they thought, at least it was still ours. So we set up a whole slate and we ran. The incumbent guy beat me by about twenty votes out of about four hundred. We did win a couple of seats on the board of direc­tors. Marl Young, Bill Douglass, and John Anderson were running also, I think. But we still didn't have enough power.

Elections were every year in our local. So the next year we tried again. We ran Benny Carter for president and he lost to the same guy by the same number of votes I did. But this time I ran for the board and got in. Marl got in. Bill Douglass won the vice-president's spot. Now we got a little power underneath the president, who was Leo Davis, who was a nice man.

So we were able to move through resolutions and proposals toward a meeting with Local 47. And finally we got negotiations going. We pretty much had to drag 47 into it, because it finally got to the point where if we wanted it and they didn't, why didn't they want it? They were getting more members into the thing; we could work better together. But they stalled. James Petrillo, president of the American Federation of Musi­cians, stalled. A lot of people at 47 stalled. But the more it kept coming out that "Is it a racial thing or what is it?" they had to say, "Well, no, it's not that. We just don't know what to call it or how to do it or we can't because it's never been done before and . . ." So the big stall goes. In the meantime we're checking out information, too—how it could be done. Finally, they had no excuse.

It took about three years, but we brought the unions together in 1953. Looking back, the amalgamation helped a lot of musicians, gave them a better focus or a better picture of what they had to do to be on a more broad scope of understanding, not just the Central Avenue—type jobs. The ones who really benefited were the ones who wanted to have a suc­cessful career in music rather than just being a leader or somebody who has a record out. It began to make better players out of the good players, and the ones who weren't doing it had to decide to either back away or get serious. If somebody was just doing nightclubs, they were probably doing basically the same. But anybody who wanted to meet with people and experiment with different kinds of music and do studios and records and be like a top craftsperson, then I think they benefited a lot.

Plus there's better health and welfare, and pension benefits. It wasn't that we weren't doing it well with 767; it's just that it wasn't a big business thing over there. It was just kind of an afterthought. And it did allow some periods to be very lucrative for a lot of black musicians who were doing recording and shows through the years, shows like The Carol Burnett Show, The Danny Kaye Show, The Flip Wilson Show. Those shows began to hire people because they were all in the same union, and the word got around who could play, who couldn't. The other way we were isolated.

It was a step in the right direction. It wasn't designed to solve every­thing. It was trying to get people together. And maybe that's the hard thing, because thirty-five years later, people still have trouble getting to­gether. It was a great historical step, the first time there was an amalgamation in musicians unions. Since then, there were thirty or forty of the locals that followed our method of amalgamating. I think what we found in playing music and being in an artistic thing is that color is not very important; it s what the people can share with each other. And I can look back and say that if there were still black and white at these times, we'd have a lot of problems.