AN AUDIENCE WITH MILT BERNHART - Part 1

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

This is a wonderful interview with Milt Bernhart [1926-2004], the late big band and studio trombonist who was resident in Los Angeles during the later years of his career. In order to make it easier to read, I’ve divided it into two parts.

 

It’s an important interview because Milt lived through a nascent period in the development of big band Jazz both as an observer of its evolution and as a participant in its creation. It’s fun because Milt was blessed with a wonderful sense of humor and more than enjoyed a laugh or two as a storyteller.

 

This article originally appeared in “In Tune International” a UK-based magazine, in their December 2003 and January 2004 issues. The article was illustrated with photographs which cannot be reproduced due to the potential for copyright infringement. If there are errors in the text you can be sure they are from poor scanning and not from the In Tune original text. Since the organization [organisation] is based in the UK, English spelling was used in the written transcript.

 

This scanned limited-circulation copy was been made with the cooperation of Gerry Stonestreet, the Editor of In Tune.  Thanks are also due to Derek Edwards and the late, Gordon Sapsed.) 

 

AN AUDIENCE WITH MILT BERNHART 

 

On 29th May, 1996, before a large audience of Big Band enthusiasts, and several professional musi­cians, at the West Surrey Big Bands Society, Derek Edwards welcomed MILT BERNHART. This is a transcript of their conversation: 

 

DEREK EDWARDS: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen ‑before I introduce our special guest, I wonder whether you would do me the honour of listening to this.... 

(fade in to Frank Sinatra's "I've got you under my skin" with the Nelson Riddle Orchestra, and the famous trombone solo after the first Sinatra chorus) 

 

Well, I don't know what it is about the West Surrey Big Bands Society ‑ two years ago we had the pleasure of SI ZENTNER here, last year we had DON LUSHER ‑ both trombonists, and now this great man who has brought us such a lot of wonderful music over the years. He is not only a great trombone player, but he is the President, no less, of the Big Band Academy of America. Will you welcome, please, Mr. MILT BERNHART! 

 

(Warm applause) 

 

Milt, I have to tell you something about that great piece of music we have just heard. About three of four weeks ago I had a letter from dear old Billy May and Billy said If you get Milt over there, don't forget to play the Nelson Riddle/Sinatra 'I've got you under my skin', because Milt plays the trombone solo, and in my opinion (says Billy) that's an all‑time classic!" (More applause) 

I believe you've got something to tell us about that session, Milt? 

 

MILT BERNHART: Yes ‑ actually, on hearing that again I get the feeling that it wasn't, perhaps, the released version; am I right? 

DE: No, Milt that was the released version. 

MB: Oh well, I'm the last person to know that! (Laughter) Well, I was talking about two or three years ago to Chuck Granata who considers himself the number one collector of information and trivia about Frank Sinatra. He knows everything. He knows when he took a poke at a news photographer; he knows everything on record sessions. He called me and reminded me that on that night there were in the neighbour­hood of twenty takes for that number. Twenty ‑ for the trombone players here ‑ is a lot of takes, and the interesting thing is that, since I'm a hireling, it's not my record date; all I can do is just ruin it! (Laughter) 

I had the feeling that some of the better efforts were left on the floor, and cut out. If I'd known that anybody, years later, would have thought highly of it, I would have played better. (Loud laughter) I didn't play as good as I could, but I certainly would have tried, if I'd known. I never felt that warm about it. I was just hoping I could survive. 

DE: Well, Milt, you were telling me a story about what Sinatra did to lift you up on that occasion. 

MB: Yes, should I stand up? May I lie down? (laughter) 

This was a monaural recording, before they started stereo, and the microphone for the brass ‑ unlike the way it's done today when they put a mike into everybody's bell, and it never really sounds like a band ‑ but in those days the trombones were here (Milt indicates) and the microphone was here (indicating again) and they were able to make some very passable recordings in those days. It was up to the musicians to play soft and loud (nobody ever mentions that any more).  

 

Well, after about the twelfth to fifteenth take the guy in the booth said 'I'm not getting enough of that trombone, so can you get closer to the micro­phone?’ Now the mike was up pretty high, so it was finally decided that I should stand on something, and they were looking around for something to stand on, and the only thing around was a packing crate about this size (he indicates). Somebody brought it over ‑ and the person who brought it over was Frank Sinatra! He literally brought the box over for me to stand on ‑ isn't that remarkable? All I had to do was not fall off of it! (Laughter) 

I was getting close ‑ it was interesting; also I might note ‑ and I was awfully proud to be sitting next to him ‑ was the great valve trombonist, Juan Tizol ‑ a great musician from a great band! We had never met before, and that in itself gave me the shakes ‑ the man meant that much to me. After that, for years, any time a disc jockey played that track on the radio, and wanted to appear to know what was going on - on the record, he seemed to know that Juan Tizol was in the orchestra, but imagine my consternation to see it in a discography on Frank Sinatra ‑ when I leafed through, when it came to 'I've got you under my skin' it said "solo by Juan Tizol" and I think I cried! (more laughter) 

I don't know how it eventually came out into the open, but, to be honest I wasn't all that proud of it ‑ but that's an old story about musicians on dates. 

DE: Well at least we got it right, Milt.  

MB: Well that's very nice of you to say so. 

DE: Milt, it really is a great honour for us to have you here. Can you tell us ‑ were your parents musical? Why did you go into the music business? 

MB: Well, like most people, it just happened. My parents were not musical. I don't know about my father, since he died when I was about four. But my mother was interested in music and she was an immigrant lady from the Ukraine. She left in order to not be massacred by Cossacks and came to the United States. One thing about her ‑ her English wasn't too good, we were not all that close, but every Saturday she turned on the radio without fail, and listened (and so did I) to the N.B.C. Symphony Orchestra and Arturo Toscanini. That was my first exposure to music, as a very small child, and I'm grateful to her for that, for she insisted on my listening. There was no reason for it, since where she came from there was nothing like that ‑ she lived in the middle of nowhere. But Arturo Toscanini meant a great deal to her so I was ingrained at a very early age in some very great music, and I'm very happy about that. As a result, my ambition was to be a player in a symphony orchestra, and when we were kids at school (I know some of you are close to my age) they didn't allow you to talk jazz ‑ it was a dirty word! You couldn't mention in High School, or whatever the equivalent in England was, the word 'jazz' because it just wasn't done. Probably for that reason I had no direct exposure to jazz in High School and I didn't get into a symphony orchestra, the war interrupted that plan. 

DE: Well I suppose that most people who know the name Milt Bernhart would associate it immediately with this band. 

("The Peanut Vendor" Stan Kenton & his Orchestra) 

DE: How long were you with Kenton and what did you think of him? 

MB: I was with the band from 1946 through 1952. I had about a year and a half off for good behaviour, (Laughter) there were a couple of reasons because during that period it wasn't a contin­uous five years. Stan broke up the band once for a few months, and then I decided to try some other band; there were bands around, lots of them, so I tried Benny Goodman for about eight months, and I preferred Stan Kenton. During the time I was with Stan, well, there was nothing like it, he was a gentleman, and very encouraging. He was one of those people who was thoughtful, compassionate, and there was never a time when he lost his temper, I didn't see that happen, ever; although there were plenty of reasons for him to do that, on occasion. The lot of a band leader on the road any time is pretty dingy. It's a rough go. Imagine being in charge of a number of very high-spirited people who are travelling together every day and just as many nights; and sometimes they don't get on too well them­selves, and it's up to you to be a referee occasionally and to try to see that they do get along, and make some kind of peace ‑every band has that.  

As a matter of fact I got close enough to the Duke Ellington band to notice that no two of them ever spoke to each other and yet, it didn't matter in that case. It seemed that it was OK by Duke, but it's true. But in Stan's case, he felt that if we didn't get on reasonably well with each other, then the band would suffer as a result. If there was someone who was difficult, then somehow or other they were made to understand that they didn't belong there. It was a wonderful group, and most of us who are still here are friends, very good friends. But Stan was at the head of it, and he was, to me, the ultimate band leader. 

DE: The thing about Stan Kenton that I find interesting is that not only did he advance in those days into what became 'new music', but he was full of surprises. He produced, for example, this ..... 

("September Song" with the whole Kenton Band vocalising) 

MB: I didn't realise I played that sharp. I really didn't! But there used to be a saying among the trombone players that I grew up with, that 'sharp is better than flat'! Tommy Dorsey played sharp, and if he could do it, well heck! That record is proof that even a band leader can make a mistake. Don't ask the band to sing in unison (prolonged laughter). In making that record, we tried it on another date, and there were so many guys laughing that he actually had to send out for other people. I couldn't keep a straight face, and we did it on the stage of a theatre ‑ this was memorable; the record was doing very well and so people wanted to hear it, I don't know why, and Stan put it in the programme of our stage show in Seattle. Several of us had to be told to leave the stage, I was one! I couldn't handle it and started laughing. Art Pepper I remember was quivering with laughter and that made Stan mad. I have to go back and correct myself, for that did make Stan mad! He forgave us, but trying to sing in unison, come on. But it was interesting to hear it. 

DE: Well Milt, another surprise that Kenton had for us is this one.... 

("Orange coloured sky" with Nat Cole Trio & the Stan Kenton Orchestra) 

MB: It just happens that Nat Cole and Stan Kenton were both discovered by the same man. His name was Carlos Gastel. He was a remarkable man and helped to make Stan such a suc­cess because he was so enthusiastic. He was a perfect manager. And he also found Nat Cole in a joint in Los Angeles with his trio, he was a very easy going man and, for that reason, we found ourselves working with the Nat Cole Trio quite a bit and I got to know Nat Cole and there was nobody quite like him. Nat was ideal, a great showman who didn't think he could sing. For a long time he refused to sing. They had to fight with him "Get up to that microphone", it was like that; hard to believe now, because his singing was remarkable. But I got to know him and I'm very proud of that and Stan and he were like brothers ‑ which reminds me that certain critics (and I am thinking particularly of a certain critic that came from England and went to the United States and became an outspoken critic of jazz) he used to make remarks about Stan and the fact that he had an all‑white band. But Stan was nothing like that, and it should be made known. As a matter of fact, Stan's first road band had a lead trumpet player named Carl George, who came from Jimmie Lunceford, and they made his first trip, and it was impossible, checking into hotels was impossible, and both of them unanimously gave it up. But Stan tried; he was one of the first band leaders to do that, so that should be known. I've forgotten the name of the critic, I guess! 

(Calls from the audience "Leonard Feather") 

Oh yes, Leonard Feather. I don't know, but somebody told me that before Leonard passed on he recanted what he had written, because he had done some writing about Stan and it wasn't correct. 

DE: Milt, it's very difficult to prepare a programme about you, because I found that almost everywhere I looked you were there, playing with other musicians, but one example interests me because not only were some of the arrangements made by Billy May, but this guy, well I knew nothing about him. I am referring to Bob Keane. Can you tell us about Bob Keane? 

MB: Yes, well when I first came to Los Angeles off the road having been with Stan Kenton for all that time, I was just looking for work, like anybody would. Bob Keane was a rich man's son who wanted to have a band; so there was money behind him and he could have the band.  

He rented Artie Shaw's library for about two years, Artie would do that, rent out the library (laughter), there were photocopies of the music, so why not rent it? Well he did that, and Bob Keane was, surprisingly, a good clarinettist, and Artie was his idol. So Keane, a Los Angeles boy, could hire anybody he wanted, because he was able to pay them. We made a few records and I played some dance jobs and it was always nice, and most of the music that he had in the beginning were Shaw's arrangements. They were not easy, but demanding, in a different way than I was accustomed to. They were fun to play and I liked it. Then Keane started to bring in other people. He was one of the first people to hire Nelson Riddle. I think the first time I met Nelson Riddle was on a record date of Bob Keane's. He's still there; he formed a record company of his own to make semi‑rock 'n' roll records, and he made quite a bit of money, so bless him, whatever he's doing! 

DE: Well here's an arrangement, in fact two arrangements which we']] run consecutively, both by Billy May, and Milt, of course, and a whole gang of great session musicians are involved; some of you may not have heard these, the first is "The Lady is a Tramp” and the second “Isn't it Romantic”. 

 Bob Keane & his Orchestra. (“The Lady is a Tramp" & "Isn't it Romantic”) 

Milt, when we were talking this morning, we mentioned a 'pick up' band Benny Goodman had in 1958. He reintroduced his old singer, twenty years after she was first successful, Martha Tilton. This only appeared when the Goodman archives were looked through, and released by Leon Schonberg. As you know, there are about nine CDs of all previously unreleased stuff, and in much of this Bill Harris plays trombone. 

MB: Yes, he was with Benny Goodman but he didn't last very long with Benny, they had a fight almost immediately (laughter)  

DE: Well, tell us about this Martha Tilton session. 

MB: What I remember is that it was between bands. He hadn't had a band for a while and he came to the West Coast and had a Capitol Records contract and he hadn't done much, so they called. I'd been with Benny in 1948 and that band was supposed to be the band that was going to play bebop. Then after a couple of weeks of rehearsing Benny got sick of bebop, and junked it and went back to Fletcher Henderson. I shouldn't say anything deprecating about Fletcher Henderson, because it was he who helped to create the world of swing. That's very important. But all this is called moving up in what you're doing, except Benny was Benny Goodman, he did what he pleased when he pleased. And when he didn't you were very much aware of it.  

When I was in his band I roomed with a trumpet player who said to me "Every night Benny is looking at me, he doesn't like what I'm doing" (Laughter). I said to him "No, he's not looking at you". He said "Yes he is, he hates me and I can't stand it! So I said 'Well, don't look back' (Loud laughter). Now there has been a question about whether Benny was actually look­ing at anybody, it's possible he was not. Because he never spoke about it and you could never get him to make any kind of a comment.  

The famous Goodman 'ray' certainly worked its pressures on lots of brass players, for the good reason that you can hear a brass player a lot farther away than you can a woodwind player; especially a trumpet player, when he makes a mistake everybody knows it! It's true; you should get paid more for the trouble this causes! But Benny Goodman was tough on many many people. Probably because he was demanding, and he had very high standards, and very few people lived up to his standards, and therefore I awarded him the crown of the King of Swing ‑ he certainly had it coming. But we did this date, and he didn't recognise me anyway, he didn't know who I was. 

The only person he remembered was Mannie Klein, Mannie was a studio trumpet player who never played with a road band. He said many had asked him, but he never took the job, always working in the studios. When Mannie was on this date, Benny threw his arms around him because they had known each other from the Kate Smith Show in New York in the 30s and it was typical of Mannie, everybody's friend, and a great trumpet player. It was always a pleasure to see him, and an honour to work with him. I'd like to hear this recording, Benny looked right through me for all three hours! 

DE: Well, let's listen and it is interesting to hear Martha Tilton, who I feel sang just as well, if not better, twenty years later. So here is "Bei Mir Bist Du Schon". 

("Bei Mir Bist Du Schon" Benny Goodman Orch.) 

When I was talking to this delightful character on my left here across the Atlantic, and we were planning this visit, Milt said to me ‑ here's one track I want to bring over, I don't think you'll have it. I worked once with Jack Marshall". I said "Do you mean so‑and so?" And I mentioned the name of the album. And he said "Yes, why have you got it?" I said 'yes', so he said "Oh good, so I don't need to bring it over then'. Now I want to ask you, Milt why you are interested in this. I know it is a lovely trombone solo but how did it come about? Jack Marshall was basically a guitar player, wasn't he? 

MB: Yes, a studio guitar player in Los Angeles and he was on the staff of the MGM Studio Orchestra. He was one of the most humorous people I ever knew. He had a marvellous sense of humour and it was a pleasure to work with him. He died at an early age, and very tragically, because his son, who he sent to UCLA to study architecture, instead opted for cinema, and became close friend of a couple of buddies of his there, one of them Francis Ford Coppola and another guy who was just getting started, Steven Spielberg and others; and then on all of the pictures that those people made, Frank Marshall was one of the producers. Sadly, his father never lived to see this. Jack was talented, and started writing ar­rangements, had a Capitol contract and did some very good things for Peggy Lee, but this particular thing I was proud of was kind of like "Bijou" (Bill Harris) and he wrote the trombone part and I felt pretty good about it, as I didn't most of the time! The player is usually the last one to agree with you when you say “'That was nice". Not the player, no, they're never satisfied, nor should they be. 

("Sonante" ~ Jack Marshall Orchestra) 

MB: Somebody once said to me, discussing the great trombone player, Bill Harris, that Bill had a great knack ‑ when he made a mistake he did it again, and it sounded like a se­quence (laughter). So at the very end of that take I had to do it again, and I fooled everybody, not myself, but everybody else. I wish I had done it perfectly, but then I wasn't going to get all those notes out. There's a high E flat there and I didn't play that very often, but that's the way it went and Jack Marshal was an awfully good writer and it was a good evening.  

DE: Someone who did a lot of writing for TV and films, and I think originally he did some writing for the Big Bands, was Jerry Fielding. I believe he only made about four Big Band albums, I've got three, and a tape of a fourth, and in one album there is listed a trombone solo by a chap called 'Bernie Hart'. So I said to our guest here, is there any chance that this Bernie Hart is you ‑ well let's hear him tell us all about it. 

MB: Well I guess I had a record contract. I can't remember exactly the circumstances but that was usually the reason for these peculiar names! I remember we did an album or two around that time and we were known as the West Coast Jazz People. One of them was Shorty Rogers, and another Shelly Manne. All these players had signed with some record com­pany. Record companies were doing that then. On the records, instead of Shorty Rogers it says Roger Short. On the label I wasn't supposed to get any credit, and it was nice of Jerry to do that. He was a master writer, and a very interest­ing guy, and he used to throw a fit on the stand. He would just go berserk and then wink at us. The wink was 'this is an act, you know it is, but I have to do it because the producer doesn't think I have any gumption' (Laughter). There was this twinkle in his eye, but he would just yell at the top of his voice, but it wasn't ever at us! His writing was unique, he was a unique musician and a great one. He did a lot of very good things and had a good band around the time I came to Los Angeles and I guess this is one of those recordings.  

DE: This is called 'The Boss is Home’ 

 (The Boss is Horne" Jerry Fielding & his Orchestra)  

MB: I have a feeling that that was done at the time when rock ‘n' roll had progressed up to, I think, maybe the Beatles or something like that, and that's as far as it had got. Therefore I think Jerry was more or less ordered to do that writing by the record company under the heading of 'Commercial Music', Commercial Music from Jerry was interesting, sparkling and listenable. I don't remember doing that record, it's one of many, but it's interesting, and I'm glad you've got it. 

DE: Well, ladies and gentlemen, we've come almost to the end of the first half of this evening. We're going to have Milt for another hour, but before we sign off I would like to tell you one thing. I said to Milt this morning 'Who, in your opinion, was the most important man in the Big Band world in your lifetime?" Without hesitation, he said "Duke Ellington", so I'd like to finish by playing, with Milt playing the trombone solo, the great Glen Gray and reconstituted Casa Loma Orchestra, in Ellington's 'C Jam Blues'. 

(C Jam Blues ‑ Glen Gray & New Casa Lomans) 

MB: I think I recognise that Shorty Sherock played the trum­pet, and Gus Bivona the clarinet, and it might have been Georgie Auld on tenor. 

DE: Plas Johnson. 

MB: Oh, Plas Johnson, was it? I didn't remember that. Benny Gill played the famous Ray Nance violin solo. There was only one Ray Nance! And to do these things was probably harder than to do a straight record date, because we were given solos ‑ they sent them in the mail to us ‑ (Laughter) and I never had to play Jack Teagarden's solos, or I wouldn't have shown up! (More laughter) As a matter of fact it could get worse than that. Imagine having to read something that Frank Rosolino had played! The last time I talked to Artie Shaw and we got on the subject, he said "Tell someone to write out a jazz chorus ‑ it's impossible". Jazz can only be played once at that mo­ment, and it cannot be recaptured. We were paid to try to recapture these things. It was very difficult. If Frank Rosolino had come on the job and had been asked to play one of his solos someone had copied ‑ well, he couldn't have played it!