Brookmeyer, Mulligan and the Concert Jazz Band - Martin Williams

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

This feature is drawn from Jazz Changes [1992], a collection of essays and reviews by Martin Wiiliams about whom Gary Giddins wrote: “One of the most distinguished critics [about anything] this country has ever produced.”

I wanted to include it among the postings to these pages on the topic of the Gerry Mulligan Concert Jazz band because it begins at the beginning of what was to become one of the most profoundly influential Jazz big bands in the second half of the 20th century.

And because: “Martin Williams persistently gets at essences, and that is why he has contributed so much to the very small body of authentic Jazz criticism.” [Nat Hentoff]

“Gerry Mulligan's Concert Jazz Band, founded in 1961, has become an intermittent, frequently revived institution in the years since. In the meanwhile, it had been the immediate progenitor of the Thad Jones—Mel Lewis orchestra and its successor, the Mel Lewis Orchestra. Mulligan's "movie work," referred to in the brief encounter recorded below, would include his fine vignette as a shy, inept suitor in the -film version of Bells Are Ringing, an appearance (as himself) in an episode of the Ben Gazzara TV series, "Run for Your Life," etc.

Bob Brookmeyer's puzzlement at the fact that I was interviewing him rather than the leader on the founding of the Concert Jazz Band continued after the piece appeared in Metronome. There were no protests voiced by Gerry Mulligan, however.

When the word first spread that Gerry Mulligan was forming a "concert jazz band," a lot of rumors spread with it. One of the first was that Bob Brookmeyer would be a member, the first soloist and first arranger after Mulligan, and that his enthusiasm was running very high. He was not, I learned, official "musical director," but he was rehearsing the band on occasion and very much wrapped up in its progress. Nevertheless, here was Bob Brookmeyer, after all these years, back in a chair in a brass section, reading a part—a sideman again.

I decided to talk to him rather than to Mulligan in order to get some feelings about the band that might prove to be as interesting as the leader's. Accordingly, I warned Brookmeyer to expect me one evening at the Village Vanguard.

I had to be fast in getting from a front table to the back door to catch Brookmeyer on the way out after the first set — and I thoroughly confused the headwaiter in the maneuver. Anyway, I overtook Brookmeyer in the street and after I reminded him that I had a pencil and intended to take notes, the conversation went something like this:

"Sure, I'll talk about the band. I love to. But I can't say anything official or about policy. Why don't you talk to Gerry?"

"Everybody talks to Gerry. I wanted to ask you. And from what I have heard this band has meant a lot to you."

"It certainly has. And not just me. But you'll have to check this with Gerry."

"I will. But, look, why don't we tell people how a thing like this starts? I mean, for example, it takes money. Where did the money come from?"

"From Gerry's movie work. He didn't want to borrow it, and he didn't want this band to have an angel. The first estimate was that it would take $30,000 to get it started and maintain it until we could see whether it would go. Arrangements, for example; the fellows who have contributed can't afford to write on hope or speculation as they could when they were younger. They have to have commissions."

"That's another thing, I said. When a band like this starts, where do the arrangements come from? You don't begin with old ones for something like this, do you?"

"No. The book had to be new — scored or re-scored just for this band. That was part of the idea. We began with twenty-seven things, from Al Cohn, Phil Sunkel, Johnny Mandel, Gerry, Bill Holman, me . . . We didn't want to borrow or trade with other bands, either, the way some groups do. Except Duke. Gerry asked Duke for some things, but he hasn't sent them yet.

Otherwise, we don't want things other people have played. Young Blood is rescored for us from the way Gerry did it for Kenton. A couple of things are re-scorings of arrangements from Gerry's Tentette album on Capitol. And Johnny Carisi rewrote Israel for us the way you heard it in the last set ... Look, Gerry doesn't need any refractor when he talks. Why don't you ask him?"

"Well, partly because, as I said, I know this band means a lot to you ..."

"To me, yes. But Mel Lewis left his wife and family behind in California, and the security of studio work, to come here and squeeze his way onto the bandstand at the Village Vanguard with us. And Nick Travis left a dependable job on the Jack Paar show, Buddy Clark originally came with Mel, Don Ferrara, and . . . but talk to Gerry. What he says goes."

"What was all of that stuff about there being only one soloist after you and Gerry, or whatever it was?"

"Well, you heard. We have at least seven soloists now — Gene Quill, Jim Reider, Don Ferrara, Nick Travis. We had Conte Candoli — Clark Terry replaced him — Willie Dennis — besides Gerry and me. Zoot Sims was with us for the Monterey festival. And we will have more. There are no duds in the band now, because all of us are enthusiastic, and we all know this is something we have to do. We believe in it. It is the chance we all still have to play jazz.

"We had a five-week lay-off last fall before we went back to the Vanguard In the middle of September. It was during that time that the changes in personnel were made and the enthusiasts joined.

"When we first opened the band at Basin Street East, last year, the band sounded bad in several ways. A lot of people put it down, or said it was loud, or other things. But some others were so glad to find a fresh attitude, a fresh big band sound, and musicians who were also fresh. Those people saw the possibilities in what we were trying to do and were patient; some of those people were musicians who wanted to join and help. Now we know. This band plays two kinds of sets: very good or very bad. Stay and listen. When you hear a good one, you will know what we know.

"I really was beginning to feel that jazz was passing me by. The newest things I have heard in person—I go to listen to Ornette or George Russell's group and I love them. But playing like that is not possible for me. I feel the way I think Buck Clayton may have felt around 1947.

"I put on a Joe Turner record and it gives me a starting point, but the newer things make me feel I am finished, and I'll have to wait out the rest of my life making soft-drink jingles for television. This band puts me in jazz, making jazz music I can love and respect.

"But talk to Gerry. He is the best spokesman for what we're trying to do."

"Are you doing any more writing for the band?"

"I haven't got the time while we are into it and working. I wish I did. Neither does Gerry. But we both did some writing during our winter layoff."

"By the way, this is some sort of precedent, isn't it? A big band with no piano — except for occasional piano things from you and Gerry."

"I suppose so. But you don't need it. What do you hear of a piano in a big band anyway?

"But I can't speak about policy. Gerry and I have even disagreed about a couple of little things. I'm just trying to help. Check all this with him before you print it, will you?"

When I went back into the Vanguard, I was sure I had the headwaiter thoroughly confused. Gerry, on the other hand, said it was all, alright with him.” (1961)