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“The King of Quoters, Dexter Gordon, was himself eminently quotable. In a day not unlike our own, when purists issue fiats about what is or isn't valid in jazz, Gordon declared flatly, ‘jazz is an octopus’—it will assimilate anything it can use. Drawing closer to home, he spoke of his musical lineage: Coleman Hawkins "was going out farther on the chords, but Lester [Young] leaned to the pretty notes. He had a way of telling a story with everything he played.' Young's story was sure, intrepid, daring, erotic, cryptic. A generation of saxophonists found itself in his music, as an earlier generation had found itself in Hawkins's rococo virtuosity. …
Gordon's appeal was to be found not only in his Promethean sound and nonstop invention, his impregnable authority combined with a steady and knowing wit, but also in a spirit born in the crucible of jam sessions. He was the most formidable of battlers, undefeated in numerous contests, and never more engaging than in his kindred flare-ups with the princely Wardell Gray, a perfect Lestorian foil, gently lyrical but no less swinging and sure. …
Gordon was an honest and genuinely original artist of deep and abiding humor and of tremendous personal charm. He imparted his personal characteristics to his music — size, radiance, kindness, a genius for discontinuous logic. Consider his trademark musical quotations—snippets from other songs woven into the songs he is playing. Some, surely, were calculated. But not all and probably not many, for they are too subtle and too supple. They fold into his solos like spectral glimpses of an alternative universe in which all of Tin Pan Alley is one infinite song. That so many of the quotations seem verbally relevant I attribute to Gordon's reflexive stream-of-consciousness and prodigious memory for lyrics. I cannot imagine him planning apposite [apt in the circumstances] quotations.”
- Gary Giddins
“Chuck Berg [Downbeat Magazine, February 10, 1977: There's one thing that especially impressed Sonny Rollins and which has always intrigued me. That is the way you lay back on the melody or phrase just a bit behind the beat. Instead of being right on top of the beat with a metrical approach like Sonny Stitt and a lot of the great white tenor players, you just pull back. In the process there are interesting tensions that develop in your music. How did that come about?
Dexter Gordon: Yeah. I've been told that I do that. I'm not really that conscious of it. I think I more or less got it from Lester because I didn't play right on top. He was always a little back, I think. That's the way I felt it, you know, and so it just happened that way. These things are not really thought out. It's what you hear and the way you hear it.”
“ON NOVEMBER 7, 1960, DEXTER GORDON signed with Blue Note Records in what was to become one of his most successful relationships with a record company both musically and personally. Until February 8, 1967, Dexter kept in touch with Alfred Lion and Frank Wolff by letter and card. The following examples from their correspondence give some idea of the involvement of Dexter in his recordings and of Alfred and Frank with Dexter as an artist and as a friend.”
- Maxine Gordon
“April 26, 1961 Dear Dexter,
It was nice talking to you yesterday on the phone. I'll send you the airplane ticket by the end of this week along with exact instructions as to the hotel you'll be staying at, etc. You have to be in New York by Wednesday afternoon or evening. As I explained to you on the phone, I would like to make two sessions. The first one I have planned for Saturday afternoon, May 6th with Horace Parian, piano, George Tucker, bass and Al Harewood, drums. This rhythm section has been working steadily with Lou Donaldson, and, lately, with tenor player Booker Ervin. I have an idea that this will work pretty smoothly as I told you on the phone. I don't want any complicated music; but rather some good standards in medium, medium-bright and medium-bounce tempos. This, of course, should also cover some blues. A slow, walking ballad should also be considered. I think we should keep away from real fast tempos this first one. I would rather emphasize a good standard, played in the right tempo and delivered in a soulful manner, more so than displaying a lot of technique. I'd like to make something that can be enjoyed and played on jukeboxes stationed in the soul spots throughout the nation, I think you know what I mean.
The second session, which I have planned for Tuesday evening, May 9th, should consist of another rhythm section. Let's see who will be available when you come in. I have Kenny Drew in mind, and maybe a trumpet, Freddie Hubbard, if he's in town. Bring along as much material, including your originals, as you can; and dig into your bag of standards that lay well with you. You might have a few that have not been over recorded lately. I'll do the same on my end here. So the next letter you receive from me will contain your airplane ticket and instructions in regard to the hotel in New York, etc. With best personal regards,
- Alfred Lion”
Dexter Gordon: Doin’ Allright [Blue Note CDP 784077 2]
Dating back to tenor saxophonist Coleman’s Hawkins’ 1939 virtuoso performance of Body and Soul, the instrument had become almost synonymous with Jazz. Along with Louis Armstrong’s earlier stylings on the trumpet, these two B-flat concert key instruments became the front line foundations of most modern Jazz combos in the 1950s and 60s.
The more widely recognized exponents of the instrument during this phase of Jazz’s development were John Coltrane, Sonny Rollins and Stan Getz.
Almost forgotten among a plethora of talented “big horn” players during this period was the huge sound, melodic inventiveness and powerful, pulsating rhythmic phrasing of Dexter Gordon [Sadly, Hank Mobley also falls into this category, although in his case it was more a question of being overlooked].
Thanks to Blue Note’s owners, Alfred Lion and Francis Wolff, the operative term in this dynamic was “almost.”
Here’s Ira Gitler notes to the first of Dexter’s Blue Note LPs -
DEXTER GORDON —there is a name to conjure with. Veteran listeners will certainly remember him but younger fans probably will not although he was intermittently active during the '50s.To musicians (especially those saxophonists who have been directly or indirectly influenced by him). Dexter Gordon has always been a highly important player. As the first man to synthesize the Young, Hawkins and Parker strains in translating the bop idiom to the tenor saxophone, he was an important contributor. It is not, however, from a stylistic, historical angle that he has been appreciated. Dexter has always been a direct, exciting communicator of emotions; his big sound and declarative attack are as commanding of attention as his imposing height.
The owner of an acute harmonic sense, Gordon has never used it to merely run changes accurately. He is a melodist and can also contrast rhythmic figures effectively. His harmonic awareness was a great aid in preparing him to plunge into the new music that was fermenting in the early '40s. Unlike many of his immediate contemporaries, Gordon studied harmony and theory at the age of 13, the same time he took up the clarinet. Due to this, he was able to actively incorporate the beneficial effects directly into his playing as he was growing up. At 15, he started playing alto sax and two years later, in 1940, he quit school, switched to tenor sax and joined the "Harlem Collegians" in his native Los Angeles. From this local band he stepped into Lionel Hamptons aggregation in December 1940 and remained with Hamp through 1943. Illinois Jacquet was the principal tenorman and together they were featured on Pork Chops."lt was about the only thing I had to play," says Dexter.
After leaving Hampton, he returned to Los Angeles where he played with the groups of Lee Young (Lester Young's drumming brother) and Jesse Price. For six months in 1944, Dexter worked with Louis Armstrong's band. Then he joined Billy Eckstine's new orchestra and received a real chance to be heard: the tenor battle with Gene Ammons on Blowin' the Blues Away; his own bits on Lonesome Lover Blues and several of the modern jazz instrumental that the band played.
Gordon's impact was immediate. You could hear it in the work of his section-mate, Ammons. When he left Eckstine for New York's 52nd Street in 1945, his influence spread like the ripples a large rock makes when it is dropped into a pool of water. Allen Eager's first quartet recordings (Booby Hatch, Rampage) showed that he was listening and Stan Getz was captured temporarily according to such sides as Opus de Bop and Running Water. Of course, like Gordon, these players had been affected by Lester Young, but it seemed that in addition to getting inspiration directly from Pres, they were digging the Gordon translation, too. If a 12-inch, Mercury 78 rpm of Rosetta and I’ve Found a New Baby, cut with Harry Edison, demonstrated that Dexter could get very close to Young, the original version of Groovin' High, made with Dizzy Gillespie for Guild in February of 1945, showed a Gordon who had his own interpretation of the day's material.
Gordon worked at the Spotlite Club with Charlie Parker, Miles Davis and Bud Powell and then had his own group at the Three Deuces. The weekly Sunday afternoon sessions at the Fraternal Clubhouse and Lincoln Square Center usually included Dex as part of their all-star line-ups. His presence, before he even blew a note, always had an electric effect on the audience.
Gordon returned to the West Coast in the summer of 1946 but not before he had made several recordings with his own groups. He played for two months in Hawaii with Cee Pee Johnson. Then, in California, in the summer of 1947, he and Warded Gray teamed up at concerts, after-hours sessions and for their recording of The Chase. Later that year, it was back to New York and 52nd Street for Gordon but in 1948, he went home again, not to return to Manhattan until the May 1961 trip to record for Blue Note. He revived his association with Gray in 1950 but that soon ended and the next decade was not a very productive one for Dexter. The popularity of "West Coast" jazz left little opportunity for his brand of virile music to be heard in Southern California. Then, too, he was fighting personal demons. In the last five years of the '50s, he made only three record dates (two as leader) and worked sporadically in a small group context.
The '60s are a decade of new promise for Gordon. Through playwright Carl Thaler, he became involved in the West Coast version of Jack Gelber's The Connection. He composed an original score, led the quartet that played it on stage and held down a main speaking role. His success gave him a new confidence and led to a general revitalization.
Although his presence has not been directly felt on the jazz scene as a whole in a long time. Dexter has been with us. in part, through the work of John Coltrane and Sonny Rollins, two of the most important instrumentalists to develop in the '50s. Both owe a debt to Gordon for helping them to form their now highly personal styles. It is interesting to hear how Gordon, in turn, has now picked up on developments brought about by the men he originally influenced. Make no mistake, however, about Dexter. He is still very much his own man. His great inner power stands out in these recordings. He breathes maturity in every phrase he plays, his gigantic sound living up to the kind of musical voice one would expect from a person of his god-like dimensions.
A musician of Gordon’s reputation (particularly in the special setting of this recording), playing at the top of his game, will always inspire the men around him to do their best. Here, young Freddie Hubbard, impressive as he has been on Blue Note in the past, adds new, thoughtful qualities to his brassy fire. That this was no ordinary date is evident in every microgroove.
The rhythm section plays for Dexter, seeming to sense what he wants, following his lead yet never lagging. These three are no strangers to Blue Noters. As the Horace Parlan trio or as 3/5 of the Horace Parlan quintet (with the Turrentine brothers as the horns), they have made several swinging LPs. Presently, they are appearing around New York with tenorman Booker Ervin under the title, The Playhouse Four.
George Gershwin's I Was Doing All Right, the opener and title tune, is stated in a full-toned manner by Gordon at a loping medium tempo. He eases into his unhurried solo with a couple of bows to his old buddy Wardell Gray. Logic, warmth and melody abound. Hubbard plays beautifully and pensively, putting one in mind of Clifford Brown and some of Miles Davis' early '50s thinking. Parlan picks up the mood and spins out his solo in an equally relaxed, thoughtful way, ending with some perfumed chords.
The way he handles a ballad is one good indicator of a musician's depth. Dexter's You've Changed is a gorgeous piece of meaningful horn-singing by a man who knows what it's all about. Some of the lower register tones remind me of Don Byas, another old Gordon colleague (52nd Street vintage) who influenced quite a few people himself. The upper register and the story told are unmistakably Gordon. Hubbard is inspired again to play a poignant albeit short bit. Parian's even shorter interlude leads back to Gordons tender conclusion. Billie Holiday couldn't have done it any better herself.
For Regulars Only is a Gordon original with a catchy, contrasting theme. Dexter masterfully demonstrates how to build a solo, climbing up the thermometer, chorus after chorus, until his last one satisfies completely. Hubbard cooks in a brief solo; Parian alternates his stint between single-line and chords.
A marching, skipping, funky blues is Gordon's Society Red. It settles into a steady 4/4 as Hubbard takes an opening solo that beats things up with leaping rhythmic figures and a brightly burning flame of a sound. Again, Gordon builds to a point of climax. Here he does it more slowly than in For Regulars Only, spreading his expansive tone over a longer period of time. Parlan's single-line leads into a blue chordal exploration before George Tucker plucks his only lengthy solo of the set.
It's You or No One finds Dexter ascending to the upper reaches of his horn, alternating swift flights with rhythmic punching. Freddie is fleet but with underlying substance. After Horace's solo. Tucker walks and Harewood talks as they weave in and out of the ensemble.
All in all. Dexter Gordon's trip to New York was very fruitful. He renewed old acquaintances, made some new friends, bought a couple of groovy suits at a Broadway clothier and began an association with Blue Note that should prove to be mutually significant.
Dexter Gordon is a big man physically and musically. This album is representative of that kind of size.”
- IRA GITLER
Note: Supported by Freddie Hubbard and the Horace Parlan trio. Dexter Gordon began his association with Blue Note with this session, which quickly rekindled his career and ended an eight-year lull. As well as two magnificent readings on standards, it introduced two of his finest and most lasting compositions "For Regulars Only" and "Society Red” which found new life in the film ROUND MIDNIGHT. For this Compact Disc, an alternate take of "For Regulars Only" and another Dexter tune "I Want More” both previously unissued, have been added. Dexter would recut and release “I Want More" on his next Blue Note album DEXTER CALLING.
- MICHAEL CUSCUNA
Dan Morgenstern Sessions Notes from the Boxed Set Booklet -
(A) MAY 6,1961
“For his first Blue Note session, Dexter Gordon is supported by a working rhythm section and a rising young trumpet star.
Pianist Horace Parlan, bassist George Tucker and drummer Al Harewood were three-fourths of The Playhouse Four, named for Minton's Playhouse, the once-famed Harlem nightclub where (with tenorman Booker Ervin) they were ensconced as the house band. Parlan, born in Pittsburgh in 1931, started on piano at 12 and wasn't deterred when stricken with polio—he merely compensated for an impaired right hand by developing an exceptionally strong left. A professional from 1952, he first gained notice with Charles Mingus's Workshop (1957-9) and had also worked with Lou Donaldson, the tenor team of Lockjaw Davis and Johnny Griffin, and the Turrentine brothers. (He settled in Denmark in 1973 where he was reunited with Dexter.)
Tucker, born in Florida in 1927, had come to New York at 20 to study music at Julliard; turning pro, he worked with saxophonists Earl Bostic, Sonny Stitt and Jackie McLean and was in the house rhythm section at Brooklyn's Continental Club prior to hooking up with Parian. His sudden death of a heart attack in 1965 was a great loss.
Harewood, born in New York City in 1923, first came into view in 1954 with J.J. Johnson and Kai Winding and subsequently worked with Gigi Gryce, Gene Ammons and David Amram; later associations included Stan Getz and Benny Carter.
Freddie Hubbard, born in Indianapolis in 1938, had early classical training, hooked up with boyhood friends James Spaulding and Larry Ridley in his first working group, came to New York in 1960, and soon found himself in demand. Though he'd already participated in Ornette Coleman's landmark avant garde recording "Free Jazz" and worked with Eric Dolphy, his orientation was essentially straight ahead and 1961 was also the year in which he joined Art Blakey's Jazz Messengers.
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