Dexter Gordon "A Swingin' Affair"- The Blue Note Years Part 5

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“Los Angeles-based saxophonists Dexter Gordon, Teddy Edwards, and Wardell Gray rank among the finest soloists of their generation, and all three played a seldom acknowledged role in defining a distinctive bop sound for the tenor sax, liberated from the Hawkins mannerisms displayed on most early modern jazz tenor outings. Of these three, only Gordon would go on to enjoy widespread fame, albeit after twenty years of relative obscurity. His early recordings for Savoy from the mid-1940s and infrequent releases during the 1950s demonstrate Gordons freewheeling energy and his bellowing foghorn tone—one of the most distinctive signature sounds in modern jazz—while later sessions for Blue Note present the mature statements of a major soloist. Few were listening, however, and Gordon moved overseas, where he spent most of the 1960s and 1970s. Only upon his return to the United States in 1976 did the tenorist, now in his mid-fifties, begin receiving the accolades and rewards his contributions warranted.”

- Ted Gioia, The History of Jazz, Third Edition

“Generations in jazz, among fans and musicians, are short (rather than the traditional thirty years, they may span only four or five), and the distance between them is sometimes seemingly insurmountable. A whole lifetime seems to separate us from the man who, although only 34 or 35, remembers vividly the nights of seeing Bird, Bud, Monk, Diz, on the historic 52nd Street scene.

It is rare indeed that the members of one generation get the opportunity to share directly the experience of another. Given the chance to hear one of the old giants [Dexter Gordon], we went. Any doubts we may have had about the legends of his charm and prowess were dispensed as soon as he raised his horn to his lips. We had been waiting to be captured by just such a man — a man of his warmth, his "show biz" manner of handling us. his pleasure in being with us. And once he started to play...one young tenor man, enjoying some current vogue, laughed delightedly to no one in particular, and said, "The old lions are telling us cats who're still running the jungle.”

- Barbara Long, insert notes to Dexter Gordon: A Swingin’ Affair [Blue Note CDP 784133 2]

Both Barbara Long, who wrote the insert notes for this third in a series of Dexter Gordon early 1960s Blue Note releases, and Dan Morgenstern, who annotated the session notes for the boxed set booklet, translate Soy Califa, the opening the title of the opening track as “I’m Caliph” or “I’m the Caliph,” whereas Maxine Gordon in her Dex bio translates it as “I’m from California in Los Angeles Spanish.”

Having lived in the greater Los Angeles area most of my life, I think the latter is the more accurate meaning.

As Maxine further explains regarding the significance of these Blue Note recordings in Dexter’s career:

“Dexter continued to record for Blue Note through the first years of his fourteen-year sojourn in Europe. To this day, those classic recordings are still collected by all serious jazz fans throughout the world. Dexter was right when he said that he believed they would hold up in the history of jazz.”

Dexter Gordon: A Swingin’ Affair [Blue Note CDP 784133 2]

“I hesitate to enter grounds already covered by writers more experienced than I. Both Leonard Feather and Ira Gitler have introduced Dexter Gordon's previous Blue Note albums (Doin’ Allright, Dexter Calling, Go!) with personal reminiscences and professional evaluations of his significance in their jazz experiences. They and other critics have assessed his musical contributions and have placed him high. Gordon was in the forefront of the '40s swing era; he was the first to translate Parker's revolutionary concepts to the tenor; he was among the most colorful figures in a period sparkling with them. It was a true measure of his dynamic, warm beauty that they should miss him so acutely during his 12 year hiatus on the West Coast, a decade when he was seldom heard, when his kind of tenor playing was temporarily out of vogue.

Their response to the return of his live performances, his charming, authoritative showmanship, his ability to generate excitement through his manner and music, was a reaction not just to him but against years of not having him. Those were years during which many musicians appeared not to be interested in themselves and the men in their groups, much less the audience. The '60s and Dexter brought back direct communication on the stage, communication which reached out to his audience. One major musician sitting in the Jazz Gallery in New York that first night said, "Love, man, I never felt so much love in one room.”

Dex's old fans were grateful for his return. He was giving them back the best of the good old days. More than that, he vindicated their memories. The music was as wonderful as they had remembered.

Perhaps even more grateful were those of us in another jazz generation, those of us in our early or mid-twenties. Generations in jazz, among fans and musicians, are short (rather than the traditional thirty years, they may span only four or five), and the distance between them is sometimes seemingly insurmountable. A whole lifetime seems to separate us from the man who, although only 34 or 35, remembers vividly the nights of seeing Bird, Bud, Monk, Diz, on the historic 52nd Street scene.

It is rare indeed that the members of one generation get the opportunity to share directly the experience of another. Given the chance to hear one of the old giants, we went. Any doubts we may have had about the legends of his charm and prowess were dispensed as soon as he raised his horn to his lips. We had been waiting to be captured by just such a man — a man of his warmth, his "show biz" manner of handling us. his pleasure in being with us. And once he started to play...one young tenor man, enjoying some current vogue, laughed delightedly to no one in particular, and said, "The old lions are telling us cats who're still running the jungle.”

He told us more than that. In it and subsequent appearance's, he still had a lot to tell tenor players about their instruments. Gordon’s sound is large, larger even than his 6 foot 5 inch frame would lead one to expect. It is no denigration of his technical facility to say that much of the scope of his sound, the warmth of his tone, the musicalness of his harmonic and melodic inventiveness, seem to come from his personality. The tenor, looking so small cupped in his hands, seems merely the nominal source of all that glory. Nominal or not, the instrument is a beloved friend, and Dexter appreciates the entire entity, lower and upper registers, prettiness and harshness. (Too many men seem to concentrate on just one aspect of their horn.) He brings new life to tunes, and obviously loves variety. Blues, ballads, up tempo tunes, originals, hoary pops that even he has to repair drastically for the occasion, make up his extensive book.

During his live performances on the East Coast he pleased all the generations he reached. He brought joy back to listening by giving us his joy in playing. He was as current as today. Instead of being a charming old timer he built sweeping solos too suspenseful to be predictable.

After satisfying us for a while, it was only fitting that he completed his renaissance by visiting Europe for the first time. Awaiting him were fans who had been playing his old records for years before receiving his recent releases. Enthusiastic response there extended his one-month engagement to a year.

…

Fortunately Dexter made two albums before leaving. Both were made within a week before his departure, and with the same personnel. The first. Go!, has been rated 5 stars by the Down Beat reviewer, and is regarded by many as a classic in the making.

And if that album won't hold you till his return, A Swingin' Affair should. It is of the same extraordinary quality, but has the quieter, less pressing appeal of a group whose initial excitement upon meeting has turned into fruitful relaxation among old friends. The rhythm is a conventional 4/4, the support of sidemen solid, and the solos, meant to enhance, never detract from the tenor. If there is experimentation, it is not the painful searing kind; it is certain and mature, the kind one expects from men who know their business.

… 

This album should appeal to all the jazz generations who dig Dex. It should also bring a few new ones into the fold. Considering that Down Beats Critics Poll has just named him New Star of the Year, he should have several more to swing for.

-BARBARA LONG

Dan Morgenstern Sessions Notes from the Boxed Set Booklet -

(G) AUGUST 29,1962

“McSPLIVENS, a minor blues by Dexter named for his dog, gets this encore session under way in style. The nice tempo—not too fast, not too slow—settles the splendid rhythm trio into a well-oiled groove, and Dexter's eight choruses are yet another object lesson in how to tell a story. The penultimate chorus is a salute to Prez. Sonny Clark follows with a five-chorus statement that adds up to a definition of bebop piano, and then Butch Warren goes for two, with that great sound that recorded so well. Dexter uncorks some stop-time stuff, and the closing ensemble is right on the mark.

THE BACKBONE is by Butch Warren, and he sets it up-a catchy little AABA riff piece with some minor-major changes. Dexter takes off in a minor mood (shades of "Softly, As In A Morning Sunrise"), and it's clear that he's "on," as they used to put it, becoming increasingly intense. Clark follows, seamlessly, with some Monkish touches, and then the composer takes over, backed by Higgins only, except when piano peeps in on the bridge. Dex takes it out, with interplay to the fore. These cats are together!

SOY CALIFA is Dexter's, and he announces the title ("I'm the Caliph") over samba rhythm, brought on by the effervescent Mr. Higgins. An ABBA structure with interlude, the piece employs 4/4 rhythm on the bridge. Dexter works off the Latin beat, asking if we've ever seen a dream walking; the empathy between him and the drummer is a joy to hear. Clark's crisp outing finds him at home with the Latin feel, and then Higgins works out, demonstrating, among other things, the power of repetition. A spirited ride!

UNTIL THE REAL THING COMES ALONG was the song that put the Andy Kirk band on the map, commercially speaking, when they recorded it in 1936—Pha Terrell's vocal made the ladies swoon. It became a Kansas City favorite, known as "The Slave Song." But it had been around since 1931, when the songwriting team of Alberta Nichols and Mann Holiner penned it for the show "Rhapsody In Black;" three other songsmiths revised it five years later. Clark's piano brings it on, and he supports Dexter ever so tastefully as the tenorman, emotionally involved from the start, creates a marvelously warm romantic tale, proclaiming himself a prisoner of love. Clark's half-chorus maintains the level of inspiration (lovely voicings,) and then Dex re-enters over the rainbow, setting up a wonderful climax (love's prisoner once again.)

YOU STEPPED OUT OF A DREAM, a sinuous melody by Nacio Herb Brown, was introduced in the 1941 film "Ziegfeld Girl," and became a favorite of Charlie Parker. The introduction mixes 4/4 and Latin, with Higgins again splendid, but the exposition moves smoothly into 4/4 alone. Dexter reveals the changes, and the rhythm section gives him inspiring support. Clark burns one, as close to Bud Powell as he got, and Warren offers an exceptional bass solo. Dexter steps back in on a Cuban sidewalk, his footing awesomely secure, for a half chorus, and then recapitulates the theme with Latin underpinnings, concluding with an effective repeated phrase. Once again, a classic interpretation of a great tune.

DON'T EXPLAIN, introduced in 1946 by Billie Holiday, who wrote it with Arthur Herzog, is another instance of Dexter's fondness for singers—a trait he shared with Lester Young—which inspired him to adapt essentially vocal vehicles to instrumental purposes. Here he captures Holiday's mood of bittersweet resignation to perfection; he almost speaks the bridge, and later evokes a cantorial feeling. Clark's bridge solo and support are exemplary, as is the work of Warren and Higgins (hear the drummer's closing cymbal touches.) In ballad performances such as this one, Dexter inhabits the highest plateau of creativity.”