Elvin Jones and Philly Joe Jones by Bobby Jaspar

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

“We know that the creative daring of Kenny Clarke originated an evolution in rhythmic concepts in jazz. This process, starting at the beginning of the war, was carried on by the contribution of great drummers like Max Roach and Art Blakey. However, during the past few years, it seemed that the reaction in rhythmic ideas that came with the "cool school had led to a rejection of some of the most exciting innovations of these men. I can now say, after my trip to the United States, that this view is not justified.

The "Basie tradition", modified by innovations of the "bop" movement, apparently holds the central place in contemporary jazz; several important drummers, like Chico Hamilton and Connie Kay, remain faithful to classical ideas based on symmetry. At the same time other drummers have appeared who are carrying on the evolution where their predecessors stopped. Two young drummers particularly impressed me when I heard them in person (their records of the past few years have shown their real worth only in a very imperfect way, especially the boldness of their conception).

They are Philly Joe Jones and Elvin Jones. Though they have the same last name, the two musicians are not related: Philly Joe, as his name implies, comes from Philadelphia; Elvin is the younger brother of Hank and Thad Jones. Bobby Jaspar who played with both, in groups led by Miles Davis and Jay Jay Johnson, gives us here his thoughts on the importance of their contributions…..”

- Andre Hodeir, a musician composer and author who in 1954 founded and became the director of Jazz Groupe de Paris of which Bobby Jaspar was a member.

Tenor saxophonist and flutist Bobby Jaspar [1926-1963] was born in Liege, Belgium. Jaspar made his name in Paris in the 1950s, and he moved to the USA when he married vocalist Blossom Dearie. His most famous associations were with a quintet he co-led with trombonist J.J. Johnson and a brief spell in Miles Davis’ group in 1957. He died in 1963 following complications from heart surgery.

While some of his discography has been reissued on CD, unfortunately Bobby has become a largely forgotten figure.

This article was reprinted from JazzHot by permission of Charles Delaunay, the directing editor of the magazine, in The Jazz Review, Vol. 2, No. 2, February, 1958.

It is unusual from a number of perspectives, not the least of which was Jaspar’s early recognition of how Elvin Jones and Philly Joe Jones continued and yet changed the direction of modern Jazz drumming from the way it was played by Kenny Clarke, Max Roach and Art Blakey.

I find it especially interesting to consider Bobby’s remarks about Elvin Jones’ playing considering that Elvin’s tenure with John Coltrane’s iconic quartet was still about four years in the future at the time of this writing in 1958.

The article is also somewhat unique in that one does not often encounter pieces written by hornmen describing in detail what it feels like to play in front of a particular drummer.

For example, many observers noted that Philly Joe Jones played too loud and too busily when he was a member of Miles’ quintet in the mid 1950’s prompting Davis to remark: “I like his fire.” Not particularly loquacious, but I guess one could say, descriptive to a point.

Fortunately for those who prefer to dig a little deeper, Bobby does set forth many interesting observations in the following essay on Elvin and Philly.

“Years ago, I wrote an enthusiastic letter to a friend about a drummer, John Ward, an emulator of Kenny Clarke and Max Roach, who particularly impressed me then. After trying to describe his playing unsuccessfully I resorted to a little drawing. The drawing showed a little car moving straight along at a constant speed, symbolizing the constant tempo, and mounted on top of this car, a smaller car that rolled back and forth. The movements of the second car represent a secondary rhythm superimposed on the basic beat represented by the motion of the first car. I now return to this drawing to describe the playing' of the two drummers who recently have impressed me the most: Elvin Jones and Philly Joe Jones. The first time I played with Elvin Jones I found it hard to understand what he was doing. He played so many strange overlapping rhythms that I found it hard to hear the basic tempo. I thought that he was in poor form, and just couldn't keep time. A talk with the bass player reinforced my opinion, for he told me that he had the greatest difficulty in playing with Elvin too. (That was during the earliest days of the J. J. Johnson quintet.) Then, little by little, I began to understand the mysteries of Elvin's playing, so different from the metronomic ideas of Frank Isola and his school, and of other drummers I knew and understood. Then the drawing of the two little cars, which I had forgotten, came back to mind.

I came to the conclusion that what Elvin was doing was really the continuation and development of the principles that Kenny Clarke and Max Roach had pioneered. Since then, working with him every day, I have had the chance to learn to appreciate Elvin. I have never tired of his complex and highly stimulating playing. The basic tempo is there once and for all; it never varies throughout a performance (obviously this should always be so ; but sometimes it seems to disappear almost completely.) There is the basic metronomic pulse which each musician must register sub-consciously (symbolized by the constant speed of the larger car). Over this beat is grafted a series of rhythms so complex that they are almost impossible for me to write out. These rhythms (like the movements of the smaller car) create a sort of secondary or tertiary tempo. At times, playing with Philly or Elvin Jones, the whole band seems to be speeding up or slowing down in an astonishing way, when actually this is not so, since the basic tempo hasn't changed at all. While playing with J. J. Johnson's quintet, Elvin, Wilbur Little, and Tommy Flanagan were able to develop a collective feeling for rhythm and for section playing. It was marvelous to hear them accompanying a slow blues, for example.

At a certain point (in the second or third chorus of a solo) they will double the time in a very gradual and subtle way. (See musical example.) At the double tempo, the bassist plays a line of triplets mixed with notes played on the beat, the pianist plays off-beat chords, and the drummer plays a series of fast triplets and semiquavers on the ride cymbal: the polyrhythm of the three instruments implies the basic tempo of the blues, doubled but creates enormous excitement and allows the soloist great freedom in improvising. After a roll on the snare, the band goes back to the original tempo, having reached an indescribable pitch of excitement. Elvin Jones uses triplets freely, but he seldom uses the high-hat to mark a regular or symmetrical beat. The accent on the weak beat often disappears entirely, to be replaced by complicated cross-rhythms on the ride cymbal reinforced by the familiar snare drum accents of modern drumming. I must especially emphasize the absence of the afterbeat accent on the high-hat. When one is not used to its absence, one feels a sensation of freedom, as though floating in a void with no point of reference.

Actually this kind of freedom is a trademark of the greatest jazzmen. Charlie Parker carried this kind of floating on top of the time the farthest, I think"; and the great soloists at their best moments seem completely free of the alternation of "strong-weak, strong-weak" that some people mistakenly call swing. At up tempo Elvin follows the same methods. At up tempos though, whether through intention or through flaws of technique, Elvin sometimes creates a rhythmic climate that cannot be sustained (at least when he drowns out the bass in volume).

From that point of view, Philly Joe seems to be the better drummer of this school. I know of few soloists in New York who can improvise freely in front of Elvin at up tempo without falling off the stand. I suppose that Elvin will simplify his style in the end, but apparently he is still discovering new possibilities every day and looking toward wider horizons. This concept of drumming, as I said, comes directly from Kenny Clarke, Max Roach, and Art Blakey. Elvin Jones and Philly Joe Jones seem to me worthy successors in the tradition. Upon the innovations of their predecessors they have elaborated this kind of polyrhythm to a sometimes unbelievable degree.

Their playing is only now beginning to win the recognition it deserves among musicians in New York. This previous lack of enthusiasm is not hard to understand. It's much easier for a soloist to be backed by a comfortable metronome who hammers the tempo into your head and gives you constant sign-posts! Few musicians of the Basie-Lester school can get used to such complicated rhythms.

Stan Getz has become fascinated by Elvin's playing, though, and it has been a revelation for me to hear these two musicians playing together. Getz has spoken appreciatively of this school of drumming, but he has had trouble finding a bass player strong and steady enough to hold his place in the fierceness of Elvin's attack. At fast tempos Getz sometimes has to stop playing for awhile and listen to the temporary confusion of the rhythm section. I have often had the same trouble with Elvin: the tension would build to a point where I had trouble finishing my choruses; I would begin trembling with internal excitement, but completely unable to tell where we were any longer . . . That is obviously a situation to be avoided .

But I am sure that Elvin will eventually master this lack of precision which is luckily caused by nothing more serious than over-enthusiasm. We often forget that syncopation is the essence of jazz rhythm. The famous phrase "syncopated rhythm" has become a cliche we laugh at. There was a time in Paris when we tried to play as exactly on the beat as we could. We then believed that swing could be achieved by placing notes with mathematical accuracy, by steady time, and strong pulsation with heavily accented afterbeats. How could we have been misled by such foolishness? I have found the same misconceptions in some lifeless bands in New York, where the least rhythmic freedom raises the eyebrows of the musicians. They have the expression of a clerk who finds his ink-stand out of place one morning.

The idea of tempo should be a more general one, an idea that each player should have firmly once and for all at the beginning of a performance. The rhythm will have changed often and in many ways. Elvin will deliberately put himself into the most dangerous situation for a soloist—where he must find a way out by increasingly risky and always spontaneous improvising. Apparently, to do that, one needs perfect time, a sort of internal metronome in the "hypothalamus". American musicians have an expression for this; they say "He always knows where one is." Elvin Jones has a very powerful style, based on complete independence of all four limbs and an enormous volume of sound (probably the biggest sound of any drummer I know, which doesn't make him any easier to play with!) His cymbal sound is especially individual. He is very interested in African music. He knows that's the source of polyrhythms, and constantly listens to recordings of African tribal music. (After all, didn't Blakey take a trip to the Congo and come back raving about his exciting musical experiences?) Philly Joe Jones is Elvin's spiritual father in some ways. I have talked more of Elvin because I know his work better. Elvin still has some distance to go to match Philly Joe's mastery, but I am sure we have some happy surprises in store for us.

We often speak of jazz as "an artistic expression of a racial emancipation." I am not qualified to discuss such problems, though I face them every day; but it is certainly true that jazz is the most original art-form to have come out of the United States. That is not to say that we have no right to create an original and valid form of jazz in Europe, but it does seem to me that jazz is a protest, a relentless revolution. The moment that jazz is played without some sort of sense of liberation, it loses all meaning. This tradition of liberation, of revolt against the symmetry of the tempo in this case, I have found to the highest degree in Elvin Jones and Philly Joe Jones.”

J.J. Johnson Quintet featuring Bobby Jaspar

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

Bobby Jaspar's playing on these recordings is a revelation. Hardly anyone seems to know about these sides. Everyone is familiar with the quintet that J.J. and Kai Winding formed and the sextet that J.J. had with Freddie Hubbard, Clifford Jordan, and Cedar Walton, but these LPs seem to have dropped from sight J.J.'s arranging skills are on full display and Jaspar gets a rich tone on the flute in addition to displaying a Zoot-like facility on tenor sax. Hank Jones and Tommy Flanagan are their light and lyrical selves and Elvin Jones' playing displays variety and a driving beat instead of the never ending triplets he played behind 'Trane. Wilbur Little’s strong bass lines hold it all together and provide a driving pulse for the band.

JJ. Johnson's great 1956-1957 quintet played modem jazz with authority, imagination, taste and feeling. Its leader was the trombonist of the era, much emulated and admired by his peers. The Belgian-born Jaspar, who had recently won the International Jazz Critics' New Star Award on tenor, proved an ideal foil and a capable modern-mainstream tenor sax and flutist, contributing impressively on both instruments. Flanagan, a superbly swinging pianist, also made an indelible mark on the group, which was graced initially with another bop piano great, Hank Jones, while Little and Elvin Jones' support throughout is admirable. It was an exhilarating band that fully displayed Johnson's well-rounded musicianship.

Fortunately, all of these LPs have been collected on a double CD set and issued as The Complete Recordings of the J.J. Johnson Quintet Featuring Bobby Jaspar. [Fresh Sound FSR CD-538].

JAY JAY JOHNSON QUINTET: JJ. Johnson, trombone; Bobby Jaspar, tenor sax & flute; Hank Jones [on CD 1 #1-7] or Tommy Flanagan [on CD 1 #8-15 & CD 2], piano; Percy Heath [on CD 1 # 1-3] or Wilbur Little [on CD 1 #4-15 & CD 21, bass; Elvin Jones, drums.

Recorded (CD1) in New York, July 24 (#1-3), July 25 (#4-7), July 27 (#8-10), 1956 and January 29 (#11-15), 1957.

Recorded (CD2) in New York, January 31 (#1-4), May 14 (#5- 7), and Live "Cafe Bohemia" New York, February, 1957. 

More details about this exceptional band and these recordings are available in the following original liner notes.

Origina! liner notes from Columbia CL935 - J Is For Jazz

“J. J. Johnson, considered by many to be the originator and leading exponent of the modern jazz trombone style, has until recently been the co-leader, with the extraordinary Kai Winding, of a quintet featuring two trombones with rhythm section. Their work together on Columbia, with their quintet (CL T42) and with a trombone octet (CL 892), is one of the highlights of the Columbia jazz catalog, but is also of a kind which has proven popular with the public at large. The same bids fair to be true with the groups they have just formed independently of one another.

The J. J. Johnson Quintet makes one change in instrumentation, but it is an important one. In Kai's old spot, one finds Bobby Jaspar, tenor saxophonist and flutist extraordinary. Bobby, while new to the American scene, is well known in Europe. As Belgium's leading jazzman, Bobby won critics' awards and public acclaim all over the continent for his fine contemporary-style playing. Now a permanent resident of the United States, this is his debut before the American public. His appearance in this album is by special arrangement with the company for which he records exclusively - Pathe-Marconi, subsidiary of Electrical and Mechanical Industries, Ltd. [EMI or the forerunner of the company that would come to own the iconic Blue Note Records label.]

As these recordings were made on the eve of J J's launching of his new Quintet, it was impossible to line up the same rhythm section for each session. The changes of personnel are as follows: for Angel Eyes, Overdrive, and Undecided, Hank Jones played piano and Percy Heath played bass. On Tumbleweeds, Solar, Never Let Me Go, and Cube Steak, Wilbur Little replaced Heath. The remaining tunes were made with Tommy Flanagan in place of Hank Jones. The drummer throughout was Elvin Jones, Hank's brother.

All the arrangements in this set are by J. J, himself. As usual, he has chosen a repertoire which is anything but overdone, and he has also written three originals. Naptown U.S.A. commemorates his home town of Indianapolis; astute ferreting by the musically minded will also turn up another reason for this association. J. J. can't explain why Indianapolis is known locally as "Naptown," but this Johnson original is anything but sleepy. It Might as Well Be Spring and Never Let Me Go are lovely ballads which gave Bobby Jaspar an opportunity to blend his rich flute tone with J. J.'s trombone; obviously this combination gives the Quintet a distinctive "second round."

Tumbling Tumbleweed is an unexpected vehicle for a jazz group; J. J. explains that the idea occurred to him when he heard a trio in Chicago give it a swinging treatment once, and he has finally had an opportunity to try it out himself, with the fine results which can be heard here, Matt Dennis' Angel Eyes makes a fine dead-slow ballad for the group, and equally tailor-made in a different vein are two bouncy originals from the bop school. Miles Davis' Solar and Charlie Parker's Chasin’ the Bird. Overdrive and Cube Steak are two up-tempo compositions by J. J. which are written especially for this group."                                                    —George Avakian

Original liner notes from Columbia CL1684 Dial JJ5

“Underlying all of J. J. Johnson's musical efforts and reaching a new maturity in the work of his Quintet, is a considerable erudition in jazz forms. But he carries his learning lightly and does not bore us with an archeological study of the dry bones of technique. By the time he puts the show on the road, the ankle bone is connected to the shin bone and the shin bone to the knee bone — and in the aliveness of the music, sometimes jaunty, sometimes serious, you can, if you wish, forget anatomy lessons. Nevertheless, let's review them briefly, for the record.

As Jay's talent matures, and that of the Quintet with it, the parallel of devices used to those employed by small orchestral groups generally, becomes apparent and we see how he has gradually enlarged the area of his musical interests and, in the process, improved upon his superlative craftsmanship, Like the playing of the Modern Jazz Quartet, that of the Quintet recalls a period in concert music, some three centuries ago, when improvisation was commonplace.

All of this began, for Jay, in Indianapolis, Indiana, where he was born on January 22,1924, the oldest of three children (given name, James Louis Johnson). Beginning at about the age of nine, he studied piano for two years with a private teacher, the organist of the church the family attended. His two sisters also studied piano and they often practiced trios and duets together. An interest in jazz was stimulated by teen-age friends, his "buddies" at Crispus Attucks High School in 1937.

"Every Saturday night," said J. J., "my friends and I went to the local dance hall to watch and hear the big bands — Lunceford, Basie, Ellington, Hampton — these were our favorites and we worshipped them. It was then I realized that this would be my life's work." Following that momentous decision, he joined the high school band for beginners. He wanted to play saxophone but the only one available for practice was a baritone, which was not his first choice. Although he studied saxophone, he soon became attracted to trombone and, as he explains it, "My interest and curiosity about the trombone began to increase to the point that I gave up my saxophone studies (1938)."

His father got him a trombone from a pawn-shop and Jay learned to play it in the high school band and orchestra. On Sundays he rehearsed with the YMCA band, playing marches and light concert music. Eventually, his friends at Crispus Attucks — who had formed a small dance orchestra —- invited him to sit in at rehearsals and soon after this he became a regular member of the band, playing for school dances and neighborhood social events. By that time, he recalled, "I had also become interested in arranging and composing, and began to learn both."

When Jay graduated from Crispus Attucks High School in 1941 his parents, understandably, wanted him to go to college. Jay understandably, wanted to join a big band and travel. Well, you can guess the outcome — Jay won them over and joined the ''territory" band led by "Snookum" Russell.

Cool, in its most popular meaning, refers to a tendency towards understatement that one often finds in modern jazz and, in some instances to an extension of bop harmonic innovation in search of bland and cool sounds. Like any other kind of jazz, it can be good or God- awful. (Those in search of further enlightenment might bone up on the role of the trombone in Feather's "The Book of Jazz," a Horizon Press book of this year.) Both periods are now history, the styles having been to some extent assimilated. 

The use of linear rhythmic patterns has perhaps helped to encourage a return to blues intonation (including the use of rich sonorities) though with less use of vibrato, and with various shades of timbre such as funky and hard bop. (The latter refers also to structure.)

As space allows, I'll indicate some of the interesting sounds provided in this album: Teapot In this tempest in a teapot, Jay's terse broken-off phrasing becomes a sort of abrupt angularity that contrasts to his sinuous legato line or, as later in the piece, to the burgeoning of tone when he is blowing and swinging that is the very birth of jazz sound. In Bobby's clipped chorus (on tenor) he demonstrates how to hold a tiger. Tommy Flanagan, who can approach the keyboard with the full power of both hands (as on So Sorry Please) concentrates on treble to make room for the bass of Wilbur Little, moving with such dexterity that, with the drums of Elvin Jones, it seems to cushion the music, This thoroughly satisfying composition concludes with the two horns playing in a dark, almost somber tonality.

Barbados There is an amusingly disciplined use of Latin-American rhythms, followed by rich sonorities as the horns state the theme of this Charlie Parker composition, Jay's chorus has an easy, deftly athletic quality. On this, in contrast to the previous cut, Bobby's tone, though not rough, has more English on it; it is at once lyrical and strong in definition. Tommy, a cool cat, gets off the ground.

In A Little Provincial Town. This quiet mood piece has an almost classical loveliness, especially in the flute chorus, with its delicately interwoven harmonies (and what sounds like deliberate over-blowing, not a casual accomplishment) — and in the subdued, muted trombone.

Cette Chose. Opens with clipped, cool ensemble Jay, playing superbly, sets the scene for Bobby, parts of whose tenor chorus, were it not for the inspiration driving it, would fall into the category of expertising. Melodically it is understatement, conveyed with a controlled intensity of rhythm. In this chorus Bobby — who has considerable versatility of approach — seems to throw lines away. He is like a veteran actor laying booby traps for the ears and, like the veteran actor, he always knows the complete statement. On the chorus that climaxes the time, his tenor jumps like a pneumatic drill on a hot dig.

Blue Haze. This lovely melody by Miles Davis has an unusual and appropriate rhythm introduction. A thoughtful, beautifully-phrased statement by string bass is climaxed by a shattering drum roll, followed by a cymbal rhythm to which the piano adds its voice. Once the introduction is over, the featured instrument (which I described in my notes for "J and K") makes its entry. In his playing of it [valve trombone] Jay, in the quality of his intonation, combines the dignity of concert brass with the guttiness of honky-tonk horn. His fantastic technique on this valve instrument, which enables him to raise it to the dignity of a respected member of the brass family, never is allowed to overshadow his strong sense of music and of melody. Bobby's phrasing on tenor, always assured, is especially enjoyable, and Tommy's piano has a restrained jump.

Love Is Here To Stay. Few jazzmen can touch J. J. in the imaginative lyricism of his swinging: balladry. An old master at this form of the jazz maker's art, he demonstrates it with a long, luxurious chorus, in a warm intonation, that displays the scope of his improvisational talent.

So Sorry Please. Naturally, there are other things to hear, but let's single out the piano for mention. Tommy opens with a full-bodied, two-fisted solo and then, as he assigns the heavy work to the right hand, is paced by Wilbur's articulate bass (in a walking mood) — then there is a return to full piano style in this, a most welcome and generous introduction to the work of Tommy Flanagan.

It Could Happen To You. The introductory flute passages are classic, delicately wrought, as Bobby opens in concert style, then gets off on a winsome jazz frolic. Perhaps indicative of the authority of contemporary jazz technique, there is no hiatus between the two.

Bird Song. This tune is by Thad, one of the Jones boys from Pontiac and Elvin's brother, From the rich sonorities that open it, to the closing bars, there is structural strength and compositional directness. Like Tea Pot, it is a first-rate jazz piece. Toward the close of the exuberant performance Jay plays a quietly explosive chorus, conveyed in an easy, gently deceptive swing. On first listening it sounds like a walk in the park, on second, like a romp and, finally, like a controlled rumpus!

Old Devil Moon. Introductory bars are played in a modified Latin rhythm and in its jingle-jangle (that recalls old fashioned jazz hokum) cymbal comes off its high-hat, so to speak. There follow one of J. J's warm, utterly convincing solos in balladry and a tenor chorus by Bobby that displays a richness of timbre that seems just right for this piece,

This album is another milestone for J. J,, revealing his seriousness, his emotional warmth and his subtle wit and restrained exuberance. He knows the trombone backwards, forwards and inside out and the more one listens to the unobtrusive manner in which he employs a formidable craftsmanship to delineate an improvisation or a variation on theme, the more it grows on one, especially as it is reinforced with an extraordinary beauty of tone and, when occasion calls for it, a quietly sly sense of humor.”                                  -—Charles Edward Smith

Produced for CD release by Jordi Pujol this compilation © & © 2009 by 

Fresh Sound Records.