Crime and Spy Jazz on Screen Since 1971 - Derrick Bang

 © Copyright ® Derrick Bang, copyright protected; all rights reserved.

“Elmer Bernstein's aggressive, jazz-laden score for 1955's The Man with the Golden Arm triggered the soundtrack world's first tectonic shift; Henry Mancini struck next, with his swinging scores for television's Peter Gunn. Four years after that, John Barry's brass-heavy cues for James Bond similarly shook our senses. By the mid-1960s — back on the tube — the secret agents on I Spy, The Man from U.N.C.L.E. and numerous other imitators grooved to equally dynamic jazz cues from upstart "youngsters" such as Lalo Schifrin, Dave Grusin, Quincy Jones and Earle Hagen.

Action jazz fans' cups had runneth over for a decade. Could some other as-yet unknown jolt the soundtrack world again, in an unexpected way?

Absolutely. As the new decade dawned, a fresh name was on everybody's lips, thanks to the explosive rise of an entirely new film genre.”

- Derrick Bang, “Chapter 1: Do Your Thing: 1971”

“Lalo Schifrin gave an enlightening response, when asked to describe the difference between scoring a feature film versus a television episode.

‘If you write a letter to some relative, about a trip to Hawaii, you can write many things, all the details. [But] if you have to send a cable, you have to make it concise: reduce it to a minimum, and say as much as you can. Television [scoring] is like a telegram.’

As had been true for the past decade, Schifrin once again worked both ends of that spectrum this year.”

- Derrick Bang, “Chapter 6: God's Lonely Man: 1976”

“Call it accident, serendipity, deliberate planning or merely ironic. Just as Hollywood was losing interest in traditional instrumental film and television music, a new business model began to "rescue" and breathe new life into older, often neglected scores. Intrada, founded in 1985 and based in Oakland, California, became the first in a small wave of special-interest labels devoted to resurrecting, remastering and often expanding vintage film scores, many of which hadn't yet been issued digitally. Longtime soundtrack collectors, increasingly tired of being ignored by major labels, enthusiastically embraced this development. …

Intrada was followed by Film Score Magazine/Monthly (FSM), which released 250 richly varied titles between 1996 and 2013, when the label ceased production. Much of this book’s contents wouldn't have been possible without the efforts of Intrada, FSM and—in their wake—Screen Archives Entertainment, La-La Land, Kritzerland, Quartet (in Spain) and numerous other small tiffany labels, all of which continue to produce impeccably remastered scores generally accompanied by meticulously researched and detailed liner cotes. One need only examine this book's discography to appreciate the welcome impact these companies have made.

Although new jazz scores were increasingly scarce, it became much easier to obtain beloved vintage film and television music.”

- Derrick Bang, “Chapter 11: Freshly Squeezed: 1990-94”

For those of us who lived through it, reading the second volume of Derrick Bang’s insightful and interesting Crime and Spy Jazz on Screen Since 1971: A History and Discography [MacFarland 2020] evokes a feeling of sadness because we realize that the period it covers marks the end of an era.

No longer would musicians gather in a recording studio on a regular basis to perform and record various styles of Jazz composed to underscore and express the full range of emotions on display in films and television programs with crime and spy themes.

As the decades after 1971 came and went, Jazz, to the extent that it was performed at all as an accompaniment to these dramatic crime and spy films and TV shows, was “made,” first by using more and more electronic instruments which could produce a greater variety of “textures” thereby requiring fewer musicians and then ultimately by synthesizers which eliminated both the composed scores and the musicians who performed them.

In their place came - if the viewer was lucky - perhaps eight bars of composed music to serve as an opening theme - followed by a series of flatulent pops, eerie squeals and droning hums that are sustained for interminable periods of time to cause tension, jittery feelings and induce an aura of dread.

But things and times change and Derrick’s second volume is more than a journey through nostalgia. It’s a handy guide for those who want to relive 

Crime and Spy Jazz on Screen Since 1971, as well as, a roadmap for those who’ve yet to make the trip. For both, each page is filled with who, what, when, where, and why “information booths” that Derrick has created about domestic and international TV series to help enrich the trip.

The added bonus in all of this is that not only is this a well-told story but it is written in such a way that allows you to savour it. From conception to completion, Derrick’s work is a marvel of writing that takes you out of yourself and into a world of fun-filled and interesting facts about a genre that nearly all of us have experienced but rarely though about in terms of the skills and talents at work in this musical world.

In his INTRODUCTION, Derrick’s indicates his criteria for how he chose what to include in this volume with the following caveat:

“... some of my judgment calls are liable to raise eyebrows. That isn't crime/noir/action, you'll protest... or That isn't even jazz. I plead guilty: Some of my choices will be determined by historical context, or musicality, or simply because I wanted to include them. My book, my rules. ...

Jazz being a quintessential American art form, it's logical that most of the films and TV programs discussed herein emanate from the United States. But certainly not all: The United Kingdom is well represented, and some Western European films are too important to ignore. But arbitrary lines had to be drawn somewhere, lest this survey (again) become overwhelming. Ergo, don't take it personally if you don't find one of your favorite foreign films or TV shows in these pages. Such decisions resulted from practicality, not prejudice.

Even so, I fully expect to get a few outraged letters wondering how the heck I possibly could have neglected that classic (American or otherwise). Or that masterpiece. To which I can only reply, One tries one's best. And that's why God invented second editions. Suggestions are welcome, and I can be reached at this book's companion website: screenactionjazz. com.”

He then goes on to explain: “Most films are scored (composed) by a single individual—or sometimes a pair of collaborators—who handle everything: the main title, any necessary character themes, and all cues employed from the opening to closing credits. ...

This model shifted in the 1980s and '90s, with the advent and rising popularity of electronic keyboards (synth) and "jukebox scores" built from period-specific or then-current pop/rock/rap/etc. tunes. Ensemble instrumental scores became unwelcome, as the film industry embraced the hyper-editing introduced by rock videos (helmed by individuals who, in many cases, went on to become film directors). 

Television shows were a different animal from the very beginning, in great part because of the far greater musical burden involved….

By the 1970s, very few shows had the luxury — or budget — to request wholly original underscores for every single episode. The first half-dozen episodes might get original underscores from one or more composers, and their various cues — for car chases, fist fights, gun battles, suspenseful skulking, romantic overtures, whatever — would establish an ever-expanding library used to track subsequent episodes.

Starting in the 1980s, many shows warranted only an original title theme, and otherwise were sweetened solely by jukebox soundtracks. Action jazz all but vanished, particularly when many television programs began to abandon opening themes and title sequences (and you'll learn why in the subsequent pages). Many big-screen films similarly gravitated toward synth and jukebox scores.”

These criteria, parameters and overviews are then applied to the book’s fourteen chapters using the home and abroad, big screen - little screen format which was employed to categorize the crime and spy Jazz music in the first volume.

In addition to plot lines, composer credits and socio-cultural contexts for each of the films and television programs he analyzes, Derrick often identifies the individual Jazz musicians participating on these soundtracks. In doing so, one comes away with a sense of how many Jazz musicians were able to earn a living, despite the paucity of strictly Jazz performance venues, by making the music for these films and TV programs in the Hollywood studios particularly during the last quartet of the 20th century.

The book also served as a guide for many of the films and TV series that I missed during a period in my life when I was actively involved in helping to raise a family and in developing and advancing a professional career. Derrick’s volumes have already served me well as a retrospective guide for numerous films and television shows and the music that passed me by.

Because of his assiduous research, Derrick provides the reader with an insider’s perspective that frankly I doubt even many cognoscenti of the genre are even aware of: [1] composer Dave Grusin “...always took every opportunity to work with Emil Richards, because he had the most amazing collection of ethnic and esoteric percussion instruments;” [2] Nelson Riddle recalled that David Merrick, the producer of Rough Cut, was insistent that the score consist primarily of Duke Ellington melodies and it was up to me to arrange these tunes to fit the many situations occurring in the picture” [paraphrase]; [3] Lalo Schifrin describing the difference between scoring a feature film versus a television episode."If you write a letter to some relative, about a trip to Hawaii, you can write many things, all the details. [But] if you have to send a cable, you have to make it concise: reduce it to a minimum, and say as much as you can. Television [scoring] is like a telegram."

The book contains lots of posters and an appendix with instrument abbreviations, one with a full discography and another with cover artists, compilation albums and boxed sets. The book is fully indexed and includes a bibliography of books sourced and interviews conducted.

If you are tired of Zooming or binging on streamed services during the current pandemic-induced lockdowns and are looking for a fun thing to do together with family and/or friends, here’s an idea: Why not get copies of Derrick’s books and used them as a guide to searching out the movies and TV programs he references, watch them while listening closely to the music and comparing your impressions with his commentaries. Feel free to disagree and write your own opinions and share them with him on his website.

Click on this link to order Derrick Bang’s new books on Crime and Spy Jazz on Screen direct from McFarland, its publisher.

Derrick Bang - 1950-1970 - Crime and Spy Jazz on Screen, A History and Discography

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

Here’s the good news. If you are a fan of Crime and Spy Jazz in film and on television from 1950-1970, much of it is readily available to you via video and audio file sharing services, either through free usage online or by way of subscription services.

And, here’s more good news. If you’d like a chronological road map to organize your journey through Crime and Spy Jazz on Screen, 1950-1970, all you need to do is click on this link to order Derrick Bang’s new book on the subject direct from McFarland, its publisher.

By way of background, “Derrick Bang has written film, television, music and general entertainment commentary for magazines and local newspapers since 1974, and supplies regular columns and features to The Davis Enterprise. He lives in Davis, California.”

You may also recall an earlier feature on this page regarding Derrick’s previous book for McFarland - Vince Guaraldi at the Piano - which is still available from the publisher by going here. 

In order to put you in the frame (sorry, I couldn’t resist) with more information about Derrick’s delightful new book, here’s a blip from its media release:

“Henry Mancini’s Peter Gunn theme. Lalo Schifrin’s Mission: Impossible theme. Isaac Hayes’ theme from Shaft. John Barry’s arrangement of the James Bond theme. These iconic melodies have remained a part of the pop culture landscape since their debuts back when movie studios and TV production companies employed full orchestral ensembles to provide a jazz backdrop for the suspenseful adventures of secret agents, private detectives, cops, spies and heist-minded criminals. Hundreds of additional films and television shows made from the mid–1950s and beyond have been propelled by similarly swinging title themes and underscores, many of which have (undeservedly) faded into obscurity. This meticulously researched book traces the embryonic use of jazz in mainstream entertainment from the early 1950s - when conservative viewers still considered this genre “the devil’s music - to its explosive heyday throughout the 1960s. 

Fans frustrated by the lack of attention paid to jazz soundtrack composers — including Jerry Goldsmith, Edwin Astley, Roy Budd, Quincy Jones, Dave Grusin, Jerry Fielding, Mort Stevens, Laurie Johnson, Mike Post, Earle Hagen, David Shire, Elmer Bernstein and many, many others — will find solace in these pages (along with all the information needed to enhance one’s music library). But this is only half the story; the saga’s origins are discussed in this book’s companion volume, Crime and Action Jazz on Screen: Since 1970.”

Fans of this Jazz genre will also benefit immensely from the accompanying discography - all 24 pages of it! - which is infinitely helpful at identifying entire soundtracks or compilations of scores and themes, the label citations for these recordings and, in some cases, the musicians who performed on these films and television programs. 

Aside from its comprehensiveness - the phrase “well -researched” is an understatement, here - the other unique ingredient that forms a treat for the reader is the ease with which the story unfolds.

Rarely is a book so full of facts and information a page-turner, and yet, this one is and that’s largely because of Mr. Bang’s gifts as a storyteller. Some people have a way with words and he is one of them. His style is clear, concise and coherent. 

For those readers whose viewing experiences include many of the films and TV shows described and discussed in the book, Mr. Bang’s narrative writing skills help them come alive again while also providing fresh perspectives and additional insights about how the music was developed and how it was used to enhance the visual experiences.

Those readers coming to these crime and spy movies and television specials and series for the first time now have a guidebook that places them back in the socio-cultural context from which these programs evolved.

In an age when writing 8 bars of original music is considered a luxury to be used in conjunction with an array of synthesized sound effects as a film or television score, re-visiting a time when “... composer Henry Mancini delivered original scores for every single one of the 114 episodes [of the “Peter Gunn” TV series] … [with] many episodes featuring up to 15 minutes of music” is like being given entry to Film Composer Nirvana.

And as an “extra added attraction” (sorry, could resist the urge to insert more show biz lingo), Mr. Bang tells the story from the point-of-view of The Big Screen and the Small Screen domestically AND “From Across The Pond” AND from”Elsewhere In The World.” It’s almost as though you are viewing the topic through parallel universes.

These different angles of acceptance enrich the reading experience and keep the reader involved in Mr. Bang’s quest to uncover and scope out more examples of crime and spy Jazz on screen domestically, “on the Continent,” and internationally. Looked at another way, you can never get too much of a good thing - at least while it lasted, anyway. Did I mention that these days, 8 bars of original music …?

The period from 1947-1959 is covered in the first five chapters and thereafter we get a year-by-year prospectus of the 1960s films and television shows that featured Jazz.

Although they are in black and white, the book contains lots of poster art, record covers and publicity photographs that help rekindle memories and/or spark curiosity about silver screen and television crime and spy Jazz themes and scores.

Movies and Television programs have been described as The Lively Arts that bring together dramatic story-telling, expository writing, music, photography and a host of technical audio-video skills to create an imagined-reality, viewing experience . Derrick's book offers the reader many examples of how these elements come into play with crime and spy Jazz on screen from 1950-1970.

Thus, we learn concerning Leith Stevens score for The Wild One, a 1953 movie starring Marlon Brando:

“Stevens initially drew the scoring assignment, but Brando—although only a few years into his big-screen career—already was calling some shots. "Marlon had heard an album by Shorty Rogers' small group," recalled trombonist Milt Bernhart. "He wanted it as source music, [so] everything that came from the jukebox was by Shorty. Because of that [film], Shelly [Manne], me, Bud [Shank], Pete Candoli, Conrad Gozzo, and anybody who could play bebop and read music started to get calls on motion pictures. The Wild One really broke the ice."”

Or, concerning the 1953 film based on Mickel Spillane’s I, Jury Derrick provides this description of the “the film’s strongest asset …” before introducing us to its “... dim-bulb palooka…:”

“By this point, 34-year-old ex-Army Air Corps flight instructor-turned-author Mickey Spillane had produced seven novels starring very-hard-boiled private detective Mike Hammer. Spillane's notoriously violent creation first hit the big screen in director/scripter Harry Essex's fitfully entertaining adaptation of I, the Jury. The film's strongest asset is its richly atmospheric look: late-night dark shadows, foreboding long shots and unsettlingly tight close-ups, all courtesy of veteran noir cinematographer John Alton. Too bad, then, that star Biff Elliott is such a disappointment as Hammer; his bearing and mush-mouthed line deliveries make Mike look and sound like a dim-bulb palooka who couldnt tie his own shoes, let alone solve a complicated murder mystery.”

Chapter 2: Dreamsville: 1957-1958 opens with this summary statement which succinctly keys the reader into the importance of this year in the history crime and spy Jazz on screen, 1950-1970:

“Everything changed overnight, thanks to a jazz pianist/arranger who worked with the reformed Glenn Miller Orchestra following his World War II service, and who in 1952 became an extremely busy member of the Universal Pictures music department, where he was affectionately known as "Hank."

But that didn't happen until September 22,1958.”

Of course, even among the uninformed a wild guess would more than likely bring us to the Peter Gunn television series about which Derrick has this to say:

Peter Gunn solved his first case on September 22,1958: a nasty little caper titled "The Kill," which revolves around a criminal gang's attempt to extort protection money from the owner of the club—Mother's—where Pete hangs out. Viewers were enchanted: not merely by star Craig Stevens, who epitomizes debonair sophistication, athletic grace and droll verbal wit; but also by the ultra-hip score that shadows his every step. The music isn't present merely in Mother's, where the resident jazz combo provides a steady succession of swinging tunes; the luxuriously vibrant aural tapestry turns non-diegetic and trails Pete as he follows leads, evades death and solves each case. Nor was this a collection of overexposed library cues; it was fresh jazz from the West Coast "cool" school It stayed that way during the show's three-season run on NBC and ABC; composer Henry Mancini delivered original scores for every single one of the 114 episodes. They aren't sparse, either; many episodes feature up to 15 minutes of music.

The show's graphic title credits are rather bland: the music behind them, anything but. This brief version of Mancini's iconic "Peter Gunn Theme" runs barely 20 seconds, giving viewers just a taste of the captivating bass line and attention-grabbing melody; a more developed version, lasting close to a minute, plays behind each episode's end credits.

"The Peter Gunn title theme actually derives more from rock and roll than from jazz," Mancini explained. "I used guitar and piano in unison, playing what is known in music as an ostinato, which means obstinate. It was sustained throughout the piece, giving it a sinister effect, with some frightened saxophone sounds and some shouting brass."”

Derrick’s descriptive writing skills are also right on the mark when it comes to a lesser known film from this period - The Strange One:

“Sexual tension, cruelty and duplicity also are front and center in The Strange One, a ferocious denunciation of macho bad behavior in military academies. Author/playwright Calder Willingham turned his 1947 novel into a play for New York's Actors Studio, where the off-Broadway cast included a young James Dean. Most of the stage cast reprised their roles when Willingham further adapted the material for the screen in 1957, but Dean's untimely death precluded his participation. The subject matter was quite raw for its time, and surprisingly blunt even when viewed through the lens of history. The story takes place at the fictitious Southern Military College; the place is in thrall to Jocko De Paris (Ben Gazzara), a sadistic bully who torments freshmen newcomers who, by virtue of academic rank, aren't able to fight back.

Kenyon Hopkins' score immediately unnerves viewers, with a jarring blast of horns that plays over the Columbia Pictures logo. This segues into the films swinging, sax-driven title theme: an almost charming melody rendered disconcerting by long descending runs on edgy strings. It's the perfect statement of Jocko's dual personality—oddly charismatic on the outside, pure evil on the inside—and, in fact, it becomes his theme.

Saucy jump jazz—with a swinging sax solo—plays on a diner jukebox during one tense scene; the juke later shifts to boogie-style arrangement of the main theme, with some nasty sax and guitar licks intensifying viewer anxiety. When the cadets finally rebel, another reprise of the main theme dissolves into agitated horns when Jocko is confronted and then driven, blindfolded, to what he believes will be his own execution.

"I used a twelve-tone technique, which I don't use ordinarily in a theatrical film," Hopkins explained, when interviewed shortly after the film's release. 

"The commercial melodies and the juke-boxes and the twelve-tone chase which comes at the end of the picture are all related. The theme used in the final chase is the tune called 'The Strange One,' used in a twelve-tone form. If you listen to the album a couple of times, you can see the relationship of the whole thing.””

The first volume continues in this manner, chockablock with information, descriptions, analyses, bibliographic and discographical references to Crime and Action Jazz on Screen: 1950-1970.

In addition to the “Everything changed overnight…” Peter Gunn score by Henry Mancini, I anticipated with great delight what Derrick had to say about three of my favorites in this genre: The Saint, The Cincinnati Kid and Bullitt. Here are some excerpts from the book to help give a sense of Derrick’s style of writing.

The Saint

“The Avengers was a UK phenomenon when Series 3 concluded on March 21,1964,....

Meanwhile, UK television viewers had become equally transfixed by a charming rogue with a venerable background: Simon Templar, better known as The Saint, who debuted in author Leslie Charteris' 1928 novel, Meet the Tiger. During the next three decades and change, as Charteris continued to feature The Saint in three dozen novels and short story collections, the character also became a popular fixture in big-screen films, radio shows, comic books and serialized newspaper adventures. By the early 1960s, he was ready to conquer television; The Saint debuted on October 4,1962. Roger Moore proved sublime as the debonair and mockingly larcenous Templar, and the show became a popular phenomenon that ultimately produced 118 episodes during a six-series run that finally concluded on March 9,1969.

The indefatigable Edwin Astley was along for the entire ride, as the series' sole composer. His title theme is constructed from a brief whistled "signature theme" that Charteris had devised and introduced in 1939's big-screen adventure, The Saint Strikes Back. Astley arranged this into a 25-second tune dominated by a 6-6-7 brass motif over slow percussion and throbbing guitar; it kicks off each episode as a sidebar character recognizes "the famous Simon Templar," prompting Moore to glance heavenward as a superimposed halo appears over his head. The melody repeats over the title credits, then climbs the scale for a final orchestral flourish.

Astley wrote numerous underscore cues designed specifically for early adventures, thereby building a music library that could be tracked into subsequent episodes with which he wasn't directly involved. Because The Saint was a filmed series—as opposed to "shot as live" on videotape, as was the case with initial seasons of The Avengers — Astley's music could play a much more prominent role in even the earliest episodes. Whimsical soprano reeds back Templar when he "breaks the fourth wall" to address the viewing audience; an astonishing number of title theme arrangements — in various tempos, instrumentations, moods and cultural shadings — also pop up in every episode. Several types of cues became ubiquitous. Staccato explosions of brass back fight scenes, particularly when The Saint beats a couple of baddies into submission; the weekly "damsel in distress" often is introduced with a mildly saucy sax cue; Simon's visits to various Western European or vaguely defined South American countries are flavored with cues that convey the appropriate cultural touch. Astley also supplied plenty of source cues for radios, phonographs and even live bands; they range from combo swing and orchestral dance music to — as the decade wore on — vibrant bits of jazz-inflected rock 'n' roll. …”

The Cincinnati Kid

“Although [Lalo] Schifrin's early big-screen scoring assignments remain fairly obscure, that isn't true of his debut team-up with star Steve McQueen. Director Norman Jewison's handling of The Cincinnati Kid is a masterful adaptation of Richard Jessup's 1963 novel, with each of its colorfully memorable characters cast to perfection. The Depression-era story, set in New Orleans, concerns a long-anticipated poker match between debonair veteran player Lancey Howard (Edward G. Robinson) and scruffy, self-assured upstart Eric "The Kid" Stoner (McQueen). All the locals favor The Kid, but a shady, old-money gambler—Rip Torn, as Slade—intends to guarantee such success by blackmailing the dealer—The Kid's best friend, Shooter (Karl Maiden)—into rendering occasional "assistance."

Schifrin had the misfortune to float into the deep end of conflicting opinions between Jewison and producer Martin Ransohoff. "The two of them had totally different concepts. ... I realized that I was swimming in dangerous waters. But my instinct for self-preservation kicked in and forced me to do something that I have never again done in my career: I wrote two scores, one for the producer and one for the director. Just in case, I composed six different versions for the ending.""

Schifrin's electrifying main theme debuts as McQueen dodges trains in a vast switching yard; harmonica maestro Tommy Morgan carries the melody against driving percussion, with horns giving the rhythm a vibrant assist.”

Bullitt

“A mere two weeks after Coogan's Bluff hit theaters, Schifrin's involvement with another cop thriller made a much stronger impact at the box office. Bullitt became the year's fifth-highest box-office hit: equal parts methodical police procedural and suspense-laden action flick, while granting star Steve McQueen several stunt-laden opportunities to demonstrate his athletic grace. The unfolding story focuses on a mob informant—who narrowly eludes assassins during the title credits—brought to San Francisco as a star witness groomed by condescending local politician Walter Chalmers (Robert Vaughn); he hopes to further his career at a Senate subcommittee hearing on organized crime.

Schifrin’s score is one of his best, starting with a killer main theme synchronized to Pablo Ferro's stylish title credits. Schifrin begins the cue gently, almost teasingly: a sustained note backstopped by brushed cymbals and drum kicks, until shrill horns erupt. The percussive elements settle into a swinging, midtempo 2/2 beat, as a guitar takes the melody, accompanied by horn fanfares. Saxes take over, and the percussion becomes more intense; the sax line yields to flutes and screaming trumpets ... by which point, viewers know that whatever comes next is gonna rock. Director Peter Yates paces the subsequent drama shrewdly, with lengthy exposition sequences interrupted by bursts of action or violence; he's also parsimonious with the music and doesn't use anywhere near all the cues Schifrin provided, making scenes with music that much more effective.

A terrific diegetic cue [sound whose source is visible on the screen] surfaces when Frank Bullitt (McQueen) and his girlfriend Cathy (Jacqueline Bisset) enjoy dinner at a restaurant; a sleek quartet dubbed Meridian West - Julie Iger (flute), Larry Vogt (guitar), Nat Johnson (bass) and Allan Pimental (drums) — performs a lengthy, fast-paced jazz waltz. A subsequent non-diegetic cue sets up the film's iconic car chase: Frank, spotting a tail, executes some fast maneuvers, and the pursuing bad guys become the pursued. Schifrin's taut, expectant 2/2 cue builds tension as the goons consider their options. Horns and saxes supply terse counterpoint as Yates holds ... holds ... holds ... holds even more ... and then the bad guys buckle their seat belts and accelerate. The chase is on ... and Schifrin goes silent. The chase roars along without music, which would have been superfluous.”

The these comments from Cheryl Pawelski Foreword with its word of warning in the closing sentences form a nice closing statement for this review:

“Delivered with appropriate winks and nods, the information presented is detailed, dense (in the best possible way) and scholarly. Derrick's enthusiasm is addictive, and he has delivered a very entertaining read. Action/crime jazz finally gets its due, and it certainly does pay! While we're certain to be richer in our knowledge of the genre, if you're like I am, you'll be much poorer after tracking down all the wonderful music just waiting to be discovered.

While I deeply appreciate the road map for my future viewing and listening ... the lighter wallet, maybe not so much. — Thanks a lot, Derrick.”

Please be sure and stay tuned for Crime and Spy Jazz on Screen Since 1971 which will be the subject of a future blog posting.

[My Vince Guaraldi] "Lighthouse Memories"

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

Before the growth and development of Jazz programs on most of the major college and university campuses, the advent of concert quality Jazz club venues with two shows a night, the evolution of an international Jazz festival scene and the development of residential Jazz orchestras funded by huge endowments, a jazz musician earned a living by going on the road and playing night clubs in a circuit of cities usually within a day's driving time of each other.

It was a tough way to make a buck to support a family and it took a dedicated and brave soul to succeed at dealing with such a grind year-after-year.

Four or five sets a night in smoke-filled rooms, poor food, dangerous travel conditions, unattentive audiences; confronted with such adverse working conditions, it’s not surprising that many notable Jazz musicians passed away before their Biblically allotted “threescore and ten.”

Occasionally, a Jazz musician would “get lucky” and be able to maintain a career playing in a city of his choice with an infrequnt junket to a nearby festival or to a two week club engagement not too-far-away-from home.

One such “success story” was pianist and composer Vince Guaraldi who, for about twenty years between the mid-1950’s until his death in 1976 at the age of 47, was able to generate a successful 20 year career primarily in the limited confines of the San Francisco Bay area. With San Francisco clubs like the Blackhawk downtown at the corner of Turk and Hyde, the Trident in across-the-bay Sausalito and the hungry i in North Beach, annual appearances at the Monterey Jazz Festival about 100 miles southwest of San Francisco and his record label - Fantasy - across another bay in nearby Berkeley, CA, Vince luckily had it all literally in his own backyard.

Vince was luckier still in that just about every detail of that career has been chronicled by Derrick Bang, the author of a comprehensive biography entitled Vince Guaraldi at the Piano [Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2012].

After sending him a blog link to my review of his book, Derrick and I became Internet friends.  During one of our correspondences, I mentioned that I had met Vince during his brief stay as a member of Howard Rumsey’s Lighthouse All-Stars and Derrick arranged a telephone interview so that I could share my memories of Vince directly with him.

The result of our phone visit was a lovely remembrance of Vince which Derrick composed and entitled “Lighthouse Memories.” He posted it to his www.impressionsofvince.blogspot.com on April 25, 2015 and has graciously allowed me to re-post it on my site. Information about Derrick’s Vince bio, Guaraldi’s discography and a host of interesting articles and interviews about Vincenzo’s career - sorry, had to slip a little Italian into the mix - including how his association with the Charles Schultz Peanuts TV specials came about is all carefully annotated in Derrick’s book.

******

“Jazz historian Steven A. Cerra began a correspondence with me last summer, while conducting background research for what eventually emerged as an extremely complimentary review of my book about Guaraldi, which Steve published on his blog in late August.

During the course of our e-mails and phone calls, however, it became obvious that I had to return the favor. The result, obtained during a lengthy interview, is one of the most vivid anecdotes of the late 1950s and early ’60s Southern California jazz scene — with an essential Guaraldi element — that it has been my privilege to hear.

(Sadly, although this narrative includes some wonderful vintage photos that Steve shot back in the day, he didn't get any of Guaraldi.)

What follows comes almost verbatim from Steve, with very little editing or “prep” on my part. His memory is sharp, and his youthful adventures clearly left an indelible impression.

******

As a teenager growing up in Southern California, Steve was in the right place, and at the right time, to indulge his passion for jazz via regular visits to Hermosa Beach’s iconic Lighthouse, home of the Lighthouse All-Stars.

Nor was Steve an average patron. Although still a high school student during the late 1950s, he already was a well-established drummer in the local jazz scene.

“I had been working clubs for at least a year,” he recalls. “But the club owners and managers knew how old I was, so, during the breaks, they’d force me to leave. I’d have to go outside, often in a back alley, for a smoke. My playing might have been mature enough for the environment, but age-wise, they didn’t want the cops busting the place because of an underage kid lingering at the bar.”

Steve believes he started hanging around The Lighthouse in 1959, drawn both by the nearby beach and the venue’s celebrated All-Stars.

“The Sunday afternoon jam sessions ran from 2 or 2:30 in the afternoon, to 2 a.m. the next morning. It was chicks and beer and jazz, and I was going on 17.

“What was not to love?”

Although able to hold his own on a stage, Steve nonetheless was aware of his limitations.

“I’d been self-taught up until then. When that’s the case, even when you have a feeling for the music, you hit certain walls and limitations. When you sit down with people who are legitimately trained, you can’t help noticing their speed and power. I had the feeling, but I didn’t have any technique to broaden it, and give it depth.”

Wanting to improve his work, and with the bold impetuousness of youth, Steve saw no reason to seek assistance elsewhere. He therefore focused on Stan Levey, who at the time was the drummer for the All-Stars.

“I always idolized Stan; I really liked his style of playing. And I thought, well, maybe I could talk him into giving me drum lessons. But he was a big, rough, gruff guy, and very hard to approach. As it happens, he also was self-taught, and I later learned that people like me badgered him constantly, for lessons.

“Trouble was, Stan couldn’t ‘speak drums.’ He couldn’t tell you the difference between a flamadiddle and a paradiddle, or a five-stroke roll and a seven-stroke roll; he didn’t know any of that stuff. So being gruff was his way of pushing us away, without revealing his limitations.”

“But I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I chased him all over the club for weeks, and he finally pushed me in Victor Feldman’s direction, saying that he knew all the rudiments. Victor was playing conga and percussion then; he’d pretty much given up what he called ‘sit-down drums.’ But he was starving. He was in Hollywood; I was in Burbank; he said fine, let’s give it a try.”

That’s how Feldman became Steve’s first drum teacher.

(Feldman also played vibes and piano, his instruments of choice on his Fantasy album Latinsville, some of which was recorded in 1959.)

Several months passed, during which Steve realized that he had caught the Lighthouse All-Stars during a transitional period.

“People had been there for awhile; it was time to move on. Stan thought he had overstayed his welcome, and was leading the rebellion; Frank Rosolino had been there for awhile, and also was ready to make a break for it.

“So, I walked in one Sunday afternoon, and the regular All-Stars weren’t there! Victor was playing drums, and Howard Rumsey was on bass, and Vince Guaraldi was playing piano.”

[This matches Guaraldi’s known timeline; he left his final stint with Woody Herman in late August 1959, and began working with the All-Stars on the last day of that month.]

“Conte Candoli was there, and it might have been Bud Shank on sax. That was the beginning of the change that ultimately led to Nick Martinis replacing Stan. Art Pepper worked the front line with Conte for awhile, but Art was constantly getting busted.

“I also noticed that the bandstand had been rearranged. The piano was off to the right, but it was turned forward; Vince was looking out toward the audience. Victor used to have it turned the other way, because he’d get up from the piano bench and turn around to play vibes, which faced toward the audience. But the vibes were gone, and the front of the piano was turned to where the vibes had been, and there was Vince. Howard and Victor were to his right, in the center of the stage; Howard was stage-forward, between Vince and Victor. The two horn players, as you stared straight ahead from the audience, were on the left-hand side of the stage.

“Now, you have to picture this: The stage was elevated, and — depending on what angle you had — you’d be looking up toward the front of the piano. Vince was so short, that if the music rack was up, you wouldn’t even see him.

“When you walked into the club, via the main entrance, the bar was to your left, along the wall. You’d see the piano, but unless you continued to walk toward the center of the stage, it would look like the piano was playing itself!”

Steve found the change disconcerting, to say the least.

“First of all, I was fascinated by the fact that my teacher was up there, playing drums ... which he rarely did, unless he was giving me a lesson. I figured he must’ve been sitting in for somebody who hadn’t shown up.

“And I had an idea of who Vince was, from his earlier association with Cal Tjader, but I wasn’t that familiar with his music.”

It quickly became apparent that Guaraldi, as the new kid on the block, was floundering ... and doing his best to avoid going under for the third time.

“Howard liked to be organized,” Steve continues, “and he had this incredibly big book of arrangements, which had evolved over a 10-year period. They were wonderful arrangements, and very intricate; contributions had been made by people like Bill Holman, Shorty Rogers and Jimmy Giuffre. It was a West Coast jazz treasure chest of charts.

“But Vince didn’t read well, and I could see that Victor was talking to him, and showing him things, like ‘stop time’ at the bridge ... stuff Vince was supposed to catch. Victor was aware of Vince’s limitations, because they’d played together with Woody Herman. Well, Howard was standing in front of this process, and he was steaming. In fairness, I think he may have been steamed in general, because of the personnel transition; on top of that, here was this guy, filling in for Victor, who didn’t know the charts, with Victor having to coach him through the arrangements.

“It felt really, really uncomfortable. Through no fault of his own, Vince had arrived at the right place ... but at the wrong time.”

“I just stood and watched. At the break, Vince followed Victor off the stage. The musicians had a table toward the back of the club, right in front of the entrance to the kitchen. Victor saw me, and motioned me to join them as they headed toward the back of the club, toward their table. He introduced me to Vince, who looked at me and said, ‘Oh, you’ve also got small hands.’ I quipped it away by saying something like, ‘Yes, but I use longer drumsticks.’ That made him smile, and it was the first time I’d seen him smile, since I arrived.

“It wound up being an ice-breaker for Vince, and we all sat down and relaxed. I smoked Pall Mall cigarettes in those days; it was a good cigarette for drummers, because sometimes when you finished a tune, there’d actually be a little cigarette left at the end. Vince bummed a cigarette from me, and we chatted.

“I listened while Victor gave Vince a tutorial, a post-mortem, about the set they had just finished. I don’t think there was any piano unison voicing in any of those charts; the trumpet and sax played the line. So, it was more a question of Vince having to know the changes, having to go into a 6/8 Latin feel at the bridge: that sort of thing. But Vince was having trouble, until Victor said, ‘Hey, man; just count it in two.’

“Right away, I saw the look of recognition on Vince’s face. Instead of 1-2-3-4-5-6/1-2-3-4-5-6, it just became one ... two ... one ... two, like a marching band feeling. Victor made it easier for Vince to settle into the music ... because, remember, it was a huge book of charts. This wasn’t exactly Vince’s forté, so he had a tiger by the tail.

“Howard was a stickler for opening the afternoon concert with arranged music. Customers were paying good money, and he didn’t want people to think of it as a ‘blowing session.’ There was a method to his madness; Howard made that gig a real success for a long, long time. He knew what worked, and he wasn’t going to depart from that. So, before things opened up, and other people could come onto the stand, he wanted to deliver a couple of sets that showed this was an organized group, with people who were professional, and knew what they were doing.

“To that end, Howard required the guys to wear suits, as a means to further legitimize the music. Vince was wearing a suit like everybody else; he also had his mustache, and black horn-rimmed glasses — which I also wore — as was the fashion at that time.

“Anyway, on this day, there was one more set to go, before the dinner break. The stage would ‘go dark’ from about 5:30 to 7:30, so the musicians could relax and get something to eat. The final set before the dinner break would be the jam session. Teddy Edwards happened to be at the club, and he called for ‘All the Things You Are” [a Jerome Kern/Oscar Hammerstein II tune, written for the musical Very Warm for May]. Victor motioned to me to come onto the stand. Howard knew who I was, and he knew I wouldn’t embarrass anybody.

“So I got up there, and I played about 15 minutes of ‘All the Things You Are’ with Vince on piano, and Howard on bass. The best part of it was that Vince relaxed. All of a sudden, the ‘real’ Vince Guaraldi showed up: the one that we now know and love. He was comfortable; he got grooves going; he was kickin’ the horns in the ass with his comps; he was riffing; we were catching things together.

“Even Howard loosened up, and started to giggle.

“Creating grooves was what Vince did well. He was one of the best ‘groove pianists’ I ever heard in my life. It worked so well because it was rhythmic and simple, and he wouldn’t let it go until he had wrung every drop out of it. When he finally was satisfied with the first little figure, he’d come up with another one, bluesy and funky, and the same thing would happen all over again. You were just lifted off your feet.

“And that was my experience with Vince, musically, the very first time I met him.”

Steve never again shared the stage with Guaraldi. But as the weeks passed, it became obvious that Dr. Funk was gaining confidence.

“I caught Vince with the group a few times after that first day. He soon settled in. I think it was partly because they brought Bob Cooper back [on sax and oboe], to take over for the erratic Art Pepper. Coop was one of the sweetest guys on the planet, and he definitely made a difference.

“Vince went from somebody who struggled to fit in, to becoming a comfortable part of the band. The first few times I saw him, he hardly opened his mouth; he was trying to get his bearings, and the music was very demanding, complicated stuff. You could be in the wrong bar, with the wrong change, in the blink of an eye.

“He struggled for awhile, but to his credit, he turned it around, and made it happen. That’s not easy for a guy who isn’t oriented that way. Vince preferred to play Vince’s music. Being somebody’s piano player in a quintet, and laying down changes; that’s not where he wanted to be.”

Which raised the obvious question. What, I asked Steve, was ‘Vince’s music’?

“I always thought of him as the West Coast Red Garland. I can’t think of Vince without thinking of 12-bar blues. I also hear a tremendous tie to Count Basie’s music. Basie used the rhythm section; if you listen to the early Basie band — with Freddie Green on guitar, Walter Page on bass, and Papa Jo Jones on drums — Basie ‘floated’ over them, and that’s the way Vince played. He always had to get it to the point where it could be simple, rhythmic and bluesy; then you were in his wheelhouse. That was his core.

“He liked little ‘gliss notes.’ Drummers would call them flams; it was like one finger falling off a key. It was Vince’s way of compensating on the keyboard, because he didn’t have big chops. But he always knew where the pocket was, and when he got in it, he took everybody with him. Then, suddenly, it was like a bunch of kids in a schoolyard, finding a clubhouse together, where everybody would gather and have a good time.

“Whenever Vince got to that point in the music, you always had a good time.

“It’s interesting, looking back on it. I met a Vince who was in the right place, but didn’t feel that he was. But he got comfortable, and he changed the feeling of the band dramatically, from the piano bench. The band took on the sort of rhythmic grooviness that I mentioned earlier, in part because Victor was a more percussive, pushy kind of player.

“And once Vince truly relaxed, you’d see that he was a very laconic, droll kind of guy, who could suddenly say something, and just bust you up. He was a real master of the unexpected gibe: a lot of fun to be around.”

Rumsey relaxed as well, once Guaraldi had established himself as an integral part of the “new” All-Stars. This shift became obvious once Rumsey made his new pianist part of the on-stage banter.

Although the Lighthouse All-Stars had released a series of albums on the Contemporary label between 1953 and ’57, Rumsey inexplicably stopped the studio work for five years; as a result, Guaraldi never recorded with the band during his eight-month stay. He was back in Northern California by the middle of April 1960.

But Guaraldi did record one album with what could be considered an offshoot of the Lighthouse All-Stars: 1960’s Little Band, Big Jazz, which was released in mid-1960. The combo was dubbed the Conte Candoli All Stars, and it featured Candoli (trumpet), Buddy Collette (tenor sax), Leroy Vinnegar (bass) and Stan Levey (drums), along with Guaraldi on piano.

And Lighthouse patrons got plenty of exposure to some of that music.

“The band often played some of the tunes that wound up on that Crown LP,” Steve confirms, resuming his story. “I don’t know who wrote those charts, but they were in Howard’s book; they were a regular part of the repertoire. Crown wasn’t a very respected label at the time — it was a budget label — and Howard often made fun of it, when he talked about it on stage. He’d say stuff like, ‘The guys have an album coming out, on the Square Records label.’

“Vince would laugh along with the joke, and you could see that, finally, he was truly comfortable.”

But then, just as suddenly, Guaraldi was gone. Steve dropped by the Lighthouse for one of his usual visits, in the early spring of 1960, and Dr. Funk simply wasn’t there any more. He had returned to San Francisco.

As it happened, though, Steve’s path crossed Guaraldi’s one final time.

“I met him again, very briefly, when I was up in San Francisco in 1962. I went by the Blackhawk for the Sunday afternoon jam, and I played with Lonnie Hewitt that day. I had been playing for awhile, and I was off the bandstand, between sets, when Vince came into the club.

“I remember this, because he came right up to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked if I still smoked Pall Malls. It was right around the time that he released ‘Cast Your Fate to the Wind,’ and you’d never have known what was about to happen. At that moment, Vince was still the same.

“And that was the last time I saw him, either in a casual way, or at a gig.”

Roughly a year later, once it became obvious that “Fate” had turned Guaraldi into a star, Steve was delighted ... and he remains so, to this day.

“I couldn’t have been happier for him. And, you know, that’s the really interesting thing about Vince: the number of successes he was destined to enjoy. That’s not often the case, with a jazz guy. He had incredible staying power, and incredible persistence, and he also had a lot of musical talent.

“At the core, though, he was always a swinger. And that’s how I like to remember him.””

Posted by Derrick Bang