This Love Of Mine From "Dear John C" by Elvin Jones

By Dave Liebman

I would venture to say that most jazz musicians of a certain generation would place Elvin Jones among their favorite all-time artists. Obviously this is for musical reasons, but I think it is equally about charisma, an undeniable presence that Elvin Jones has brought to the music. Some of the words one might use to describe him are joy, strength, intensity, focus, commitment and love.

In fact, when musicians speak about Elvin Jones, it seems the rhetoric elevates to another level of awe and respect. Not to mention that he is probably playing on more than a few of anyone’s “desert island” list of indispensable recordings.

How is it that Elvin Jones can play just quarter notes on the whole drum set with both hands and feet in unison as he might do at times for several choruses and light up the stage and entire audience? Even the casual listener is drawn into his vortex and aura. One only has to look at the expression on his face, the sheer joy and light he spreads with that famous grin of his to realize that this is one very special human being with a power that reaches far beyond the music itself. 

Louie Bellson, Roy Haynes, Elvin Jones and Max Roach: Once in a Lifetine by Ed Enright

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

Since around 1960, Down Beat has been running an annual drum edition which is generally filled with profiles, interviews and reviews of select drummers and their music.

The late Roy Harte [1924-2003] who owned an operated Drum City on Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood, CA for many years was fond of saying that: “ Drummers are like hockey goalies; you gotta know how to talk with them.”

Unlike brass, reed, woodwind, string and keyboard players with their common language in melody and harmony, Jazz drummers, for the most part, speak in rhythm. They are focused on the way the music MOVES.

In this regard, I’ve oftentimes thought that Jazz drummers have more in common with dancers than with melody and harmony instruments.

While poised precariously on the tip of a drum stool, all four of a drummer's limbs are in motion at the same time, each doing separate and distinct things on various drums and cymbals to generate the rhythmic flow and metronomic pulse that is a singular characteristic of Jazz.

Some of my happiest memories involve hanging out at Drum City on Santa Monica Blvd. or around the corner at the Professional Drum Shop on Vine Street in Hollywood and talking “shop” with other drummers.

You’ve never seen such animated conversations with everyone talking with their hands and feet while describing some aspect of drumming.

Who knew they were all Italian?

The following appeared in the November, 1998 Down Beat and was conducted by Ed Enright, the former and now retired director of the Institute of Jazz Studies at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, NJ.

“Louie Bellson, Roy Haynes, Elvin Jones and Max Roach are like four giant planets.

Fellow musicians gravitate like meteors, and hangers-on constantly orbit like satellites. Getting them together is like orchestrating the Harmonic Convergence — a once-in-a-lifetime celestial phenomenon.

Avedis Zildjian Co., the 375-year-old cymbal-maker, made it happen this September [1998] when they paid tribute to these four jazz drumming heavies, septuagenarians all. Billing it the American Drummers Achievement Awards, Zildjian called on a younger generation of drummers — Steve Gadd, Terri Lyne Carrington, Peter Erskine and Marvin "Smitty" Smith — to perform in honor of Bellson (74), Haynes (73), Jones (71) and Roach (74), respectively. Proceeds from the bash, held at Berklee College of Music in Boston went toward scholarships in each of the honored names.

The day before the big event, Down Beat held a roundtable discussion with the foursome in the privacy of the Friends Lounge, upstairs from the Berklee Performance Center. (We also heard from the honorees during a brief press conference the afternoon of the show; a few of those comments have been integrated into the following interview.)

After posing for a quick photo session, Bellson, Haynes, Jones and Roach drank a toast of red Italian wine, sat down and were ready to roll.

Ed Enright: Have the four of you ever been together before?

Roy Haynes: I know we've all been together separately, but not all four of us.

Elvin Jones: Not at the same moment. This is the first time for that.

Enright; What does it mean to receive this honor? How does it make you feel to be together for this?

Haynes: I'm glad to be here with these guys. Somebody said I was in good company to be with Max, Elvin and Louie. I'm looking forward to it. But I would like to hear these guys play! That would really knock me out. I'd sit back and just check 'em out! We've got some youngsters playing tomorrow, so it'll be cool.

Max Roach: It brings back a lot of memories. For example, I remember the time that Louie Bellson and Buddy Rich and Gene Krupa ganged up on me because I had won this DownBeat poll. I was the first black musician to win a poll for the magazine. So they went to California with Clark Terry and me, and here I was on the stage with these three killers. What a night that was! When I first heard Elvin, the band with Brownie [Clifford Brown] and them came to Detroit, and I got sick and I had to stay home a couple nights. Every night when the gig was over, I'd hear them coming down the hall happy. Laughing. This is Elvin, now, so I thought, I'd better get well and get myself back to work. Quick! Elvin Jones, he was a baby at that time. Roy Haynes, every time we came to Boston, Roy was the killer in Boston. When Roy finally got to New York City, Bird (Charlie Parker| hired him. I left and went on the road with Benny Carter, and Roy took my gig and kept it! [Laughs.]

Louie Bellson: It's a very special honor for me because I consider myself a student of these three teachers. I started with Big Sid Catlett, "Papa" Jo Jones, Max Roach, Roy Haynes and Elvin Jones. These are truly my teachers. Anything I do today is a reflection of what they showed me. Max, I recall in the '40s when we did two drum-set clinics in Brooklyn for Henry Ader. Saul Goodman was there for tympani and Burt Morales did the Latin thing. After I played, Max came to me and said, "Louie, you play so wonderful, can I add a comment?" I said, "Yeah, of course." He said, "Why don't you learn how to play melodically?" I said, "What do you mean?" He said, "For instance, if you're playing 'Cherokee,' build your solo around that tune of 'Cherokee.' I never forgot that. It put me on a new avenue. Of course, many times I've listened to this gentleman here, Roy, and also Elvin. I'm especially honored to be one of the four honorees. And I think it's marvelous that this is happening, because what we've done so far can be a reflection on some of the students coming up: to love your craft and do the best you can and add something to this wonderful history of drumming.

Roach: Let me just say something about Louie and what an inspiration you were to me. As a composer and an arranger, you stood out in the crowd. Louie Bellson was a craftsman, one of the few people whose music Duke Ellington played. Mercer [Ellington] always complained that his father never would play his music. When we did a record dedicated to Charlie Mingus, Duke invited us all to participate and asked us all to bring compositions, and we played your music as well. We got to the studio, and Duke was at the piano — Louie, you're probably familiar with this sight— he was already writing stuff, putting stuff down. When we finished the date, we didn't play anything of Mingus', we didn't play anything of mine! [Laughs.] But we recorded Louie's. Louie to me was as much a drummer as he was a composer and an arranger. I especially remember the tune "Skin Deep."

Bellson: That was actually written in 1947. Of course in those days, Tommy Dorsey or Benny [Goodman] had their own arrangers. I just wrote to keep my hand in composition. Then when Juan Tizol and Willie Smith and I joined Duke, Tizol said, "Bring those arrangements into Duke." I said, "Juan, are you crazy? Me bringing in arrangements to Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn? No way!" So finally, Duke came to me and said, "Bring the music in." So, reluctantly, I brought in "The Hawk Talks" and "Skin Deep." I was just flabbergasted that he wanted to hear some of my music. Even if he just heard it during rehearsal, that was good enough for me.

Roach: That was a great piece, "The Hawk Talks." I forgot about that one. But that was an inspiration to the few drummers who did do a lot of writing. It got me really on it. I was always trying to do something in that area. The drums are a hell of an instrument, and people don't always recognize that.

One of the things about Elvin that has always mesmerized and fascinated me was the way his mind worked on that instrument. He uses all four limbs, not just contrapuntally — not left, right and against each other — but as a composer. No matter how much you watched and listened, there was something else. And there were a few people like that: [To Bellson.] You mentioned "Papa'' Jo was one of the great masters, and of course Big Sid. The track Jones set is an innovation that came out of the United States, where you charge with all four limbs, you charge. And Roy Haynes was another one who came to New York with all that stuff. Stuff was happening from every other direction. Then when I learned that Elvin played guitar, that really fascinated me. It was very musical. I had no idea about Elvin until he came to New York. He just shattered the vernacular, as did Roy.

Jones: This is the first time a manufacturer has recognized their endorsees as contributors to the musical art form. I think it benefits not just the four of us, or the next four artists, whoever they may be; but it provides a kind of inspiration for the students. It gives them a motivation. This isn't something that just gets printed in the paper. It's something that recognizes what you have done, what you have accomplished with your life as a musician. I think that's what is most important about the whole event, I think, that in the future it will even be more significant because now a precedent has been established. And I think it will be followed up in greater numbers, with more manufacturers setting up Scholarships for other universities and music schools across the country.

Enright: The four of you share what seems to be an instant rapport. Would you say that's true of drummers in general, more so than other instrumentalists? Drummers of all styles seem to learn from each other and feed off each other.

Jones: You say "drummers" as if we're a different breed from anyone else. I don't think that's true. Drummers are certainly musicians, and they may even be more musical than other instrumentalists. But when you imply that drummers are more of a fraternity, I don't think that's true. It's just that when we're together, we know that we share something, something in common, something very essential in our life... which is a drum set. We use it for musical expression. But all musicians do that, I think: piano player, the woodwinds, the reeds. So I can't say it's anything exclusive in that way, but I think it may appear that way sometimes.

Haynes: I agree.  Every time I go somewhere and we have a discussion with musicians, I always learn something. That's one of the things I've been doing with the music: I try to keep my ears open because I'm learning from what he's saying. But I've often heard people — even  years ago — say that drummers were closer. I mean, I heard people say that in the '40s and the '50s, so there is something to it. First of all, the drummer is the heartbeat, I   and there's something about drummers. I don't know what it is, but I've felt it in a lot of the older players. But I like what Elvin's saying  about us all   being musicians. There's a joke that I heard once, I think when I was with Ludwig. They were having a meeting, and they said all the musicians should be there at a certain time, and you drummers can come, too, if you want to!|Laughs.| That's an old one.

Roach: We had a little abuse that we had to deal with, we were discriminated against, and we had to band together, I guess, so we defend and protect each other. 

Haynes: Max Roach, this guy, he was the first of the drummers, especially the black drummers, to get credit from where I was sitting, and I've been doing this since the '40s. I've watched him and Sid Catlett and Jo Jones—as great as he was, he didn't get enough credit from where I was sitting. Cozy Cole, to me, got a lot of credit. He played the drums with Cab Calloway. He did a movie, Stormy Weather or whatever movie it was, and he also had a drum school. But this guy [Roach") was the first person around my age to really get noted.

And this guy, Elvin... I was playing with Ella Fitzgerald in the '50s at Cafe Society, and Hank Jones was playing piano. This young guy comes in and Hank says, "This is my brother." That's when I first met him. That was in the '50s, before I went to Detroit.

Jones: I was just visiting! Haynes: That's the first time I met you. Hank said, "He plays drums," and I said, "OK!" So later on in the '50s, I think I heard him from playing with Mingus and Harry "Sweets" Edison. I used to go to Detroit a lot, and I would always go by the Bluebird, a club where Elvin was working. I would sit and hang out with this guy. That's how we met. There's something about each of these guys that I've connected with.

Roach: This is very special because Zildjian has opted to recognize the instrument itself. As Roy just told in that funny story about drummers—we're the outcasts. The drummer is not really considered a musician.

Haynes: You guys helped change that, though.

Roach: And when I think about composition, our instrument—and I know I'm being partial here—brings a special something to the world of composition. Maxine [Roach, Max's daughter], for example, who's a string player, did a piece off a drum solo which was mine. She made the bass drum the cello, the cymbals became violins, and so on. It was a magnificent piece. She took the drum solo and just orchestrated it for strings, it showed me something about that instrument. I told her, "Now, the next one you do, listen to Elvin and put something to what he did!" |Laughs.]

Haynes: I think it's really a strong bond that's here. We're all related in some way. I filled in with John Coltrane for Elvin several times. And I replaced Max Roach with Charlie Parker. And I think it was 1952 when Louie Bellson was leaving the band and Duke had called me up. Louie, you had just married Pearl Bailey, and you were going on a honeymoon. Duke did call me, but he just talked, he didn't say, "I'd like you to join," but that's what it was all about. I didn't go with the big band, because this new music was happening, so-called bebop. Max Roach, when he left Charlie Parker, he recommended me. He said I took his gig, but he offered me the gig, [laughs] and I went with the band and started on 52nd Street at the Three Deuces. And stayed there a long time. They always had two groups on 52nd Street; I think it was Erroll Garner and Charlie Parker. Then Bud Powell came with his trio, and Max Roach was going to be on drums, and I was still going to be there. And I didn't know if I was going to have to mess in my pants or what when I learned Max Roach was going to be playing opposite me with Bud Powell.

And I think one of those nights Charlie Parker played a tune that I had never played before, and I didn't know what the hell I was going to do. There was a little door on the side of the drums at Three Deuces, and Max came up to the door and told me everything I should do, if it's a break here or a solo or whatever, and he always helped me. I remember when I was playing in New York at the Royal Roost with Lester Young, and we were playing "Lover Come Back to Me," and Lester gave me the bridge. And at the end, Max said to me, "That was a hell of a 16 bars," and I said, "I wasn't countin' bars." I just played. I realized then, hmmm... 16 bars, this guy's pretty good. [Laughs.]

Jones: The first time I listened to Max was on a recording. I was in the Army at the time, and we were in the barracks practicing rudiments. And this fellow, Raymond Lancaster, I asked him, "What is |Max| playing?" And he immediately analyzed everything you were doing, put it into rhythmic context and said this is what YOU were doing. And it made me aware of how much further I needed to go to reach a point where I could feel even partially satisfied with what I was playing, the way I was getting myself educated. It was that distinct identity that Max Roach had in any context. The music would start, and everybody would say, "That's Max Roach playing the drums." I think Louie Bellson has the same kind of identity as a drummer. The first time I heard him was with Duke Ellington's band, also on record, and he played a solo, and the only other person I 'd ever heard at that time who could play a drum solo like that would have been Buddy Rich, but it wouldn't have been as distinctive. That was a signature of his artistry and ability as a drummer and percussionist. And I had the same experience with Roy Haynes. What fascinated me about him was that he played so many counter-rhythms and phrases, and that was his identity, to approach a rhythm from the back or from the bottom or from the side, and, to me, it was ingenious to hear that.

Bellson: I feel that drummers are the tone of life. We are rhythm, we are timing, we are pacing. Everything in life is based on rhythm: the way you talk, the way you walk, the way you express yourself on an instrument. And this group here—Max, Roy, Elvin and I—were very fortunate to come through a golden era. I'm talking about the likes of Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Oscar Peterson, Ellington, |Count] Basie, Lionel Hampton.

This is something that is monumental, and also this group represents identification. You can put a record on and I know that's Max; that's Roy; that's Elvin, that's Louie, that's Jo Jones. That mark of identification proves respect for one another. So when I hear something by Max, Roy or Elvin, I respect their ability as gentlemen of high class who know their craft. They have their identification, and that adds a lot of respect from drummer to drummer. I learned from "Papa" Jo. He told me once, "You can walk into some funky little nightclub and hear some drummer nobody ever heard of. And if you listen to him play, you can pick up something that you can add to your repertoire.' Always a process of learning. Roy, you and I talked about that today. Every day is a new process.

Enright: Each of you has worked with some of the biggest names in jazz. Have you ever thought about how these artists have influenced your own playing—be it melodically, rhythmically, your soloing style or your accompaniment style?

Jones: The more exposure you have with other artists and other contacts in music, the greater the potential for you to develop. And it'll make you better. For me, when I was playing with Coltrane, I heard purity in his tone, in his discipline for study. That's what he was projecting. I think it affected me, as well as when I played with J.J. Johnson. They've got that purity. Here's a trombone player that could play with a slide that's faster than somebody could finger a trumpet, that distinct style and taste and articulation as if it were a valve. This is passed on to me. I'm already inspired, but that inspires me to be better, to make myself better so that I can be worthy of being in that kind of company. I think you can learn it from anybody. They don't have to be great, well-known artists. Like they say, you can walk into a room and here's a guy who's never made a record in his life, but he's there playing and swinging something. You'll absorb that because it's a part of you. That's what it is. It's a part of you.

Bellson: I was always taught to be an accompanist until it was time to solo. I learned that from Dizzy, too. To be able to hear a soloist, what they're playing, so that you can give them proper backing. Sometimes, in the rhythm section, if the piano and the bass and the drums are all comping at the same time, it's too busy and the soloist has to turn around and say. "Wait a minute, what's going on? Where are the fundamentals?" I feel that I go by the music. Like when I would back Johnny Hodges. If Johnny Hodges was playing one of those beautiful things of his. I'd take great delight in having my brushes and feeling that warmth from that poet. So I play according to what the music is. If it's bebop, if it's swing, whatever music, my ears are tuned in to the band, the soloist, and I gear myself that way. That's what I learned from Max and Roy and Elvin.

Roach: This music is a very democratic art form. The fact that Elvin worked with John Coltrane. I worked with Charlie Parker, Roy worked with Sarah Vaughan and Louie worked with Ellington—what we got from these great players affected us and influenced what we did. This is a collective; you learned from everybody. We had to coexist with dancers, a variety of things that influenced us; the atmosphere we came up in, the time, sociologically, politically, artistically. We were exposed to so much. And that individuality is reflected in everybody.

Enright: The last time Louie and I spoke, we talked about the importance of passing on what you learn from the musicians who come before you. Who are some of the players—drummers or otherwise—you feel you've passed your knowledge on to?

Bellson: I've been able to pass it on to anyone who comes along—students, side-men, you name it.

Jones: That's the thing. You never know exactly who. I think a lot of people learn just because they buy a record or they come by a club. When I walked into a club and saw Max Roach playing, I'd just stand there. Or Art Blakey. Or Kenny Clarke. Any of these guys. I'd just stand there and watch. Something would hit me. It would all be beautiful, but it would just be a matter of hearing something you feel you'd be able to do. You know you can't do it all, but there's something you can pick up that will help you with part of what you do all the time.

Roach: The thing that all of us have given to ourselves and the rest of the world is hard work. Everyone has given time to develop on that instrument. When I see Louie and hear Louie, when I see Elvin and hear Elvin, when I hear Roy, I know that work has been going on. And it still goes on. Louie's always been a perfectionist, Elvin's a perfectionist, Roy Haynes is a perfectionist. Lester Young was a perfectionist. As Louie put it earlier, we inherited something that we hope everybody listens to and passes it on.

Bellson: I don't know who coined this phrase, but at clinics I always say, "You have to know where you came from in order to know where you're going." You have to know about Max Roach, Roy Haynes and Elvin Jones, then you can go ahead further. If you don't know that history, you're going to miss an awful lot. Those students who really want to play, they dip into records by Roy, by Max. by Elvin and study that wonderful art. That history will help them get to this stage, and then further on. That's so important. If a drummer starts and plays for years and doesn't know "Papa'' Jo or Chick Webb and Max Roach, Roy Haynes and Elvin Jones, you'd better go back to the drawing board.

As the conversation winds down, we gradually make our way out of the Friends Lounge. A busy weekend awaits these four friends, as does our limo. On the elevator ride down, Roy Haynes looks around and takes a deep breath. "This is very serious," he says. "I never dreamed it would happen like this. We're all in our 70s, and I love you all."

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.